by L. L. Raand
“Not going there again,” she muttered. Why in the hell had she ever promised Jody she wouldn’t enter the club without an escort? Nocturne was the most popular Vampire club in the city and was filled every night with Vampires and Weres and humans. This was where she would find the information she needed. Or at least a lead. About the infection that had shown up in five human teenagers. An infection that had killed five young girls. And about Sylvan Mir and who wanted her dead. She hated to go back on her word, even though Jody had practically coerced her compliance. Jody was very persuasive.
She had a quick snapshot memory of Jody enthralling Callan. I claim blood rights.
Something else she didn’t know. The air in the car suddenly seemed too hot, too close, and Becca opened the door for some ventilation. Blood rights. What the hell? Like she was just free for the claiming. Damn the ego of the wom—Vampire.
Jody had been so adamant about her not going inside the club alone, as if she were helpless. She wasn’t helpless. She’d been fending for herself and doing a damn good job of it for years. So okay, she could cop to being clueless, but she wasn’t helpless. She drummed her fingers on the wheel, looking for a loophole. None occurred to her. She pressed her fingertips to her eyes and reminded herself that she was an investigative reporter following a hot lead and nothing, nothing and no one, prevented her from getting a story.
“Especially not an arrogant Vampire who pretty much told me she wanted me out of her life.” Becca snatched up her purse and automatically checked inside to be sure she still had her pepper spray—which wouldn’t do her a damn bit of good if some Vampire wanted to bite her neck. She jumped out of the Camaro just as a silver Rolls-Royce glided up to the club.
Two females emerged, including one she didn’t recognize but who reminded her of Jody in that ethereal way of all Vampires—lean, dark-haired, pale, painfully beautiful. Every movement graceful, fluid, and utterly powerful. The other she knew from the media. Francesca, Viceregal and Chancellor of the City.
Becca rushed toward the pair as the Rolls pulled away. She thought fast and shot from the hip. “Excuse me. Excuse me, Viceregal. Do you have a comment about the assassination attempt on the wolf Alpha last night?”
The dark Vampire she didn’t know suddenly appeared inches from Becca, her disdainful expression pricking Becca’s already sensitive ego. “Who are you?”
“Becca Land, Albany Gazette.” She tried to sidestep to speak directly to the Viceregal, but the other Vampire blocked her way again without seeming to have moved at all. Becca craned her neck, trying for eye contact. Maybe not so smart with a Vampire but, hey—points for balls. “You’re aware the attack occurred in a prominent Vampire’s home?”
“Call during business hours tomorrow,” the Vampire who had to be a bodyguard said in a voice that reminded her way too much of Jody. “Our media director—”
“Why? We’re all here now.”
The Viceregal rested a pale, slim hand on the dark Vampire’s arm. “That’s all right, Michel. Let’s be good hosts, shall we?” She held out her hand. “I’m Francesca.”
“Becca Land.” Becca took the Viceregal’s hand, and when Francesca smiled, heat rolled through her belly, and she nearly swooned. Thank God for the shadows, because her face must be flaming. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Shall we go inside?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Becca followed the two Vampires on none-too-steady legs, deciding they would do very well as the escorts she’d promised Jody Gates she would have the next time she entered Club Nocturne.
Drake’s fingers sifted through Sylvan’s hair, gently scratching her scalp and massaging her neck. The soft caresses were comfortingly possessive. Sylvan rumbled and hitched her thigh a little higher over Drake’s, pressing her center to Drake’s hip. If she could, she would drench Drake with her essence just to make sure everyone recognized Drake as hers. The mate bond joined them in every way, but knowing her claim was irrefutable wasn’t enough. Not when Drake was everything. Deep down in her core, Sylvan’s wolf settled with a contented sigh and closed her eyes. Sylvan rested too, in the only place she’d ever been safe, ever felt completely at home.
“You can sleep for a few minutes,” Drake said.
Sylvan nuzzled Drake’s neck. “We have to meet with the war council.”
“I know. Just for an hour or two, enough for you to shift and heal.”
“I’m all right.” Sylvan caressed Drake’s chest, stroked her breasts and her belly. Her mate was worried. She worried too much. That part of Drake that had been human, that had never lived in hiding, that had never had to fight adversaries she thought were friends, face foes who saw her only as a creature to be eradicated—that part of her didn’t yet trust the strength and cunning of her wolf. Or of Sylvan’s. “I promise never to leave you.”
Drake stiffened for an instant, then began stroking Sylvan again. “I’ll need time to learn how to love you.”
Sylvan pushed up on her elbow and clasped Drake’s chin in her palm. She let her wolf rise and called Drake’s. Lightning shards of gold slashed through the black depths of Drake’s eyes, and the planes of her face sharpened and grew bolder. “You know how to love me. Never doubt that.”
Drake’s canines forced their way out, and she rubbed against Sylvan, her skin shimmering and hot. Sylvan’s mating frenzy spiked. Snarling softly, she rolled on top of Drake and grasped a wrist in each hand, pinning her. She flexed her hips and pressed hard between her mate’s thighs. An ache, harder and sharper than any she’d ever known, settled in her loins, and she felt herself swelling, getting harder and larger than she’d been in the heat of their first mating. Flames licked at her core, and she shuddered.
Drake whined and thrashed, acid scouring her insides. She scored her claws up and down Sylvan’s back. “Sylvan? God. What is it? I feel…I need you again.” She whimpered, her breasts so tight her nipples burned. Her stomach clenched, one fiber after another contracting until the hard surface of her abdomen knotted into cords. An aching chasm opened inside her. “I hurt. Sylvan…what’s happening? Please…”
“You’ll be all right. I’ll take care of you.” Sylvan pushed her pelvis between Drake’s thighs and edged her clitoris between the hot folds of Drake’s sex. When the swollen head settled in the shallow depression of Drake’s opening, her hips pumped involuntarily.
Drake dug her claws into Sylvan’s ass and wrapped her legs around Sylvan’s hips. She tilted her pelvis, locking Sylvan into her. Her gut clenched, the muscles in her stomach squeezing down on the tense receptacles buried deep between her thighs. “I’m burning. I’m burning. God, Sylvan. Do something.”
“I need to come in you again.” Sylvan groaned and licked the bite on Drake’s shoulder. “I’m going to come soon. Hold on.”
“I’m trying. Ah God…hurry.” Sylvan’s hormones flooded her and Drake bucked, milking Sylvan with her tight inner muscles. “I can’t stand it. I need you to come.”
Sylvan snarled and pulled Drake’s face to her chest. “Now. Now.”
Drake bit her and Sylvan exploded, hips pumping, blood boiling in her veins. Her essence coated her mate. Her mate. Hers. Sylvan sank her canines into Drake’s shoulder, and Drake howled, coming over her in hot waves. Sylvan couldn’t stop emptying, didn’t think she’d ever stop, until finally her arms gave out and she dropped onto Drake.
“Jesus, what was that?” Drake gasped, clutching Sylvan with both arms around her shoulders.
“You don’t know?” Sylvan said with a shaky laugh.
“I love you. I want you constantly, but I’ve never felt anything like that before.” Drake shivered. “It felt like I was on fire inside. It hurt, Sylvan. I still hurt.”
Sylvan sighed. “Everything is happening so fast.”
“What do you mean? Everything? What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you.” Drake’s uncertainty tore at Sylvan’s heart. She didn’t want her mate to fear
what was natural for a Were, but Drake still didn’t believe she wasn’t somehow dangerous, that the fever—the turning—hadn’t damaged her.
“What are you afraid to tell me?” Drake asked.
“I think…I think we are breeding. What you’re feeling—what we’re feeling—is breeding frenzy.”
Drake sucked in a breath. “The pain, the burning up inside to couple—you feel that too?”
“Yes.”
“But Niki said I can’t—”
“Niki doesn’t know,” Sylvan said. “None of us know. All we know is your wolf is strong and healthy, and she wants to breed.”
“What does that mean? And what do we do about it?”
Sylvan rolled onto her side and settled Drake against her. She stroked Drake’s dark hair back from her face, and ran her thumb along the bold edge of Drake’s jaw. “I don’t know why it’s happening so fast. Maybe…”
“Don’t keep things from me,” Drake said. “I don’t need that kind of protection.”
Sylvan’s wolf bristled at the command in Drake’s voice, and Sylvan rumbled. At Drake’s soft growl, she brought herself to heel. “Maybe your wolf senses the Pack is in danger and I don’t have an heir.”
Drake’s eyes darkened. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“I know,” Sylvan said quickly, “but our wolves don’t think that way. All they know is that the Pack needs a strong leader, and we are the Alpha pair.”
“And now that you’re mated, your wolf wants to breed. Breed with me.”
“Yes.”
Drake tried to sit up, and Sylvan clasped her around the waist. “Don’t. Don’t run from me.”
“I can’t give you offspring.”
“We don’t know that. We don’t know anything right now.”
“Then we have to find out. Sophia’s parents may have discovered something in the samples I gave them already.”
“When they do, they’ll call me.” Sylvan caressed Drake’s face. “We’ve been searching for these answers for a long time.”
“And what do we do about this breeding frenzy? We just keep…” She paused and gestured to the two of them still on the porch, naked and exposed and vulnerable. “I haven’t been able to think of anything except having you since the hunt. We’re practically defenseless.”
Sylvan laughed. “You can’t sense Max and Jace?”
Drake raised her head, sniffed the air. The centuri were close. “Hell.”
Sylvan grinned. “Are you complaining about coupling?”
“No, God no. I hurt like hell until we do, and then—I’d stay connected like that with you forever if I could. But what happens when I don’t conceive? What will your wolf do?”
“It doesn’t matter what my wolf wants to do,” Sylvan said. “You are my mate.”
Drake rested her cheek against Sylvan’s shoulder. “This is a terrible time for this to be happening.”
“Breeding frenzy is never convenient. It can, however, be pleasant.”
“Tangling with you twenty-four hours a day is a lot more than pleasant.” Drake grinned and rubbed her cheek on Sylvan’s chest.
“It won’t be twenty-four hours a day.” Sylvan nipped Drake’s chin. “I have Pack business to attend to.”
“And I have a job.”
Sylvan’s skin prickled. “What do you mean?”
“I’m a doctor, remember?” Drake frowned. “I might not keep my job at the ER now, but I—”
“You’re my mate now.”
“And what? I’m supposed to warm your bed and nothing else?”
Sylvan growled. “You want to fight me now, Prima?”
“Maybe. Maybe I do.” Drake broke Sylvan’s hold and sat up. “No, damn it. No, I don’t want to fight. But we need information. About what’s happening to us and why a handful of human girls had Were fever or something close to it. We need to know why I turned after one of them bit me.”
“And how do you want to do this?” Sylvan sat behind Drake and extended her legs on either side of Drake’s hips, clasping Drake against her chest.
“I want to work at Mir Industries with the Revniks. With their experience and my tissue samples, we can—”
“No!” Sylvan roared, and Max burst out of the woods. She snarled at him, and he disappeared. “You will not be a test subject. You are my mate. You are Prima of the Timberwolf Pack.”
Drake rubbed Sylvan’s arms, lightly scratching the tops of her clenched hands. “I am your mate. And that makes the Pack my responsibility too. And we need to know what we face. If whatever happened to me happens to other humans and we can’t counteract it, the humans will try to contain the threat by containing us. Imprisonment would be the easiest solution, if they stopped at that.”
“They would hunt us.” Sylvan’s throat thickened as she started to shift.
“We can’t let that happen,” Drake said. “You must let me be your mate and do my job.”
Sylvan rested her chin on Drake’s shoulder, breathing deeply to center herself in the scent of her mate. Every instinct pushed her to keep Drake safe within the Compound, guarded by her sentries. “I’ll assign guards. You’ll take them whenever you leave the Compound.”
Drake sighed. “If that will make you feel better, all right.”
“You’ll promise to be careful.”
Drake laughed softly. “Yes. I will.”
“If I’m right, and we’re on the brink of breeding frenzy, I won’t be able to be away from you for very long.”
Drake twisted in Sylvan’s arms and searched her face. “What do you mean? What will happen?”
“If we don’t couple, the pain will incite our wolves. We could be dangerous. Especially me.”
“I understand. You’re Alpha, and the biological imperative to breed is strongest in you.” Drake combed her fingers through Sylvan’s hair and kissed her. “I’m here. I’m yours, and I want you just as much as I need you.”
“Are you ready to meet with the war council?”
“I’m ready for whatever we must do to protect our Pack.”
Chapter Eight
Inside, Nocturne looked pretty much the way Becca remembered it from her last visit. The converted warehouse had high ceilings lost to view behind ductwork and gloom, rows of horizontal windows rendered impenetrable to daylight with black paint, and shaded wall sconces throwing off just enough light for bar patrons to make their way between the sprawling leather sectionals and occasional tables and chairs to the massive chrome-and-granite bar occupying one entire wall. Becca peered into the thick murk, hoping not to step on anyone, figuring most of the patrons had superhuman eyesight along with everything else. Vampires and Weres outnumbered humans by at least five to one. She was used to being in the minority—most investigative reporters were still men, she was African American, and she was a lesbian. She’d felt the subtle and not-so-subtle barbs of prejudice, but no one had tried to kill her for her differences. Yet.
“If you want to host,” Michel said dryly, “you haven’t much time before the Risen will depart.”
“No,” Becca said, hoping she didn’t sound too, too hasty. “I’m here to speak to Viceregal Francesca.”
“Then I suggest you stay close.”
“I will.”
Like she was going to wander away when everywhere around her Vampires were feeding. Every spare inch of horizontal surface was occupied with pairs and threesomes or groups in more varied combinations of genders and species than a random-number generator could predict. A few humans and Weres leaned more or less upright against the bar, some appearing dazed, probably having just hosted and still in a post-orgasmic bliss. Others were being fed upon by Vampires who knelt between their spread legs or drank from their necks or breasts. Sometimes two or three Vampires fed at a time from a single host. She remembered Jody’s warning from the last time she’d been here. Do you want to be compelled to have sex?
Caught in a Vampire’s thrall she’d go willingly, and she’d enjoy it. If the soun
ds and sights surrounding her were any indication, she’d enjoy it a hell of a lot. And chances were she’d want to do it again and again. Pleasure kept the humans and Weres coming back to offer their bodies and their blood night after night at Nocturne and half a dozen other clubs just like it all around the city. Vampires argued their interactions with their hosts were perfectly safe. After all, they didn’t kill their blood hosts—quite the opposite. Why would they intentionally eliminate the source of nourishment they needed to survive? No, on the contrary, they offered exquisite rewards.
A day ago, she’d held a Were in her arms while Jody fed from her. Their arousal, their orgasms, had excited her, even though she’d been kneeling in a pool of blood. She shuddered. She hadn’t even been the focus of Jody’s thrall, and she’d been ready to give her blood. What would she offer if she really were compelled? No freaking way. When she gave her body, she’d do it with her mind clear and with full knowledge of the consequences. Oh no, she wasn’t going to stray.
A hand reached out of the darkness and caressed her neck, cool fingertips trailing down her throat to the exposed skin between her breasts.
“Oh!” Becca gasped and immediately regretted it. A flood of odors engulfed her—the tang of fresh, adrenaline-spiked blood, the thick alluring spice of sex, and the wild rush of earth and forest that could only be Were. Even worse, she felt herself get wet and knew there was no way in hell that every Vampire within fifty feet of her wouldn’t know. She stumbled to a halt.
“On second thought,” Becca said, “maybe my timing is bad. I’ll come back—”
“You have nothing to fear, my dear.” Francesca took Becca’s arm, tugging Becca close to her side. “No one here will bother you.”
“Sure, because everyone probably thinks I’m your next meal.” Becca’s skin tingled, and if Jody hadn’t demonstrated exactly how subtle and persuasive a Vampire’s thrall was, she wouldn’t have recognized the rush of power that blasted from the Vampire Viceregal. Despite the lack of light, Francesca’s camisole was remarkably translucent. She had gorgeous breasts, milky white and rosy tipped. The pressure in Becca’s loins grew heavier. She’d love to run her tongue along the curve of—Jesus, she was losing it! She disengaged her arm from Francesca’s grip as nonchalantly as possible. Offending her hostess would be a really bad idea at the moment. “I mean, I’m sure I’m safe with you.”