“I know that when you woke up in that clinic, you fought against your father to free the woman who saved your life, and I know that for just the briefest of moments, there in your father’s office when he told you his plans, you were as horrified as I was. You’re a fair person, Vivianne, and you know that what your father is proposing is anything but fair.”
She stared at him for a moment. She’d never felt so naked, so vulnerable, in all of her life—not even when Rafe Woodland attacked her. For the first time she realized just how much Zane Wilder had seen and heard, how much he’d witnessed, and how much of a threat he was to her. He knew too much. Nobody knew that much about her. She was supposed to be tough, ruthless, and he knew it was a facade. He’d seen her worry and double-guess her sanity. He’d seen her afraid of losing her mind. He’d seen her do the twist. She had to claw back some of that dignity, some of that power.
She shoved him, panic giving her strength, and he flew across the mouth of the cave to crash into the rock wall. He landed on his feet, though, poised and balanced. Almost as though he’d expected the move.
She flashed her eyes and revealed her fangs. “You think you know me, Zane, but you have no idea how much your breed has cost me and my family, or what I think is fair when it comes to dealing with the lycans.” She held up a finger. “From now on, you look after your kind, and I’ll look after mine.”
She took a running jump out of the mouth of the cave, arms out by her side as she landed in the snow thirty feet below. She glanced up at the cave. Zane walked to the edge and gazed down the cliff face to where she now stood.
His lips were moving, and she had to strain to hear him.
“You are my kind.”
She shook her head. His kind—his kind had babies and referred to non-bloodkin as family, and made her heart ache with a glimpse into a forbidden desire for something she could never have and shouldn’t want.
She took off running, gritting her teeth as she plowed through the deep snow, her eyes on the horizon. She was a vampire, and she belonged in the night.
* * *
Zane rubbed his stomach. Damn. Despite the big meal he’d finished less than an hour ago, he felt like there was nothing in there, and the stomach acid was eating through his gut lining. On top of that, he could hear his pulse in his ears. It had taken him a while to figure out what the noise was, but in the four days since he’d awoken in that mortuary cave, the sound had become quite intrusive.
“Are you sure about this, Zane?”
Zane glanced up at his guardian prime. Nate and the small team of elite guardians stood peering over a massive map rolled out onto a desk. Samantha was putting J.J. down for his nap inside a cot, and she looked over her shoulder at him. Dietrich and Marjorie glanced up from their spot by the fireplace. They were all in the alpha prime’s private den.
Zane nodded. “I’m sure.”
“It’s bear territory.” Nate folded his arms, frowning. “Why would they sell?” All breeds valued territory, and it was very rare to relinquish land, particularly across breed. It made more sense to charge a toll if people needed to cross it, or to lease it, and have an ongoing income.
“I don’t know if they are,” Samantha said as she stepped back to the table. “At least, not publicly.”
“It borders Alpine, some of Woodland and it even shares a common border down there in the southwest corner with ClawRunners.” Nate traced the area with his finger.
Dietrich snorted. “I hate panthers.”
“My point is,” Nate said, tapping the surface of the map, “apart from the tiniest section here, where it meets Nightwing in that point, there are no other vampire colonies—no neighboring allies, they’re all shifter breeds. There is limited water, it’s not exactly hospitable and it leads nowhere. Why does he want it?”
“It’s close to the East-West Trail,” Zane said, pointing. “From what he said, Marchetta believes there’s enough wolf movement through this area for this purchase to make sense.” He glanced up at Nate. “We have to stop him. My earliest memories of waking up in that clinic is hearing the screams of the others. I don’t quite know what sick crap that guy was doing, but it wasn’t good. I don’t want him doing it to any more lycans.”
Nate nodded. “Yeah, Dave mentioned something. He was able to free about a dozen of them, but they scattered. Dave didn’t try to stop them, though.”
Zane nodded. His memories were getting sharper, clearer. Dave Carter had the reputation for picking his battles, and nobody could quite figure out the rhyme or reason for his selection. He was fairly easygoing, though—until you crossed whatever line it was he’d decided to define. “He probably thought if they wanted to run, let them.”
Nate nodded. “That’s almost word for word what he said.”
Zane scratched his arm. He was itchy. No, maybe not itchy—twitchy, more like. “What the hell is Marchetta’s problem with the werewolves, anyway?”
Samantha shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think it was a little before my time.”
Dietrich shrugged. “He’s a bloodsucker. He’ll find any excuse to fight us werewolves.”
Zane shook his head, frowning. “No, this is more than just your average hatefest on the lycans. This man is going to considerable expense and effort.” His eyes narrowed as Dietrich looked away. “You know.”
Dietrich shrugged, and Marjorie sighed.
“It’s not like it’s a secret, Dietrich,” she said.
“There’s no use dredging that old news up now,” the elder muttered.
Zane glanced at Nate, whose eyebrows rose. “If you have information that could help us understand, perhaps even defend, I’m interested to hear it, Dietrich,” the guardian prime stated.
Dietrich scowled, and Marjorie gave him an encouraging nod. “Oh, fine, but nothing was ever proven, so I don’t like talking about it.”
“I understand,” Nate said.
Zane leaned against the wall, waiting. He had to hear this. If it gave him any insight into Vincent Marchetta, to Vivianne, he wanted all the information he could get his hands on.
“Marchetta’s wife died in a fire on the pier.”
Zane gaped. “The Ballroom Blaze?” It was almost an urban legend, it had happened so long ago. Nate grimaced. “Oh.”
“Ballroom Blaze?” Warwick asked, frowning. “Someone want to fill the rest of us in?”
Dietrich leaned back in his chair. “It’d be close to fifty years ago now. There was some fancy-schmancy event for the vamps, they were all doing some sort of fund-raising—can’t remember what for. A blaze started in the ballroom. All the ground floor doors were chained shut, so the vampires trapped inside had two choices. They could perish in the fire or jump from one of the upper level windows into Harmony Bay.”
“Salt water,” Zane said quietly.
Warwick winced. “Damn. I almost feel bad for the bastards.”
“They never caught who did it, but ever since then the vampires believed it was lycans who set the fire and blocked the exits.”
Zane rubbed his forehead. Vivianne’s comments the other night, about lycans costing her and her family too much, and the other remarks she’d made about werewolves and their contribution to the hate between the two breeds, was all beginning to make sense now.
She’d lost her mother—in what could only be described as a horrific situation. He hadn’t realized.
That knowledge, though, made him admire her just a little bit more, made him feel a little more humble. Despite what had been done to her mother, and the belief that lycans were responsible, despite what had been done to her by Rafe Woodland, she’d still traveled into werewolf territory—by herself. She’d faced down a pack—by herself, and then she’d reunited his spirit form with his physical form. She was pretty damn amazing.
But was she also prepared to kill werewolves in some twisted plot created b
y her father?
A tiny little patter caught his attention, and he tilted his head. What was that? He glanced at the others. They didn’t seem to be troubled by the sound. He tried to focus on the conversation as the guardians, the elders and their prime discussed alternative options, but that pitter-patter noise kept distracting him.
He drifted away from the table, inclining his head, then ambled across the room, the sound getting slowly louder, more distracting. Almost in syncopation, his own heart started beating along with it, until he found himself gazing down at little J.J., asleep in his crib. Zane’s lips lifted as the baby boy’s hands relaxed, opening, palm up like a cupped blossom on the crib’s mattress. He bent over and placed his finger in the baby’s hand, and his smile broadened as the little fingers curled around his. He couldn’t help noting the disparity in size. The baby’s fingers couldn’t close their grip, so tiny was the boy’s hands. His gaze drifted up to the boy’s face, but halted when he saw the pulse fluttering in J.J.’s collarbone.
There. A swift, strong little pitter-patter as the boy’s heart pushed his blood through his body. Zane’s mouth went dry, and his vision turned red, as though a blood haze covered his pupils. He blinked, and his vision cleared. Zane frowned. Weird. He went to turn away, but that pulsing flutter at the base of the boy’s neck caught his attention again, and this time his gut cramped. His vision turned red, and the scent of life, warmth—it hit him hard in his solar plexus. Who knew vibrancy had a scent.
His teeth ached, and he could feel something shifting in his gums. Oh, God. Pain. Hot, searing pain lanced through his gums as something beneath the skin shifted, pierced it, and he doubled over as his gut clenched again. He wanted—No, he needed—He shook his head.
No.
He sucked in a breath, and J.J.’s scent flooded him, enticed him. God, what was happening to him? It was so damned painful...sickening. The things he wanted to do. He glanced surreptitiously at the group by the table. Marjorie had her gray hair pulled up into a neat bun, and he saw the flesh of her neck. He wanted to bite—no, not bite, feed.
Oh, God.
“Zane? Are you all right?” Samantha’s voice was soft with concern as she called to him gently.
He shielded his face from her gaze, rubbing his temple as though he had a headache. “I think I need a break,” he said, then turned and walked for the door.
“Do you want me to come wi—”
“No,” Zane interrupted Nate’s offer with a bitten off word and hustled his butt out of the room. He jogged down the tunnels, switching back and forth, until he could burst into his own den.
He doubled over in pain and staggered through to his bathroom. He wanted, no, needed something. He scratched at his arms. It felt like fire ants were crawling under his skin, and then he halted when he caught sight of himself in his mirror.
His eyes were bloodred and glowing, and his teeth—his teeth. His incisors were longer, sharper... He wasn’t supposed to do that unless he transformed into his beast’s form, and yet here his teeth were, all pointed and fangy.
Just like he’d seen Vivianne’s go when she was on a hunt.
Zane’s eyes widened as he twisted his head from side to side, peering closely at his reflection.
Hell. He was turning vamp.
Chapter 11
Vivianne signed the contract, and handed it back to Mike with a smile, then turned towards her director guardians. “We now own the North Fork of the Kingfisher River,” she told them. “Let’s invite River Pack in for a chat and show them the plans for a dam and power station. I’m feeling the need to branch out into capital works.”
“They’ll think we’re bluffing,” John informed her. His expression was stony as he glared at her. The man was still upset about her killing him, apparently. She sighed. It wasn’t like it was a permanent state. Still, the guy was pissed, and she needed to sell this concept to him so he could sell it to those who mattered.
“Why would they think that?” she asked calmly. She flexed her right hand. Her fingers tingled. She’d had that a lot, recently. A tingling that flared up in random areas of her body. She frowned. She might need to visit the Galen brothers again—but this time she’d be ready for any of Hunter Galen’s mind-blanking woo-woo stuff.
“A dam? Come on,” John said, frowning. “Those things are damned expensive to build.”
Vivianne nodded. “True. But I think it will be worth it.”
“It’s a little tit for tat, though, don’t you think?”
She tilted her head. “Not at all. They control the transport down the river through their section. The fact that we’re operating up-river, and that our dam may affect their transport hub is just business. They can’t run a river trade if there’s no river to trade on.”
“But there will be a river to trade on,” John pointed out. “Reform won’t pass a dam.”
Vivianne smiled. “We are looking at creating a public works project that will a, provide a benefit to the people of Irondell, as well as some of the outlying areas, and b, will generate employment for our colony, as well as the community in general, along with an income by way of selling power. It delivers on the criteria required for re-zoning. It fits the default parameters for capital works. This has the potential of netting us millions, if not billions of dollars in the long run. Actually, I’m surprised we haven’t looked at doing this before.”
She shook her hand. Damn. Pins and needles, all over it.
John slowly nodded. “Okay,” he admitted. “I can see the benefits of the arrangement.”
She beamed. “Great. Share it with River Pack. I want flyers, posters, etc. I want this everywhere, and I want everyone talking about it.”
“It’s going to affect a lot of people,” John warned. “You’ll get pushback from many sources.”
Vivianne shrugged. “That’s not new.”
No. What was new was that she was giving her PR Director a story to run with, without telling him the truth of the matter. She had no intention of building a dam. Are you kidding? Those things cost a fortune to build and manage, and with the Reform Senate making various decisions on spending, there was no way they would approve a major infrastructure investment like this. But John didn’t need to know that. Neither did River Pack. But this could get River Pack to open up the river transport to them, again.
“I’ll schedule a meeting with River Pack,” she said, leaning forward to write a note in her diary. There was a barely audible crack, and her middle finger twitched. No, not twitched. It broke and realigned itself. Her eyes widened as she saw the not-so-normal bend to it.
Perspiration beaded on her brow as her pain receptors reluctantly kicked in.
Yowch. What the hell? Her lips parted, and it took every ounce of control not to scream in pain. She had to go somewhere, fix this. Damn, it hurt so much.
“Uh, that concludes this meeting—”
Oh, dear mother of God. All her fingers cracked, twisting in on themselves, and she hissed at the excruciating pain. John frowned.
“Are you okay, Vivianne?”
Oh, hell, not now. She didn’t need weird crap going on in front of this group of people, in front of John, who would use any issue in yet another attempt to cast doubt on her leadership.
“Fine,” she said, smiling calmly, praying he wouldn’t notice the perspiration dotting her brow and upper lip. God, her hand hurt. “But we all have work to do,” she said.
Tingling, like thousands of tiny piranha nibbling at her hand, made her glance down. Her eyes widened when she saw the hair growing out of her skin.
She slapped her book closed around her hand, then stood abruptly. “Right. You all know what you need to do. See you next week.”
She bustled out of the meeting room, then almost ran to the elevators. She dialed up Harris on her cell phone. “Bring the car around,” she said, then peered anxiously d
own at her hand. “Oh, God.” Hair, lots of ha—no, fur covered the back of her palm, and her fingers were twisted into an unnatural shape, scrunching over in a way that looked unnatural. And painful. Blood drained from her face. Holy heck, what was going on?
The elevator doors opened directly into the parking garage, and Harris was right there, engine running.
“Home,” she ordered, then almost dived into the back seat. She pressed the button to engage the screen between the front and back seats, then stared in horror as her hand seemed to fold in on itself, looking suspiciously like—her jaw dropped. A paw?
* * *
Two nights after the discussion in the alpha’s den, Zane eyed the lynx in the moonlight as he hunkered down low behind a boulder in his wolf form. He ignored the snow covering his paws, his attention focused on his prey. He sniffed the air. The lynx was pure animal, not a shifter. A gust of chilled night air blew over him, ruffling the fur on his back. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation of his fur lifting in the breeze, as though someone had combed his coat against the natural fall of hair. His eyes opened again, and this time the snowy landscape had a red glow to it. He loved hunting in the moonlight, but for some reason, tonight was even more enjoyable. His senses were sharper. He could smell more keenly, catching the lynx’s scent from a remarkable distance. Hearing, taste—hell, he could almost taste the lynx on his tongue each time he inhaled.
The lynx halted, ears twitching, as though finally sensing the danger stalking him.
Zane’s muscles bunched, and he leaped from behind the boulder, snarling as he attacked his prey. The lynx tried to run, tried to fight, but a blood craze swept over Zane, his growls coming out of his throat low and harsh as he ripped with tooth and claw. The lynx struggled, but Zane’s jaw snapped over the lynx’s throat, and the warm blood burst onto his tongue, the flavor so strong, so thrilling. Almost immediately, the blood hummed through his own veins. Life. This is what it tasted like. He drank it, consumed it, feeling the sensation wash over him, as though someone was taking a static charge of electricity and rolled it over him, his fur standing on end.
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