by Amy Sumida
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Prologue
My heartbeat thunders through my chest, and I fear they’ll find me through sound alone. I can’t believe I did it! Maybe the move here is divine providence. Or maybe it’s just really good luck. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.
A crunch sounds up ahead, and I freeze. Could they have recovered already? I thought I was running away from them, but perhaps I got turned around? Voices draw closer, and my heart skips at the thought of being found. I scurry halfway up a large tree, but dizziness rears its ugly head, halting my ascent.
Not now!
My masters made sure to keep food scarce, and blood still drips from the open puncture wounds on my wrists. The voices rise from directly beneath my hiding spot, and I lose my tentative grip as my vision fades. I brace for an impact that never comes and instead find myself cradled in strong, unfamiliar arms. Unconsciousness lays claim to me, and I comfort myself with the idea that at least it’s not them.
As awareness fades, a warm voice echoes through my mind. “I’ve got you, Sugar Plum.”
Chapter One
I wake, reenergized, in an unfamiliar bedroom, surrounded by the scents of raw wood and fresh air. A soft, crocheted blanket is tucked around me and bandages cover my cleaned wrists. The most mouth-watering aroma wafts from somewhere nearby, sweet, warm, and unlike anything I’ve ever known before. When I crawl out of bed, I discover deep tears in my clothes. My escape through the woods left them as little more than rags. I wrap myself in the covers and glance out the single, small window, taking note of my surroundings.
Trees stretch out into the darkness of night in all directions. The cozy room is furnished with a double bed, dresser, night table, and a rocking chair in the corner. It all appears to be handmade.
My energy surprises me, but apprehension twists in my stomach like a worm boring into a crisp apple.
How long was I unconscious?
I can only hope it wasn’t long enough for my captors to find me. A brief flash of memory reminds me of the male voices that surrounded me as I fell from the tree. Slow, deliberate footsteps come down the hallway from the other side of my door. The sound startles me into action, and panicking, I grab the lamp, holding it up ready to use as a weapon if needed.
The door edges open, and I snap out, “Don’t come any closer!”
Reaching through the entry, a rough, masculine hand holds out a plate covered in slices of bread and a small ceramic pot. “I’m just bringing you some food,” he says in a rich, lilting drawl. “May I please come in?”
The owner of the hand waits patiently for my answer. My stomach growls out when I realize I’m being presented with the source of the tantalizing aroma. A chuckle comes from outside, and my hunger wins this round.
“Enter slowly,” I warn. “If you come near me, I-I’ll hurt you!” My words tremble with false bravado, but my hunger doesn’t care whether or not he notices.
The door pushes open the rest of the way and the most stunning specimen of a man walks in. His long, light-brown hair is sun-kissed with golden highlights and hangs loose around his tanned, bare shoulders. His muscled abdomen ripples with laughter as he walks closer, and I glance up into a pair of hypnotizing eyes the color of the earth after a rainstorm.
“Hey, I’m Ashton, but you can call me Ash.” He draws closer and winks, noticing my perusal.
I can’t ever remember being around a human man before, let alone a shirtless one. It takes all of my considerable willpower to keep from reaching out to stroke his chest; I want to know how he feels. Soft? Hard? Maybe both?
He slowly takes the lamp out of my hands and sets it, and the plate of food, on the small table beside the bed. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, Sugar Plum.” My heart races at the familiar phrase. He smirks, and I shake my head to clear away the fog. “Now would be when you tell me your name.”
Apparently, gawking is my new hobby, because I miss seeing him grab for my right forearm. I shiver at the contact, and he stares at the tattoo peeking out from my sleeve. “Guine... Is that your name?”
I shrug. They never gave me one, calling me whatever they wanted to shout at the time. I push up the sleeve, allowing him to read the whole inscription.
“Sanguine,” he enunciates, saying it like a name instead of a menu item.
His grip tightens, but not painfully, and he gazes back into my eyes with sadness. He knows what my tattoo means. I square my shoulders and defiantly lift my chin; I won’t be pitied for my life.
“Sugar Plum, would you be willing to show this to my brothers?” His voice soothes away my prickly edges, and he flips his hand around, intertwining our fingers. “I promise no one here will hurt you.”
I nod my agreement, mostly because of how my insides flutter every time our gazes connect, but also because I don’t want this new experience to end. I can’t quite figure out why I trust this stranger, but every instinct within me wants to claim Ashton as mine.
He gives my hand a squeeze and pulls me toward the hallway. I let him, but stop and reach back to grab the plate of food when my stomach protests. He laughs and links my arm through his elbow, thoughtfully freeing my hands so I can eat.
I savor the delicious brown bread the moment it hits my tongue. Ashton talks while he leads me down a narrow corridor, but I barely hear him due to my food induced nirvana. I now know for certain that what was provided by the vamps was definitely not bread, not in comparison to this.
Lifting the lid of the small pot, I discover it filled with a syrupy amber liquid I vaguely recall. When I dip an edge of the crust into the honey, my escort chuckles. “I’ll be sure to tell Dec you liked it!”
He reaches over to snatch a bit from my plate. I jump away and—
“Did you just growl at me?” He holds his hands up in the universal sign of defeat, but with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
I greedily shove the rest of the food into my mouth before anyone can take it away from me. Belatedly, I realize I must look rabid. I straighten my posture and attempt to smile around my mouthful. But when the flavors manage to catch up with me, I moan, the sweet nectar coating my tongue.
Ashton stares. A slight flush colors his cheeks and a kind smile spreads across his lips. He takes my empty plate and once again intertwines our fingers, pulling me to a stop in front of a doorway. He turns to place both hands on my shoulders, making my skin tingle where we connect.
Is this what a gentle touch feels like?
Up until now, commands and consequences are all I’ve known. The only physical contact I remember came from the Masters when they fed, or when one of them decided I needed to be disciplined.
This sensation is different. It’s kind and gentle, and I like it.
“Don’t freak-out on me, okay Guine?” Worry strains his melodic voice. “Some of my brothers can come off as, well, terrifying. But they’re good people, and you can stick by me if you’re uneasy.”
I pause, but decide to trust my instincts about Ashton. He’s human, so at least I know my veins are safe.
I follow him into a large, open space filled with seating, a fireplace, and a floor-to-ceiling carved cabinet that almost keeps me from noticing the living occupants of the room. Five other men sit in various chairs. They stare at me with expressions ranging from outright hostility to curiosity, and one of them examines me so thoroughly I retreat a step from the invasion. They don’t resemble one another enough to be siblings, their skin and hair tones spanning the spectrum, but I suppose it’s none of my business, what they call themselves.
Who am I to judge? I don’t know the first thing about human family dynamics; vamps don’t have siblings, they have competition.
One of the men rises and strides forward. He’s tall, with his dark hair secured in a
ponytail behind his neck. He has a chiseled jawline, and eyes the green color of a stormy sea. I dig my nails into my palms to check that I’m not dreaming. His dark stands in perfect contrast to my pale, and I clench my fists tighter, relishing the sting that signals true wakefulness. Like the others, he wears leather and cotton but somehow, he makes it look lavish, where the others appear conventional. Maybe it’s the dark stubble peeking out along his jaw, or perhaps the air of danger that surrounds him.
My stomach clenches in anticipation.
“Miss?” he asks, his tone all but ordering my compliance.
Ash pulls me forward when I don’t answer, showing the stern man my arm. His eyes harden, and he takes my hand from Ashton with a tug.
“Miss,” he repeats more forcefully than before. “How long have you had this mark?”
I flinch, shaking at the ice in his tone. Confusion wars with fear, and Ash steps up behind me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and strengthening me with a nudge. “Guine, Kent is one of the smartest people I know, and he wants to help you. We all do.”
The lilt of his soft drawl uncurls some of my clenched muscles, and I let my breath hiss out. Almost as soon as my shoulders relax, the brooding one with dark-brown hair pushes out of his seat in the corner and snaps at us.
“Speak for yourself, brother. I want nothing to do with filth like her!” He slams his fist into the wall beside him, his voice rasping like gravel. “Drop her off at a donor center and be done with it!”
He shoots me a glare full of hatred and revulsion and stomps toward the door. When he nears us, I realize he’s a little bit taller than Ashton at about six feet, and both his hair and eyes are a very dark-brown. That’s the only impression I get before he slams out of the room, swearing under his breath.
I should’ve expected it, the vitriol, but it stings in contrast to Ashton’s kindness. Tears threaten to break free, and I shrink in embarrassment.
The man who still holds my hand, Kent, clears his throat and pulls me closer. His deeply tanned skin stands out starkly against my pale arm, and I wonder about his heritage. South American or perhaps Middle Eastern? A scar runs through his left eyebrow, but it only adds to his appeal. “Guine, is that your name?”
I know I need to respond, but my voice betrays me again. I take a deep, centering breath and lift my gaze to his. “It can be, if you want. I’ve never had one before. It’d be nice...” I trail off. No need to ramble about my hopes to these strangers.
His brow pinches when I don’t continue, and he glares down at my tattoo as though placing the fault on it.
“What is it, Kent?” a tall, wiry man with an accent asks. His skin is so fair it’s nearly translucent, and his short hair is darker than a moonless night.
“It’s a tattoo of the word Sanguine.” He steers me around, showing my arm to all of them in a swift promenade.
Again, there’s a deep intake of breath as a couple of them make the connection between my tattoo and its meaning.
One of the guys catches my attention. Streaks of red, copper, orange, and maroon weave throughout his loose, slightly curly hair. It reminds me of dancing flames, and somehow, I think it’s all-natural. He fingers the handle of something sheathed to his right calf, and I notice they all wear an array of weapons strapped to their bodies with intricate leather harnesses.
Hope flares within me. Oh, God, could it be?
Kent strokes my forearm, tracing each letter with his fingertip. “How long have you had this?”
“My whole life.” I shrug it off. “For as long as I can remember, anyway.”
The one with the fire hair curses and throws a knife across the room, embedding it in the side of a cabinet with wicked accuracy. It startles me, and I automatically jump into Kent’s embrace. He holds me for a moment until we both come to our senses. Stepping away, I drop my gaze to my feet with embarrassment once again.
How can I crave the touch of strangers?
A soft, sweet, soothing baritone speaks from one of the chairs to my left, forcing me to turn to acknowledge him. “Guine, sweetie, do you have any other punctures that need tending?”
Concern fills his tone, and a pair of almond shaped, hazel eyes that match the kindness in his voice immediately entrances me. He tucks a stray mahogany lock behind his right ear as he inspects me from his seat. A beautiful, Asian quality shades his smooth features.
My smile slips when fangs poke out of his perfect pearly teeth. I tear my arm from Kent’s grip and race for the exit.
The pale, sinewy one with the accent steps in front of me, barring my escape. He must be almost seven feet tall, and with his mouth set in a firm line, I can’t tell if he’s one of them, too. I turn around and run to the cabinet, yanking out the knife that the fiery haired one threw. I put my back to the corner to keep them in my line of sight.
“I won’t go back!” I scream while holding the tip of the blade to my carotid artery. “I’ll die free before I let you take me back!”
My hand is steady, my words strong with conviction. I’ll never be captive to those monsters again. The razor sharp blade pierces my skin and a trickle of blood flows slowly down my neck.
The one whose knife I hold slowly approaches. I notice for the first time that his eyes shine like morning sunlight. He holds his hands out in front of him, his pierced brows pinched together in concern. “Don’t do anything rash, Guine. None of us will hurt you. We’re not what you think.”
My eyes dart over to the dark haired vampire, challenging his statement.
“Okay, Doc’s a vamp, but he’s not one of those bastards. He’s a hybrid, and was raised by his human mother. He’s one of us, Guine, and just wants to help people.”
I consider them again, and oddly, my instincts scream for me to believe him. “Show me your teeth,” I order.
Listening to my intuition is one thing, but I’m not stupid. They each grin wide, showing me their distinct lack of fangs. Everyone except for ‘Doc’.
“And put your weapons on the table,” I hastily add. “I’ll listen to you, but you have to stay over there without your blades until I believe you.”
Kent nods, and they surprise the hell out of me with their quick acceptance of my terms. My hold tightens on the knife as they each stand one-by-one to disarm themselves. The fiery-haired one goes first. When he walks closer to me, he stands at least a head taller, and though his body is hard with definition, his trim muscles make him lithe. He stacks a ridiculous number of weapons on a nearby table, then moves to stand on the other side of the room.
Next comes the one who stopped my escape, followed by Kent. Weapons fairly fall off the table before they all stand unarmed, far enough away to easy my wariness.
Kent, their apparent leader, smiles. “We’re Hunters,” he nods when I suck in a hissing breath. I thought they were a myth. “We’re members of The Council of Hunters. A secret organization, which trains a select few to chase after rogues who stray from The Charter.”
He pauses, letting his words sink in. Hunters. They track down the ones who break the law. The ones who treat humans like chattel. The Hunters protect humans from them.
Tears burst from my eyes, and I let the knife clatter to the floor.
“You’re real,” I sob. “You’re not just a fairy tale!”
I slide down the wall until I sit on the floor, letting the tears fall as I hug my knees to my chest. The Hunters inch closer. When I don’t flinch, they situate themselves around me. The vampire remains standing, as if unsure of his welcome.
Once I manage to calm my tears, they properly introduce themselves.
“I’m Phoenix,” the one with the sun-glow eyes announces as he sits closest to me.
The name suits him, with the fire burning in his gaze as well as his hair. I spot half a dozen piercings and more probably hide beneath his clothes; his right eyebrow sports two studs, his left eyebrow and bottom lip each have one, and each of his lobes carry a giant earring looping all the way through. I catch the hint
of a tattoo sneaking out from underneath his collar, and my fingers itch to move it aside and examine the rest of the design in detail.
I pull my focus away and turn to the one who stopped my escape. His licorice black hair makes his pale skin almost glow in the flickering flames of the fireplace.
“Hello, I’m Declan.” He winks playfully at me. “I’ll cook for you whenever you’re hungry.”
That brings a smile to my face as I remember the bread and honey. Though, he only spoke briefly, I catch the definite hint of an Irish brogue.
“And my name is Kent.” When my gaze darts to the man who’s obviously in charge, he smiles. “Though you probably already caught that.” An air of knowledge surrounds him, and I hope he has a stash of books somewhere in this cabin for me to borrow. Though he appears to be about my own estimated age of nineteen, he holds himself with a confidence I expect of someone much older. “The one who stalked out earlier is Hawk. He’s a bit hotheaded.”
After the guys make their preliminaries, Doc crouches across from me and holds out his hand. I know it’s at test to see if I believe what they’ve told me. To see if I’ll trust them. I tentatively place my palm in his, and he pulls me to my feet.
“Hiya, there, Kitten.” A soft smile spreads across Doc’s face. He tries to hide his fangs, and I find his effort strangely touching. “I’ve never been to medical school because of my non-human status, Guine, but I’ve been trained by some of the best doctors, and am probably more well-read than anyone I’ve ever met. Would you let me examine your wounds?”
I hesitate, but his trying to make me comfortable helps. Standing beside him, I realize he’s the shortest of the lot, but still at least five or six inches taller than me.
“Sure, Doc.” I offer a wobbly smile. He grimaces and I wonder what I did wrong.
“They call me Doc because I hate it, Guine. I’m not some stupid dwarf from a kid’s movie. Please call me Genji.”
He looks like he’s waiting for me to make fun of him too, but I know better. “Okay, Genji. I know how important a name is,” I murmur softly.