Fatal Harmony (The Vein Chronicles Book 1)

by Anne Malcom

  Thorne’s throaty voice carried through the air even as I left the bar behind, walking at human speed down the street.

  “Get him to a fuckin’ hospital now, and figure out what the fuck is goin’ on in the city tonight,” he growled before his aura followed mine.

  I didn’t quicken my pace, though I didn’t revel in having a confrontation in Brooklyn, of all places, wearing a man’s shirt covered in blood after I’d gouged his friend’s eye out.

  Not the best situation to have the first conversation with the slayer you’d finally done the dirty with.

  To be fair, his friend started the gouging.

  Thorne caught up with me just as I got to my car, which thankfully wasn’t up on bricks as this neighborhood would’ve had me believe.

  He spun me around, at his hand at my neck in what would have been a whirl of motion for him. For me it happened slow enough to stop it. If I’d wanted to. But in the craziness of the past twenty-four hours, when I’d touched the grave and seen the eyes of my very dead lover, I craved the electric heat of his touch, even if it was his hand circled around my neck.

  His eyes bore into mine, capturing me in their orbit and yanking me into the world of his fury and lust and concern. His emotions coated my body like a second skin.

  My foreign blood both reveled and revolted with his touch, my nerve endings alight with urges to possess his mouth in a brutal kiss or snap his neck as an age-old instinct dredged up in blood urged me to do.

  I stayed stock-still as his boots rested at either side of my heels, his body brushing mine as he pushed me into my car. My collarbone protested in pain as cool steel laid upon it in a dormant threat.

  “Every single rule and lesson I’ve learned in my years fighting your kind screams at me to use this right now,” he murmured, his voice a razor through my protests.

  He pressed the steel in harder, the blade vibrating with his magic. It didn’t break the skin, but I felt a craving for more of the pain to mingle with the pleasure of his touch, of his fury. I leaned into the blade.

  His eyes flared at my small movement. “The men in there”—he nodded in the direction of the bar—“they haven’t even tasted the bitter honey that is your lips, or felt the soft ridges of your peaches-and-cream skin, yet they’re questioning it too.”. His words should have been soft, but the underlying fury made the edges jagged and harsh. “You’re making them question every single thing they’ve learned. They’ve attached to their identity. And those questions are dangerous. Fatal.”

  “The truth always is,” I replied. “The fairy tales you’ve taken as gospel paint such convenient heroes and villains. I’ve made all that obsolete and painted people like No Neck as the villain when they’re hell-bent on being the hero, willing to do whatever it takes to be one.”

  “You just drew blood from one of my men,” he hissed. “I’m honor bound to take your life.” The pressure of the knife increased further still, taunting me with its power. Then it clattered to the ground, and the hands that had encircled my neck with violence cradled it in a rough caress that rode the line between tender and brutal. A harmonious mix of the two.

  His eyes were silver flames. “But all I can think about is you wearin’ another man’s shirt, covered in blood, and the haunted look behind your eyes that show me death has touched you tonight,” he growled, pressing his forehead against mine.

  I blinked at him, but for all the sarcastic remarks I could come up with in the midst of certain death, I had nothing to give him. Silence was a gift from me, and it was only his.

  “What happened?” he rasped. “Who came close enough to take you from this earth when I don’t have a grip on you that’s tight enough for comfort? When I still can’t breathe easy without tasting your scent on the air?” he growled.

  “It’s a long story,” I breathed.

  His eyes searched my face. “Yeah, and you’ll tell it to me… after.”

  His lips descended on mine with a brutality that mirrored the violence of the night, the only difference being the tenderness that stopped the assault from becoming deadly.

  Yet it still was.

  Because he yanked back and, even though I knew it was for the best, that his merry team of slayers or one of Dante’s friends could catch us at any moment, I wanted more. I wanted him despite what discovery meant.

  I’d escaped demise countless times by fighting tooth and nail, yet I welcomed it with Thorne.

  His hands at my neck once more showed me he possessed more self-preservation.

  “Keys,” he ordered.

  I nodded to the driver’s seat.

  He glanced to the interior of my car. “You left your fuckin’ keys in the ignition?”

  I found my tongue. “I had better things to worry about than finding a valet,” I shot back.

  His lips thinned at the reminder. “Get in the car, Isla.” His voice was steel, and even though I’d most likely rip the tongue out of any other man, human or vampire, who tried to order me around, I complied.

  The second my ass was in the seat, he screeched out into the night, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whitened. I could sense his blood, taste it almost. It drew me in with its allure as it had the night I’d woken up after the mansion. It wasn’t thirst, as my belly was full of blood which I didn’t rightly understand. It was something else. Something that didn’t understand that giving into that craving was certain death.

  “You want to educate me on what’s happened that’s torn this city apart tonight?” Thorne gritted out while he wove through traffic with ease.

  I glanced at his arms, the muscles straining from the grip on the steering wheel. It was only then that I registered the scent of foreign blood atop his skin. It stained his arms and knuckles, the stark white showing grazes I’d somehow missed before.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, my voice low, feeling an irrational urge to spill more blood.

  “You didn’t hear?”

  “It’s been a busy evening. I didn’t have time to catch the evening news.”

  “There was an attack on a concert tonight in Lower Manhattan. Werewolves.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Was a fuckin’ bloodbath. Got Lewis over there along with some higher-ups talkin’ about an extremist shooter.”

  I scoffed. “Yes, that’ll do wonders for the hate-filled wars your kind have already torn this world with. Blame it on the scapegoat.”

  His glare roasted my skin and I welcomed it. Ice had yet to recede from the edges of my psyche. It seemed it was always there, unless I was with him.

  “And what’s the alternative? Educate them on the fact that werewolves and vampires are warring in the streets and human causalities mean nothing to them as they stomp over them like flies?”

  I glanced at my bloodstained nails. “Well that’s not exactly the words I’d use,” I muttered.

  He slammed his fist down on the steering wheel. “Isla, this is serious!” he roared, the weight of his fury filling the car. “You almost killed one of my men tonight. Not to mention all the shit that’s making the air taste bitter, like there’s blood on the horizon, and you’re firmly in your little world of denial, intent on making everything a joke.”

  I whipped my head to face him, shoving back the curtain of red that was my hair, but the curtain of rage remained. “I know!” I screamed back. “I’m well aware of how serious this is, considering I’ve been nearer to death these past weeks than I have this past century. I’m aware of how serious it is because I just witnessed an entire faction of vampires break the most sacred rule that governs our kind and try to blow most of the ruling families off the face of the earth. I know because they almost fucking succeeded. And because I was close enough to that blast to smell the roasting of my own flesh as it peeled off. I know because most likely the same assholes who killed all of those humans tonight, who did that”—I glared at his bruised skin—“to you, are likely the same creatures who plunged a copper dagger into my chest so deep that I tasted the
chill of the grave and saw… him,” I hissed. “And because they’re responsible for me almost embracing it. Instead, I’ve found myself in the middle of a war that may be the end of life as I know it and confronted by an attack on one of the gentlest vampires I know.”

  I gave him a contempt-filled look. “Oxymoron for you, I know, but that doesn’t make it less true. I had to see him tasting the same death I’d chewed on tonight, merely because he wanted to help me rid the world of humans who tainted the world with their presence. He was trying to be good, despite what your publicity machine spits out and shoves down your throat to tell you otherwise. And he is good. The best. So on top of the stellar fucking evening I’ve had, I had to watch him go through that pain because your friend is infinitely more cruel than a vampire who now will be crippled for life when he’s already shunned for being a half breed and a good person.” I leaned forward. “I didn’t hesitate in searching for my revenge, and I don’t regret it, not for a second. What I don’t understand is why I kept him breathing. Because of you. You robbed that from me because all I could think of was that gaze you treated me to the moment you walked through that door. I didn’t want you to see me as a monster, when in reality that’s all you’ll ever see me as anyway.”

  Once I’d cut open the wound and poured my heart out, I felt tempted to suck in a ragged breath and cut through the bitter silence that followed my epic word vomit.

  I wanted to look away from Thorne’s penetrating gaze, to escape how the air seemed to vibrate. Heck, I considered throwing myself from the car, but he slowed down and whipped through a side street to park in an abandoned lot, still on a dark New York night.

  Before I could make my escape, Thorne’s hands were at my hips, yanking me across the car so I straddled him.

  His shirt rode up and I ground my bare flesh against his jeans, mingling with the blood he’d spilled.

  He gripped my neck. “Not once since I first saw you have I ever considered you a monster,” he hissed. “A sorceress, perhaps, for the spell you’ve woven over me.” His eyes roved over my face like he was consuming it. “If that’s what it is, I hope never to get free of it.”

  He pulled my hair so my neck was exposed and laid his mouth on the cool skin, grazing it with his teeth. I cried out and ground against him, ripping at his jeans to get him free.

  In a brutal blur of motion, we were no longer separate, his fire filling me with ecstasy. I wasn’t gentle, nor did I abide by human speed as I pounded down onto him. He wasn’t gentle either, gripping my neck and yanking at my hair as he met me, thrust for thrust.

  No words were spoken. We were little more than animals, craving the only thing that made sense, that wasn’t trying to kill us.

  Each other.

  Though even that might turn out to be the most fatal of them all.

  I went straight for the whiskey bottle as we entered my apartment, filling my glass to the brim. Thorne didn’t say a word as he disappeared down the hall. I didn’t follow him, deciding to drain my drink and watch the skyline. I heard the opening and closing of my fridge and fizz of a beer bottle being opened.

  He padded back into the room, taking a pull of his beer, regarding me. Electricity was whipping between us like a downed power line in the middle of the room, the fevered lovemaking on the side of the road cementing something forbidden and wrong between us, combining with all of the things that needed to be said. To be explained.

  “Whose shirt?” he asked, glancing at the stained fabric in distaste.

  I raised a brow. “After everything that happened tonight, that’s the question you’re asking?”

  No verbal answer, just a stiff nod.

  “Don’t you think it’s more important to address the fact that we’re on the brink of war, your team may or may not want me dead and both of us have signed our death warrants by the mere act of being together and not killing each other?”

  Thorne’s eyes didn’t leave mine as he crossed the room, setting his beer down on the bar before taking the empty tumbler from my hands. He did both things with gentleness and deliberate slowness, a stark contrast to him ripping the shirt’s buttons off and yanking it down my arms so it tumbled to the floor.

  “Nope,” he clipped. “Out of all of that, my main concern is, first and foremost, you. I’ll be ending those who spilled your blood, but that’s for later. For now, I need to know why my woman is clothed in another man’s shirt and is completely naked underneath.” His calloused hands traced over my chest, the exact spot that that been opened earlier that night, then trailed between my breasts in a featherlight touch, circling my bellybutton and exploring the ridges of my hips.

  I gazed at him through hooded lashes. “My dress got ruined,” I said by explanation. “And I wasn’t exactly in control of the changing into the shirt.”

  The air flickered as my words registered. “You weren’t in control?” Thorne repeated, his voice velvet.

  “No. Well, of putting the shirt on, but taking off the dress, no. I was kind of… busy being unconscious.”

  His body stiffened. “Unconscious?” he repeated.

  I smiled uneasily at his reaction. “Boy, you can taste the alpha rage in the air. Be careful, I might choke on it,” I teased.

  He gripped my arms tight enough to bruise if I wasn’t hopped up on Rick’s wacky bloody. “Isla,” he warned. “You’re dancin’ around this shit and treating how close you were to death like it’s a comedy show.”

  I scowled at him. “And how else am I supposed to treat it? I’m alive. Or undead. Healed and fine. Am I supposed to brood about the fact that I almost died, like you have. Focusing on almost is fatal, you know,” I informed him. “Plus, we’ve got, like, a thousand other pressing matters.”

  He yanked me to him. “Yeah, much to my utter displeasure,” he murmured. “Even if my team find a way to get right with you attacking a member of our own, the council is gonna need retribution, and Erik will be after blood.”

  I smiled. “Who isn’t?”

  He glowered at me. “How the fuck am I meant to bring the case of me and you to the council if you keep doin’ shit that’s gonna make them want to kill you?” he all but roared.

  “They’re going to have to take a number, unfortunately,” I said, then stilled. “Bring the matter of me and you to the council?” I repeated.

  His hands flexed at my arms. “Yeah,” he answered like it was obvious.

  “And why in heaven’s name would you do such a thing?” I hissed, yanking out of his arms. I needed distance for this. And booze. I swiped the bottle.

  “Because,” he clipped, letting me go, “my team is already guessin’ that me and you enjoy more than a professional relationship, and although I trust them with my life, I’m not going to trust them with yours.” His heat kissed my back, and my hair left the nape of my neck to be replaced by his mouth. “Plus, I’m not givin’ you up, not for a good long while. And while you might be used to slinking in the shadows, I want to enjoy the sunshine with you.”

  Beautiful words. Romantic words. Pity they were a crock of shit. I whirled on him.

  “You’re delusional,” I stated. “You think you can just tell a council that’s been set in its ways for millennia that you’re banging the enemy and they’ll just be like, ‘okay, cool’? No. That’s not how this works. You’re young, still bright-eyed despite all your broodiness and alpha-ness. Whatever this”—I gestured between us—“is, it’s not enough to break a war that’s been simmering for thousands of years gone by and most likely thousands of years to come. And however intent you are on keeping me alive, I’m going to do the same for you.” My eyes burned into him. “And trust me, I’ll go to great lengths to ensure that. And if you even consider telling your little council about us, you’ll never see me again.”

  “Whatever ‘this is’,” he parroted, “is worth starting a thousand wars for, Isla.”

  His body turned to marble and cracks split up the beer bottle he’d resumed drinking from during my tirade. �
�And I don’t do well with threats,” he bit out. “Especially when they involve you running.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don’t do threats. I make promises,” I replied, my voice cold. “And I don’t run. Not from anything.”

  He stepped forward. “And you won’t run from me,” he declared. “From this. From us. Because if you do, I’ll find you. And you won’t like what happens when I do.”

  The threat lingered between us and I gazed into the resolve in his eyes, realizing I was fucked.

  “Well, someone’s been a naughty girl,” a thick brogue declared.

  Thorne whirled round, sending his beer shattering to the floor as he pulled his knife out, crouching in front of me in the time it took for Duncan to walk over to my bar and pour himself a drink.

  He regarded Thorne and his knife casually. “A slayer, Isla? I’m impressed.”

  I put my hand on Thorne’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Down, boy. Duncan’s not going to kill you,” I said, though I wasn’t so sure.

  Duncan lifted his brow as he sipped his drink. “Aren’t I?” he asked. “Well, I guess you’re right. I’m at least going to wait until I get the lowdown on this particular situation and how you’ve managed to show yourself to a slayer and a king all in one night,” he said, moving to recline on the sofa, crossing his ankles.

  I tried to dart forward, but Thorne, who’d lowered his knife but hadn’t sheathed it, grabbed me. “Don’t sit your bloody suit all over my new sofa,” I hissed.

  Duncan smiled. “Don’t worry, this stuff is dry. Fresh blood has yet to be spilled.”

  I could have detached myself easily but Thorne whipped us around, covering my naked body with his. In one movement, he’d taken off his leather jacket and covered me with it.

  I glared at Thorne.

  He glared back.

  “Don’t worry, mate, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I’ve seen it this very night, in fact.” He winked at Thorne. “She gets around, you see.”