by Talyn Scott
After standing, he dropped his pants, cupping his heavy sack with a purely masculine smile. “You broke our agreement.” He toed off the machine, the whirling balls stopping instantly. The stillness spurred on a different orgasm, one she didn’t see coming. “Ah.”
“Say my name.”
“Um!”
“Say it and I will try to restrain.”
“Fuck.” She bowed, nearly snapping her spine due to her constraints. “Gianni.”
Suddenly, his forehead pressed hers, his breath puffing into her face. She knew he was holding his orgasm back. And one thing she remembered. If he didn’t come inside her, there was only one other way he would come outside of her.
In vampiric speed, he glided to her backside. The heat of his stare on her ass, and that’s when the first lash struck.
Chapter Eleven
More Questions Than Answers
“What’s the word?” asked Maestru, his eyes smoky with residual magic.
“Against ancient-inlaid protocol,” Qudir answered, black flames replacing his midnight eyes, “Lovci moved in and out without contacting the Coven.”
“Hmmm.” Maestru drifted back toward the desk, meeting the Vojaks’ curious eyes before settling his sight back on his Vojak leader. “And you’ve spoken with the powers that be at the Dynasty?”
“Twice.” Qudir pushed gloved fingers through his coffee-colored strands, pulling at a chunk. “Our royals deny everything and are not amused by my questioning them.”
“Too bad.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what I said,” was the commander’s reply, “in a more colorful way.”
Sixten stepped through the door, scenting another Habaline Species mix inside the Sanctuary walls. A whirlwind of emotions stormed his body. Not one of them was good. “How are you containing him down here?”
“I have my ways.” Maestru slid his coat off massive shoulders. It landed with a definite thud on the edge of Qudir’s desk.
“Ah, the old salt on a bird’s tail trick.” Sixten wondered why Maestru could not share his secret, but then, Sixten had a few of his own. “I’ve never tried that with a shapeshifter.”
Maestru refused the baiting. “He’s being… interrogated.”
“That explains the screaming,” Sixten quipped, hooking a chair around his ankle and motioning for Kash to sit.
“No.” He shook his head, white flesh peeking from his wounded throat. “I’ll take over our prisoner’s questioning.” He attempted to blur by them, but in his weakened state, Sixten easily caught him. He ass planted his friend, slamming Kash in the awaiting chair while receiving an angry hiss in return. “You cannot be threatening me in the state you’re in.” Six rolled his eyes. “I swear I’m staring straight on at your glandular system. Fascinating. Been checked for mono lately? Those babies look a bit swollen.”
“Nothing a little blood can’t fix after I sharpen my blades on the shifter.”
“Let our visitor wear down a bit. Then we’ll go in, promise him a lovely female to feed from, and play good cop - bad cop. In case you’re wondering” - Sixten lifted his favorite blade from his leathers, scraping it across the palm of his hand - “I’ll be reprising my role as the bad cop.”
“You can’t reprise something you never stopped doing in the first place.”
“Point taken,” Sixten said, returning his ice-greens to Maestru. “Speaking of points, the werewolves have Habaline blades to stop our roaming friends.” He held up his rare blade infused with ore from the Habaline realm and wiggled it between his fingers. “Why haven’t I heard of this?” His was a gift from Rave, and he used it to kill him.
Maestru waited until the screams died down before he answered. “First I’ve heard of it. Explain.”
“We misted in. One popped open Kash.” He motioned to Kash’s throat and continued, “Before pressing a Stavz to my face. Funny how the Beta snuck right up on him using the correct blade to send him back to hell. Curious, you think?”
“More than curious,” Qudir said heatedly. “First those scrolls… or maps, and then this?”
Maestru released an exasperated sigh. “Holding out when we’re working on a common goal is self-defeating.” He lifted his wrist to Kash, giving him a stern look. Without hesitation, Kash hissed over his Coven Master’s vein before sinking his fangs into ancient crimson.
Sixten knew they were all thinking the same thing. The Vojaks had passed out a hard drive from Blythe’s brother they had stupidly shared with the werewolves and now they sat with their thumbs up their own asses. “We have no leverage to negotiate for those blades or for any unknown intel they may have scored from that Scottish raid.” Well, Sixten had information, but that would remain his secret. He was far too smart to throw in an ace he needed to keep squarely in his pocket, especially if one of the werewolves had a particular scroll he was keeping to himself. One Poison claimed he needed. Could it be possible the thing was closer than he realized? After gliding over the river tonight, he thought the impossible might very well be possible. “But if we take a minute to work on that hard drive of Anthony’s, maybe we will come up with unknown intel of our own.”
“I still have mine in the laptop.” Qudir hit the button, pulling up picture after picture. “Have you had time to eyeball your copy, Coven Master?”
Maestru’s hand was on Kash’s head, forcing it down so he would finish feeding. He glanced up, staring at Qudir’s screen. Only half way through mine, kept being interrupted.” Kash tried to lift his head and Maestru tightened his hold. “Commander, start at number thirty-four and work your way up.” Qudir started punching, his hands far faster than anything a human could keep up with, but the pictures moved slowly by vampires’ standards, so they could all take a careful look. “Our only clue is Blythe,” Maestru continued. “She’s three things in this immortal world: a Donor, Sixten’s chosen, and descends from lycanthrope.”
“Not just any lycanthrope, but the Beta’s bloodline,” Qudir interjected, sending a sad glance Sixten’s way. “She descends from strength, remember that.”
Kash’s head snapped up, releasing his Master. His eyes met Sixten. And even though he could never read his friend’s thoughts, they churned so loudly, there was no mistaking them. Rage. His pure, unadulterated rage at the thought of Blythe at the mercy of other males sought to destroy. Then, Sixten could see his possessiveness, his aching torture over the moments he had with his Blythe – the love they shared. Moments Kash never had with her. The room scented with raw jealousy, an inner pain Kash could no longer restrain. Sixten shook his head, he couldn’t deal with this now. Kash glided up, snapping his mouth closed, trying to contain his temper. Still, no words passed between them.
“Are you challenging Sixten?” Maestru said quietly, since it was no secret what he had overheard earlier. “Don’t be hasty,” he advised. “It’s been another long night for everyone here.”
“She’s fucking gone!” He yelled, kicking the chair against the wall. “Have you ever witnessed a territorial fight when the female in question wasn’t even there?”
“There’s the male,” Qudir piped in, pointing to the screen as if it were every day at the office where vampires demolished furniture and bared fangs. “You said you had seen Arian’s brothers, at least, the ones in our area. Is he a match?”
Kash took another look at Sixten before focusing on the screen. “Shit, I don’t know his name, but he’s definitely the Doc’s brother-n-law.” Kash rolled his shoulders. “Frequently, I see him hanging out downtown with Bane.”
“So why haven’t the werewolves mentioned this?” Qudir asked.
“You can’t tell me they haven’t studied their copies,” Sixten said. “They’re trying to one-up us again, withholding intel, no matter how small.”
“Let’s go back over this,” Qudir said pensively, now leaning back in his desk chair. “Blythe’s on here. The male werewolf on here is connected to her through…Bane, but that’s not really a blood connection for anyone. If sh
e’s a Ruyter, she’s nowhere near a Norwegian royal. So the only connection is simply werewolf, but she’s not even a Pack member. It’s another question unanswered. As far as this male is concerned, why is he the only one pictured amongst a group of all females?”
“He’s on a plane headed for Norway,” Oycher said, walking in wearing dried blood. “I had a discrete chat with Dru Holt after he fed, waiting for his largest wounds to close before he left with the Beta. He already knew about the hard drive, but not the specific pics. I printed out the male’s pic, had it with me to question Dru. He said two of Arian’s brothers flew out of Fort Myers Field tonight with his wife Renee. One is Rune and one named Terje. Dru says they stay out of trouble, but they are partiers the same as any Were younglings, mostly just screwing around with the ladies on the island. Rune is a dark blonde. The other resembles Arian more, nearly white-headed.” He moved closer, nodding at the screen. “Terge.”
“Was Bane listening in?”
“Nah, he was on the phone the whole time, dishing out the Beta’s directives. Dru’s never tipped off Vojak business, he doesn’t want to get caught in any crosshairs, but I promised him I would keep him abreast when we figure this out. Besides, that kid is headed to his homeland. Those Norwegian royals are well protected, their security hangs tight.” Oycher dropped his coat, pulling his bloodied shirt off afterwards. “If he’s in any danger whatsoever, he’s good for now.”
“Still, maybe we should tip off the Beta,” Kash said warily.
“Leverage,” snapped Sixten, “we need an advantage for any impending negotiations.”
“What about the Lovci?” Oycher asked Qudir. “I never received any paperwork for clearance. They hunted our area without permission.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sixten lost his mind.
“Hunters here?” Kash looked devastated.
“You told me you would alert me to any hunters in the area!” Sixten raised a be-clawed finger at Maestru, remembering the Coven Master’s promise to hide Blythe. Though it made no difference in the end, since shapeshifters got to her first.
Maestru sighed, ignoring his claw. “I was going to tell you when we had more to work from. Qudir and I were discussing it just moments ago. Soldiers are looking through all the airport’s records as we speak, and from what we’ve pulled together so far, we think Lovci were in the area. After I arrived, following up on Dru’s phone call, I pinpointed several places of their scent around the airport myself.”
“And although I can’t bet on it,” Oycher interjected, looking directly at Sixten, “I think I caught a whiff of Blythe there, as well. A remnant of a scent I could place with no other, one mixed with yours.”
“Oh, God,” he whispered, drawing in a slow painful breath. They had made love for hours before she was taken. Her scent would have been coupled with his. “Get on the Dynasty, Maestru; tell them someone has made a horrible mistake.”
“You think I wasted any time?” Maestru popped his brows. “I have Qudir all over it. So far they’re denying having any Lovci in the area.”
“Denying it?” Sixten sputtered. “I am not so naive to think all monarchs and their property are honor abiding vampires. Hell, I don’t know any honor abiding vampires. But why would they pull something like this? Why wouldn’t they obtain clearance from the Coven? The Dynasty needs Donors to survive. Obviously, we want the Dynasty to survive or the Species become extinct. So we give them a simple clearance and they hunt locally. Big deal. What’s the…” he stumbled on his words, turning back to Maestru. He recalled the first real conversation he’d had with Maestru in years, one which took place in a bathroom at Six Feet Under. “You…called me back to America because the Vojaks needed me to take over negotiations with the Habalines. You said the Dynasty was in trouble because their Donors were disappearing. Their losses were taking all extra time away from your regular duties. And you needed your full attention on the matter.” The Dynasty was the quintessential backbone of their race and the Donors were necessary to feed them. Unknowns recently snatched quite a few of those exceptionally rare humans who fed the Dynasty Empire, though the Dynasty was insistent their abductors were Habalines. “So we have two possibilities.”
“At least two,” Maestru agreed with a genuine look of disgust. “It’s not a far stretch to say Donors are being abducted by rogue hunters. That’s one of the angles I’m now working from,” he admitted, “one of many.”
“What if,” Sixten added, trying to stay calm while thinking about it, “they’re not going rogue at all, but still working under the guise of hunting for the monarchy, stashing a Donor here and there to line their pockets?”
“Yeah, Six,” Qudir offered solemnly, looking up from his laptop, “I smell slave traders all over this.”
“Blood slaves?” Kash clasped his oversized palm over his forehead as though he were willing the thought away. A warrior who normally relied on superior strength given by his birthright was finally buckling. “Blythe as a blood slave…could be far worse than Habalines keeping her.” Meaning, Habaline mixed breeds were volatile, easily snapped over nothing, and one would eventually lose it and kill her fairly quickly. Whereas, if Blythe were a blood slave, she would live through infinite hell until her body gave out from needing a blood exchange. And God help her if they figure out how to prolong her life.
“We haven’t enough soldiers to make a dent in the slave trade,” Qudir owned up to what they were all thinking.
Sixten watched the pieces moving on his mental chessboard without a clue where to make his move. Who really has you Blythe? Would he have to rely on an unreliable creature such as Poison? “As far back as I can remember my mother’s family kept blood slaves.” Yet he had no connections to those sordid, underworld dealers. As opposed to centuries ago, modern vampire society greatly changed viewpoints over blood slaves. Thankfully, most of the younger generations steered clear of their ancestors’ more sinister habits and desires. Still, just as it happened in human society, there were deviants lurking everywhere. And when a born predator - a vampire, took what they should not, those with mostly human genetics, such as Blythe, had no physical power whatsoever to fight back.
“Six,” Oycher asked the apparent, “what ancients haven’t had blood slaves?”
“Yeah, Rave always told me the vampires used humans for cattle.” Sixten forced his claws to retract, thinking of his mother and her powerful family put him in a red haze every time. Why did she breed with a pure blood Habaline, producing him? A powerful male was Sixten’s father. According to Poison, he finally wanted to meet his half-breed bastard. I’m centuries old and now he wants to meet me. Sixten found it curious that he wanted to see him only after he killed his Habaline brother. Retribution was undoubtedly his agenda. He figured his dear ole’ dad could wait forever and a day, since he had better things to do such as reuniting with his Blythe.
“Well, in his own way, your brother was a wrangler, Six.” Oycher said angrily, “a sick one.”
Sixten turned his head toward Oycher. “Yeah, I killed him. Point?”
Oycher shrugged, gritting his teeth.
“Nobody likes a pissy vampire, Oycher,” Sixten growled.
“I’m older than any of you,” Maestru spoke over them, still watching the headshots rolling on Qudir’s laptop. “I’ve seen centuries of change follow years of human oppression. The hardest thing for Species to overcome was to treat humans as…well, not equals but maybe with a sense of respect.”
“They’re hardly respected by our kind,” Kash put in. “The werewolves treat them far better than we do, even loving them on occasion.”
Maestru made a disapproving sound. “You’re a warrior who protects humans every day, drawing a distinct line between our kind and humans, kicking back those who try to cross it.” He motioned for Qudir to back up, studying a female.
“If we were doing enough,” Kash snapped back, quickly forgetting he was addressing his Master. “Then slave traders wouldn’t exist.”
Whether placed in seedy clubs or inside posh homes of overly rich and sinister vampires, blood slaves were the fuel for underworld nightmares. No one seemed to turn that kind of money away. The risks did not outweigh the rewards.
“There are human slave traders as well.” Maestru’s jaw clenched, a tick forming. “Instead of blood slaves, they peddle pleasure slaves. Monsters are among us, Kash. Never forget monsters are also among them. And I will never stop what I helped start so long ago.” He glanced away from the screen, looking at each of them sternly. “And the Vampyr Vojaks will always make a difference. All of you have a significant purpose in your lives.” His eyes stopped on Kash, narrowing. “How many others can say that? How many others can claim to make a difference?” He pulled back, settling against the wall, crossing his arms. “Unlike other Coven Masters, I fight when I can, joining you as brothers-n-arms do. When I am not here, I’m running the Coven – not an easy job.” His dark head tilted thoughtfully. “Can you guess what I’m doing when not on those tasks?”
Not one of them answered, but they had a good idea.
“No? Daily, I’m backing the Vojaks before a Dynasty Empire who wants to shut them down.” He reached up, rubbing his hand across his whiskered jaw. “Maybe you don’t listen to rumors, but they only want warriors protecting our kind and their Donors’ asses. And that heat’s kicked up recently, simmering under our feet.”
“The Dynasty seems to think we’re not playing on the same team,” Qudir agreed.
“Because were usually not,” Maestru muttered, turning back to the computer screen. “Kash, besides this hard drive, you said you found thousands stashed away at Anthony’s makeshift house here on Captiva. Anything else?”
“I would have if the shifters hadn’t punched through. When we went back, they’d wiped out everything. We were lucky to get the drive.”