by Eros, Marata
I'm totally vulnerable. I just about died, I can't protect myself and I sure can't protect Toby.
“I would never force a female.”
“But you'll kidnap one,” I bite out.
His hesitation continues. But not because he's the tentative type. No, Conrick is full of himself.
My breath catches when his warm hand touches my hip through my denims.
“Stop,” my voice is shaky. Not because of fear, but because I want him to touch me. Crave it.
“I but warm you.”
The wonderful smell of earth, male, and woods permeates my senses. My breaths come shallow and faster.
His large hand burns through the layers of clothes. And I squeeze my thoughts past my lips, “Corine told me your perverted plan.”
“Oh?” His voice is velvet and I can't hear anything but the thread of the sensuous pull. “I understand the meaning of that word.” His finger begins making a circle on the outside of my hip and with each revolution something pulls deep inside me.
Toby might be in trouble and I'm letting this bigfoot guy seduce me in the dark.
“I am not perverted.” I can hear his amusement. “Desperate. Intense. Pure. Frustrated. But not perverted.”
Each one of his words are stones dropped on my theories. How can a shifter have any evolved thoughts? How can Conrick deny he's done the wrong thing when he's taken me and my brother and he ties me down in total darkness—after I half-drown?
“Our ways are not human ways. However, I'll tell you some things you might not be aware of.”
I hold my breath as that insistent finger continues to move on my body. The circles grow slightly wider as he speaks.
“We are the first of everything. Not everyone—but everything.”
“What?” I ask.
His fingers spread on my hip and I can't hold back the sigh. Sweet indecision threads between us like heated taffy.
What's wrong with me?
His restless fingers begin again. “We were all that was here on this planet. Forests ruled this place. Patches of barren ground would be what the dinosaurs moved through as the humans use highways now.”
His voice seems somewhat sad, but his hand still touches me, moving down my thigh. My clothes are no longer wet, except for my panties.
Which is mortifying. My kidnapper is turning me on.
“When the dinosaurs died, some prehistoric creatures remained. Nature was cleaning up whatever wasn't working—and here we were—essentially ignored by the larger creatures of the plains. And suddenly, those creatures were gone and other threats began.”
He squeezes my thigh, and my breath rushes out, a little moan catching in my throat.
“Who?” I manage, forgetting everything but the sound of his voice, the feel of that great hand on my body.
“Humans, of course.”
His grip becomes just shy bruising. “They took our women.”
Conrick abruptly releases my thigh. And the slight rustle tells me he just stood.
“You lived all this time?” I bite my lip, wanting that warmth. His touch.
I think of Murphy and remember feeling this sense of safety with him too.
I think I'm in heat. Except that's a hybrid human who becomes a Lycan's role. Not me. I know that's not what's happening to me.
The thing is, I don't know what's happening.
Conrick chuckles. “No—life-br- Grace ,” he corrects. “I am only two hundred years old or so.”
Only.
“Those events occurred a millennium ago. The First Species has genetic memory. We know what occurred before our individual lives. It is rare when we splinter from each other, but it happens. Otherwise, clans will stay interconnected to serve the whole.”
His hand encircles my ankle and the second joins the first. Both ankles are gripped by some kind of soft binding and his hands.
“So you hate humans.” I ignore that insistent pressure. Delicious heat rolls up my shins, lingering at my knees and steadily makes it way to my core.
My breath catches and though I can't see his eyes, I feel his gaze like a weight.
“Yes. I hate how they proliferate and pollute our planet. Squandering what we cherished. Hurting females.”
I ignore everything, hanging on to his words like my life depends on it. “Why would you take me then? Why would you tell Corine that I was going to be your mate. As if I don't have a choice?”
His touch slows. “There is always choice. But I will tell you what those are.” His hands move up my shins and it's all I can do to breathe normally. His scent, his touch—they affect me.
His hands move to the spot just above my knees. “Our females that were taken thousands of years ago by the humans had offspring. And a small, genetic remnant remains in those special women. They and they alone, can produce First Species.”
An image of the children I saw by the hot spring comes to mind. “Like Corine and Libby?”
His hands still. “Those females are precious. As all females are. Even the human females who cannot bear First Species.”
I wait for Conrick to continue but he doesn't speak right away, his hands move to my upper thighs and spread. His little finger nuzzles where my thigh and crotch meet.
“Only certain females produce pure First Species offspring. We believe that some of the half-breed males carry a recessive gene that when they unwittingly found a female who carried the same, they produced children who, though they did not physically manifest as First Species, carried the gene that when bred with a pure blood male of our kind, does.”
I'm confused, but his hands our now on my hips and he cups them, his fingertips meeting underneath my body. “How come I am?”
His warm breath is above my face, bathing it in his rich, primal scent and my head spins. “I scent purebloods. I am an alpha of my kind, it is our gift—among other things. As I mentioned, all females are precious, but when faced with extinction, it doesn't make sense to waste time with those who cannot birth what we are and perpetuate our kind.”
“What are you?” I whisper.
“A male,” his lips hover over mine. A sheet of paper couldn't slide between us. “I will not take what you do not offer.”
“I know I should hate you. You kidnapped me, I'm tied up, in the dark—”
“Many times, this is the way it's done to put the female at ease. Sensory depravation allows her to ʻseeʼ with her nose and touch, that which she denies with her eyes and mind.”
I'm numb, my heartbeats piling up in my throat. “Is this a game?”
I know Conrick shakes his head because long hair swings forward, tickling my nose. The fragrant strands smell like wild air and tramped forest.
“No,” he replies. “It is as it's always been. But you soften toward me because your body—the very fabric of your being—recognizes mine. Longs for it on an instinctual level. Are you feeling sick?” he asks suddenly.
I nod, and though it's utterly dark wherever we are he knows I've acknowledged him.
“We are the source of all DNA. The vampires descend from us—the shapeshifters—such as they are, and the humans. A piece of us is in all of them. But much of what we are has been diluted and these new species exist because over the eons, they are what remains while we die out. The purest and first of all. ”
“Enforcer Murphy said he'd keep me safe.”
More hair glides across my face and I long to touch it. His nearness is intoxicating. My fingers open and close within the soft bindings. I shake my head, hoping to dislodge these foreign impulses. He's my kidnapper.
Some women I don't know are taking care of Toby.
His finger traces my hairline. “It's natural for a vampire to turn you, Grace Cline. The Mutables want you because you could do much for their colony. With your ancient DNA, they could pass you around indefinitely.”
Adrenaline zings through me at his words. I don't want to be some brood mare for shifters.
“I'm not saying yes to this—wha
tever this is,” I state with the last ounce of stubbornness.
“You are not saying no.”
Then his lips are on mine and thoughts slide away.
Chapter 4
Murphy
The fingers still twitch on the hairy, disembodied arm. My eyes travel the appendage. Strings of blood encrusted gore fall away from the jagged stump in a trail of shredded meat.
Brilliant.
Casting a glance over my shoulder to make certain my little tart is still in the land of the living, I stride forward, ready to use my razor sharp fangs on the next hapless Mutable.
A donkey comes after me and I have just a moment to snort a laugh when a well-placed hoof knocks me in the sternum and I fly with embarrassing speed into the state-of-the-art cinderblock restroom wall behind me.
It's the exact spot where I just enjoyed the lovely female, I have time to think before a man-sized prairie dog begins to gnaw on my leg.
Things can quickly go from bad to worse, I muse. Murphy's law and all that misery. I do come by my name honestly.
My talons punch out as I reach forward, running four through the skull of the prairie dog.
Sod off.
Brains obligingly drop out of his shredded skull onto the ground between my shins.
I slap the wall's surface behind me, throwing myself upright. My vision trembles momentarily as I fight the effects of getting plowed into concrete and summarily chewed on.
Four talons land on either side of my head. Blimey—that would have hurt. Then horns puncture my gut. I bend forward, lurching into a crouch and tunnel my head into the gut of a buffalo shifter. I toss him aside, noting how odd it is that he has talons before moving on to the next.
Mollie screams.
I turn, wince at the motion and promptly get cuffed on the side of the head. See stars. Feels like my brains are slipping out of my noggin.
Or it might be the bit where I'm falling over.
I swipe my talons fast, hitting the biggest part of where I assume the target will be, and gorgeous blood permeates the air.
Opening my mouth, I catch spray. The blood works immediately, repairing the small damage I took and clearing my head. The gaping wounds of getting gored by Buffalo Buffon will remain.
Thank heaven I'd had that little bite before the Mutable gang came calling.
Now where's pesky Mollie? I follow the sound of her muted screaming.
Shite. I take in her injuries. Not with my eyes, with my senses.
A tusk has gored her, pinning her to the asphalt.
I frown, following from where the tusk has entered and running my eyes along the shifter.
Prehistoric. I feel as though I know this chap. Why is he gutting my partner-of-the-night?
I move like grease, using the shadows as I skim along the pavement. I make a clean, killing path for the prehistoric.
I scan Mollie's chalky face and the shaky hold she has on the tusk that protrudes from her belly I know she's a goner. The hold isn't good because—my eyes land on her arm. Bone fragments jut out of her left bicep area. It appears as though something very big, hit her very hard—before the poor girl got her guts scrambled.
“Don't!” the prehistoric shouts as I get nearer, carefully throwing up his hands in supplication. Up close, his eyes are huge in his face, his heavily muscled body tenses because he's not only pinned Mollie, he's managed to trap himself.
Dolt. I watch the pulse of blood begging to be tapped at the base of his throat.
My fangs punch out as I consider what a pint, hell—a gallon—would do for my injuries. A dose of prehistoric blood would have a healing kick I can only guess at. I lick my lips.
Hissing, I bend over him. “Hey! I'm undercover here—it's an accident,” he says, ridiculous long-lashes feathering down over doe eyes.
My holographic card falls forward, swinging from the lanyard.
His eyes dip and I realize that in the chase for Grace Cline my badge that was hidden beneath by jacket is now exposed.
“Enforcer Murphy!” he squeaks.
Venom drips from my fangs and I'm careful not to let it fall on Mollie.
She's dying.
Have to make this bit quick. “Speak. Now.”
“I'm a prehistoric.”
Yes, yes— a woolly mammoth, if I'm any judge . My eyes flick to Mollie's. Specks of her own blood dot her face. I clench my jaw. “Yes, mate. That much is obvious—the tusks and ridiculous feet give you away.” I sweep an angry palm his way.
He frowns.
We take a rushed moment to glance at his wide, round feet.
My eyes laser into his. “Why is your tusk in my partner?”
“The Mutables shoved me into her, and in this stupid half form I'm not graceful. I didn't mean to hurt her, I'd never hurt a female deliberately.”
That makes two of us.
Mollie's hands fall away, dropping to the concrete, palms up.
Bollocks.
I grip the mammoth about the shoulders and tear him out of Mollie like ripping a bandaid off a scrape.
Blood spouts from the wound and her mouth opens, a spatter of blood tossing dots on her body. Delectable blood ebbs from the hole the mammoth's tusk made.
So does her life.
I risk a glare at the prehistoric.
He is nearly wringing his hands. “What can I do?”
His body is muscular but his eyes are round, with long eyelashes that sweep down. He appears genuinely vexed about the circumstance.
Wonders never cease. “Nothing yet—though I may have to do something she is not going to like me for later.”
So what is new.
Bodies of Mutables litter the ground, my princess who so willingly offered me up a bit of fun, is sleeping peacefully on the lawn, covered in my trench. No one can claim I'm not a gentleman.
I kneel beside Mollie, and her blood instantly soaks the knees of my denims while my own injuries heal.
“Murphy,” she whispers and fresh blood wells.
“Don't have much time, love,” I say softly.
A tear makes a clean track down her dirty face. “Don't want to be a vamp,” her deep eyes blaze at me like pockets of grief.
“Your choice.” I shrug but in reality, I've never wished to save anyone more. I already lost the woman back home I was tasked with protecting, I don't need another on my conscience.
“I don't,” she gasps, “want to be like you.”
That hurts, but I wipe my reaction from my face. “Me being vampire has nothing to do with my atrocious manners.” I smirk, wisely not bringing up my sire.
“My arm,” she says in a low voice.
“I know, love. I can take it all away.” I push hair out of Mollie's face so filled with the Mutable battle it's stiff.
Our eyes hold.
“I hate vampires.”
The prehistoric kneels at her other side. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stab you.” He gives her shoulder an awkward pat.
I roll my eyes, a sensitive shifter. Brilliant.
Mollie's eyes shift to his tusk. Slick with her blood and gives him a withering look.
That's the spirit.
“Why are you asking her if it's okay? Bite her,” Tusk says. His big eyes blink at me and I have an almost overpowering urge to hysterically guffaw.
I shake my head, biting the inside of my lip, hard. “No. I was made without my consent and I don't know if I would have stuck around for the show if I'd known what I do now. I won't make Mollie against her will. There's choice.”
I smooth the rest of her hair back. A woman I've never gotten on with, and she shivers at my touch.
“Thanks, Murph. I guess you're okay.”
I nod and take her hand. Mollie squeezes my fingers before letting my hand drop.
Our eyes catch—hold.
“Do it.”
“You sure?” I ask quietly.
She nods.
I slip my hands underneath her back and she cries out.
“
The arm,” Mr. Helpful says.
I razor my eyes to him. “Yes, dolt.”
Mollie's eyes stay on mine as her blood soaks our clothes. “Will it hurt?”
I nod then explain quickly, “I can take the pain away.”
She smirks. “No. Let me feel what I've chosen to become.”
I grimace at my own memories. But I forget all that when I take the first sip from her throat. Rich blood fills my mouth and I drink until it's almost gone.
I release her, fangs retracting.
“Take from me.”
She doesn't respond, her head rolling into the crook of my arm
My heart begins to race. Did I take too much—have I accidentally killed her?
“I think you might have killed her.”
Christ on a crutch. I cut him with my stare. “Shut up mate, or you're next.”
Tusk backs up.
Smart man.
I slash my forearm with my fangs and squeeze Mollie's lips apart. Drops of my essence flow between her pursed lips and with my free hand I massage her throat.
Small beads of sweat pop on my forehead. “Live—you're too much of a raging bitch not to.”
The prehistoric looks on, horrified,
I give a grim chuckle. Her skin grows cooler and panic sets its teeth into my psyche.
No. I refuse to relinquish Mollie's life.
When all hope flees, her throat convulses beneath my fingertips.
The prehistoric and I breathe again. The sound is really more like a collective shudder.
“That was close,” Tusk comments.
“Not out of the woods yet,” I say, massaging gently and rhythmically, while praying to whatever's holy I didn't kill my partner. What would I tell Casper? First day partnered and Mollie turns up dead. Oh and by the way, we weren't even cleared for this handy little foray.
Unacceptable.
Her uninjured arm twitches then fingers that were limp moments ago wrap my forearm, turning it expertly—and with her newly vampiric fangs—latch on with tight suction.
Wild dark eyes snap open and meet mine. Mollie draws hard and the pain of her feeding syncs with a major snake in my drawers.
Second boner of the night. Marvelous.
I turn my head, glaring at mammoth boy and he backs further away, hands splayed. “I-I'll let you have a private moment.”