Bond of Darkness

by Diane Whiteside

  Yet the agonies he’d suffered of how he’d failed her because he hadn’t stood beside her—still suffered, in fact!

  Grania gently rubbed her thumb over his hand, a delicate reminder they were united at last, as they had not been seven centuries ago. He quickly twisted his hand, capturing her fingers. In a few centuries, he might not be as greedy for reassurance. Perhaps.

  Could he deny Ethan the chance to stand beside his lady in her hour of need, the chance he and Blanche had never had? Madre de Dios, if she died during La Lujuria, Ethan deserved to face that trial with her.

  But how to present it to his other men without seeming a weak fool?

  He spun to face them, standing between Grania and Ethan. A quick, brutal command brought his hijo to his feet, with the Ranger in his arms.

  “¡Mis hijos y compañeros!”

  Boots and guns clanked in acknowledgment when all his men came to full attention. Jean-Marie’s and Luis’s eyes scrutinized him particularly closely.

  “I was previously introduced to the work Ranger Stephanie Reynolds of the Texas Rangers has done for Texas. Some of you have already had the honor to work with her and personally know her deeds.”

  The silence was intense, sharp enough he could hear every drop falling into the great fountain.

  “Do you agree she is worthy to join us?”

  “Yes!” shouted Rough Bear, echoed a second later by Hennessy and Jean-Marie. A roar of acclaim went up from the crowd.

  Rafael inclined his head, a little surprised by the strength of their approval. But perhaps the lady’s participation in tonight’s combat explained it.

  Grania’s soft chuckle briefly touched his mind.

  “After her injuries in tonight’s great battle, my alferez mayor gave her El Abrazo and brought her home to us. I welcome her as a vampira of Texas”—Ethan gasped—“and hija of Ethan.”

  Ethan’s head whipped around to stare at him, hazel eyes wide with incredulous joy.

  “I add one condition to this,” Rafael said sternly. “As you know, anyone who breaks the laws will be executed. In this case, should the lady break the law, her creador will also be killed.”

  “I swear to you, it will not be a problem,” Ethan protested, bowing.

  Rafael shot him a disbelieving glare. So you would have said yesterday, idiot, about this situation! he retorted.

  Ethan gritted his teeth, while Rafael’s army erupted in cheers.

  “But we have less than an hour to protect your Doña Stephanie from the cruel dawn,” Rafael said, pleased to be gracious now he’d reinforced his position as patrón. “Take her to the Rose Suite, where we have always housed our most honored guests. It is completely soundproofed and she should be entirely safe.” It also contains no memories of any cachorro’s awakening, he added, to haunt your future.

  Ethan nodded thoughtfully and started to turn, shifting his darling closer to his heart.

  “After you’re finished, wash up and come find me. You will need to feed well and have much to learn if she is to have any hope of surviving. She will remember nothing of tonight, which may be a blessing.”

  Despite his best attempt at regal benevolence, Rafael’s voice roughened slightly on the last word. Ethan flinched, his jaw tightening, but said nothing more before he left.

  What are their chances, darling? Grania asked softly.

  Hers? They are essentially nil, querida. Worse than yours, since you’d already started to become my compañera when you were given El Abrazo.

  And his? Her blue eyes were fixed desperately on his. He hated to give her the only answer he knew.

  I wish I thought he had much. But since he was willing to bring her back to me, to give her even a chance of surviving La Lujuria, while believing I’d kill him for breaking Texas’s first law—he growled and slapped his thigh, taking out his anguish on a bit of dust—well, he’s bound up everything he has in her.

  We will pray for them tonight, Rafael. A single tear hung on Grania’s eyelash before she blinked it fiercely away.

  “Dismiss the men, Rough Bear,” Rafael snapped with unnecessary force. Perhaps there was something more he could teach Ethan, which would give him a better chance.

  Ethan slowly circled the great suite, ticking off its virtues on his fingers. The room was a magnificent example of the finest modern Scandinavian design—vast expanses of smoothly polished woods, with only brilliant rugs to break up the incredible perfection. Even the great bed was a pristine sweep of the smoothest silk, except for the raven-haired beauty sleeping in its center.

  Once he’d seen this suite as a proffered guarantee of security—after all, who could possibly bug anything so immaculate?—but now he thanked God for its privacy. For the layers of sound-proofing hidden behind the paneled walls and steel shutters, plus their complete lack of distractions.

  Any sound, however small, could destroy his darling now, or any bit of light. But Steve wouldn’t start screaming here because a chandelier’s pendants danced together, their crystal harmony becoming a cacophony of dragons’ teeth tearing her apart.

  She would awaken with a vampira’s full sensitivity but, unlike a man, she would try to understand every sense all at once. Vampiros usually focused on a single thing, the goal they’d held when they’d received El Abrazo.

  But he hadn’t even been able to promise Steve whom she’d awaken with, when he gave her El Abrazo! How could she have kept a single image to guide and protect her now? Her chances were so damn small . . .

  He snarled and thrust the thought away, clenching his fists. Any fear now would be a certain death sentence for her.

  Her first meal was the most critical, since it taught her the emotions she’d need for the rest of her life. If she learned to hunger for terror—he shuddered, remembering the many ways Devol had invoked that feeling in his prey—then Don Rafael would have to kill Steve tomorrow. God help him, Ethan would understand, too—even if it sent him walking into the sun afterward.

  No, he had to be confident tonight, certain she’d survive.

  Above all else, she needed to recognize him and accept him as her creador—and perhaps one day her cónyuge, the greatest joy of all. They’d been lovers for fifteen years. She knew his body the way she knew no other man’s. Surely she could come willingly to him now, as easily as she had at Calatrava when she’d walked away from those greedy idiots in the bar.

  After all, she’d accepted El Abrazo despite her concerns over his undue familiarity with the darker side of the law.

  He must remember the night at Calatrava and believe she’d come to him again the same way, as innocently as she slept now. If she had enough sanity to say his name, all would be well, even though she’d received El Abrazo in a hurry. He’d have time later to teach her how to shapeshift her teeth into fangs, like most young cachorros.

  Her body had earlier cleansed itself of its prosaica aspects, violently but naturally. Ethan had masturbated a few minutes ago, inspired by memories of their first time together, to fill the room with lustful scents, as a lure to her most primal being.

  Was there anything else he could do for her? He spun, calculating the room’s potential, which sent his hair whispering against his nape. For a moment, he almost felt her fingers playing with it. He glanced over at her, smiling.

  Dear God, she’d pushed back the sheet and a light sweat had formed on her skin. She was about to awaken.

  For the first time since he’d stood at his nephew’s grave and said good-bye to his last relative, he crossed himself and said a quick prayer.

  He bit down hard on his lip, sending blood welling over his chin. Something stirred in the darkest recesses of his mind, as if not even aware how to touch him.

  Blood and lust, my darling—anytime and as much as you want, he silently promised her. Come to me, my Stephanie Amanda, and drink your fill.

  Ethan crossed the room back to her in a few quick strides and slipped under the covers, gathering her to him. He twined their legs together, unit
ing them gently but intimately. He’d never dared dream of being one with her at Compostela Ranch.

  But she was limp, doll-like in his arms, not at all the fierce cop he’d always known. He whispered into her hair, barely daring to croon her name. “Steve, darling.”

  She stirred—and whimpered, pushing awkwardly at him. But she hadn’t screamed. There was hope.

  Fill the room with the sound of your love, Jean-Marie had suggested. Even though he wasn’t a smooth talker like the heraldo, Ethan needed to learn now.

  “Steve, you are my life. Uh, the most beautiful, wonderful cop in the world.” He nuzzled her cheek, making the words into a soft hum to sink into her bones. “The best shooter, the most fabulous partner.”

  He kissed the sweet spot behind her ear. “Darling, darling Stephanie Amanda.”

  She thrashed, shoving against him, and tried to roll away. Well, she’d never enjoyed being called Stephanie.

  He gathered her into his arms and sat upright on the bed in the lotus position. Then he swept her legs around him and draped her arms over his shoulders. Her head lolled back and she swayed slightly, but she wasn’t fighting.

  Better. Maybe she recognized his scent, which he’d now rubbed so thoroughly across her skin. His blood was lightly smeared across her jawbone.

  “Beloved Steve,” he crooned again, strengthening his voice. “My darling lady of the star and wheel.”

  He kissed her throat, scraping his fangs gently down the long tendon. He repeated the caress, in memory of all the times she’d begged for more—and she moaned, arching up against him.

  He stilled, hope running sweet and hot through his veins. She had enough sense to ask for more?

  “Steve, honey,” he purred, and happily cherished her again. But now her nipples rubbed his chest, as intrigued as her voice.

  For the first time, his cock stirred, as if scenting the potential for pure pleasure instead of necessity.

  He shifted his hands lower, to support her back, and happily nuzzled and licked and kissed his way over and along her shoulders and breast. Every inch, every curve, every vein, the sweet circles of her areolas, the hardening buds of her nipples . . .

  Perhaps he was teaching her his scent, or learning the entirely different taste of her skin.

  But the way she shivered and groaned and clutched at him, wordless in a way she’d never been, yet entirely clear about her needs—made his heart pound and his skin tighten with crackling heat. Her scent was sweet and rich, more fascinating than a small-batch bourbon.

  Was she acting out of pure reflex? Were there any thoughts behind those tightly closed eyes? How could he know, when hunger was ravaging his own ability to ask?

  He nipped at her collarbone, daring to push his tough cop a little further. A tiny drop of blood welled up, making him remember his hija’s fragility. He jerked away, his heart pounding.

  “More, Ethan!” she growled, and yanked him back to her.

  Ethan? She’d already recognized him, despite La Lujuria’s insanity.

  “Steve, sweetheart!” He crushed her in his arms and kissed her, splitting his lip further and sending more blood into her mouth.

  She moaned deep in her throat and clung closer, growing wilder and wilder for him, whether it was taste or touch or scent. Her hands roamed him ceaselessly, as if simply shaping his body could bring her satisfaction. She rubbed herself over him, shaping every plane and curve and line of her lithe body to match his and shuddering when she came into contact with his blood or sweat—or the pre-come seeping from his cock.

  Bones weren’t made to support hunger like his, nor nerves steady enough to keep thoughts flowing. Flames lashed through his skin wherever she touched. Lust sparked and danced, feeding the great wellspring of joy building at the base of his spine. It drummed through every bone, guided every touch, hummed in every pulse, rocked in his hips.

  Steve, Steve, Steve . . .

  He caught her closer and rolled them onto their sides, lifting her legs over his arms. For the first time he could see her eyes, in the room’s very slight illumination.

  She blinked up at him for an instant, caught in that helpless position. “Ethan, please.” Her hands ran up his arms and pulled him down.

  Trust, perfect trust. Thank God.

  He shifted slightly, finding her with a creador’s sure instinct, and entered. Beloved Steve, he crooned.

  Oh yes, Ethan, she sighed.

  Mind to mind at last—and control fled. He thrust hard, riding her like the madman she’d made him. She answered him eagerly, voraciously, locking her ankles behind his back, her nails drawing blood from his shoulders. Her cunt was hot and wet, sucking him in, perfect.

  Passion hummed through his bones, while joy drummed at the base of his spine. Life was good, better than marvelous. It was time, while he could still control himself.

  Ethan rolled her on top of him, then shaped a single claw and slashed his jugular deep for her. Fire ran through his veins, seeking to bind her. He immediately arched his throat, sending the crimson spray fountaining out.

  “Ah, darling, my blood burns for you,” she murmured—and bent, avidly seeking the flow.

  A spasm rocked him, locking every bone and muscle. His eyes flew open and he gaped at her, shocked beyond words.

  She was too young a cachorra to have any blood to spare in the bedroom. How could hers burn—or was she feeling his? Could she trust him enough to catch all of his emotions and sensations, like a cónyuge? Would anything make him happier?

  She gripped his shoulders and held on hard, clinging to him like life itself. She drank him down eagerly—and she orgasmed, rippling around him like a Fourth of July fireworks display.

  Joy, ah such joy, she cried, echoing his emotions.

  The final proof she could become his cónyuge snapped his control. He climaxed, screaming his throat raw and uniting his mind voice with hers, their bodies utterly entwined amid the silk sheets.

  AUSTIN COMMANDERY, THE NEXT NIGHT

  “Por Dios, Emilio, cannot the news shows find anything else to talk about?” Rafael exclaimed. He and Grania had come to talk to the armorers about replenishing their supplies and stayed to spend the night relaxing with his vampiros. He’d not expected to find one of their favorite gathering places tuned to only one show, which had taken over the ten o’clock news.

  The TV room was crowded with vampiros and compañeros, lounging on the many leather recliners and couches or seated on the floor. Every wall was covered with monitors, which could cumulatively cover dozens of different sports events. Yet every one was showing the same blue velvet curtain, set of flags, and batch of grinning politicians on a dais, no matter what language the unseen commentator was urgently hissing.

  “¡Maldita sea, give me the remote and I’ll look!” he growled.

  Emilio flipped the plastic lump over his head without looking. Somebody gasped but Rafael simply caught it, still muttering. He began to rapidly scroll through channels, his thumb working the keys with the easy skill of long practice. The largest screen whirred and flickered desperately to keep up—but the same damn blue curtain kept showing up at the top.

  Lars, Rafael’s most trusted spy, drifted into the TV room from the billiards room, pool cue in hand. Several men silently made room for him against the wall, leaving him isolated as ever. Rafael frowned but said nothing for now.

  Emilio tilted his head against his chair back to watch Rafael. “If you want to try the Brazilian channel, their camera is far off to the side, which gives them a different view,” he offered, in an overly polite tone. “You can even see something other than politicians, such as a few lawmen. That Ranger captain is there, for example.”

  Who looked exhausted and grave, under that officially impassive demeanor. Pity they couldn’t tell him yet Steve was well.

  “In that case, we might as well watch it, too,” Rafael acknowledged, and glanced around. The largest two recliners were immediately vacated but Grania waved off one offer, choosing inst
ead to sit on Rafael’s lap.

  He contentedly wrapped his arm around her, wondering how soon he could find their quarters. Duty said he should be worrying about all those prosaico police who were still investigating Devol’s bandolerismo and their killings. But surely cleaning up such items could wait until tomorrow.

  “Texas governor hasn’t been sleeping much,” Rough Bear commented.

  “But he does look happy to stand with the Louisiana governor,” Emilio agreed. “Plus those U.S. district attorneys.”

  Two top federal prosecutors, plus the Texas and Louisiana executives? Rafael sat bolt upright, murmuring an apology to his darling.

  “I now turn the mike over to the Texas governor.” The eldest district attorney stepped back from the mike, immediately replaced by one of Rafael’s old friends—who he hadn’t spoken to lately. What the hell was going on?

  “As you know, our great states have lately been troubled by some murders.”

  The commentators immediately became totally silent except for the text simultaneously scrolling along the bottom in a dozen languages.

  “We have reason to believe El Gallinazo was responsible, thanks to the experimental date rape drug he was dumping in our states. Two days ago, the Rangers”—At least he didn’t credit us!—“killed him along the border near Gilbert’s Crossing.”

  The curtain was yanked back, revealing a stack of stained crates almost ten feet wide and almost as high. Beside it stood an easel, holding a poster of a once-well-dressed man, now bloated and ugly in death. El Gallinazo.

  The room gasped—and exploded into an orgy of brilliant white light from flashbulbs.

  “We captured these crates with his convoy,” the Louisiana governor announced, her dulcet tones somehow managing to quickly reduce the room’s clamor into schoolboy folly and ultimately silence. “A preliminary analysis has already confirmed this drug is capable of causing the deaths we sadly experienced.”

  “Our friends in Mexico raided and destroyed his factory yesterday, which was the only place in the world that could manufacture it.” The district attorney had recovered the mike. “They have burned all the stockpiles there, and we will destroy these. El Gallinazo’s chemist died in the convoy, ending any chance of re-creating this drug.”