No, the followers are not vamps.
Drek studies the impressions at the shoulder again. His eyes move restlessly over every groove or tread. His mind touches on an idea and instantly dismisses it.
There has not been a tangible appearance of cloaked demonic in centuries. There would not be one now.
Still, it strikes a discordant note deep within Drek. He doesn't favor the idea of Tahlia with an unknown female while a deranged Were with a penchant for murdering innocent humans is on the loose. And now this new potential threat…
Drek doesn't trust anything he can't scent. No self-respecting Lycan would.
“Drek?” Bowen calls from the bottom of the embankment.
“I don't like it.”
Bowen throws his hands up in the air, disbelief saturating his features. “What's to like?”
“These other scentless beings changes nothing,” Drek says slowly. Except his chosen is vulnerable and is probably not experienced enough to understand a hidden threat is closing in. She is very young.
Drek jogs down the small hill to the forest's edge to join Bowen, who's already racing ahead of him. They run side by side, shoving aside alder branches like ready whips in front of their faces.
“Wolfen,” Bowen gasps.
Their clothes shred. Drek's more prepared than Bowen, who is left in his expandable underwear. Drek specifically chose the plain athletic pants because they would accommodate his change to wolfen form.
The Lanarre all possess coats of silver. A light downy mat of hair like gray smoke covers Bowen as he runs, and Drek knows he looks nearly identical. In wolf form, his coat is tipped in silver but otherwise black. In wolfen form, they both move with power that they could not spare while in quarter-form.
“Wait!” Drek calls, stopping so quickly that he snatches at a trunk to arrest his progress. The tree groans with the impact as his talons punch into the bark. A fine spray of needles falls softly, and the smell of pine is pungent.
Drek flings them out of his hair, but some remain tangled in the fine hairs that cover his body
“What?” Bowen asks, jogging back to Drek's position.
“I scent Blood Singers.”
Bowen nods, unsurprised. “This is close to their territory.”
Drek inhales deeply, his eyes widening. “Tahlia,” he breathes her name reverently.
“How did I miss that?”
“Chasing the ball!” Drek answers with a healthy dose of sarcasm.
Bowen flips him off. “I did not ignore scenting to chase the one scent.”
Drek snorts, his snout wrinkling. Bowen always has trouble multi-scenting. He gets one scent and gets obsessive.
An irritated exhale rushes out of Bowen. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Drek's talons click as is thumb and index come together. “All the way.”
“Right—go on,” Bowen replies impatiently.
“They're not enemies of the Were,” Drek comments significantly. “They would take in two lone Were females.”
“Yes,” Bowen admits.
“So Tahlia must have found refuge in their territory.”
Bowen sighs and shoots a glance Drek's way. “That's a reach.”
“I don't believe in coincidence.” His eyes lock on the slowly spinning mercury orbs in Bowen's face. “An Alpha female, my chosen, and two Singer males—together?”
“You're right. But this will have to be handled with a degree of diplomacy you lack, Drek.”
Drek's face tightens. “I have certain inalienable rights here.”
“Of course. But they're a different species, with different rules that govern their kind. We might not be able to just waltz in there with nary a care and grab Tahlia. There might be a protocol in place.”
Drek's face whips to Bowen's and he feels his eyes spinning in response to his heightened agitation.
“Fuck protocol.”
Bowen's chin dips. “I was afraid you'd say that.”
There are no words after that, only speed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Cyn
Cynthia folds her arms. “You have got to be kidding?”
Jason whirls around, punching the wall. Plaster flakes float to the floor. “Do I look like I'm fucking kidding?”
Cynthia studies his tense body as if he were a coiled snake. She sighs. “I'm not gonna lie. This sucks donkey dicks.”
Jason snorts. “Yeah.”
“What are ya gonna do?”
Cynthia feels for him. He's so raw. The last three years have been a torture. And in a way, it never stopped. Jason's been on a perpetual roller-coaster ride like an emotional junkie with no fix in sight.
“What do you think?” he asks, disdain thick in his voice.
Cynthia looks down at her feet, momentarily taking note of her shitty footwear. Why does that matter? She doesn't know, but in this crazy-ass new world of hers, she just wants something cute, goddammit.
Instead, she faces Jason—and reality. “You're going.”
He jerks his head in a nod. “Hell, yes. I'm not sticking around to watch Julia do Scott.”
“God, that's crude—even for you.”
He strides toward her, but Cynthia holds her ground. Jason's volatile, but she doesn't think he'll melt down all over her.
Jason sees something in her and slows, his expression like thunder. “What? You think I'd put my hands on you?”
Cynthia quickly shakes her head. “No, but you're—you're not yourself, Jas—”
“No shit?” He rakes a hand through his sandy hair. “My wife”—he thumbs his chest hard enough to leave a bruise—“is all soul-tied…”
“Meld.”
“Whatever-the-fuck!” he roars, and Cynthia's mouth snaps shut.
“With Scott,” he spits.
Cynthia's in full-diffusion mode. “Listen, Jason, I know you're freaking out right now…”
His hands clench into fists, his jaw goes hard, and his eyebrows yank in blatant disbelief. “Yeah. Ya think?”
Cynthia blows out a tight breath, crossing her arms. “But you'll never forgive yourself if something happens to Jules.”
He meets her eyes, his hazel irises turning green.
“You're not going all wolfy on me, are ya?”
“Maybe.”
Cynthia fold her arms. “Well—don't.”
The green bleeds back to his human hazel, and Cynthia lets a sigh of relief escape. Jason as human is bad enough. Wolfen is just plain dangerous.
“I already can't forgive myself,” he confesses harshly.
“Why?”
Jason turns, and both of his fists come down on the wall. Cynthia yelps, retreating a step as her hands go to her chest, her heart bouncing around like a ping- pong ball.
They sure do a lot of wall repair here.
Jason turns away, speaking to the wall he just ruined, “Because of my clueless ass, Julia was taken, Kev was killed—eventually, you were turned.”
“No, God—Jace!” Cynthia cries, moving behind him and putting her palms on his muscular back. “This is not on you.” She slaps him lightly. “We didn't know this was even a part of our world.”
Jason turns to face her. “But if I was always Singer, why didn't I have a gut instinct to protect Julia? Shouldn't I have known something?” His voice cracks, regret shattering the timbre into brittle glass.
“Remember the shooting, Jace?” Cynthia's eyes search his. “If that wasn't protecting her from that fuckwaffle teacher, I don't know what is.”
Jason stares at her for half a minute, then he hugs her. “I gotta go, Cyn. I can't be here. I don't want anything bad to happen to Jules, but she's got Scott.”
Cynthia pats his back then grips his T-shirt. “I know it's selfish, but I don't want you to leave. It's like breaking up the three musketeers or something.”
Jason touches her cheek as he steps away. “Yeah. It is. But I'll hurt her worse if I stay. I can't stand that prick.”
“Because he has Julia
or something else?”
A rueful smile crosses his lips. “I don't have lofty principles. He's taking my wife, and that's all the reason I need to hate his stinking guts.”
Cynthia can't respond to that. She understands. It's not reasonable, but it's real. And that's what matters to her.
She raises her eyes to meet his. “When?”
“I've got my shit packed. I'll say goodbye to Jules and get the hell out of here.”
“What if there's, ya know, authorities hunting your butt?”
“Let ʼem.” He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans but not before Cynthia catches sight of his scraped knuckles.
“There's nothing I can—” She wants to beg, to reason with him. There has to be a way.
“No.”
She sees the determination on every tenacious line of his face. “ ʼKay.” Cynthia blows a stray hair out of her face, glancing down. “I'm sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“It feels like it's all our faults.”
Jason plows his fingers through his hair. “Maybe.”
Cynthia jerks her face up.
Jason shrugs. “Feels like someone stole my life then gave it back to me like ground beef. And it's spoiled now.”
“Gross analogy.”
He lifts his shoulders. “Tell me I'm wrong?”
Cynthia shakes her head.
“Can't,” she whispers.
Jason steps into her space and kisses her forehead, briefly cupping the back of her head. “Take care, Cyn.”
She nods. There's no talking, too many tears and no decent words.
It sucks.
And that is all.
*
Julia
Her guilt is an endless swamp. Hot and rank, it washes around her legs, threatening to drown her with its smell and heat.
She knew he would come, but as Jason moves toward her, Julia still tenses in surprise.
“Hey,” she calls out. For once, she's blissfully alone, yet she feels the separation from Scott like a weight.
Jason moves faster, and her eyes widen as he crashes into her and his arms snap around her smaller frame.
Julia opens her mouth to scream, and his lips smother hers as they smash into a wall in a tangle of arms and legs. His hands brace Julia before her head hits, his body pinning her against the exterior of the barn.
Jason kisses her fervently, desperately, and she opens her mouth to his. The kiss deepens, their tongues twining in a passion at once familiar, but now somehow wrong.
Though married, they're separate.
His assault on her mouth cools to pecking. Reluctantly he releases her. Jason grasps Julia's jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.
Fear, sorrow, and adrenaline combine in a dizzying cocktail that surges through her and the tie she shares with Scott. “He's coming,” she whispers.
Jason pulls a face of disdain. “Of course he would. Let him come.”
Julia cups his face. A face she loves. A face she'll have to let go.
“Why, Julia?” he asks, slamming a palm into the wall next to her face, and she flinches.
She doesn't answer because Scott's pulling him off.
He hurls Jason ten feet, and he lands, his clothes bursting off his body as he morphs into wolfen.
Scott changes into his Combatant form in the time it takes her to expel the air from her lungs.
“No!” Julia screams.
Scott and Jason collide midair.
They land, and Julia steps between them. Strong hands latch on and fling her away, sending her airborne. Julia tries to work her telekinesis but fails as her emotional snare intensifies.
Scott catches her.
“Stay here,” he growls, and Julia cringes when she sees his form. He whirls around, and there's empty space where Jason just was.
Vanished.
Julia doesn't know if it's forever. But it feels like it is.
Scott straightens from his crouch. The monster slowly melts back to human. Teeth like a saber tooth tiger’s retract, talons as long as fingers slide to nails, his stature shortens, and his eyes stop glowing.
Julia takes a shuddering inhale and sits on her ass, dumping her face in her hands.
“That was awful,” confessing the words as she fights sobbing and loses.
Scott doesn't agree, say he's sorry, or make excuses for himself or Jason. He scoops her off the ground and carries her to his bedroom.
*
Cyn puts a wet washcloth on Julia's forehead.
Bliss.
“That went well—not.”
Julia's eyes roll to meet Cyn's gaze. “Yeah. I felt like an ass.”
“Jason's not really all there,” Cyn says, tapping her temple. She plops down, perching at the side of Scott's bed.
“Wow, that sounds bad. Like I think Jace is nutso. I mean…” She sighs, wrapping her long hair in a fist and tossing it over her shoulder, “He's not crazy. He's just frustrated. But I think he finally made the right choice.”
Julia's all talked out.
“He left so you could have a life, Jules. Jason left so he might, too.”
“But he never came to terms with it—with us.”
Cyn's eyes drift up to the ceiling then pierce Julia when they move back. “How could he? You're the one with the soul-meld—not him.”
“With this thing”—Cyn swings her finger back and forth—“that you and Scott have—you have to move past memories. Jason doesn't have that buffer, the chemical things happening. He just has memories and devotion.”
Julia dies a little inside at her words.
“And the fact that neither of us knew we were Singers. And the fact that he's a Were now. I mean, we're so far from being human anymore, it altered everything.”
“I know,” Julia concedes softly. Logically, with everything that's changed in their lives, there is zero chance that they, or their relationship, would have remained the same.
“I hate to say this, but you'll have to think about annulling the marriage.”
Julia shakes her head, lacing her fingers tightly. “I can't. That would lead someone straight here.” And on some level, she feels like shit for even contemplating it.
Cyn allows a smile. “Let Truman do it.”
Julia crosses her arms. “Oh, yeah, that's so gonna work, Cyn. There's a manhunt gunning for Truman.”
“Not so much, Jules. He's been gone awhile. Homer, Alaska, doesn't have the resources to look for a cop a year away from retirement age.”
“A year away from retiring,” Julia repeats in awe.
“I know, right?” She looks away, and color floods her cheeks. “He's like so not looking his age.”
Julia scrutinizes her expression. “Do you kind of dig him?”
Cyn looks at her knotted hands. “Don't say.”
Wow, Cyn is crushing on Truman.
“I thought we were talking about Jason here.” Cyn huffs, swinging her leg.
“I think we've discussed him long enough. I don't—I can't deny I love him.”
“But you're not in love.”
Julia shakes her head. “I thought I was.”
“Too much water under the bridge?” Cyn asks.
Julia gives her a defeated look.
“Too much blood.”
Julia catches Scott's eye as he dips his head into the room.
He leaves without a word, allowing the women their grief for the past without him as an audience.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Slash
Slash loops his arm around Adrianna, drawing her against his body and kissing the top of her head. She smells of woods and him.
Slash likes it.
His wolf gives a joyous roll just beneath the thin layer of skin that makes Slash look human.
His animal is pleased by his choice of mate.
“You're all mushy and soft now, stud.” Adrianna pokes him in the side. “Ooh, maybe not too soft.”
She steps away and looks at his stoma
ch, cocking her head. “You must have a twelve pack there. That's hot.”
Slash raises his eyebrows, and he glances down at his flat stomach. “A what?”
She smacks him, and he catches her hand so quickly, she gasps softly. He flips her hand over and kisses the center of her palm.
She gives a contented sigh.
Slash could get so used to the noises she makes.
Adrianna blushes at the look he gives her.
“I thought you said you weren't the blushing virgin.”
She looks up at him through her long eyelashes. “I'm not, anymore.”
It's Slash's turn to feel a touch of embarrassment. He pulls her back to him, holding her close. “It was a precious gift you gave me.”
“Slash,” she says against his bare skin, “you don't have to be so serious all the time. Life's not so bad, yʼknow.”
She is very young. Sometimes Slash forgets. He memorizes every line of her face and her every curve. Life is an ever-changing tide. When he navigated the current alone, it was manageable. Now there are two of them.
And someday, there may be a whelp. His chest swells at the thought of something he assumed would never be a part of his life. A thrill moves through him like an electrical current.
A twig snaps and Slash whirls, shoving Adrianna behind him.
His eyes skate across the woodland. All is in order, and he can vaguely see the dark outline of the Singer's mansion in the distance.
But Slash is Red, so he maintains his alert posture. He never dismisses his instincts. His eyes belie what his nose tells him is true. Adrianna's fingers grip his flanks, and he flexes in preparation for a change in form.
It is not necessary for a Were to change to full wolf except for that time the moon calls. A quick glance tells him the moon is half-gone. There is no wolf at the ready. And he would be horribly vulnerable when he changed back, leaving Adrianna unprotected.
No, determine the threat and go from there.
“Come out. I hear you,” Slash announces loudly.
“Slash,” Adrianna says. He can scent her fear as if it were his own. He shares it.
Angelic Blood (#5): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series) Page 17