by S. Young
All except Fionn.
Instead, she’d defied her own laws to turn him into the thing he hated most so she could keep him.
But he’d outwitted her and used Eirik to return.
To go home … to Aoibhinn.
The pain that had once been so intense it was crippling was now just a flicker in his gut.
“We’re considering killing her anyway,” Layton had said, pulling Fionn from his memories.
He had flicked a glance at Liza and Lori, Layton’s sisters. They’d shared a displeased look.
Clearly Layton was being a little too liberal with the contraction “we’re.”
“Killing her for what?” Fionn had asked blandly. “You were mistaken. She’s a wolf. A mated one at that.”
“But was she always a wolf? The pack says so. They say Conall sensed his mate in Europe and went off to find her and bring her into their fold,” he’d sneered. “But evidence suggests otherwise. A wolf couldn’t kill Eirik Mortensen.” Layton had leaned toward him. “If you’d just confirm whether Jerrik’s writings were true, we’d know if she was lying.”
Layton referred to Eirik’s brother, Jerrik. Where Eirik left Faerie over two thousand years ago, as enraged by their behavior and interference in the human world as Fionn had been, Jerrik was mated to a fae. Not just any fae—the equivalent of a fucking princess. He wanted back into Faerie for his mate. Eirik wanted to make sure that gate never opened again.
That’s where his and Fionn’s path had diverged.
But considering Eirik had killed Jerrik to protect the human world, Fionn had been very cautious about starting anything but a cold war with the vampire.
It was thanks to Jerrik’s tales of Faerie that the Blackwoods started investigating the druid legends surrounding Fionn’s curse. From there, they’d worked tirelessly to free Fionn. That resented gratitude was the only thing that had stayed his hand against the coven for almost three centuries. But Layton Blackwood could push an immortal’s patience to its limits. That was quite a feat.
Fionn had stared dispassionately at the Blackwood son. Layton was young. Hotheaded. Unlike his father, Nate, who was intelligent and patient. Nate Blackwood had declared Thea MacLennan off-limits now that she was mated to the alpha and no longer viable as a key to Faerie.
“If you kill Thea, you start a war with Conall MacLennan,” Fionn had told the boy. This should’ve been obvious.
“We’re the most powerful coven in the world.” Layton had shrugged arrogantly. “We can take out one alpha.”
Jesus Christ, the boy was a moron. Fionn had flicked a look at his sisters who stared at their brother in open distaste. It was a pity they were younger than Layton. The hierarchy within the coven was age and power. Layton, unfortunately, was the eldest, and the most powerful among his siblings.
But he was a political ticking time bomb.
“If you kill Conall, you start a war with his pack. And did you not just tell me he’s forged an alliance with Pack Silverton?” Pack Silverton was the largest North American pack, led by Alpha Peter Canid. An important ally for MacLennan. “MacLennan is one of the most powerful alphas in the world. Wolves came from all over to take control of his pack upon his father’s death.” Every supernatural who knew anything about the politics of their world knew of Conall. Pack MacLennan was small, but they owned several businesses, including a lucrative whisky distillery, and were wealthy. Conall had famously taken down every wolf that had challenged him. “Packs around the world practically revere the wolf. You take him out with no acceptable reason, you’ll find yourselves at war with nearly every pack in the fucking world, boy.”
Layton stiffened. “I’m not a boy.”
“Then stop acting like one. You lost, Blackwood. Accept it and move on.” Fionn had stood. “As I will.”
“You refuse to help us at every turn. I don’t know why my father allows you to live.”
Uncaring of the humans who sat at the bar with their backs to them, Fionn had used a source of magic only fae could. Travel. One moment he stood on the other side of the table, the next he had Layton by the throat, pinned to the adjacent wall.
Magic had sparked at his back as his sisters prepared to fight.
Fionn had snarled in Layton’s horrified face. “Your father does not allow me to live.” He had leaned in as Layton gasped for breath. “I allow your coven to exist because I owe that debt. But do not think you can push me, boy.”
The magic at his back amplified and without even looking at the sisters, he concentrated on a pressure point on their necks. The carotid sinus. He sent out strong fingers of energy that hit both sisters there; it caused them to pass out instantly.
Layton had wheezed in outrage.
“They’re still alive,” Fionn had assured him, lowering him to the ground. “That was merely a warning … that you need a lesson in diplomacy.”
Fionn still felt agitated every time he thought on the encounter. It bothered him not just a little that the dangerous fucker would one day be head of the coven.
“The Blackwoods wouldn’t dare interfere with Thea MacLennan after our encounter in Inverness,” Fionn said to Bran.
“No, it’s not the Blackwoods. But you asked me to let you know if there was any unusual activity there. Thea and Conall have left on a honeymoon.”
A honeymoon.
Wolves didn’t celebrate honeymoons.
“Where did they go?”
“They got on a flight to Paris yesterday.”
“Connect the dots for me, Bran. It’s what I pay you for.”
“Already done it. Eirik was killed in Norway at the home of Vik Balstad. It took me a while but I hacked Balstad’s computer. The man is a fucking genius and I want to meet him because only the best, i.e., myself, could get past the security measures on his system. I mean, he had this—”
“Point, Bran. Get there.”
“Right. Okay, well, I found a few of his aliases. One of them popped up in Paris. He’s renting an apartment there.”
Fionn suspected Vik Balstad, a vampire with known affiliations with Eirik’s movement to stop the gate opening, had led Eirik to Thea and Conall. “Could be a coincidence. Or … revenge.”
Fuck. Why couldn’t the woman and her mate settle down in Scotland like normal wolves and stay out of this damn business?
“It’s not our problem,” Fionn huffed. “If they want to fuck up their lives with this shit, let them, as long as they stay out of my way. Anything else?”
“Nothing for now. Whichmeansyou’regoingtohanguponmebeforeIcansaygood—”
Fionn hung up on him.
He slumped back against the sofa. Wide awake but weary.
Not physically weary.
Although he grew tired after days of no sleep, he was never weary in his muscles and bones like he had been centuries ago after days of battle.
He missed that sensation.
He almost forgot what it felt like to lie his exhausted body down in furs after the physical exertion of war.
Yet Fionn was weary in the mind. He’d been planning for this moment for almost three centuries.
Now he was more than ready for it to be done.
3
As the bass thudded through the club like a heartbeat, Rose rubbed her fingers against her temple and ignored the clamor of calls from the club goers who wanted a drink from the bar.
She was done here.
Zagreb was a beautiful city. It had an interesting history, great architecture, a good vibe, and the people were friendly. But it was like a flip had switched inside her after the encounter with that strange girl and her brother the night before.
Suddenly the music in the club was too loud, the hundreds of bodies claustrophobic, and their never-ending desire for alcohol irritating. Rose just wanted peace and quiet. Somewhere to lay her head so she could think straight.
Where to go from here?
Someone nudged her hard, and she looked up to see Josip frowning at her. He pointed to the
waiting customers without saying a word. Rose sighed. There wasn’t much time left on her shift. The club was closing soon. She could finish up.
And then she’d finish up for good.
Mind whirring as she fixed a cocktail for a customer, it took a moment for the creeping sensation down her spine to take hold. She stiffened.
Someone was watching her.
Okay, she knew there was a crowd at the bar probably watching her, waiting their turn for drinks, but that wasn’t what she felt.
Someone was hunting her.
An inexplicable ominous feeling settled over her. A sudden dread in her gut.
Rose lowered the bottle of gin in her hand back onto the shelf as her heart raced hard and fast.
A memory slammed into her of one of the worst things that had ever happened to her. College. Freshman year. Her roommate had invited her to a fraternity house party. Halfway through the night, after downing shots that had no effect on her since she had an almost inhuman ability to hold her alcohol, Rose had felt it.
The sudden dread.
The creeping feeling of crawling flesh, as if someone wasn’t just watching her but hunting her. She’d thrown off the feeling as absurd. Until she’d climbed the stairs to the second floor of the frat house to find an empty bathroom and someone had attacked her from behind.
He’d covered her mouth with his hand as he’d hauled her into a dark bedroom.
Unfortunately, her attacker had thought she was drunk. He’d also underestimated her strength because of her slight build.
Rose was strong.
Exceptionally strong.
As he’d pinned her arms to the bed with one hand while he shoved his hand up her skirt with the other, Rose had unleashed that strength upon him. She’d yanked her arms free of his hold and shoved her hands against his body.
He’d flown across the room, crashing against the wall.
A still figure lying on the floor.
Fear had propelled her out of that room without even checking his identity.
Not that it mattered.
It was all over campus the next day that Judd Grant, a sophomore in the fraternity house, was dead. He’d died of a heart attack. Unusual for someone so young, yes. Not impossible.
The mystery had been the hole in his bedroom wall.
Rose’s hands shook at the memory. She’d told herself over and over for years that his death was not at her hands. Adrenaline had bolstered her strength that night. The heart attack was, however, just nature. A defect lying in wait.
And she wouldn’t feel guilty about it.
The boy was a would-be rapist.
What if he’d already raped other girls?
The trauma he’d possibly inflicted or intended to inflict was surely a factor in negating her guilt. All Rose had done was protect herself.
Now that feeling … that feeling of being hunted was back.
Turning, Rose searched the crowd around the bar. Faces blurred into faces, none of them standing out.
You’re being ridiculous.
Her eyes locked with a stranger’s, and her disquiet intensified.
The dark-haired stranger’s gaze sharpened on her. A smirk curled the upper corner of his mouth.
And then he just slipped away from the bar.
Disappearing into the crowd.
The crawling sensation abated but not the awful feeling in her gut.
Yes, it was definitely time to leave Zagreb.
Rose shook herself, willing her heart to calm, as she returned to mixing the cocktail. There wasn’t much of her savings left. Enough to get her to the next place and then she was out of funds unless she got a great-paying job. Maybe she should put that degree in marketing to good use and find a job that would allow her to save cash for the next time she wanted to move on.
The problem was any employer would look at her résumé and see someone who couldn’t settle down in one place for too long, and that was not an attractive quality in an employee.
Finally, the deejay announced the last track of the night and once it was over, Rose saw Ivan and two other security guards ushering the clubbers out. Ivan didn’t look her way at all.
He hadn’t all night.
When she’d passed him to take her break in the staff room, he’d given her a nod but invited no more interaction. Rose didn’t care. It was just an awkward reminder of why she slept with guys the night before she left town so she wouldn’t have to deal with them trying to ghost her.
Or vice versa.
And Rose was definitely ghosting Ivan.
Having slept with all kinds of men—short, tall, stocky, lean, athletic, nonathletic, plain, good-looking, and something in between—Rose had drawn some conclusions. The better-looking the guy in a traditional sense, the more selfish the lover. She imagined these guys thought they didn’t have to work for it. She’d even gotten the sense from one or two that they thought she should be grateful for their attention.
More and more, Rose had found herself drawn to guys who were attractive in a nontraditional way. Masculine, rugged, charming.
Ivan was all three.
She’d expected the comfort she’d been looking for last night. To be taken care of in bed before taking care of him in return.
Unfortunately, Ivan had slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am’ed her and didn’t seem to care if she reached satisfaction or not.
She hadn’t.
It was probably time to take a sabbatical from men. What had been fun, casual sex was becoming depressing. The encounters were growing increasingly disappointing and empty.
Rose looked up from the glasses she was cleaning to see Josip and Kali, her two colleagues for the evening, disappearing behind the Staff Only door.
Seeing the dirty glasses they’d left, she cursed them under her breath and set to cleaning up. Twenty minutes later, Rose was alone in the cavernous club, the bar cleaned and ready for use the next night.
Usually she’d be pissed at getting left to deal with the cleanup herself, but Rose was feeling relieved that it was her last night in the bar. She’d leave a note for her boss, Marko, whom she rarely saw anyway, to let him know she’d moved on.
Yet, where to go, where to go?
Wherever it was, the time was now. The empty club was feeling like a great place for someone to stage an attack.
Rose huffed, chastising herself for acting like a scaredy-cat, but it didn’t stop her from moving quickly. Once she’d collected her stuff and left a note on an old envelope in Marko’s office, Rose said good night to Noa, the security guard who was locking up.
“’Night, Rose.” He gave her a knowing grin, leering at her.
Ivan had talked.
She threw Noa a glower and turned left down the nearly empty street. The club was in Old Town, as was her apartment above the bakery. It was only a ten-minute walk north in the upper area of Old Town, yet as Rose left the club behind, she felt a crawling sensation down the back of her neck and spine again.
Shit.
She flicked a wary look over her shoulder but saw no one.
Heart racing, stomach roiling, she picked up her pace.
As Rose passed the familiar stores in the eerie stillness of the early morning, relief began to build. She was closing in on her apartment. She was almost there. When she got back to her apartment, she would give herself a good talking-to for letting the weird interaction with those siblings get to her. They’d made her jumpy for sure.
And that’s when it happened.
He came out of nowhere.
No footsteps at her back to warn her.
Strong arms, like metal vises, bound around her, and then the world blurred into dark. Burning pain scored down her shoulder from her neck, and she gasped. Confusion had slowed her but the pain sharpened her focus.
She was in an alley.
Pinned against the brick wall of a building. It smelled of trash and urine.
A man’s head buried against her neck. Her arms caged against the wall by his h
ands.
Rose pushed against him as the gnawing sensation on her neck grew unbearable—
He lifted his head in a gasp and moonlight revealed him.
The man from the club tonight who had been staring at her.
Hunting her.
His eyes reflected pure, unnatural silver in the moonlight.
Blood smeared his chin and coated his fangs.
Fangs.
Disbelief and horror paralyzed Rose.
No …
He couldn’t be …
There was no such fucking thing.
He stared at her in wonder. “What are you?” he hissed through blood-soaked, long incisors.
Rose felt the blood pumping out of her body and knew he’d hit an artery. She didn’t have much time. If any.
She could stand there, disbelieving, refusing to accept the utter weirdness of the world and her eventual death … or she could fight this motherfucking vampire!
Vampire.
Something inside her, something primal, took over.
The pain receded as Rose snapped against the vampire’s hold with such force, he stumbled away from her. She used that momentum, lifting her right knee to slam her foot into his gut with all the strength inside her.
He flew and smacked against the opposite wall with a sickening thud of his skull.
Unlike Judd, however, he just shook his head and lifted it, preternatural silver eyes glowing in the dark as he bared his teeth and unleashed an animalistic growl. Then he was on her, a blur through the night that took her to the cold ground with so much force, her skull slammed into the concrete.
It was the kind of hit to the head that surely would’ve knocked out someone else, Rose thought vaguely as she blinked, stunned. Yet she had no time to think on this, and not because the vampire was on her again, his teeth piercing the flesh on the other side of her neck.
But because something else was happening to her.
A golden shimmer danced across her vision as this weight, this unbelievably heavy weight that she hadn’t even been aware of, seemed to lift from her body.