Wolf Undaunted

by Shannon Curtis

  “You had a childhood, then?” He hadn’t considered that she hadn’t been a vampire all of her life.

  She nodded. “It’s pretty rare to be a vamp from birth. Vampire women can’t spawn life, so most that are born are a half-breed vampire.”

  “How did you...turn?” He was curious to understand why this woman, who seemed so vivacious, so vibrant, would prefer immortality as the walking dead, rather than life. He felt her shoulders stiffen, and reflexively he rubbed along her neck and shoulders until he felt the muscles relax again.

  “My father turned us.”

  Zane’s eyebrow rose. “How did that conversation go? How does a father convince his family to die with him?”

  Vivianne was silent for a long while, and he almost thought she’d fallen asleep, when she finally responded. “We didn’t really talk about it.”

  Zane frowned. “What do you mean? You all just agreed?”

  Vivianne leaned forward, separating herself from him as she turned to look at him—or rather, turned to look at his shoulder. She didn’t quite meet his gaze. “I mean there was no discussion—at least, not with Lucien or myself. He talked about it with Mom, and she loved him so much, she would have done anything for him.”

  He straightened away from the tree. “But—you have to die to become a vampire. Did he—did your father kill you, and then...what?”

  She grimaced. “Poison. He and Mom made a beautiful dinner, and then Lucien and I died from the poison he slipped into our food.”

  Zane blanched in horror. “He poisoned you? And you had no idea what was coming?” When he was thirteen years old, he’d eaten some toxic berries, and if it hadn’t been for his lycan metabolism, he would have died. As it was, it had been a very painful, frightening experience to feel like you were dying.

  “Tell me it was at least quick and painless.”

  Her gaze shifted. “We were dead by morning. He fed us his blood that following night, and then we revived.” He noticed she didn’t comment on the pain aspect. Dead by morning. That was hours after dinner—which could feel like eons if you were writhing in pain.

  Holy crap. He rose to his feet, stunned, and took a few steps away from her. “Your father killed you. That’s not love, Vivianne, that’s murder.”

  She rolled to her feet. “You don’t understand. He was turned, and when he realized he would live forever—without us—it nearly broke him. He turned us because he loved us.”

  “But what about you, Vivianne? Did you want to be vampire?”

  She gave him a dry look. “I’m over nine hundred years old, Zane. What I wanted this is moot.”

  He shook his head. “It’s never moot. How old were you when you turned? Twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “What did you want for you, Vivianne? You had your life stolen away by that prick—”

  “That prick happens to be my father, so take care with how you talk about him,” she hissed. She shook out her foot, as though she had pins and needles.

  “He stopped being your father the day a vampire turned him into a monster.”

  She gaped at him, and he almost apologized, but the words stuck in his throat. No. What her father did, with her mother’s approval, was unconscionable. This was the guy who wanted to conduct medical experiments on lycans. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the depths the man would sink to, but to learn he’d killed both of his children, in what seemed like a painful manner, was saddening. He almost felt sympathy for Lucien, too. Almost.

  “How is my father different to yours?” Vivianne argued, stepping toward him, her features tight with anger. “You were taught to hunt, to kill—you lycans are so damn self-righteous when it comes to us vampires, and you’re really not any better.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Seriously? My father taught me to hunt, to kill—as a way of survival. He never wanted to change me, turn me into something I wasn’t. He never wanted to end my life.” He stalked up to her. How could she not see what she was robbed of? How could she defend the man who’d taken her very life, and who now thought nothing of murdering werewolves in an endeavor to wipe them out?

  “Did you want to be a vampire? Or did you want something different? Kids? Family?” He remembered how she was with J.J., that tender expression, that hint of envy, and thought he had his answer.

  “I have family, regardless of whether you think it meets your definition,” Vivianne snapped, then started to stomp down the trail. “I don’t see what any of this has to do with learning to shif—”

  She cried out in pain, stumbling, as her tibia snapped. He caught her as she fell.

  “Easy” he murmured. He winced as he heard the bone crack again, and she whimpered. His heart twisted at the sound of her pain. He lifted her into his arms, cradling her as he sat down on his jacket. She leaned her forehead against his, and he could feel her tremble. He leaned down and unzipped her boot, sliding it off her foot.

  “Ohmigod,” she wheezed, and she lurched in his arms as her leg buckled and bent. “Make it stop, make it stop,” she chanted. He stroked her cheek.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said softly, quickly.

  “No, no, this is not okay,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Relax. Breathe through it, you’ll need to ride it out.”

  She shook her head, small, tight movements that showed a rigidity that would hurt her beast trying to free itself.

  “You need to relax, Vivianne, let it happen, stop trying to control it.”

  She closed her eyes, and he saw the sheen of perspiration on her brow as she fought for control.

  “Let it free, Vivianne, otherwise you’ll both kill each other trying to win.”

  She flinched when the leg cracked again. She clasped her hands, and he could see the whites of her knuckles as she inwardly battled for control. This wouldn’t do. This wasn’t a bloodthirst that you had to control, this was a beast you had to set free. She was concentrating so fiercely on containing her beast, he could see the bones crack, form, and crack again as the different facets of her new being fought for dominance. He shook his head. This was excruciating to watch, understanding what her inner self was trying to accomplish, and how imprisoned she would feel. The full moon was tomorrow night, and a full body bone crack would be agonizing if she didn’t learn to let go. She had such strong control, though, she needed to be distracted, in order for her inner beast to take center stage.

  So he distracted her the best way he knew how.

  He dipped his head down, and took her lips with his.

  Chapter 15

  Vivianne’s eyes sprung wide open at the delicious pressure against her lips. Instinctively she relaxed her jaw, her mouth opening to receive Zane’s kiss.

  His tongue rubbed against hers, and heat, slow and languorous, unwound within her. It was as though something lived inside her, something that sparked up at the touch of his lips against hers.

  Almost immediately, the searing agony in her leg subsided, and she felt a sweet, warm release from the pain. She raised her arm, the one that was closest to Zane’s chest, and slid it around his broad shoulders, her other hand sliding across the massive width of his muscular torso. She arched into him, and sighed when her breasts rubbed against his chest.

  He moaned softly, his mouth widening against hers, and their kiss deepened. Liquid heat dampened the delta of her thighs, and she sighed as his hands slid around her, his arms bringing her even closer to him, to his heat.

  Sensations bombarded her—so much heat. Colors rippled behind her closed eyelids, and all she could feel, all she could sense, was light, heat and him. He tasted delicious, he smelled divine, but amid all of that, he made her feel safe. Cherished.

  He lifted his head, panting as he gazed down at her. His brown irises were a mesmerizing blend of greens and golds, ever-changing, ever-fascinating.

&n
bsp; “You did great,” he said, his hand rising to stroke her hair.

  For a moment, she was pleased. He was a damn good kisser, so it was nice to know the appreciation was mutual. Then she realized he was looking down at her body, and she followed his glance. She gasped. Her trousers had split from the knee down.

  Her left leg resembled a wolf’s.

  She should have been repelled. She should have freaked out. Instead, she was taken aback by its beauty. Dark fur, mahogany highlights—she should have screamed in dismay. Instead, she reached down to stroke the fur.

  She gasped, feeling the sensation from the inside as well as the outside. Hand gliding through silky fur, feeling the delineation of muscle tone beneath that was so alien, yet all her. Something moved inside her, a release, a relaxation...an acceptance.

  Zane was right, she could feel her beast inside her, living within her, sharing her body. But it wasn’t like a parasite, or a separate being... No, this was like another part of her personality, a dormant characteristic finally awakened.

  “You just morphed a major limb. Your body is getting ready for full metamorphosis.”

  “Wow,” she breathed.

  “Do you feel better now?”

  She nodded, surprised. “How is that possible? I’m looking at my body, and I know I should be freaking out, because this looks all kind of wrong, and yet...?”

  “It feels natural,” Zane said, his thumb absently rubbing against the back of her neck. She sighed softly, enjoying his touch on her skin. “Most folks think of us as two separate beings, the human and the werewolf, but we’re actually one—like a yin and yang. Two elements contributing to the whole.”

  “I’m not even sure how I did it,” she whispered in awe, then frowned in consternation. “How am I supposed to do this again?”

  Zane smiled. “You relax. You let it happen. Nature will do the rest.”

  A twig cracked in the distance, and both of them stiffened. Vivianne’s eyes widened. If any of her vamps saw her like this, they’d want her dead. She’d be an abomination—no matter how right this felt. She frowned at her leg, trying to push the fur back, to break those bones again with the power of her mind.

  Her beast was reluctant to let go.

  Voices could be heard in the distance. Muffled footsteps thudded along the forest floor.

  “Stay here,” Zane said softly, shifting her to the ground. He rose to his feet, and even from this angle, she could see the seriousness of his expression, the red glow to his eyes.

  “Zane, wait,” she whispered. If he vamped out on any of her guardians, there would be hell to pay. He’d start a war between Alpine and Nightwing, and neither of them wanted that.

  He held up his hand, his head turning slightly, his bloodred gaze landing on hers. “Sh. Stay.”

  Her eyes rounded as he ran off. Did he just tell her to stay? She closed her eyes, imagining her leg as the smooth, curvy limb it usually was. This time she managed to assert her control over her beast, and the transition ached, but was not the sharp, searing sting of hell it had been before.

  She rose to her feet, and as soon as she knew her limb was working normally, she took off running after Zane. She was a nine-hundred-year-old vampire, and a prime to boot. She didn’t sit on the sidelines while others took care of things. No. She was the one who took care of things. She had to pause, sniff the air—God knows why, it was instinctive.

  There. She closed her eyes, unpacking the scents of the forest, the musty underlay of wet leaves, the sharp scent of pine, some traces of floral...and that signature scent that for some reason she could sense and identify as a easily as recognizing a face or a voice.

  Myrtle. Cedarwood. Almond.

  Zane.

  When she caught up with Zane, she’d tell him exactly what he could do with his stay command.

  * * *

  Zane dropped to his knees, peering through the tree fern fronds. Hikers.

  Humans.

  Not vampires, not werewolves, but two humans hiking through the forest.

  Prey.

  His vision went red, and his fangs slid from his gums.

  He shed his clothing. Quickly, silently, his eyes on the couple. One man, one woman. The man carried the daypack, and something the woman said made him pause to laugh.

  Zane morphed, already slinking beneath the fronds to the next tree. He stalked them for a moment, listening. Looking. There was nobody else around. His gums tingled. His heart thudded in his chest. He padded on quiet paws, keeping abreast of them, until the man paused to unsling his backpack and open the zipper to withdraw a bottle of water.

  Muscles bunching, Zane launched from his position behind a convenient boulder. He heard the woman’s screams, but it was the whites of the man’s eyes as Zane pounced on him that momentarily caught him. The man went down, scratching himself on a branch, and Zane smelled blood.

  It was a mind-stealing, control-grabbing compulsion. Not a craving, not a desire, but something that was fierce and unstoppable and all-consuming. His teeth sank into the man’s neck, cutting off the gargled scream.

  He drank, and life’s nectar tasted oh-so-sweet. The woman’s screaming, the man’s feeble attempts to fight him off, all receded under the pressure to satiate a hunger he hadn’t realized was so damn acute.

  And then something hit him in his shoulder, throwing him off. He turned, growling low in his throat, until he realized Vivianne stood there, panting hard, her hair unbound and falling about her shoulders, her eyes flashing gold in warning, her feet bare of those ridiculous shoes.

  “Stop, Zane, you’re killing him.”

  He shook his head, fighting the instinct to lash out, to continue the intoxicating feed. But this was Vivianne, the only person who could help him, and the last person he’d ever want to hurt.

  Vivianne shook her head. “No, Zane. You don’t want to do this.” She held up her hand, palm out in a placatory gesture. “Think. Breathe. Control.”

  He flattened his ears as he swiveled his gaze between Vivianne, and his prey.

  The man stared at him, tears streaming down his cheeks as he covered the wound in his neck with trembling fingers. The woman was on her knees, sobbing, her hands clutched together as though in prayer.

  He’d done this.

  He’d almost killed a man. Zane dropped to the ground, a soft whimper emerging from his throat as he gazed in horror at the scene he’d created.

  Vivianne tore off her silk sleeves, wrapping it around the man’s throat in a rudimentary bandage. “Relax,” she told the man, maintaining eye contact, her voice low and husky. “You surprised a wild animal, and it attacked you before it ran off. Only to be expected, when you hike through these trails after sunset.”

  The man nodded, his eyes round as he met her stare. “These trails can be dangerous,” he rasped. “My fault, for surprising the animal.”

  Vivianne nodded, then crossed to the crying woman. She clasped her gently by the elbows, and met her gaze. “You surprised a wild animal. It attacked, but you’re okay. Get your man down the mountain, find help, he’ll be okay.”

  The woman nodded. “I have to get him down the mountain and find help,” she repeated, as though in a trance, “but he’ll be okay.”

  Vivianne nodded, then watched them as they stumbled back down the track, her body between them and Zane.

  Zane morphed, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, my God, what have I done?” He lay down on his side, curling up into a ball. He’d nearly consumed the man. So great had been his hunger, all of Vivianne’s lessons on control, on focus and discipline and restraint—none had taken root when he’d needed it. He’d just...reacted.

  What if that had been Nate? Or Samantha? Or—his stomach muscles clenched—J.J.?

  Vivianne turned to face him, and halted when she saw his naked form. “Oh. Wow.” She blinked, shook he
r head and put her hands in front of her, as though forcing herself to focus on something.

  Him.

  “It’s okay, Zane,” Vivianne said, kneeling down by his side. “All of us go there.”

  “No, you don’t get it. If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have—” He gagged, repulsed by what he’d very nearly done.

  “Don’t feel guilty for feeding when you need to in order to survive,” Vivianne told him, her voice strong, no-nonsense. No sympathy.

  “But—”

  “Do feel guilty for feeding when it’s not to sustain you, but for enjoyment,” she continued. “You haven’t fed today. You need to feed.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “You’re stronger when you’ve fed, and you’re stronger against the bloodlust.” She frowned. “Actually, you run pretty fast. I’ve chased werewolves before, but it was a real effort to keep up with you. Whatever is happening, it’s making you faster than a normal lycan. Stronger.”

  “I can’t. I can’t do this,” he said, shaking his head as sat up. For the first time, the forest’s pine needles felt uncomfortable against his bare skin, as though providing a small punishment for his grotesque actions. “I can’t live like this.”

  Vivianne touched his chin, and he finally met her gaze. There was no shock, no sadness or disappointment. Just a shared sympathy that contained no judgement. “You can,” she said softly. “You must. Because if you can’t, I can’t.”

  He frowned, and she smiled sadly. “Whether we like it or not, we’re in this together. We have to figure out how this new ‘us’ works. Guess how I found you?” She didn’t wait for his response. “I smelled you. How the hell does that work?” She shook her head in confusion. “You’re a werewolf hybrid, I’m a vampire hybrid. I have to believe there is a way to get through this.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “How can you be so optimistic?”

  Her smile broadened, and warmth ate away at the sadness. “Because in all I’ve experienced, I’ve learned the impossible can happen, if you wait long enough.”

  She clasped both of his cheeks in her hands, her gaze solemn. “Zane, don’t sell yourself short. You can do this. You are the strongest man I know.” She gave a low laugh. “You actually died and lived to tell the tale. If anyone can do this, you can. And then you can show me how to do it.”