by Raand, L. L.
“Yes, Alpha,” Max and Gray said with simultaneous salutes.
Sylvan wrapped an arm around Drake’s waist and pulled her away from the cell to the far end of the detention area. Once they were alone, she cradled Drake’s face between her hands and kissed her. Shaking with the effort to contain her wild need to taste her, she asked hoarsely, “How are you here?”
“I woke up alone and I missed you,” Drake whispered, sliding her hands up and down Sylvan’s back. “You haven’t eaten and you haven’t slept. Why can’t I trust you to take care of yourself?”
Sylvan laughed shakily. “I had other things on my mind.”
“No excuses. I’m going to feed you, then we’re going to see our young, and then I am taking you to the den and putting you to sleep.”
“There is much we must do.”
“And we will. But first we both need this.”
Sylvan crushed Drake to her, afraid she was imagining Drake’s presence. Drake felt so strong, so healthy and vital. The heat of Drake’s body was real. The surge of renewal that coursed in her blood was real and could only have come from her mate. Sylvan licked Drake’s neck, drew deeply of her scent. “You shouldn’t be healed by now.”
“But I am.” Drake raised Sylvan’s head until their mouths met. She kissed her, tugged sharply at her lip, teased her until Sylvan’s wolf forgot about injury and danger and fear and knew only the joy of their union. Drake pulled away, gasping for breath and hungry for the comfort of her mate. “I’m fine. And I want you.”
“You have me,” Sylvan murmured, “but we may not have much time.”
Drake dug her claws into Sylvan’s ass until Sylvan snarled. Smiling, she pulled Sylvan toward the light shining beyond the dark corridor and the now-empty cells. “We will always have time enough.”
*
Katya trotted around the perimeter of the deserted-appearing building. Nothing moved except the desultory breeze off the slowly churning Hudson, carrying the pungent scents of diesel and decay. Nocturne, in the hour before sundown, looked like every other abandoned warehouse along the waterfront, its windows boarded over, its single weather-worn door padlocked closed, the huge expanse of concrete surrounding it cracked and uneven, weeds and rubble scattered over its surface. But she knew beneath the concrete, deep under the club, Francesca’s Vampires, their human servants, and the blood slaves slumbered or fed or fucked. And she knew Michel was waiting for her. The closer she’d come, the stronger the insistent hum in her veins, the more urgent the pulsing beat in her sex. Michel was not slumbering, and she had not fed.
Katya skirted low along the side of the building, using the scraggly bushes and clumps of weeds as cover until she reached the rear of the building facing the river. A shed roof extended along half the length of the building and provided cover for a raised concrete loading dock underneath. Adjacent to the platform, a huge metal roll-down door marked the entrance to a garage. At the far end of the building, a single weathered metal door marked the only other entrance. She trotted over and rubbed against the door, still warm from the sun, and crouched to wait. Less than a minute later, the door opened a few inches and she slid inside, shedding her pelt as she entered. She’d barely gotten to her feet when two hands gripped her shoulders and slammed her back against the wall. Her naked back scraped on cold stone. A figure loomed over her and a torrential downpour of rage flooded her skin.
“What are you doing here?” Michel hissed.
Katya gathered Michel’s shirt into her fists and tore it from her shoulders, her claws scoring Michel’s alabaster chest. She licked the streaks of blood even as Michel’s flesh healed. “I came for you.”
Michel’s hand slid down her abdomen, between her thighs, and inside her at the same instant as Michel’s incisors struck her throat. Katya’s body arced as if electrified, and she muffled her howls against Michel’s shoulder as she released hard once, twice, then again. Michel thrust against her, inside her, as she fed and came. Katya gripped her hair, held her face to her throat.
“All,” she murmured as lust and pleasure stole her reason. “All of me. Yours.”
Michel sagged against her, her chest heaving, one hand still buried in her depths. “I told you it’s not safe.”
“You’re starving.”
Michel’s head whipped back, her eyes ablaze with scarlet fury. “I can survive without you.”
Katya raked her claws over the bite she’d left in Michel’s shoulder the last time they were together, and Michel shuddered, her throat convulsing as feeding hormones drove her toward bloodlust again.
“You can’t,” Katya said, “and neither can I. I had to see you.”
Michel glanced up and down the dark, deserted corridor. “Francesca will expect me soon, and the others will be rising. I won’t let them feed from you. I have taken your blood, and you mine. Will you let me claim blood rights?”
“Oh yes,” Katya murmured. “But I can’t stay. We might…”
Michel’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
Katya shook her head.
“You don’t trust me.” Michel laughed harshly. “I am more helpless before you than I have been for a thousand years, and still, you do not trust me.”
Katya ran her fingers through Michel’s hair. “I trust you, but not Francesca.”
“I will not betray you.”
“And when she enthralls you and steals your mind? What will she see?”
Michel kissed her, let her hormones merge with Katya’s. “Our bond grows daily. I won’t let her in.”
“And then she’ll know you are resisting, and you will be in more danger.” Katya shook her head. “If you don’t know the plans, you don’t need to shut her out, and you will be safer.”
“I don’t need a wolf barely out of adolescence to protect me,” Michel said archly.
Katya bit her, burying her canines in the mark on Michel’s shoulder. Heat blasted through Michel’s body as their blood fused and their bond was forged. Groaning, she straddled Katya’s thigh as the orgasm swept through her.
“I forgot you can bite,” Michel gasped when the brutal orgasm faded.
“Tell me again you don’t need me,” Katya growled, “and I’ll do more than bite you.”
“If you accept my claim, I will never let you leave me.”
“I already have accepted, and I won’t be leaving.”
“Go—before the sun is down and this place is surrounded by the Risen,” Michel said. “I’ll send for you as soon as I can.”
Katya stroked her face. “What are you going to do?”
Michel shrugged, faced with choices she hadn’t considered for centuries. “I don’t know.”
“You may be ancient and powerful, but you must still be careful. I want you to come back to me.” Katya kissed her hard. “And if you don’t, I will find you. I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Sylvan, resting on one arm, stroked Drake’s face and throat. Somewhere nearby a hawk called for its mate, the sharp cry floating through the open windows above their bed. She was reminded of Torren’s hawk communing with her wolf in a way she’d never thought possible. So many things she hadn’t expected—most of all this love that gave her strength and taught her to fear in a way she never had before. She leaned down and kissed Drake’s chest where her heart beat. “I’m not sure even I can heal as you did.”
“What do you mean?” Drake pulled Sylvan down on top of her and wrapped both arms tightly around her shoulders. The worry in Sylvan’s eyes and the pain she still carried around her heart tore at Drake the way no physical damage ever had. She smoothed the tight muscles in Sylvan’s back until she felt Sylvan relax into her. “Tell me.”
Sylvan drew a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “How much of the fight do you remember?”
Drake snarled. “I remember the ambush, and the black wolf we killed.”
“Yes,” Sylvan said, the satisfaction of the kill still rippling in her depths. The wolf had deserved to die—he
had invaded her territory and attacked her mate. The scent of Drake’s blood still assaulted her senses, and her wolf started to pace, her fury returning.
“I’m fine because you came when I needed you, as I knew you would,” Drake whispered. “Let your wolf have some peace.”
Sylvan nodded and drank in Drake’s pure, strong scent. “Do you remember anything about being in the infirmary?”
“No, I only remember waking up and missing you.”
Sylvan tensed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I needed—”
“I know what you needed to do and where you needed to be.” Drake let her claws drag up and down Sylvan’s back, the small slivers of pain reminding Sylvan that theirs was a love and a union built on strength and trust. “But then I sensed you nearby, and I wanted to see you.”
“When I left, you were deeply asleep, so deep that for a long time I couldn’t find you.”
Drake caught her breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember very much, but I always knew you were near.”
Sylvan kissed Drake’s breast. “Good.”
“I wasn’t hurt that badly, so I don’t understand why you’re surprised that I healed.”
“Your wounds weren’t fatal, you’re right. But you lost a lot of blood very quickly and you were weak. Weak enough that you weren’t able to shift right away.”
“That happens sometimes, but usually with treatment, a Were can shift and finish the healing at an accelerated rate.” Drake frowned, her physician’s mind turning over the issues. “And even if they can’t, as long as supportive therapy is provided, healing should progress—”
Laughing softly, Sylvan kissed her again. “Dr. McKennan, you don’t understand. You’ve healed faster than any other wolf could, other than a powerful Alpha drawing on a large Pack. And you didn’t shift.”
Drake stilled. “At all?”
“No. Your wolf was weakened during the attack, and by the time we got back here, you’d shed pelt. Even with Elena’s treatment and my wolf transferring power, you never shifted.”
Drake took in the information, sorting through everything she knew about Were physiology, which was far less than she wished. The ancient Praetern imperative to guard the details of their biology from outsiders was not always to their benefit. “It seems I can access the enhanced healing powers of my wolf without actually shifting.”
“Yes,” Sylvan said.
“That is likely because I’m not a born Were,” Drake mused. “Have you never seen this is in other mutia?”
“No, but not many lived long, and they all resulted from Were fever. You and Sophia did not.”
“But Sophia has never shown the same ability to heal, has she?”
“Sophia is not a warrior—she’s never sustained a near-lethal injury.”
“And let’s hope she never does.” Drake closed her eyes, letting her subconscious work on the problem. “We don’t really know if the two of us share the same alterations, but at least in me, whatever they’ve done to genetically engineer the transformation has inherently altered the balance between my forms.”
“Allowing you to call on your wolf without actually shifting,” Sylvan said.
Drake opened her eyes, the enormity of the conclusion suddenly clear. “They set out to produce a viral contagion to terrify the population into quarantining and possibly destroying the Weres, and instead, they may have created a vehicle to transform humans into enhanced Weres.”
“And if they were to discover that,” Sylvan said, “they would almost certainly try to raise an army against us.”
“They won’t,” Drake said decisively. “We must put a stop to this. Subverting Were natural biology can only lead to other unpredictable and potentially dangerous mutations. Who knows what else they might be able to alter.”
Sylvan growled softly. “What if the primal urges are enhanced as well? With no Alpha to control them, these engineered Weres could become killing machines.”
“We have to find the labs, and we have to destroy them.”
“First, I must find Bernardo.”
“What are you going to do?”
“He has left me no choice.” Sylvan sat up on the bed, her face and eyes all wolf. “I’m going to kill him.”
“What of his Pack?”
“If no new Alpha emerges, I will annex his Pack. They need a strong leader. One who does not lie to them and lead them to their deaths for his own purposes.”
“Not all of them will come willingly.”
Sylvan shrugged. “They are wolves. They will follow the Alpha.”
“Some will fight for the old Alpha until he is defeated.”
Sylvan smiled. “Then I will kill him swiftly.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“I can be ready—”
“We have young, and they have not yet hunted.” Sylvan’s voice was that of the Alpha, full of command. “We cannot risk them losing both of us.”
“They will have a better chance of having two parents if I come with you.”
Sylvan grasped Drake’s shoulders and loomed over her, pinning her to the bed. The golden light from her eyes blazed as brightly as the sun, and Drake struggled not to look away. “Our Pack cannot be without a strong leader now, and our young cannot be without a mother.” Sylvan kissed Drake, her canines scoring the soft inner surface of her lip. “Let me go into battle with your strength at my back, and my heart safe.”
Drake lay perfectly still for a long time, then kissed the hollow of Sylvan’s throat. “This one time, and only because our young are as yet untrained. But they will learn to lead by our example, and we will show them a united, mated Alpha pair. I will not stay behind again.”
Sylvan let out a long sigh and rested her forehead against Drake’s. “Agreed.”
“And you will not ask or command otherwise.”
Sylvan sighed again. “As you wish, Prima.”
Drake rolled her over and settled between Sylvan’s legs. Grasping Sylvan’s wrists, she held her arms to the bed and Sylvan relented, even though she could easily have broken Drake’s hold. Drake kissed her slowly, her body molding to the stark planes and soft valleys of Sylvan’s body. Pelt shimmered beneath her belly as Sylvan readied under her. Heat poured over her thighs and Sylvan’s clitoris rose against hers. Her need for Sylvan was a living beast consuming her from the inside—ferocious and insatiable. She thrust hard between Sylvan’s thighs and pain and pleasure warred within her. Her vision wavered until all she saw were the deep craters of Sylvan’s pupils, inviting her to burn. She punctuated every word with another thrust. “Do. Not. Take. Chances.”
“I won’t.” Sylvan turned her head, offered her throat. “I will always come back to you.”
Drake kissed down Sylvan’s throat along the path to the bite on Sylvan’s chest. She covered her mark with her mouth and slid her clitoris against Sylvan’s. Then she sank her canines into the deep muscle over Sylvan’s heart and claimed her mate.
*
Misha opened her eyes and found the turquoise ones that had been haunting her dreams for hours. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “You should be hunting. Hawk is hungry.”
Torren smiled. “She will hunt now that you are awake.”
Misha stretched, touched her hand to the center of her chest. “You weren’t hurt?”
“No. Only you.” Torren leaned over and kissed her. “That was a foolish thing to do, even for a wolf.”
Misha growled and nipped at Torren’s lip. “What would you have had me do? Let you be shot?”
“I would not have been shot.”
“What would happen if your Hound were shot?”
Torren’s eyes gleamed. “It would take more than one bullet and very lucky aim.”
“My wolf doesn’t think that way. You were in danger, that’s all I cared about.”
“I’ll remember that the next time we’re faced with an enemy.” Torren stroked Misha’s hair. “I have food here. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” Misha grinned and started to sit up.
Torren stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “No. I’ll see to it.”
Deep inside, Misha’s wolf rumbled with satisfaction and settled down to wait. “You’re pale.”
“I’m not a wolf.”
Misha snarled softly. “I know what you are, and you’re never pale. You’re…like moonlight.”
Torren smiled and the air around her glowed. She pulled the cart near and sat on the side of the bed, sliding one arm behind Misha to help her sit up. “How do you feel?”
“A little weak. Nothing a good meal won’t cure.” Misha leaned against Torren’s side and stilled Torren’s hand when she reached for the tray. “You didn’t answer me. What happened to you? Are you sure Jazz didn’t hit you?”
“I am just a little drained. I…helped your Alpha with your wound.”
“Drained.” Misha’s wolf whined unhappily, and an image of a dense black web of poisonous tendrils formed in her mind. She stiffened. “You absorbed the silver.”
“Silver doesn’t affect me.”
“But inside me it turned to some kind of poison, and you…you took it into you.” Misha twisted around and grasped Torren’s shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Torren whispered, amazed at the fearlessness of the young Were who challenged the Master of the Hunt. “I am well.”
“Don’t do that again.”
Torren arched a brow. “Or?”
Misha flashed her canines. “Or I will be very angry.”
“I’ll remember that, then.” Torren gestured to the heaping platters of food. “You should eat. A few days’ rest and you’ll be fine.”
Misha frowned. “The Alpha has called the warriors. I felt it—I think that’s what woke me. There will be a battle. I must go.”
“No,” Torren said calmly, carving a thick piece off a slab of roast and offering it to Misha. “Not right away.”