The soft snick of incisors dropping along with the odor of freshly turned dirt confirmed it was a vampire dragging her through the parking lot, and he was getting ready to sprint.
If a Dádhe was involved, it meant the director and Faraday probably weren’t. The ambassador wouldn’t attempt to take her within an hour of their confrontation. The only thing that made sense was a rival monarch wanted a Na’fhuil, even if they had to steal one from another region. But how had they discovered her so soon?
The vampire suddenly cursed and flung Abby over his shoulder. Her stomach met packed muscle and unforgiving bone with a loud oomph, the air exploding painfully from her lungs. Done with stealth, the Dádhe fled with preternatural speed.
A male voice shouted at them to stop.
Abby winced at every brutal, bouncing stride, her ribs screaming in agony. Bracing her hands on the vampire’s back, she pushed up. Her hair had partially fallen from its neat twist and long strands covered her face, but she recognized Lady Rose’s Guard Mikhail chasing after them.
They rounded the north side of the building, passed the distribution center, and raced toward the woods.
Two more ESC warriors came into view; one raised his gun and fired. She heard Samuel’s answering roar in the distance. The vampire swerved, his supernaturally fast gait breaking as though hit, but regained its breakneck pace almost instantly. The Guard’s shot must have missed.
As he ran through the trees at warp speed, Abby shut out the blurring landscape making her dangerously nauseated. The sounds of pursuit grew closer, and she tried to slow her kidnapper by abruptly throwing her weight to the side. His hold on her thighs tightened, but he didn’t lose a step.
They ran into the barrier of Wolf River, and he veered left, barreling straight toward the Mississippi. Coming to a swift halt, he set Abby on her feet.
Her first clear look was of a young male with dark hair, high cheekbones, and glowing red eyes. He crouched in front of her, forcing her to grab onto his shoulders or fall over.
“Kick your shoes off,” he ordered, reaching for the hem of her form-fitting dress and ripping it almost to her waist as though made of tissue paper. Abby squeaked, slapping at his hands while holding the split fabric together. He went for her heels next. “And don’t try using your magic once we’re in the water, it won’t work.”
“What?” She lost her balance when he impatiently lifted her foot. She had to drop the ragged halves of her dress and lean hard on the Dádhe to remain upright while he removed her pumps.
“Take a deep breath and hold it,” he said, standing. He toed off his sneakers, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and reached for her again.
Abby screamed as they half jumped, half slid down the embankment, the vampire’s strong fingers locking around the small bones of her wrist. Her Walker instincts took over as they entered the murky river, gulping in air a second before being pulled underwater.
Dragging her in his wake, he swam. And swam. Abby’s lungs burned, her throat constricting with the natural urge to inhale. She frantically tugged against his firm grip. He kept going.
It was rumored a Dádhe could hold their breath for over an hour when necessary. Even with all her facility training, the best Abby could do under controlled conditions and in peak shape was six minutes and thirty-five seconds. Unprepared and definitely out of practice, she’d be lucky to manage half that.
The bulk of her Na’fhuil instruction involved mental discipline: learning to deal with the pain of Rip Walking and remaining calm in an airless environment long enough to finish an assigned task. Her handlers approached the secondary problem as though she was a free diver, concentrating on meditation, strengthening her diaphragm, including regular cardio workouts in the expectation of prolonging her stay inside the Fae pathway.
A Jumper would have been free of the water in the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. They might have to take the vampire with them if he didn’t let go, but at least they’d be breathing fresh air. Abby’s magic didn’t work that way.
The time it took to pry her captor’s fingers from her wrist would be agonizing, and no way could she haul a grown male to the surface through the thick atmosphere. And if her magic were released before reaching dry ground, the backlash would knock her out and finish her off.
Her choices were to drown in the Mississippi, or suffer the Rip—and then drown in the Mississippi.
Her struggling finally got the Dádhe’s attention. He turned to tread water, scanning the area warily until satisfied with what he found—or didn’t find. Abby wondered if he could see anything at all through the dull gloom, even with his superior eyesight.
She pointed at the surface, bare legs kicking furiously in her torn skirt. There was no way he wouldn’t understand she needed to breathe.
He shook his head and closed in.
A dingy light pulsed, casting an eerie glow and forming a cloudy corona around the vampire’s shoulders and neck. Cupping her skull, he lowered his mouth to hers. She instinctively pushed him away, palm shoving at his unyielding chest. Strands of loose hair drifted around their faces, obscuring Abby’s vision more than the dirty river. He drew closer, his mouth enclosing hers. Once fused, he blew. Oxygen from the dead space in his upper respiratory tract flowed into her lungs, allowing her a few more minutes of life.
Abby accepted the transfer gratefully. He’d only be able to do that once without replenishing his supply, and she was afraid they weren’t emerging until reaching the safety of Arkansas. Samuel couldn’t follow them into another monarch’s territory without risking massive political fallout.
The vampire indicated with a squeeze that he was breaking the seal. She clamped her lips together, holding onto every precious bit of oxygen.
The Dádhe was gentle for a kidnapper. He couldn’t have known about her recently cracked ribs when he carried her off and hadn’t purposely done anything else to hurt her. The hold on her wrist wasn’t so tight it’d leave bruises, which would have been easy to do with his enhanced strength.
He floated in front of her, no doubt checking if she was in imminent danger of drowning. Satisfied she wasn’t, he kicked. Towing her behind him, he cut smoothly through the current, his course unchanging.
Abby was completely turned around, and without the sun to guide her, she wasn’t even sure which way was up anymore.
Forcing her body to relax, she offered no further resistance. There was no point in expending energy, and thereby oxygen, flaying futilely.
Less than three minutes later, Abby was done. There wasn’t enough air left to sustain her and no amount of self-discipline would prevent the unavoidable inhale coming. She’d pass out soon afterward. Once unconscious, her lungs would fill and it’d be over. Conlan would be left alone and she would never see Samuel again.
Desperation set in, and she forgot all her freediving education. Giving in to pure panic, she thrashed wildly, wrenching and twisting her wrist, hoping to break the Dádhe’s grasp and somehow make it to the surface in time.
The vampire didn’t look back but put on a burst of speed.
Maybe they were close to the other side? Didn’t matter, it would be too late.
Water poured into her throat at the same time a body rammed into her captor. The impact severed the connection and broke the last of Abby’s tattered concentration.
She gasped and swallowed.
The males grappled. Her would-be rescuer was little more than a dark blur, equal in size to the vampire who’d taken her hostage.
Abby saw a dim flash as the edges of her vision faded, her throat closing. She sank deeper into the water. Peace descended. She was barely aware of hands lifting her up by her underarms, perfectly content to remain in the fuzzy, warm blanket of calm. Her thoughts drifted away.
“Dammit, Abby. Breathe.”
Sweet air caressed her lips. The pressure on her mouth left and returned. The heady smell of fresh pine and Samuel invaded her lungs.
“Baby, breathe.”
&nb
sp; “You’re doing it all wrong.” She heard a petulant voice say as if from far away. “Let me do it. I’ve been trained in CPR, five times. And Lord Myles got to fight the bad vampire, and the commander rescued Abby. I haven’t done anything except get wet.”
“Mr. Hutchins, back away,” the prince ordered his vampire assistant, Gregory.
Abby coughed, and it all came back in a rush. She was flipped onto her side, vomiting what felt like buckets of dirty water.
Samuel scraped away the sopping blond strands clinging to her face, holding them out of the way while she heaved. Once her lungs and stomach stopped spasming, the commander lifted her into his arms. His clothing was drenched.
Exhausted, Abby laid her head on his soaked t-shirt, clutching the torn pieces of her dress together. Gregory, Tucker, Noah, and the prince stared at her. All were dripping wet. She could see more warriors patrolling the area with their guns drawn. Grandmaster Lake paced the river’s edge, sans jacket and vest, multiple runes shining through his sodden white shirt like the banked embers of a recently raging fire. A dry Emma Hollowell stared at the muddy water, a scowl on her dark, thin face.
She felt the deep vibration in Samuel’s chest beneath her cheek as he spoke. “I want the vamp identified. I want to know whose House he belongs to.” He carried her through the dense wooded area, heading toward Queenstown at a fast, angry clip.
“He crossed into West South Central territory,” the prince said heatedly. “If Sinclair is involved with any of this…” He let the threat hang.
“His only concern could have been evading capture. That doesn’t conclusively tie him to the WSC’s Dádhe king.” Samuel hitched her higher until the crown of her head was nestled beneath his chin. “By the way, how did you manage to lose him?”
The prince hissed like a spitting cat, but before he could retort, Abby had a terrifying thought. “He said his partner would shoot into the crowd if anything went wrong.” She gripped the commander’s soggy shirt. “The children, Samuel. You have to stop him.”
“Hush,” he said, kissing her forehead. “We terminated the broadcast, and dispersed the crowd as soon as we realized what was happening. Everyone’s safe.”
“Are you sure? I couldn’t stand if someone got hurt because of me.”
“I’m guessing he lied about having an accomplice to control you, but the Guard has already been ordered to take every precaution.”
“Can I carry Abby now?” Gregory asked, apparently unconcerned with the possibility of a sniper at large.
“No.” Samuel’s arms tightened possessively. They hit the outskirts of town, and he turned to avoid the main drive, working his way to the backside of the Harbor Complex.
“But it’s my turn.” Tucker placed a restraining hand on the slender assistant’s shoulder. “Okay, fine. I get to carry her next time though.” The strange Dádhe sped up to keep pace at her feet. “Did you see me, Abby? I swam really fast. Only milord was faster,” he said and then stuck out his bottom lip. “And of course, the commander, but that’s hardly a fair comparison.”
The streetlights illuminated him enough to see his earnest expression, his eyes holding a hopeful, childlike gleam.
“Thank you for trying to save me. It was very brave.” Her throat ached, and it hurt to speak.
“You’re most welcome.” His grin widened, narrow chest puffing.
Abby’s head flopped on Samuel’s shoulder. It was hard to keep her eyes open.
His fingertips slid to her throat, and pressed in gently. “Noah, ask Regan to meet us in my quarters.”
“Mr. Reed,” Lord Myles said. “Take the halfblood with you and drop her off at the commander’s suite before fetching the healer.”
“I’ll take her.” Gregory skipped forward with his arms held out in front of him.
The hand clasping Abby’s thighs tensed, and the light contact at her throat fell away. “No.” Samuel turned to face the prince and repeated with a notable growl, “Noah, go.”
The young shifter broke into a jog.
“Commander Walker, I’m afraid you don’t have time to coddle Miss Barnes. I need both you and Lieutenant Tucker to change into something dry and meet me in Rose’s office,” Lord Myles said. “Mr. Hutchins, please take Miss—”
“I’m not leaving her until I know she’s unharmed and resting comfortably,” Samuel snarled.
Abby’s eyelids drooped; they felt thick and heavy. “I’m fine. Just tired.” She tilted to see the commander’s face. “You don’t need to stay with me. Gregory can take me to my room.”
Samuel’s upper lip bulged, distending to show the points of his canines.
Gregory took a step back.
“Or maybe I could walk? It’s not that far, and I’m feeling much stronger now.”
Tucker chuckled and shook his head.
Samuel ignored everyone, never slowing his stride.
“Or not,” Abby said with a resigned sigh.
Chapter 19
“The halfblood could have been lost to us tonight with no real recourse to get her back,” Myles stated with a snap of impatience. He was perched on Rose’s desk, one wingtip on the floor, the other swinging over the edge. “I won’t risk losing her to another region, and especially not to Nathan Sinclair.”
The queen settled into her silk-covered chair with a frustrated sigh. “We do not know yet if it was the WSC king who tried to take her. But if it was another monarch…”
“Then we have a problem.” Jenkins propped a shoulder on the wall and folded his arms over his chest. His casual stance belied the tension radiating throughout his lean frame. “The facility has done a remarkable job keeping the few remaining Fae progenies a secret. But if those in power discover Na’fhuils still exist, they will want Abby and any Jumpers they can find for themselves.”
“Someone from Clan Walker needs to Mark her,” the prince flatly interjected.
One minute, Samuel was sitting at the conference table listening quietly, debating how best to keep Abby safe. The next, Tucker’s massive arms were around his chest, preventing him from ripping the Dádhe’s throat out.
He was dimly aware of Rose shouting for everyone to stand down. Of Jenkins’ tattooed biceps alight as he grabbed the queen by the waist, preventing her from placing herself between two dangerous predators.
“It wouldn’t need to be a full claiming,” Myles continued as if pandemonium hadn’t erupted. “My understanding is a connection can be made after the first bite, though I’d suggest a second to be safe.”
“Mating Marks aren’t goddamn GPS chips,” Samuel shouted through a mouthful of fangs. He was breathing hard, Tucker’s forearms crushing his sternum like a metal vise as his beta struggled to restrain him.
“A Marking would give us additional leverage if another region’s king or queen succeeded in kidnapping her. We’d have more than mere proprietary rights to Miss MacCarthy if she was claimed on any level.”
“She’s not a piece of property,” he roared.
“If you or Lieutenant Tucker don’t wish to do it, perhaps someone else? Mr. Blackwater is unmated.” He shrugged, rolling the cuff of his dress shirt. “Or maybe we could offer the task to your nephew? The halfblood is quite attractive if you’re into the cute petite type. Shouldn’t be too much of a hardship for the young pup. He’s only recently reached his majority and could still learn a thing or two. Hone his skills, so to speak.”
Rose gasped loudly.
“Oh, fuck no,” Jenkins said incredulously.
The backs of Samuel’s hands rippled with fur, the golden pelt creeping over his forearms in uncontrollable patches. He surged forward with an unearthly howl.
Tucker grunted, the big Ferwyn lifting him off his feet and staggering beneath the weight.
“Abby. Is. Mine.” His gums ached, and his canines grew impossibly long. His beta was a good five inches taller, but he was one pissed Alpha and wouldn’t be contained much longer.
The prince’s dark eyebrow arched. “Excell
ent, so there shouldn’t be a problem moving forward with my plan?”
“Myles, please be quiet.” Rose fought Jenkins’ magic-fueled embrace.
Ignoring the impending violence laying thickly in the air, the prince folded his other sleeve and said in an utterly bored tone, “Do you think you can fuck her in the next couple of days then? The sooner you—”
Samuel didn’t remember much after that, vision turning bright yellow as he tore from Tucker’s grasp.
“I could gut ’im.” Tucker’s offer was deadly serious for all his soft, Southern drawl.
Samuel’s muscles knotted as he braced his arms on the door outside his suite, head hanging between his biceps.
“I can’t allow you to harm the heir,” he said through gritted jagged canines. But it was tempting after the prince twisted something as sacred as the Mating Dance into a play for power and then suggested someone other than him could Mark Abby.
“Bleed ’em?” his beta asked, snapping Samuel from his dark thoughts.
“I think I covered that already.” Myles had been too busy keeping Samuel’s fully transformed teeth away from his jugular to worry about the sharp claws ripping through his expensive, button-down and plunging into his chest. The vampire would need at least several hours to heal from the exceptionally vicious gouging; along with a witch healer’s magic and a ton of ingested blood. Samuel hoped it hurt like a sonofabitch.
“Steal his hair gel?”
“Hit him where it hurts, huh?” He pried his claws from the wood frame with a self-deprecating sigh, the deeply embedded nails proving how far out of control he’d gotten. Samuel was amazed he hadn’t completely reverted to his wolf during the physical encounter with the prince.
“You good?” Tucker clapped him on the shoulder, searching his face intently.
“You mean can the pack stand down?” The flood of emotions experienced during the conflict with Myles had alerted every local clanmate their Alpha was in distress, sending those nearest running to his aid. Several shifters had converged outside the queen’s office, ready to intervene if Tucker hadn’t managed to haul Samuel out of the room. Two members of the Walker Pack still paced the hallway in agitation, unable to let him out of their sight. He sensed five more gathered beside the elevators.
Fae Touched (Fae Touched Book 1): Paranormal Romance Page 18