Blood Bound (Blood Ravengers Book 1)

by Traci Douglass

  Blood Bound

  A Blood Ravagers Romance

  Traci Douglass

  Blood Bound

  Copyright © 2016 Traci Douglass

  Kindle Edition

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-945879-17-3

  Dedication

  For all the misfits…and the people who love them.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Blood Ravagers Series

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Welcome to Salvation…

  Anna Frost stared at the worn wooden sign as she drove into the small frontier town.

  More like welcome to another wild goose chase…

  Halfway down the main drag, she pulled her compact, rental car up to the curb and cut the engine. Her destination stood on the corner—a ramshackle, two-story cinder block building with a walled-in rear courtyard. The place looked more like a fortress than the simple bar she’d expected.

  A low growl rumbled closer and she glanced into the rearview mirror. Four gleaming motorcycles approached, all of the riders were big and muscled. One guy was bald with a beard, one with a cowboy hat and black duster coat, one with a mustache and a Hell Rules bandana tied around his head, and one with a shadow of stubble defining his chiseled jaw, his eyes hidden behind aviator shades.

  Stubble guy glanced toward Anna as they drove by, his long dark hair blowing in the breeze. One side of his full lips quirked into a small smile and her breath hitched, a strange pressure building low in her core. He sped away and she damned near raced after him before she stopped herself.

  She was here to get information about Liz, not find a date.

  Ahead, the bikers parked their cycles and went into the bar. Trouble was, this place wasn’t an ordinary pub. It was home to the most notorious outlaw organization in the country, let alone tiny little Salvation, Wyoming.

  Notorious not because of its deeds—though those were bad enough, if the rumors were believed—but notorious for its members.

  Settlements of otherworlders weren’t that uncommon these days, not since the Great Revelation took place nearly a decade prior. It had been a time when all the other species living amongst humans finally made their presence known. Overall, the so-called monsters kept to themselves. They even had their own governing body, the Council, who made their laws and administered otherworld justice when said laws were broken.

  The world continued on as usual.

  Except here.

  Here, according to her research, the Wild West was alive and well and had become a seething cesspool of illegal mingling between humans and all sorts of dark creatures.

  News of vamps and demons and shifters existing alongside mankind hadn’t exactly been shocking to Anna or her twin sister, Liz. Honestly, given their rather odd upbringing, she’d never judged anyone for their lifestyle choices or their genetics—despite the fact everyone seemed happy to categorize her as a lonely schoolteacher who devoted her time to her fifth grade class and the occasional rescue cat who adopted her.

  They had no idea who she really was.

  The awful things she’d done.

  Things that had driven her to choose the normal, the sedate, the vanilla…

  Anna opened the car door then shivered as a cool breeze trickled in. She should’ve brought a sweater, but it was August. The temps were usually warmer.

  More motorcycles roared past and the sour smell of exhaust jarred her back to reality. She smoothed her shaky hands down the front of her jeans and patted the bobbed auburn wig concealing her blond hair.

  Identical in appearance yet polar opposites in personality, she and Liz were two halves of the same whole. Without her sister, she felt like a piece of her was missing. And yes, maybe Anna had taken to cutting her forearms again in order to feel something, anything, other than the endless, soul-sucking guilt her sister’s disappearance had caused. That didn’t make her a bad person. It was her past deeds that had condemned her years ago.

  She tugged the long sleeves of her plain black T-shirt lower, the sickening tension inside her coiling tighter. If Liz had somehow ended up in that bar with those mercenaries, then God help her, because local law enforcement wouldn’t.

  Wind whistled and she blinked hard. She’d worn brown contacts to hide her unusually colored eyes—one green, one blue—and squinted into the bright sky above. There had to be at least twenty bikes parked out front now, along with several groupies sporting skimpy skirts and stiletto heels.

  From a rickety overhang, the bar’s rusted sign swung on its chains. Known simply as Seven, the place had been raided more times than Afghanistan, but still the gang of mysterious outlaws persisted. Internet legends said the bikers paid hefty bribes to the Council to keep their lair open and secure. Whatever the reason, human law enforcement had bailed on Anna at first mention of the club, leaving her with little choice but to investigate herself.

  The last time she’d spoken with Liz, her sister had gone on for hours about this place and the mysterious new man she’d met—someone she’d refused to name but described as “magnetic as the full moon and twice as seductive”.

  At the time, Anna had assumed the fascination with this new stud-du-jour would burn itself out, like every other crazy obsession her sister had delved into over the years. Palm readings, Ouija boards, tarot cards, crystal balls, numerology. They’d all fallen by the wayside sooner or later, along with the men who’d conjured said obsession.

  Then her sister’s calls stopped.

  Liz always called every Sunday night at nine sharp.

  Not to mention her ever-present mental bond with her sister had gone oddly silent. Anna hadn’t tried to use that bond in years, for good reason. But now that it was gone, it left a black hole of trepidation in its wake and everything pointed to one unsettling conclusion.

  Something bad had happened.

  Slowly, she made her way down the crumbling sidewalk toward the bar.

  Anna’s email inquiries had yielded only one response, from an addict around these parts whom her sister had mentioned by the name of Swifty. And his answer had been nothing but a bizarre warning, “Forget Seven and the Blood Ravagers. They’re terminal.”

  Terminal sounded more like a disease than a gang, but she’d assumed it was because the guy was probably stoned off his gourd. After all, it wouldn’t have been the first time Liz involved herself with junkies or illicit substances. Once, in Sedona, there’d been an incident involving peyote and cacti and…

  A
nna shuddered. She still couldn’t visit the desert after that one.

  Poised now at the entrance of Seven, Anna took a deep breath. The ornate brass door handle seemed out of place on the graffiti-covered wood, symbols both ancient and ominous carved into its surface. She traced her fingers over the delicate S-shape of a serpent, pierced by an arrow.

  A loud crash thudded against the door, followed by the tinkle of shattering glass and low animalistic snarls. Not exactly the most reassuring welcome in the world, but she only had four days here before she was due to fly back to Atlanta.

  It was now or never.

  She’d get in, get her information, get out.

  Anna creaked open the front door and stepped inside the bar’s cool, dark interior. The door slammed shut behind her, taking with it the sunny world outside. The junkie’s words looped through her mind as her eyes adjusted.

  Forget Seven and the Blood Ravagers. They’re terminal.

  Cigarette smoke clouded the air. Noisy ceiling fans swirled the smell of booze and bad decisions into a huge haze of sinister warning. Behind the bar stood a tall, tanned hunk with shaggy blond hair and violet eyes—a bottle of liquor clutched in his hand, frozen mid-pour. He stared back at her with an oh-shit expression. She scanned the large room. There was all manner of fur and fangs and one dude who appeared to be a fantastical shade of turquoise.

  Hands trembling, Anna peered through the murkiness, broken here and there by a few bare bulbs and buzzing neon signs. A rusted yellow square with a red one and a percent sign hung crooked on the wall near her shoulder and an old jukebox in the distance played seventies punk rock on endless repeat.

  Like a bad spaghetti western, all activity ceased and everyone’s attention zeroed in on her. Anna’s pulse tripped and her chest constricted, followed by queasy dizziness. She half expected Clint Eastwood to swagger over and ask her to make his day. Her analytical brain searched for rational explanations for what was happening.

  Anxiety, hunger, sheer terror?

  All of them seemed perfectly plausible at the moment.

  When they were kids, Liz always joked if the twins lived to see the apocalypse, pragmatic Anna would march right up to Lucifer himself and demand to see the battle plans. She would’ve laughed then, if her sister hadn’t been right. Would’ve laughed now, too, if she hadn’t been teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack.

  Her mouth dried. Cold sweat prickled the back of her neck.

  This was a mistake.

  Liz knew better than to involve herself here, didn’t she?

  Flashes of memory slammed into her mind like machine gun fire. A different crowd. A different threat. A different time when Anna’s attempts to help Liz had gone horribly, lethally wrong.

  She backed slowly toward the exit. One step, two. A few more and the outside world beckoned. She could run back to the rental car, start the engine, and get out of Dodge or Salvation or wherever the hell this place was.

  Hands fumbling behind her, Anna reached for the door handle, but encountered only warm, hard muscle. She froze, a silent squeak lodged in her throat.

  “Who are you?” The voice was deep and rough and thoroughly male.

  Her already racing pulse tripled. Through an adrenaline-soaked haze, she somehow managed to detect the hint of an accent. The way he rolled his ‘R’s. European? Italian, maybe?

  Anna swiveled slow and stared into the face of a man she’d seen earlier, the biker with the stubble and aviator shades. The sunglasses were gone now, revealing a pair of obsidian-dark eyes, a brief flicker of crimson at their core—there, then gone.

  Her universe tilted on its axis. Everything seemed to drift away. Farther, farther, until all that remained was this man. This man, with his beautiful face and fathomless eyes. Anna’s vision tunneled and her consciousness slipped and from the growing black void of nothingness she heard him curse.

  At least she thought it was a curse.

  His language was low, guttural, violent to the core.

  Yet his arms felt warm and gentle as they saved her from crashing to the cold, hard ground.

  Chapter Two

  Whirr, creak, whirr, creak, whirr…

  Head pounding, Anna squeezed her eyes shut. Something soft and cool glided over her forehead. She tried to speak, but couldn’t seem to form words in her sandpaper-dry throat. The mattress beneath her felt hard and lumpy and warm.

  She forced her heavy eyes open and blinked to clear away the blur. Above, a ceiling fan teetered precariously—the source of the monotonous drone. Except she didn’t have a ceiling fan in her apartment. Only a broken air conditioner the superintendent had promised to fix six months ago. Slowly, recent images flooded back into her beleaguered brain.

  Parking the rental. Walking into Seven.

  Eyes wide, Anna sat up fast. Too fast.

  The world went cockeyed again and bile rose in her throat.

  A large set of hands forced her back down flat and placed a cold rag onto her forehead. “Relax. You will feel better in a moment.”

  That voice. She knew that voice…

  Stunned, Anna squinted at the gorgeous stranger who’d saved her from face-planting on the barroom floor. Jeez. With that hair and that face, he could’ve been a pirate. But if he was in Seven, then he could also be a killer, a rapist, a drug dealer…

  Or worse.

  He could be the reason her sister had disappeared.

  The guy certainly fit Liz’s description, after all.

  Magnetic as the full moon and twice as seductive…

  She struggled to sit up again, but he held her in place with a single finger in the center of her chest. Strong too, apparently. He wore only a denim vest from the waist up, revealing more of his muscled torso and tanned skin than it concealed. A tattoo caught her eye—on his left ribcage—the same symbol she’d seen carved into the door outside. The serpent, S-shaped and pierced by an arrow, almost like a dollar sign. He shifted position and his vest slid closed again.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  She felt, more than heard, the deep rumble of his voice as he continued to watch her with those unreadable black eyes. Anna swallowed hard and finally managed to croak out a response, each syllable scratchy and painful. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Aren’t we all.” He smiled, all white teeth and menace. “What is your name?”

  “A-Anna Frost.”

  “Well, A-Anna Frost.” He helped her sit up, slowly, then stood and tossed the cloth aside. “You should not be here.”

  Anna gripped the edge of the sofa until the room stopped spinning. “I need information.”

  “And I need a good beating and an excellent fuck. Want to make an exchange?”

  His blunt words rendered her mute. Again.

  “That is what I thought.” He chuckled, a mirthless sound. “Run. Run far and run fast, Ms. A-Anna Frost. And maybe when you stop running you will have forgotten all about this place.”

  Part of her wanted to take his wise advice, but the other part of her knew she’d never be able to live with herself if she didn’t get things right this time. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t?” He walked to the other side of the room and opened a small fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, then returned and handed it to her. “Or won’t?”

  “Both, I guess.” She took the water and eyed it suspiciously.

  “It is not poisoned or drugged.” He crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze. “Though you are smart to worry about both in here.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked after taking a drink.

  “Why does it matter?”

  “I need to find the leader of the Blood Ravagers.”

  “What do you need with him?”

  “My sister came here. She mentioned the gang. I thought he might know where she is.”

  “Who is your sister?”

  “Liz Frost.”

  His full lips tightened into a thin line. He grabbed her arm and hauled her to he
r feet. “You must leave. Now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I find out what happened to my sister.” From the window, she saw the street below, her rental car in the distance. “Do you know where I can find this guy? Liz said his name was Basher.”

  “Do you know why they call this place Seven?”

  “It’s the magic number?”

  His expression remained flat.

  Anna cleared her throat, doing her best to hide the fact her knees were quaking. “Something to do with poker, maybe?”

  The man released her arm and stepped closer. For each step he took, she retreated, until the cold stone wall pressed against her back, preventing escape. He stopped several inches in front of her, the intense heat of him searing her. Close enough for her to smell his scent—cloves and smoke and clean, aroused male. Once upon a time, he would’ve been exactly the kind of guy she would’ve gone for—all dark and erotic and alpha sexy. The kind of man who filled her dark fantasies, who would take control and appease her secret cravings for pain while giving her the ultimate pleasure in return.

  She gasped and shrank away.

  No one knew about her fetishes. Those she kept private and locked away.

  They were far too dangerous.

  Just like her past, her talents, her true essence.

  “Seven is indeed a magic number. But not in the way you think.” Frowning, he reached out and toyed with a lock of hair from her wig, then traced a fingertip down her cheek. The crimson flames flared hotter in his eyes before vanishing once more—tempting, elusive, hypnotic. “Are you familiar with the nine circles of hell?”

  “The Inferno, you mean?” Yeah, she’d read it. Back in high school or maybe college, she couldn’t remember. Couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything except his fingertip on her skin—stroking, stroking, stroking.

  “Yes.” He smiled again, slowly, his voice emerging as little more than a purr.

  Thick, hot lust pooled low in her abdomen at the sensual promise in his tone. Anna shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want him, but she did.