Angelic Blood (#5): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

Slash didn't know fear before Adrianna. With a mate, it is part of the fabric of his thought process. Her welfare is a priority he can't deny even if he wanted to.

  A large Were moves from a thick stand of trees and walks toward them gracefully. That is quite a feat, considering his size.

  Instantly Slash intuits he's not from a nearby region.

  Their nostrils flare as he approaches and both Were covertly scent the other.

  Warily, the other Were circles Slash and Adrianna.

  His eyes take her in as she stands behind Slash.

  Slash growls low in his throat. “Do not look at her.”

  The strange Were cocks his head to the left as though considering it as a request. Of course it is not a request. Slash doesn't make those.

  “She is yours?”

  Odd phrasing.

  Adrianna sucks in a breath. “Weiner,” Adrianna mumbles quietly.

  Slash ignores Adrianna's indignation. “She is my mate.”

  “Most recently, by the smell of it.”

  Slash stiffens, locking down his expression. “Voice your concern and business, Were.”

  “I am Tramack. And I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

  It's impossible for Slash to contain his confusion. His mind sprints through the possibilities and finally lands on the vague memory of two females arriving the day before. Could that…?

  No. One is Lanarre. This Were is common, not a spot of either, Red—or Lanarre.

  He is Alpha. And Slash senses he's a packmaster. He has that air of expected obedience about him.

  Slash is obedient to no Were. “I don't have anything that belongs to you.”

  “I seek a female Alpha.”

  Slash shrugs, giving him nothing. “There are none but my mate, who you see here.”

  Tramack makes a show of scenting Adrianna from his distance of twenty feet.

  Slash decides he doesn't like him. Of course, that's not atypical. A sudden thought occurs to Slash.

  Where is Zeke?

  “She is Alpha, but not who I seek.”

  His attention returns to Tramack. “I understand that.”

  “With whom do I speak?”

  “Slash.”

  Tramack dramatically runs his eyes over Slash's scar.

  “You know, you're a first-rate chode. Why don't you go hunt around for your chickie somewhere else,” Adrianna comments.

  Slash sighs. She'll be the death of me.

  Tramack gives Adrianna a considering look. “You know”—his eyes flick to Slash's—“an insubordinate female from our pack would be handled before her behavior got out of hand, as it appears to have with your female.”

  Slash's patience thins. “She isn't from your pack.”

  “From which pack does she hail?”

  Unease washes over Slash, and he squelches it before it can be scented. He deliberates whether he should answer or not. He decides against it. The less this Were knows, the better.

  “Northwestern,” Adrianna says.

  Slash groans inside his skull.

  Tramack gives a horrible smile of triumph that clenches Slash's guts. “Ah. That explains things.”

  Slash's frown turns to a scowl as his hands fall to hang at his sides. He doesn't like surprises. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

  “That packmaster is gone. The rumor mill's rife with stories of his death, along with his second’s.”

  Tony.

  And Manny. Slash had scented Lawrence and Emmanuel. They were buried beneath his feet. How would Tramack know what Slash just confirmed?

  “We of the Western are tight sister dens with the North.”

  Chicken flesh rolls out like the red carpet across Slash's skin. Adrianna lays her face against his bare back, breathing in his scent.

  Her uncharacteristic silence speaks for her fear. Slash hates that their tender moment together has been followed up by an unplanned meet with this power-hungry Tramack.

  “If she is Northwestern, then automatically she is part of the Western if Lawrence is declared dead. You know this.” Tramack tosses his hand out as though his words are a matter of course.

  Slash's gut does a slow revolution. “I do.”

  “And you—you are not a part of the Northwestern.” Tramack laughs.

  Slash does not see the humor. All he can do is scent his female's fear mixed with misery behind him.

  “You are Red. I'd know that taint anywhere.”

  Slash moves toward him and Adrianna grips him by the hips with slick palms, like an anchor at his back. “No, Slash. He's baiting you.”

  “Listen to the little woman, Slash,” he jeers, “and enjoy what time you have with her before she is absorbed into my den.” He thumps his chest.

  “I'm not a ʻlittle woman,ʼ you neutered dog.”

  “Adrianna,” Slash says like a slap, and she chokes back a sob.

  Tramack gives Adrianna a thoughtful look. “I shall enjoy giving you a lesson in manners.”

  Slash shakes her hands off and dives against Tramack. They hit a wide trunk behind them with a crash. Slash lifts the other Were by the neck. “You will not touch her, look at her, or take her anywhere. There will be no lessons learned by your hand.”

  “You know Lycan law, Red. She cannot mate outside the pack. You thought yourself clever, that you could circumvent the law where it suited you.”

  Slash lowers Tramack to the ground, his anger clouding his scenting too late.

  Four Were move out of the wood.

  “Slash!” Adrianna yells.

  Slash's face swivels to look at her. Alone and small, she’s unprotected. “Stay there!” Slash roars.

  Two of the Were split from their position, each one walking toward Adrianna.

  Her quarter-change morphs to wolfen. Talons tremble at the tips of her fingers, and she whips them to her sides, the air whistling between the bony knives.

  “Who's first to lose their teeny penis?” she growls, her talons clicking.

  Slash loves her more than the moon.

  *

  Tessa

  Tessa's been edgy all day. There was a huge ruckus when the Rare One and her human husband had a falling out, then he split. Her Singer soul-meld is now at her side, a bunch of misplaced Region Two Singers are here, and Tahlia's not happy with her.

  And the two Singers she witnessed tossing the other Singer down a trapdoor chute in the middle of the hall… well, it feels like a fine time to go.

  Tessa jogs down the hall to Tahlia's borrowed room, and with a quiet knock, she enters.

  It scares the hell out of Tessa to see Tahlia packing.

  “What is it?” she asks, looking from the bag to her exotic face.

  Tahlia looks up from her packing. “I have a strange feeling.”

  That makes two of us.

  “I'm already packed,” Tessa admits.

  “Do you—” Tessa sighs, giving her braid and irritated fling behind her shoulder. “I mean, I know you said you don't really own your life. But do you want to not wait for the Lanarre rescue committee, and just come with me?”

  Tahlia bites her lip. After a full minute, she lifts her head. Her deep-blue eyes darken with a violet wash when her mood turns contemplative. “If he were wonderful, I would go with him.”

  “But that's the thing—you don't know.”

  Her curly hair bounces as she shakes her head. “I do not. He could be a tyrant. He could be arrogant.”

  A Lanarre who isn’t arrogant. Tessa smirks at that.

  “He could be hot.”

  They turn and the Rare One stands in the doorway.

  Startled, Tessa says, “No offense, private conversation.”

  Julia spreads her hands away from her body inoffensively. “I understand. But if we're talking destiny here, I might have a clue.” She gives a short laugh.

  Tahlia nods. “I do appreciate your kindnesses.”

  “But…”

  Tessa looks between them and is struck by their eyes—ancient
eyes held prisoner inside their young faces. They've had to live too much for ones so young.

  “But in this, I must choose,” Tahlia says.

  Julia glides through the door and walks to Tahlia. “You're brave. You survived your guardians being killed. You're in some kind of arranged marriage—”

  “Not unlike your soul-meld.”

  Julia lips tip up. “Very unlike it. I feel love for Scott because it's actually in my blood.” She puts a loose fist against her chest. “He's a part of me.”

  “Thank you, Julia.” Tahlia leans forward to hug her.

  Tessa watches the two women, who are so dissimilar, finding common ground.

  “Stay,” Julia implores, “The Lanarre guy—”

  “Drek,” Tahlia interrupts.

  “Drek will show up. And you can be here, safe.” Julia presses her hands against Tahlia's. “If you go, he'll have to look for you. And this guy Drek, he's not going to hurt you, is he?”

  Shock spreads across Tahlia's features. “Absolutely not. A Lanarre would never hurt a female.”

  Julia looks down. When her face rises to meet Tahlia's eyes there's a wealth of sadness there. “Let me tell you about a Were named Anthony Laurent.”

  When Julia is done, Tessa thinks there's more to the story.

  Tahlia sits down at the edge of the bed in defeat. “It was he. He was the Were who murdered my guardians. It could be no other.”

  This just gets worse and worse.

  “I know it's rare for a Were to attack females, but this Were?” Julia shudders. “He also had demonic blood. He killed my people. He didn't spare anybody.”

  “He is dead?” Tahlia asks.

  Julia nods.

  Tahlia's eyes close, and a wrinkle of worry settles between them. Her eyes open slowly. “Yet… did he act under orders of another?”

  “Yes, a demonic named Praile.”

  Tahlia works her lip between her teeth.

  Julia leans forward. “We understand there's potential for retaliation. What are you thinking?”

  Tessa's sense of foreboding kicks up a notch and her eyes bang around the room anxiously. “We need to go if we're going, Tahlia.”

  Tahlia nods. “My thoughts are only the legends I was raised with. The demonic are a race to be feared.” She gives the smallest lift of her shoulders. “However, you are angelic here, so you have a powerful built-in opposition.”

  “And what about Drek?” Julia asks.

  Tahlia gets a wistful look, gazing out a window without sight. Darkness has claimed the day.

  “I'm not ready. I—” She gives Tessa a look. “I think I was just following what others thought was best for me. And now I know I can be something other than a mated Lanarre princess.”

  Her voice sounds uncertain.

  “Are you sure that's what you want?” Julia's face looks pained. “What if he drops by and he's all kinds of amazing and kind and super handsome.”

  Tahlia's face breaks into a grin. “Well, he'll be worth being patient for. I'm just not ready, and Tessa wants a companion.”

  Julia gives Tessa a look that clearly says she's filled the girl's head with thoughts.

  “Listen”—Tessa holds up her hands, glancing quickly at the window—“I'll check in after a couple of weeks once we're settled somewhere.” She hikes her shoulders, sweeping a palm out in supplication. “And if Drak is here….”

  Tahlia giggles. “Drek of the Lanarre, Tessa.”

  “Ah-huh. If Drek drops by, then by all means, let me know what your opinion is of him.”

  “I'll tell him I tried to talk sense into Tahlia.”

  Tahlia purses her lips. “I have an inordinate amount of sense.”

  Julia's face took on a sad cast. “I thought I did, too. Once.”

  Tessa's eyes swept the mostly empty room, landing on a duffel. “That it?”

  Tahlia nods.

  “I'll be back in a minute.”

  Tessa turns back from the doorway. “Thanks, Julia. For everything.”

  Julia stares at her with those unnerving eyes, like golden whiskey. “You're welcome.”

  It'd felt like home for a day.

  Now the road would be home again.

  *

  Tessa tiptoes through the huge mansion, making a beeline for the kitchen.

  She carefully packs two days’ worth of food and loads a large hot-cold lunch bag full of food stuffs.

  Tessa sets the thermos gently inside, careful not to crush the rest, and silently thanks Julia again for sharing.

  The hairs at her nape suddenly lift, and Tessa curses herself for being too slow as a hand clamps over her mouth.

  She kicks out, knocking the lunch sack over. A single orange pops out of the bag and bounces across the granite butcher block. It rolls all the way and lands against the wall. It ricochets off the wall and lands with a thunk as Tessa is drug off into the butler's pantry.

  Her heels squeak against the wood floor as she quarter-changes and moves to lock teeth over the hand that grabs her.

  “Do not.”

  That voice.

  He jerks her over the pantry threshold and throws the door closed. He turns her in a blur of speed and slams her against the door. Tessa is momentarily stunned when her head thumps the wood.

  It's the Singer, the lighter of the two who plunged the unconscious Victor into the hole.

  Moon.

  “I am here to kill you.”

  Tessa's never been a slave to her emotions. She's never cared about a male. She's been hunted, beaten, degraded and never, ever cherished.

  In the middle of all that, she survived.

  So when her heart races and her limbs go weak, she can't possibly grasp what this is about.

  Smokey eyes gaze down into hers, and a light vapor rises off skin that has the faintest touch of red.

  He smolders—his eyes, his skin… everything.

  He is so hot, she can feel the heat emanating from his skin.

  “So kill me,” Tessa whispers.

  She is weary.

  She is finished with running. If she dies, then Tramack can never have her. In a bizarre way, Tessa wins.

  He shakes his head, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “No,” he says, his fingers tightening against her throat. “I think not.”

  Tessa's confusion deepens.

  He could take her down piece by piece. Somehow, this weird-looking Singer has the strength to outdo a quarter-changed female Alpha Were.

  So why doesn't he?

  “You saw what we did to the Singer.”

  I should have told Julia.

  She licks her lips, and his eyes latch on to the movement.

  “So, you're not going to kill me?” Tessa's thoughts spin.

  He shakes his head. “I knew what you were to me the instant I scented you.”

  This guy's certifiable. I'll humor him.

  His fingers loosen but don't drop from her flesh.

  She hears herself asking, “Scented what?”

  “My Redemptive.”

  Okay—really crazy.

  He bends his much taller frame over her, but his hand doesn't let go. His thumb moves to her jaw and as his lips draw closer she tips her face up to give him better access.

  I’ve obviously lost my mind, too.

  This guy drug her inside a closet and told her he was going to kill her, and now he's going to kiss her.

  And Tessa's going to let him.

  Scorching heat sears through her lips as his land on hers. Tessa groans as if she's just awoken from a delicious sleep. Her every nerve ending fires. She doesn't realize her arms have encircled his neck until she molds herself against him like a second skin.

  “So hot,” she breathes against him.

  He lifts her by the ass and buries himself against her.

  “Ah,” she moans and kisses him back. “Oh, moon, you feel right.”

  “As do you.” Peck, lick, suck.

  Tessa tries to pull back, and he sucks her lip
deeper into his mouth. The sensation is wonderful, like heated bathwater concentrated into a single wonderful sip of sex on lips.

  A surge of horrible disquiet flows over her and wakes Tessa from her sexual thrall.

  She gasps.

  “Who are you?”

  She doesn't even know his name. And he is a Singer without a scent. He's no Singer.

  An unknown male I'm making out with.

  He allows Tessa to slide down the door but stops her momentum before she's a puddle of melted wax on the floor.

  “They call me Lazarus.”

  “I mean—what—are you?”

  He smiles, and Tessa is suddenly fascinated with a tongue so red it looks like it's on fire. It was just in your mouth, dumbass.

  She swallows.

  Lazarus brushes a hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear. “I am demonic.”

  Tessa's hands slap the door behind her.

  “Shh, do not fear me.”

  She nods. “Sure. Sounds like a great plan. I just made out with the devil, and you're telling me to calm down because things are so peachy. Right.”

  He ignores her words. “Do you know what a Redemptive is, Tessa of the Were?”

  “It is my other half. Most demons do not have that potential. But demons of mixed parentage can be given this gift.” His eyes skip away from hers to return a heartbeat later.

  “I'm a Were. You're a demon.” She points from her to him. “It's not a match made in—”

  He presses a finger to her lips, and Tessa watches the light steam rise and evaporate from his skin.

  Her throat feels tight.

  “None of those words, Tessa.”

  “Okay,” she squeaks, her eyes flitting to where his hands are. “It's been ah—great—to make—I mean—meet you, but now it's time to go.”

  Lazarus shakes his head again. “You are my only chance. If I take you as my bride, I will never have to return to Hades and suffer under the Master again. We are meant to be together. Only my Redemptive can free me from the bonds of hell.”

  Tessa finds air isn't reaching her lungs. “What about your partner or whatever?”

  He scowls, and Tessa finds her out.

  “He won't like it. You just let me go, and then everything will be okay. You can keep on being evil and that, and I'll keep on…”

  What will she keep on doing?

  Oh, yeah. Running.

  Lazarus moves in tight against her body. “I cannot force the Redemptive. She must be willing.”