by Roh Morgon
It was difficult enough keeping my cover from being blown with the slavers. Now I have to deal with the Queen’s agents as well. Definitely not part of the plan.
Nicolas had sent him to Europe eighteen years earlier to infiltrate the human trafficking markets, specifically the organizations operating as fronts for the Chosen bloodslave trade. Colin had worked his way up the hierarchy in each of their major cities, installing agents and gathering the information necessary to shut down the entire blood trade. Paris was the last one.
He thought back to the early days when he first arrived in Moscow. Although Nicolas had tried to prepare him, Colin’s shock at the barbarism practiced by the European Chosen had nearly made him hightail it back to the States. He’d since learned that most lineages scattered around the world viewed humans as nothing more than cattle, maintaining the secret of Chosen existence with highly placed human bloodslaves and Chosen Elders in corporations and governments worldwide.
Sometimes I wish I was back in Colorado, pretending to be just a lowly Chosen peon hanging out at the club.
But then the monsters would eventually take over the world, and he could not sit by and let that happen.
Colin hopped aboard another train and worked his way down the aisle. Realizing the only empty seat meant sitting between two attractive young women, he elected to stand. The hunger, already roused by his tension, grew more demanding. The scent of human blood pumping beneath the skin of the surrounding passengers stoked it further, and Colin decided to get off at the next stop, wherever it was.
His gaze drifted to the young women again and their long, soft throats. He swallowed.
That’s what I get for waiting an extra night to visit Jeanette.
His young assistant had gradually become more than that, and now was both donor and lover. He didn’t take from her very often, though the scent of her blood drove him crazy. Colin had seen the long-term effects on the donors who frequented Nicolas’ clubs. He cared for her too much to risk the wasting that resulted from excessive use.
But tonight he would savor her essence, because it might be their last night together.
The train stopped and Colin hurried up to the street level. Several blocks later, he ducked into a neighborhood bar and cut through the crowd and out the back door. As he made his way along the alley, he spotted the retracted ladder of a fire escape. He leapt up and grabbed it, then climbed to the roof. He traveled across the rooftops, leaping from building to building, until he reached his target. A sharp yank opened the locked roof-level door. Colin slipped inside.
Standing before Jeanette’s apartment door, he hesitated.
Damn Katarina. That witch has ruined everything. I’ll be lucky to make it out of this alive. Don’t know if I should run or stay. But one thing’s for sure—Jeanette’s got to get out. Tomorrow.
Colin sighed and shoved away thoughts of the argument she would start and her resulting tears when he stood firm in his decision for her to leave.
We can at least enjoy one more night together before I break the news to her.
Guilt over his selfishness sent his fist hammering on the door harder than he intended. When she opened it, he realized he stared at her through a crimson haze.
“Colin!” Her hand flew to her mouth and she shrunk back, her eyes widening.
He spun away and leaned into the doorframe as he brought himself under control. A gentle touch on his shoulder tempered his anger, dissolving it beneath the crushing weight of regret.
“Jeanette. I’m . . . I’m sorry.” He opened his eyes to cleared vision, straightened, and faced the one human in the world he trusted with his life.
~ * ~
Colin regarded the dark-haired woman sleeping in his arms and pulled the bedcovers up over her bare shoulder. He resisted the urge to stroke her cheek, to run his fingers across those full lips, so innocent, yet so inviting.
He wondered, and not for the first time, if he was falling in love with her. Though he and the other Chosen of Nicolas’ lineage treated their donors with care and respect, Chosen bore a natural aversion to emotional involvement with humans. Interspecies affairs were not as common as the myths and stories led one to believe.
But she’s been the only bright spot in this dark hellhole.
Jeanette had started last year as his assistant in the export business Colin managed as part of his cover. She was intelligent and observant, more than he’d realized, and it didn’t take her long to figure out that his business wasn’t really exporting trade goods.
It also didn’t take her long to figure out he wasn’t really human, a fact hammered home the night she stopped by the office and found him beaten and shot and in desperate need for blood.
He’d been walking through a Paris back alley, pre-occupied with a snag in the Warsaw operation. His focus had slipped, allowing his true aura marking him as an Unbound to leak through and he was spotted by one of Gilles’ patrols. With the typical Chosen hatred for anyone outside their own lineage, they attacked and he’d taken several bullets in the ensuing fight before eliminating all six Chosen. He’d barely managed to make it back to the office.
Immersed in debilitating pain and the healing hunger, he’d come close to accidentally killing Jeanette that night. But she’d stood by him since, protecting his secrets. Her transition from donor to lover had evolved naturally.
Her gentle breathing was a balm to his soul, and a fresh desire crept through him as he watched her sleep. But he’d taken enough of her blood tonight, perhaps even more than he should have, and he resisted its siren call to that which ran within his veins.
“Jeanette. Wake up, hon,” he said quietly.
She stirred. Her dark brown eyes opened and she yawned. Colin eased out from beneath her and onto the floor.
“Jeanette. We need to talk.”
She sat up with a sleepy-eyed smile and stretched.
“About what, mon cœur?”
The sight of her naked body robbed him of all thought and he took a step back toward the bed, then closed his eyes and firmly shook his head.
No. Need to stay focused.
Colin took a deep breath and met her curious gaze.
“About you leaving.”
“What? What do you mean, leaving?” Jeanette flung back the covers and slipped out of bed. She stood there frowning, her fists on her hips.
Colin fought another surge of desire for both her body and her blood, and turned away to find his pants. “You need to leave the country—”
“I need to leave the country? What about you? Are you not coming with me?”
“No, I’m not. I must stay, at least for a little longer.” He avoided looking at her again, despising the hurt and tears he knew he’d see on her face, and concentrated on getting dressed.
“But why do I need to leave?”
“Because things have changed and you may be in danger.”
“It can’t be that bad—”
“It is that bad. In fact, it’s worse than bad. It’s a damn nightmare.” He normally refrained from cursing around her, but frustration and the need to make Jeanette understand the gravity of the situation overrode his usual courtesy.
Colin glanced over at her. The tears he’d expected hovered in her eyes. He crossed the room and gently gripping her shoulders, kissed her forehead.
“I need you to do this for me. I need you to be safe and out of my enemies’ reach.” He shifted back so he could see how she handled his next request. “I also need you to carry a message to my contact in the States.”
They’d never spoken about his other business, the one hidden behind his export company. Colin had elected to keep Jeanette as far from the intrigues of The Game as possible.
Her brown eyes shone as they searched his. He had no idea how trustworthy the mercurial gaze of a Chosen appeared to a human—it had been well over a century since he’d viewed the world through human eyes, and much of that time was long forgotten.
Apparently satisfied, Jeanette
nodded.
“Whatever you need me to do, Colin. I know you wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
A sudden rush of affection swept through him, and he pulled her into his arms. After a long moment, he reluctantly let go and stepped back.
“You’ll need to travel light. A carry-on and no more. I’m sorry.” He surveyed the room, noting her artwork and antique doll collection and other bits of her life here in France.
“It’s all right. It’s nothing.” But he saw her lip quiver as his words sunk in.
“Don’t worry. The company will pay your lease until it’s safe enough to come back.” He reached out and touched her hair. “But right now, you need to get dressed and pack. It’ll be morning soon, and you should report to the office like you would any other day. I’ll meet you there in the afternoon, and by tomorrow evening, you should be on your way to the States.”
Jeanette nodded, and he leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. The need to protect his donor underscored his care for her, and he wondered how any Chosen could ever abuse the humans upon whom they depended for so much.
Guilt tugged at him for not telling Jeanette everything. For not telling her that the small amount of his blood he’d been slipping into her cognac for months made her healthier than normal, or that it elicited pleasure for her rather than pain when he fed.
And for not telling her it created a symbiotic bond that compelled her to protect him at any cost, even if that cost were her life. He watched her walk to the closet and, shaking his head at his duplicity, left the apartment.
MONDAY
~ Chapter 3 ~
Katarina heard Lars’ heavy tread outside in the hallway and the ensuing argument with her guards, followed by the inevitable knock on her office door. She slammed her desk drawer. He knew to wait for her summons—she’d trained him better than this.
Poor dumb brute probably didn’t know what to make of last night’s events in the Gameroom.
Her blood running in Lars’ veins must have seemed like it was at war as she fought to keep Gilles’s twisted emotions from dominating her. Though she’d enjoyed her share of the scarlet spoils, Gilles’ blood within her had battered her throughout the evening. She’d resisted giving in to his ecstasies, and had soon grown disgusted with his persistent need to wallow in the gore of his victims.
The knock repeated at her door, shifting her thoughts back to her more immediate problem.
Lars had woken several hours earlier. His confusion and impatience stirred within her, but his emotions were barely perceptible, and she’d managed to block them while reviewing the monthly warehouse reports.
I’m surprised I can feel him at all. But Gilles, that prick, is an expert— he left me just enough of my own blood, Lars’ blood, to keep the bond from breaking completely. I’m sure he’s saving that until he has us together, which could be anytime now. I can’t put this off any longer.
She sighed, closed her laptop, and leaned back in her chair. Pressing her lips tight, she reached beneath her desk and pushed the button signaling the guards.
The door opened. A Chosen guard came into the office and gave her an apologetic bow. “My Queen.”
“Let him in, then wait outside. Oh, and you may need reinforcements.”
He nodded, pivoted on his heel, and left the room. Several seconds later, the door opened again and Lars strode in. His uncombed blond hair and disheveled clothing mirrored his emotions inside her.
At six-nine, the big Norwegian was one of the largest Chosen in their lineage. She’d been delighted when Gilles gave him to her, suggesting the ruggedly handsome youth might have more uses than just a simple bodyguard. But bonding was a far cry from the idle bloodplay to which Gilles had alluded, knowing her appetites all too well. She’d given in to the temptation.
A union with the low-status Lars allowed her the physical gratification of bonding without the power struggle usually accompanying a match between more equal Chosen. She knew once she tired of her plaything, he’d be unable to interfere as she slowly severed the bond, which would minimize her pain, though likely not his.
Her mistake was underestimating Gilles’ awareness of her activities.
Damn you, Gilles. You outplayed me.
It had been decades since her mate had shown any interest in her. Though subject to an occasional pang of loneliness, she’d been quite happy living in London, far from the constant turmoil of the King’s Paris court—until he’d sent for her to make the trip to the States.
“Rina! What happened last night? I—”
Katarina glared at Lars and curled her lip. He stopped and opened his mouth as though to say more, then snapped his jaw shut. His massive fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
She studied his big frame and the well-developed muscles covering it, recalling long nights with her robust lover and her amusement at his worship of her. She suspected her much smaller mate had chosen Lars specifically for his size, knowing she’d enjoy the novelty of bloodplay with such a large male, and would likely grow attached to him. Gilles would revel in her suffering when he took her toy from her.
But I’m not giving that pig the satisfaction.
She said nothing as she rose to her feet.
“Rina?” Lars asked again, his voice now tinged with alarm. His knuckles whitened. Katarina stared through him, ignoring the pull of his fear deep within her. She pressed the button underneath her desk and a few seconds later two Chosen guards entered her office, followed by two more.
Lars half-turned as they came in. He whipped back around to face her, panic twisting his features. “No!”
She gave a sharp nod to the guards and they grabbed Lars’s arms before he could react. Though he dwarfed them, he was younger and weaker, and unable to shrug out of their grasps.
“Rina! What have I done? I love you! Don’t—”
“Silence!” she hissed.
Katarina strolled around the desk and approached her lover. She caressed his throat, ignoring the pained confusion in his eyes.
We had such fun together. You were practically undrainable, you big brute, and so easy to control, like having my own personal giant puppet. But all good things must end.
Lowering her hand, she stepped back and gestured with her chin. The guards hauled the struggling Lars toward the rear of the room.
“No! You can’t mean this!”
Ignoring his outcries, Katarina walked past them to the back wall and pressed a button mounted near the corner. The wood paneling slid apart to reveal an eight-foot wide, floor-to-ceiling recess. The interior lit automatically, and the wall-mounted shackles inside gleamed dully in the harsh light.
The guards muscled Lars into the recess and his struggle intensified, his words fading into grunts as he tried to break free. Katarina heard the shackles click into place and dismissed the guards with a disdainful glance. As the door shut, she crossed her arms and stared at the swords.
“Rina, what did I do wrong? Tell me, I beg of you. Let me fix it.”
His pathetic attempts to win a reprieve irritated her. She didn’t owe him anything, especially an explanation. She was his Queen. But when she allowed her gaze to drift to the big Norwegian, a flicker of regret stabbed her.
It’s no use. Gilles has all but signed your death sentence.
Pressing her lips tight, she stepped past Lars into the recess and opened a cabinet door. His musky scent penetrated the emotional barrier she’d built between them in the hours since she’d re-bonded with Gilles. It tugged at the tiny fragments of Lars’s blood still buried in her tissues, and her mouth filled with the taste of her lover’s despair. Her own blood responded, both the remnants in her cells and that which ran within Lars’s own veins.
Katarina steeled herself against the protest ringing through her and reached for the duct tape.
“Rina! No—”
His cry abruptly ended, stifled beneath a strip of grey tape. Bloodtears filled his eyes and flowed down his cheeks, running over th
e tape to drip from his chin.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered, suddenly unable to bear the hurt and betrayal shining from them.
Lars whimpered, his expression pleading. She tore off another strip, held it up, and waited. She looked into his blue eyes one last time and shook her head.
This is for your own good. And mine.
All fight left him. His huge form sagged in the restraints, and he slowly lowered his eyelids. Katarina pressed the tape in place over his blood-rimmed eyes. Doing her best to block his anguish prickling throughout her body, she pulled an IV tube from its hook within the cabinet, then double-checked the connections before turning to the young Chosen. Remorse tightened her throat as she plunged the large-gauge needle attached to the tube into the vein of his inner elbow.
His muffled shriek made her wince and her pity fragmented beneath surging resentment.
How dare you make this more difficult than it already is!
Katarina flipped the switch on the vacuum pump and watched Lars’s blood race through the tube and into an oversized plasma bag. As the bag swelled with the crimson fluid, Lars writhed in the shackles and his howls burst through the tape.
His essence woven throughout Katarina’s tissues erupted into fiery pain. She gripped the wall beside her, panting at the waves of flame passing through her. Though only an echo of what Lars experienced, it nonetheless began to take its toll on her and she fought to remain on her feet.
A taste of the darkness enveloping Lars told her it was nearly over, then the torment abruptly ceased as he lost consciousness. The straining pump shook her from her stupor and, exhaling, she opened her eyes. She ignored the limp body hanging beside her and switched off the pump.
That wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared. But the worst isn’t over yet.
She touched the filled plasma bag.
“Well, my love. You will live on, after a fashion. I’ll think of you every time I speak with the Prime Minister. He’ll enjoy the cognac I’m sending him, as he always does, and our blood in it will ensure his continued cooperation.”