Bane's Choice

by Alyssa Day

  Even after he climbed on his Harley, his eyes strayed to the upstairs window behind which he knew she slept. His human. Maybe he should check in on her once more…

  But Luke revved his bike and took off, and Bane couldn’t let him stand alone at this meeting. Meara would protect Ryan.

  He took one long, last look at the dark window, and then he roared off into the night, the closest he could ever come to flying while still on the ground. First warlocks, and now necromancers. They needed to find Constantin and the woman who’d attacked Edge, and then they needed to destroy them.

  And after that, he might need to find a way to take a trip to Europe and personally deliver a message to the Chamber.

  …

  Meara decided to check on Hunter before she released poor Ryan from Bane’s insane imprisonment scheme. To her surprise, Edge was there, slouched in a chair outside the safe room instead of locked up with his precious computers as he usually was.

  “Well. If you’re here, I’ll be going,” she said, turning to leave the room.

  “That is what you’re good at,” he called after her, with so much bitterness in his voice that she stopped and turned to face him.

  “What?”

  “Running away from me. It’s your special talent.” His face was all bleak lines and harsh angles in the dim light, but his silver eyes shone as if reflecting the entirety of the moon. “Will you ever forgive me for what happened when Bane Turned me? If I’d known he might die, I’d never have let him try, Meara.”

  Suddenly her hunger and exhaustion caught up with her, and she sighed, resisting the urge to move closer to him so she could reach out and touch a strand of his long, white hair. The hair that had gone from black to white overnight after what had been done to him. “I’ve already forgiven you, Edge. I just want you to stay out of my way.”

  “Why?”

  If she didn’t know better—didn’t know him to be an emotionless bastard with ice—or nanotechnology—running through his veins—she might have thought she heard anguish in his voice.

  More than likely, it was just contempt.

  “Why?” he repeated, moving closer, all shining beauty and heated demand. “Because I used to work for the government? Because I’m a scientist?”

  She laughed in his face. “I like scientists. They’re crunchy and taste good with ketchup.”

  He didn’t even crack a smile. “If you hate having me here so much, I’ll leave. I won’t inflict myself on you any longer.”

  She closed her eyes against the weakness threatening to make her stumble forward and collapse into his arms. His strong, muscular arms.

  That she definitely was not noticing.

  “Don’t be dramatic,” she finally told him, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t hate having you here. I don’t even notice you most of the time.” With that, she gathered up her last reserves of energy so she could go. Maybe she’d even drink some of Bane’s plastic blood.

  Desperate times…

  “Really?” Edge leapt across the room and slammed his hands to the wall on either side of her head. Caging her in. “You don’t even notice me?”

  Staring at her with eyes turned to silver fire.

  “Notice this,” he snarled, and then he captured her mouth with his own and took.

  Plundered.

  Savored.

  He kissed her as though he were conquering her, and God help her, she loved it.

  Reveled in it.

  She plundered his mouth right back. Took his head in her hands and pulled him deeper into the kiss. Wrapped a leg around his thighs and yanked his body to her, so that there was no space between them, no air, no room for thought or regret or razor-sharp memories of past pain to intrude.

  There was only Edge and Meara and this kiss—this passion—that was blazing like wildfire between them. Why hadn’t she known, why hadn’t she—

  “Meara?”

  The sound of Ryan’s voice snapped Meara out of the sensual haze into which she’d willingly plunged, and she pulled away from Edge and his deep, drugging kisses.

  “What?” His gaze was unfocused, and he stared into her eyes and then down at her mouth. “More.”

  She put a hand on his chest. “No.”

  He ignored her and bent his head to her again. “But—”

  “I said no,” she shouted, and she threw her hands into the air—hurled her power at him—and levitated him a good six feet off the ground, where she pinned him to the wall with the sheer force of her rage-fueled magic.

  “Did you think my only power was to become invisible? To live my life unseen, like so many other nameless, faceless women who have to skulk in the shadows to avoid the attentions of men like you?”

  “Men like me? Meara,” he said, his voice a husky croak. “I’m sorry. No, I never thought anything of the sort. I’ve wanted you for so long, and I—but you kissed me back, and I thought—”

  “Yes. I did. But then I said no.”

  Ryan entered the room then, or maybe she’d already been there, witness to Meara’s extraordinary lapse of judgment. She looked at Meara and then up at Edge, still hanging against the wall, and then she nodded, as if she saw this sort of thing every day.

  “No means no, dude,” she told Edge. Then she shifted her attention to Meara. “Also, where’s Bane? He and I need to have a little chat about locking me in for my own good.”

  From the look in the human’s eyes, Meara had an idea it wouldn’t be a comfortable chat for her brother. But then again, she’d warned him.

  “Maybe let the nice computer guy down now,” Ryan ventured. “We could have pie and talk about how men are pigs.”

  Abruptly, Meara started laughing. She’d always been able to see the ridiculousness in a situation, even when the joke was on her. She released her power, and Edge gracefully dropped to the ground and landed lightly on his feet, which was annoying.

  She’d much rather he’d fallen on his ass.

  “If you’d just bend your knees, touch one hand to the ground, and stick the other one straight out in the air behind you, you’d have a great superhero pose,” Ryan told Edge, who stared at her as if she were an alien species from another planet.

  Meara shook her head. “There are no heroes here. So. You said something about pie?”

  When they left the room, she could still feel Edge’s gaze burning into the back of her neck.

  “I wish you could teach me that trick,” Ryan said, starting down the stairs. “There’s this new guy at work, Doctor Douchehead, who could really use a lesson just like that.”

  Meara shook her head. “That’s a very unfortunate name. Perhaps he’s suffered enough.”

  Ryan started laughing and explained about the name, but Meara tuned her out. Her lips still throbbed with Edge’s kiss, and she had to fight herself to keep from going back and finishing what they’d started.

  If he’ll ever kiss you again, after what you did to him.

  That was the trick, though, wasn’t it? Finding a man who could celebrate you for your strength instead of rejoicing in your weakness. She didn’t want a man who was strong enough to protect her—she wanted one who was strong enough to stand with her while she protected herself.

  While they protected each other.

  But if she hadn’t found that in three centuries, what made her think she might now?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “You don’t have a brother, do you?”

  Ryan blinked. “No. Only child. Why?”

  Meara sighed. “No reason. Okay. Enough of this. We’re going out.”

  “We are? I don’t have anything to wear,” Ryan said, scrambling for a reason why she didn’t want to go out on the town with the supermodel vampire standing next to her. She was used to being ignored in bars, standing next to Annie in all her dancer’s body sp
lendor, but she had a feeling she’d wind up with actual boot prints on her scalp from all the men trying to climb over her to get to Meara.

  She was already having self-esteem issue about her ordinary looks compared to the supermodel’s brother.

  Who had locked her in his room. Get back to the point here.

  “Bane locked me in his room,” she said. Again. “My father used to do that to my mom and me ‘for our own good.’ Not only am I claustrophobic, in a big way, but I am furious that your brother did that to me when I’m a grown-ass woman, and if he thinks—”

  “He’s gone,” Meara said, looking bored by the conversation. “You look fine. The red dress looks good with your hair. But we’re not going out clubbing. We’re going shopping. I have a ball to go to tomorrow night, and I need a gown.”

  “You have a ball to go to,” Ryan said slowly, wondering when she’d gone from Alice in Wonderland to Cinderella and whether it would be a good choice for vampire movie night. Since she was going to kill Bane for locking her in, maybe he’d like a chance to watch Prince Charming chase all over the country for a foot that fit a glass slipper first.

  “Yes. It’s a charity thing for the clinics. And since we’ve discovered that you work for me, you have to do what I say, because I’m your boss,” Meara concluded, her eyes sparkling and her lips still swollen from whatever had been going on with the silver-eyed hunk of broodiness in the ballroom.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. Now she was doing it. Hanging out in ballrooms.

  Still… “I don’t think that’s how that works,” she told Meara. “I actually volunteer my time. You—the clinic—don’t pay me, so I don’t work for you, so I don’t have to do what you say.”

  Meara whirled around, in one of the spooky vampire superfast moves Ryan supposed she’d now have to get used to, and bared her…fangs. “Then do what I say because I’m a vampire, and I’m hungry, and you’re starting to look like dessert.”

  She did look hungry. Ryan swallowed whatever she’d been about to say and changed tactics. “Did I mention how much I’d love to go shopping for your ball gown with you?”

  Meara smiled, her fangs retracted now. “Perfect. We’ll get you one, too, and you can be my plus-one.”

  “I can’t go to a ball. I’m supposed to be off work for a family emergency. Plus, I’m not really the ball type. Don’t you want to take, ah…” The guy whose tongue was down your throat didn’t seem polite. “Edge. The sexy guy with the white hair?”

  “No. That was a momentary lapse of judgment. Come on. We’ll take my car.”

  Meara’s car turned out to be a sleek BMW convertible that she immediately jacked up to maybe a hundred miles per hour past Ryan’s comfort level.

  “You know, I don’t heal like you, so when we crash and burn, please tell Bane that my last words were you shouldn’t have locked me in your room,” she shouted over the wind rushing past.

  Meara rolled her eyes, which seemed to be her signature move, and took a turn on two wheels. Or maybe only one.

  Ryan wondered what horrible way she’d be murdered if she threw up in a vampire’s luxury car. Then she figured maybe she’d just close her eyes until they arrived at whatever store in Savannah sold ball gowns at nearly midnight.

  When the car squealed to a stop, she cautiously opened one eye.

  “We’re here. Hop out.” Meara leapt out, and Ryan unclenched her death grip on her seat belt and followed her onto the sidewalk.

  “Whitaker Street? What will be open here this time of night?”

  “Nothing is open to the public,” Meara said, saying public in the tone of voice that Ryan used when saying infectious diseases. “But she’ll open for me, and she’ll even give me a little snack.”

  Ryan perked up. “Pecan pie?”

  “Not exactly.”

  By the time Ryan followed Meara into the unmarked door at the top of the short flight of steps, the vampire was already fangs deep in her snack—who turned out to be the owner of the boutique.

  Ryan wandered around the small shop, not wanting to stand there and stare like a voyeur, but not knowing what else she should do, either. From the sounds the woman at the door was making, she was very happy to let Meara “snack” on her, so Ryan didn’t feel like she should interrupt.

  On the other hand, did “first, do no harm” include allowing a fellow human to be used as food?

  Her mind flashed back to when Bane had bit her, in a far more sensitive location than her neck, and how it had felt, and she shivered.

  Yeah.

  Neither Meara nor the human woman would appreciate being interrupted right now, for sure.

  A few minutes later, they were done. Meara murmured something to the woman, who shook out her cloud of red curls and walked over to Ryan.

  “Hello! Welcome to Katrina’s. I’m Katrina, as you probably guessed. What lovely breasts you have! I think Christian Siriano or Zac Posen for her, don’t you, Meara?”

  Ryan’s face instantly flamed with heat. “Um, thanks?”

  Meara looked at Ryan with interest. “Ooh. Yes. In red. It has to be red, don’t you think? With that hair and skin, I think red.”

  Ryan cleared her throat. “So, I can’t afford a designer gown. To be honest, I can’t afford a designer handbag. Or even a wallet. So, let’s just focus on your dress, Meara.”

  The vampire picked up a slim, long, emerald-green sheath dress and held it up against her slim, long, Valkyrie-like body. “I think I need this, Kat. And yes, show her whatever you have in red. Add it to my bill, please.”

  “Of course,” Kat cooed, just as Ryan said, “Oh, no, definitely not.”

  Meara pointed at Kat. “Or maybe a sapphire silk? With her eyes? Low-cut bodice, for sure,” she said, ignoring Ryan completely.

  Ryan took a deep breath and tried again. “Meara. I appreciate your generous offer, but—”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I—what?” Nonplussed, she stared at the vampire. “What do you mean?”

  Meara shrugged and handed a tiny beaded handbag to Kat. “This, too. And those emerald teardrop earrings.”

  “Meara,” Ryan tried again.

  “No. You don’t appreciate the offer, because you’re too damn proud. And you have some silly human idea of what’s yours is yours and what’s mine is mine, and whatever. I have enough money to buy Louisiana. I’m buying you this dress.”

  Ryan blinked, feeling distinctly bulldozed. “Why would you want to buy Louisiana?”

  “Have you ever eaten gumbo in New Orleans? That’s reason enough.”

  Ryan shook her head and bowed to the will of Hurricane Meara. She could always return the dress later. She sank into a chair, accepted the glass of champagne Katrina handed her, and let the conversation flow over and around her.

  Nothing about this adventure was anything that Reliable Ryan would ever do, in a million years, so she suddenly wanted to experience all of it.

  “Bring it on,” she told the two women airily. “Cinderella had nothing on me.”

  Meara grinned at her. “I’ve always wanted to be a fairy godmother, but my brother is definitely no Prince Charming.”

  Ryan took a long sip of champagne. “More like Prince Arrogance, really. But damn, he’d look hot in a tux.”

  “What a great idea!” Meara pulled her phone out of her pocket—the first time Ryan had seen any of the vampires use phones—and tapped out a text. “There! I told him he’s going with us tomorrow.”

  Ryan, starting on her second glass of champagne, smiled. “Sounds great to me. Can he dance? He was secretly a European prince back in the day, right?”

  Meara’s expression was priceless. “Prince? Prince of the stables, maybe. He worked for my father, with the horses.”

  “So, no dancing,” Ryan mused, trying to fit this information into her mental file labeled Bane. />
  “Oh, he can dance. My father was a conte. I taught him to dance after we Turned.”

  “You taught your father to dance?” Ryan picked out a pastry from a china tray Katrina offered her.

  “No! Pay attention! I taught Bane to dance. He hates getting dressed up, but he will for you. And you’ll want to look beautiful for him.”

  Ryan found she liked the idea of that. Very much. She smiled and drank champagne and tasted pastries, and then she tried on gowns that almost certainly cost as much as she made in a year.

  Because why not? She was Unreliable Ryan these days and loving every minute of it, and she would very much love for Bane to see her as beautiful, too, even if only once.

  An hour later, slightly drunk and entirely shocked at how many packages Katrina would be messengering over to them the next day, Ryan followed Meara back out the door and down to the street.

  That’s when the shifters attacked.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Bane leaned against the bar, and Luke and Edge took positions on either side of him. Nine of their best fighters—all vampires—sat at tables, drinking beer, talking quietly, and watching the door for the unprecedented sight of a pack of werewolves walking into the Vampire Motorcycle Club headquarters.

  “It’s going to be bad if the warlocks have already taken any of the wolves,” Luke muttered.

  Edge nodded. “Carter Reynolds is a major strength, but his people don’t have any natural immunity to blood magic, like we do.”

  “None of us but Bane have much, either, as we just discovered,” Luke growled.

  “I guess we’re about to find out,” Bane said, hearing the bikes roar into the parking lot.

  A few minutes later, Reynolds sauntered in, with a casual expression on his face like he walked into the middle of a dozen vampires every day and twice on Fridays. Behind him, several of his pack members, including his second, Max, followed him, belligerence and defiance an almost-tangible wave around them.