Blood Bound (Blood Ravengers Book 1)

by Traci Douglass

  Still, he planned to use the connection to his advantage, to control it and use it to keep an eye on her.

  Dante grabbed Anna’s arm and tugged her close. “I told you to stay put.”

  “I need to get out of here. What happened upstairs was a mistake.” She gave him a peeved glare. “Let me go.”

  “You are not allowed here alone.” He slid his hand down her arm and laced their fingers together in a show of possession. “It is too dangerous.”

  “I don’t care.” She pulled away then shoved past him, heading over to the bar. “I’d like the keys to my rental car please.”

  Dex looked at Anna, his expression quizzical. “I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh…”

  “Save us your Shakespeare,” Dante said, a small muscle ticking near his jaw. He moved in beside Anna once more. “I have your keys. Upstairs.”

  “Nice try.” She gripped the edge of the bar, her knuckles white from the pressure. “You can’t keep me here. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to either, if you knew the truth about me.” Anna looked at the bartender again. “Give me a shot of whiskey too, please.”

  “Give her water,” Dante said to Dex then turned to Anna again. “Booze will not help your situation.”

  “You are not the boss of me.”

  “I am in here.”

  “Like hell.”

  Basher shoved two huge bear shifters out of his way with a single push, his gaze trained on Anna.

  Not proud of his actions but needing to stake a claim, Dante grasped her face in one hand and kissed her hard. She fought against him, even bit him, and by the time he pulled back, their newly formed bond was vibrating bright orange from the struggle. One small drop of blood beaded on her lower lip, a testament to his roughness, yet her eyes glittered with outraged desire.

  She was magnificent.

  His inner pain demon purred with pleasure.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  A quick glance around the room showed his fellow gang members watching the interaction carefully. If he caved to Anna in front of them, Dante’s position in the hierarchy would suffer.

  He thrust her away from him, careful not to put pressure on her bruised cheekbone. “Get back upstairs.”

  “Make me.”

  Dante opened his mouth to respond then snapped it shut as the smell of stale cigarettes and putrid wrath demon breath drifted over his shoulder.

  Anna’s eyes widened as Basher’s shadow fell over them.

  “This one doesn’t mind you at all. You’re slipping.” He shoved his way in to stand between Dante and Anna then inspected the damage to her lip. Grinning, Basher lifted the collar of her shirt. “Not bad. I would’ve used a cane myself.”

  Dante twitched with suppressed rage. Canes could cause severe damage in the wrong hands. He had used one himself occasionally, but never without full consent.

  Despite the wrath demon wedged between them, Dante maintained his hold on Anna’s hand, gentling his touch, doing his best to convey protection without words.

  “Heard your sister cried like a little baby,” Basher leaned in closer, his face less than an inch from Anna’s, “when Dante ended her.”

  She cringed and the gang’s leader chuckled, the brittle sound chock full of crazy. “How does it feel knowing you just fucked your sister’s murderer?”

  “W-what?” Tears and fury warred in Anna’s eyes. Her hand trembled in Dante’s and her distress burned through their connection like a laser. “What is he talking about?”

  “Get the fuck off me!” Swifty yelled from the other end of the room.

  Using the distraction to his advantage, Dante hauled Anna off her barstool and away from Basher, who rubbernecked with everyone else to see what the hell was going on.

  Fights around this place were common.

  Fights started by weenie little human drug addicts? Not so much.

  “You lied to me!” Anna’s voice quivered. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she backed away from Dante, her expression laced with pure revulsion. It was a look he had grown accustomed to over the centuries, but having Anna Frost regard him like that damned near killed him.

  He reached for her, but she flinched away.

  “Don’t touch me!” She yelled, her tone edged with hysteria. “Don’t ever touch me again! You… you… you let me believe you were helping me.” They stood in a now-deserted back corner of the bar and she pressed herself against the wall. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

  “There are things you do not understand.” Dante did his best to stay calm, but it was hard when everything that was not nailed down within a four-foot radius trembled from the force of her anger.

  “Stop it!”

  A nearby metal sign flew off the wall and headed straight for Dante. Would have decapitated him too, if he had not ducked fast.

  Anna advanced on him now, her index finger poking his chest. “Stop all of your lies. I don’t want to hear it. You won’t explain because you can’t explain. You lied about who you are, what you are. Lied about Liz. Lied to get me to sleep with you. And you’ll just keep on lying, won’t you?”

  He took a step back. “I have never lied to you, Anna Frost.”

  “That’s funny, because it sounds like that’s all you’ve done the whole time I’ve been here.”

  He grabbed her arm, forcing her back up the stairs and into his room. “I meant every word I have said to you.”

  She wrenched away from him. “So did I.”

  “Dante, get your fucking ass down here!” Basher bellowed from downstairs.

  The gang leader’s command made him want to punch a hole straight through the wall, Spud-style. After a tense moment, Dante stalked away from Anna, away from all her accusations and judgments. He knew exactly who and what he was, what he deserved and what he did not. Anna was out of his league and always would be. He jammed his feet into his boots, grabbed his gun and an extra clip from his top dresser drawer, then unplugged his phone from its charger and headed for the door. “We will talk later.”

  “No, we fucking won’t!”

  Her yell chased him from the room. This time he locked the door behind him, though there seemed little point now. Either she would be there when he returned, or she would not. He hoped she was at least smart enough not to brave Seven alone again.

  Frustrated, he called on his demon powers and murmured a spell to keep the lock intact even if she tried to blast it open. Given he was only half demon, each time he called upon his magic, his strength diminished slightly. He had hoped to conserve as much as possible for what he would most likely be called to do.

  Downstairs, Basher waited near the bar, leaning on one elbow, a half-full bottle of vodka in his hand. He pointed to Swifty, now in Rev’s custody. “Take that outside and end it. I’m tired of this shit.”

  Following orders, Dante dragged the junkie out a side door and into the walled courtyard in back of the bar. Junk littered the perimeter and crickets chirped loud in the late summer air. Above, the waxing moon cast a bright glow.

  He shoved Swifty toward a busted picnic table. “Sit.”

  Shaking, the guy climbed up on the bench then plopped down on the tabletop, tugging the hem of his stained hoodie over his hollowed stomach. “Look, man. I know I fucked up, coming here tonight, but I really did have something important to tell you.”

  “You could have called.”

  “This vision isn’t something you should hear over the phone.”

  The urgency in Swifty’s tone halted Dante in his tracks. “What did you see?”

  “A storm maybe, high winds. You and Basher fighting. Your woman, the one with you in the bar, and another one who looked just like her. There was a bright flash. Then you were gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “Gone. As in assumed room temperature. Ceased to exist.”

  Dante shook his head. Demons were notoriously hard to kill, even half-breed ones. There were legends of ancient weapons rumored to hav
e certain powers, but in his long years of searching he had never found them. “That is not possible.”

  “I’m telling you what I saw, man. There’s bad mojo in the air. Can’t you feel it?”

  Truth was, Dante had felt it since the day Liz had shown up at Seven over a month prior, but he had thought if he ignored the sickening feeling, it would go away.

  “There’s something else,” Swifty said, picking at his thumb nail.

  “What?”

  “Carlos came to see me.”

  Dante exhaled slow. Carlos was the brother of their main human trafficker, Juan. The case he had built for the FBI hinged on him handing Juan over to them on a proverbial silver platter. The fact the trafficker’s younger brother had risked his life talking to Swifty did not bode well. “What did he want?”

  “Carlos said Juan’s got a new deal with some Asian cartel and he’s planning to burn all his connections here in the US.”

  “Really.” Dante gave him a skeptical look. “And Carlos mentioned all this to you why? Good batch of crack?”

  “No. A good fuck.”

  “I see.” He’d known Swifty was gay and couldn’t care less. What did concern him, though, was the fact the junkie and Carlos apparently discussed gang business during their liaisons. “And you believe him why?”

  “Because I performed some serious CBT.”

  The mention of cock and ball torture made most men cringe, most demons too, but there were a few hardcore masochists who loved it and apparently Swifty had skills for that particular type of kink.

  Dante pulled his phone from his back pocket then thumbed in a quick text. No sense putting off the inevitable any longer. “Can you get me a meeting with this Carlos?”

  “Already did. Tomorrow. Three p.m. Bobo’s.”

  “Great.” Dante hit send, then pulled his gun, aimed for the middle of Swifty’s forehead and cocked the trigger. “We had a good exchange going.”

  “Yeah.” The junkie blinked at him, his expression neutral. “Always looked forward to our little meetings. And the cash. The cash helped.”

  “I warned you.”

  “I know.” Swifty nodded.

  “You remember the plan.”

  “Yes.”

  “Give me something of yours. Something personal.”

  Swifty pulled off a dragon-shaped steel ear cuff and handed it to Dante. The thing looked hand-made and worth more than anything else the addict owned.

  “Are you sure you want to part with this?”

  “It’ll make me feel better knowing it went to someone I actually liked.”

  Exhaling loud, Dante closed his fist around the jewelry and aimed his gun once more. “Ready?”

  “Ready. Goodbye, Dante.”

  “Goodbye, Swifty.”

  Dante stared down the barrel of the gun and the world around him shrank to only the now, only the warm rasp of the human’s breath on the chilly night air, only the rustle of wind in the trees, only the pungent smell of exhaust as a van pulled up outside the courtyard walls. Closed his eyes and focused on summoning the power of his demon to do what needed to be done. Clean, smooth, quick. No mistakes, no mercy, no regrets.

  Dante opened his eyes and whispered, “Go.”

  The junkie took off for the back of the courtyard and slipped through a small opening in the six-foot-high stone wall. On the other side waited the ride the FBI had sent in response to Dante’s text, the one that would whisk Swifty away to his new life in witness protection.

  In the gathering clouds above, a small energy vortex formed—swirling, churning, spitting out a small black bundle that tumbled from the sky to land at Dante’s feet. The acrid smell of singed flesh stung his nostrils and turned his stomach.

  A burnt offering fit for an unholy sacrifice.

  Ask and ye shall receive.

  More power used, more strength gone.

  What Dante would not give to receive a new life right about now.

  Blindly, he fired a shot into the still-smoking corpse, one of the ungrateful dead whose earthly deeds had been so heinous they had been sentenced to die over and over again for eternity. Given the fact they were mostly child molesters and abusers, Dante had no problem partaking in their punishment.

  Beyond the wall a door slammed closed and the van rumbled away. Dante picked up the body at his feet and carried it over to a small stone pit in the corner of the yard then started a fire. He tossed the charred remains inside then used what was left of his powers to fan the flames. The stench of roasting human flesh soon filled the air. He shuffled back toward the picnic table, drained.

  Rustling issued from near the front gate of the courtyard and Basher wandered in, taking a long swig from his bottle of vodka. “Done?”

  “Done.” All Dante wanted to do was go upstairs and take a long hot shower and wash away his weakness, wash away his failures and forget this nightmare.

  “Show me,” Basher said.

  Dante held out Swifty’s dragon ear cuff.

  “Nice.” The wrath demon sneered. “He put up a struggle?”

  “Not much.”

  “Damn. I hate it when they go docile.”

  “I know.”

  “Turn around.” Basher tossed his half-smoked cigarette aside and pulled out his pocketknife. “You owe me for your insubordination.”

  Even knowing it was coming did little to dampen the shame, the disgust. This was nothing new. He’d endured this punishment countless times, this burden, this cost of doing business with a man like Basher.

  One of these days he’d have to find better business partners.

  A single, jagged stab sliced into the tender scales on Dante’s upper back, wedging beneath them. Slowly, Basher peeled each scale back before slicing them free. With each cut, the gang leader muttered an incantation designed to interfere with Dante’s healing powers long enough to leave a scar. Given how much energy Dante had already expended in Swifty’s escape, Basher needn’t have bothered.

  His healing would come slow enough on its own.

  Still, the gang’s leader wasn’t one to leave loose ends. Each of his words emerged as more of a growl. “Don’t. Ever. Disobey. Me. Again. Understand?”

  Dante kept his face stoic, his tone flat despite the searing torture. “Yes.”

  Chapter Six

  Anna’s already frayed nerves exploded into a full-blown anxiety attack at the sound of the gunshot outside. She had to get out of here. She had to get away from Dante. She blinked away tears and frantically searched for a way to escape. Why would Liz come here? What the hell could’ve been so important that she’d risk her life?

  Lose her life…

  The room around her quaked and Anna sank to her knees, sobbing.

  How does it feel knowing you fucked your sister’s murderer?

  Sorrow and guilt clawed through her body.

  Liz was dead. Her twin sister. Gone.

  She’d never see her smiling face again, never hear her snarky teasing, never hug her so tight Liz complained she couldn’t breathe.

  Hard shudders ran through Anna and from somewhere around her came the sound of shattering glass. Pictures fell from the walls, coffee mugs exploded in the cabinets. She was beyond caring. Destroy this place and her with it. It was no more than she deserved. Stomach churning and eyes scratchy, she sat on the floor, hating herself, hating this place, but most of all hating Dante.

  I have never lied to you Anna Frost…

  Except for the part about killing her sister.

  Shards of glass glittered enticingly beside her, beckoning her closer.

  One cut. Just one, to ease the roiling guilt and tension and agony inside her.

  Fingers trembling, she grasped a piece, held it to the pale skin of her inner forearm and sliced. Hissed as a thin red line appeared. Sliced again. And again. And…

  A key scraped in the lock on the door. Dante had returned.

  Too late now.

  She flung the shard aside and wiped the blood on the le
g of her jeans then crossed her arms tightly around herself. Her traitorous body still tingled with awareness. There seemed to be a weird, invisible connection between them, flaring despite the fact he’d murdered the only living family she had left.

  Disgusted, Anna pushed to her feet and stalked away into the corner of the tiny kitchen.

  She felt, rather than saw, him approach and her body tensed. But instead of coming to her, Dante stopped at the fridge. Anna glanced over her shoulder. He’d grabbed a beer. He cracked it open and downed the entire contents in one long swallow. Then he pulled out a second bottle and opened that one too. Took another long swig, half the contents this time.

  “I need a shower.” Dante’s voice sounded as defeated as she felt.

  She remained silent, averting her face, blocking him out as much as possible.

  After a deep sigh, he headed toward the bathroom and she finally summoned the courage to look at him.

  Big mistake.

  “What the hell happened to you?” His upper back and shoulders were covered with oozing cuts. He’d mentioned those scales before, said how sensitive they were. Said how vulnerable they were to attack. From the looks of the damage, he’d been in one hell of a fight. “Who did that to you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He reached for the top drawer of his dresser then cringed, agony written all over his face. She didn’t know much about demons, other than they were lying, murdering scum, but his pain looked genuine, and not in a hurts-so-good way either.

  She slowly wandered closer, wincing at the exposed, raw flesh stretching halfway down his spine. She should care less if the bastard died of infection, but being indifferent to another soul’s torture just wasn’t in her. There was no way he could reach those on his own.

  “Need help?”

  “No.” He reached out a trembling arm to brace himself against the wall.

  His tanned skin had taken on a sickening grayish pallor and, if she wasn’t mistaken, he seemed ready to pass out. That damned connection between them pulsed brighter and for one brief moment she felt his brutal suffering. It nearly dropped her to her knees. She reached out a shaky hand toward his shoulder. “They need to be cleaned and properly bandaged or they’ll never heal correctly.”