by Scott, Talyn
He kicked everything out of the way, as he cornered her. He wiggled his fingers, and her blade followed their movements. She clutched it harder, until her wrist twisted painfully, and it fell at their feet. All with his mind, he’d disarmed her. “Who are you?”
“Adam,” he answered. “You will come now.”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head no. Fear gave her strength. Blythe careened to the left and twisted around him, yet he didn’t follow. She was already shooting through the door and hitting the unlit corridor when she slammed into something solid. Rough hands seized her, pressing her body to another man.
“You’re right.” He breathed. “It is a female.”
“I want this one for my own,” another said.
A third nearly crushed her, licking her face like an animal. “She will be my mate.”
More arguments arose from those around. Hands never faltered, mouths never stopped, fingers probed, trying to learn her body. “Please, stop,” she said on a breathless plea, tears clogging her throat, while she struggled to get away. “Please, don’t do this to me.”
There were too many of them. Countless. None human. Powerful. In the darkness, Rave’s earlier words came back to her. As if a prophecy fulfilled, many hands were all over her, stretching and pulling. In this living nightmare, she was their taffy.
“I warned you!” Adam was near her - now enraged. “None of you can have this one!”
“Just once, then, I’ve never touched a female,” a furious, needy voice countered.
“Fine. Touch her only. Be mindful where you touch her. Or do you want her to feel imprisoned the way we all have been forced to live our lives?”
All movements stilled at once.
A major shut down.
A dead silence.
Then, what she thought were the backs of claws smoothed down her cheek, followed by rough whiskers from a day’s growth of beard. “You are part werewolf, like me,” a Scottish burr whispered in her ear, confirming what Bane had vowed. “I would kiss you now.” He sniffed her throat, rubbing his nose up and down her neck. “Unlike the others, I would ask. Not take.”
“I have a…a m-mate,” she managed to get out.
“Not your true beast,” he replied with lips hovering over hers, still thinking about it. But he backed away and asked, “Adam, are we truly free now?”
“As long as we have her.”
“I h-have a mate,” she repeated.
In a low deadly tone, Adam said, “Female, that may hold true in the world of vampires, but in our neck of the woods, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
Chapter 22
“Dakota, run!”
“Ryan.” She stopped dead in her tracks. “Ryan?”
A small kitten curled up around her ankle. “Don’t touch that.”
“What’s wrong with you?” She backed up, hitting the dumpster. “Why do you look like that?”
“I’ve gotta get you outta here.” He kicked the kitten a mile or two and Dakota released a horrifying scream. He held out his hands, topped with claws. “It wasn’t really a – oh, never mind.” Better that she thought he killed animals than aliens. “Come on, sweetheart.” Without another choice, he had to bite her and mist her to safety.
Somewhere underground.
Right as he opened his mouth and lubricated his fangs, mixed-blood Habalines in their true humanized forms rushed them. One easily pulled Dakota inside the dumpster. To feed, he realized, while three pounded him into the cobblestones.
Ryan slashed upward, severing someone’s hand. “Dakota, hold on!”
Immediately, a growl came out of nowhere, like none he’d ever heard. One of the mixed-bloods lifted in the air, swinging in circles above a blinding blue flame. A werewolf – a powerful one, had saved his ass.
Now he was down to one and a half, since the other couldn’t stanch the blood flowing from his wrist. He pointed at it. “You and me, road kill.” It jumped him first, and he jabbed five lethal claws in its kidney, dropping it to the ground and kicking its skull until it was, at least, unconscious.
In the meantime, Rock had killed the other.
“Dakota’s in the dumpster,” he growled as another jumped his back. “One’s feeding from her.”
Rock catapulted over them, kicking Ryan’s attacker in the head on the way inside the dumpster. Before it went down, it quickly slammed a blade inside his thigh and twisted until something popped and blood floor mercilessly. “Not bad, mother fucker,” Ryan hissed, pulling a gun loaded with very special bullets from the back of his boot, surprised it was still there. “Feel this.” And it was toast, ashes upon ashes dissolving in puddles of Ryan’s blood.
“You shot a fucking gun?” Rock was walking the thin metal ledge, balancing his body while cradling Dakota over the dumpster. “Bane’s the only one holding up the miasma, and you probably just shot that to hell.”
“Wasn’t in the mood to die tonight,” Ryan grumbled, unable to stand.
“You gonna bleed out?”
“No. Is she?” Ryan gestured to the blond sweeting caught in the middle of an immortal war. “Her heart’s skipping.”
“She needs Dru.” He stepped off the dumpster, landing gently. “She’ll die under human hands, so a hospital’s out.” Maneuvering over the fallen bodies, Rock asked,
“You can’t mist, right?”
“Not in this shape, find another vampire quickly.”
“Problem is, I don’t smell one.” He picked Ryan up by the collar, while still easily carrying Dakota with his other arm, and dragged him to a quiet alcove. “As soon as I can, I’ll get you…uh, food.”
“Just take care of her.”
Rock nodded and took off in a blue blur with a still unconscious Dakota wrapped in his arms.
After an hour of being thrown from roof to alleyway to street and back to the rooftop again, Sixten still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of anything. No one could take on his brother, apart from him and Maestru. But his Coven Master was a little busy keeping the shifters from hunting the streets of Fort Myers.
So here he was.
Rave, in his natural form, lunged at Sixten, swinging a small ethereal sword at his throat, nicking it in a near miss before Sixten flipped backwards, and knocking it out of his hand and off the roof. He gave him a look of pure hatred. “What the hell did you do? Where are the others?”
“Rave the raving lunatic, what befuddles you so?” Sixten snatched a flying razor and nailed his brother in the thigh, though by the lack of heavy blood flow, shamefully missed any pertinent arteries.
“You were the only one who knew about the males.” He jumped out of the way of Sixten’s debilitating kick, landing in the darkened street atop a parked car.
Sixten glimpsed the brutal fighting in his peripheral vision. He didn’t notice any deaths on his side, but the night was still young. Blood and heavy grunts filled the air, metal clanked metal, though the shifters were smart enough not to pop off guns, except one small fire that had hit the air moments ago. He didn’t know how long their intelligence would hold out and muffling gunfire took a lot of miasma. Power better spent fighting instead of shielding.
Sixten leapt to the street, touching down perfectly on the balls of his feet. He watched in horror as Rave dug his claws into the side of a van and coiled the metal into a giant baseball bat. Three minutes of swing and duck later, he asked again, “Tell me about your males, Rave.”
They weren’t getting anywhere. His brother was one of the most powerful creatures of the immortal world, yet Sixten could countermove him almost too easily. After all, Rave had taught him to fight. So with Habaline blood from a pure blood alien and Species Breed blood from a pure blood vampire, Sixten put the supe in supernatural.
His tone was as scathing as the kick he landed on Sixten’s temple. “You set them free. I think they killed Poison, my right hand man.” He stumbled from the impact, nearly tripping in a pothole, and righted himself just as Rave cracked him across the face.
Before he could wipe the blinding blood from his eyes, Sixten crashed through a plate-glass window. Rows of knick-knacks and figurines toppled him. Porcelain flew out of nowhere, and crystal shattered the second he hit the tiled floor.
He remained unmoving.
When Rave was close enough, he grabbed the front of his shirt and swung him over the front counter, clocking his head on an antique cash register.
Rave rose up and licked the blood from his lip with a diabolical sneer. “What do I have to lose by killing you now? The compound I wanted you to oversee exploded tonight. Ironically, thanks to you.” A stunning creature, almost too beautiful to look at, Rave was drunk on invertible power and consumed with bloodlust - all with the sole intention of killing his brother over an assumption.
“Someone else fucked you over.” Sixten jumped feet over head, landing a few feet to his left. “With a half-assed job, I must say.”
Next, he drew his prized and forbidden Habaline blade for the deathblow, pinning Rave to the wall in a split-second move that surprised them both. “I didn’t know where your compound was located,” he grated, positioning the tip over Rave’s heart. “But if I did, I would’ve made sure you were trapped in it before I brought it down.” He stared at him with loathing. “That’s my signature style. Maybe you’re not too familiar with it since I’ve grown up. But I never, ever do a half-assed job.”
Maestru misted behind him, followed by Kash. “We’ve rounded up what we could. Killed most. But the sanctuary was the hardest hit.” The current scene froze Maestru in place, but he continued his report, “All of our guards were attacked with Stavzs.”
“Blythe is gone, Six.” Kash didn’t take his eyes off Rave, raising his weapons chest level.”
“Your little monsters took my mate,” Six’s voice sounded strangled - razor blades running over a chalkboard. He leaned in, shoving the blade to the hilt, puncturing his brother’s heart.
“You won’t do it,” Rave taunted, his eyes tunneling into an odd, day-glow swirl. “We are blood.” Dripping crimson lips curved into an icy smile. “More alike than you realize.”
Sixten was eyelevel with Rave, pressing him harder against the wall with the length of his weapon embedded into his alien body. “Power and nothing more, I fight the evil within myself every damned day. You thrive on it.” He twisted the blade and finished the job. While watching his brother slide down the wall, Sixten snarled, “But no one who takes what is mine, lives to tell about it.”
Sixten and Kash misted to Captiva Island.
Maestru meant to follow, until he saw Rock carrying a limp and bloodied Dakota by the ransacked gift shop. He jumped through the broken window and blocked the werewolf. “Where are you taking her?” His hands clenched at his sides. “Why is she bleeding?”
“One of the shifters got to her.” Rock was in mid-transformation: glowing, mammoth-sized body, flaming celestial eyes, full canines, and lethal claws. His werewolf distorted his voice, but Maestru clearly understood him. “She came to work early, got jumped. Ryan is down. He’s regenerating in an alleyway by the club, but in no shape to care for her. Send him someone to feed from.” His lips drew back in a low growl. “I don’t know her damage, but her heart sounds better and she’s breathing regularly.”
“Those who touched her?”
He didn’t blink. “The shifter who took her blood is dead.”
“Excellent.” Maestru opened his arms. “Give her to me.”
His brows popped. “That would be a NO.”
“We have no time for this.”
Rock reared back his head. “Why are you so concerned with a mere human when your vampires are under attack?”
“Give her to me.”
“There are only three vampires I trust with her.” Rock snorted. “You’re not one of them. So why would I give an untrustworthy master vampire a friend basted in blood?”
Maestru came closer.
“Get the fuck out of my way, leech.”
“She dies.” He held out his palms in grand gesture. “You die.” Maestru misted to the island empty handed.
When he arrived, he saw Sixten gliding frantically through the mess of bodies, sniffing everything. Guards were down, though uncharacteristically spared. “Why would the shifters not kill?” Maestru asked Qudir.
The Vojak Commander answered dismally, “We won’t know anything for at least thirty-six hours. No one can talk through that kind of pain. No one.”
“I can’t enthrall them after a Stavz attack. Can Dru inject them with anything?”
“He’s left the site a few minutes ago. Did everything he could. But so far, nothing’s working.” Qudir picked up a scrap of cloth, sniffing it. “We have to head over to Marco Island. Our back up sanctuary is prepped and staffed.”
“Good. You and Kash lead the transfers. Have all the vampires in the area been warned?”
“Yeah,” Kash answered, gliding next to them. “I’m not as worried about the shifters re-attacking, though. They left everyone alive. Ignored masses of powerful weapons lying around and zeroed in on one thing: our sweet Blythe. Now that they have her, what’s there to come back for?”
“When I find out who tipped off our location,” Maestru growled, “I’ll revive torture techniques that haven’t seen the light of day since the dark ages.”
“I guarantee that Sixten will beat you to it. He’s a mess.” Qudir rubbed the back of his neck. “Tell me how anyone’s going to live through this if he doesn’t find his mate?”
Maestru shook his head. “Qudir, sometimes you miss the big picture. Tell me how southwest Florida is going to live through uncivilized, mixed-blood Habalines on the loose. All starving for socialization and physical contact they’ve been denied all their lives. How would any male suppress that kind of craving?”
Blythe awoke on a small bed, in what appeared to be a plane. “Welcome back, Pet.” A thickly accented male voice floated around the cabin. “I chartered this when I received the good news. It is not our normal plane, but I am sure you will understand discretion is of grave importance.” A deep inhale followed by a long release. “I was beginning to lose faith in my hunter.”
Her head was pounding.
“Of course, when one has the choice of being tortured for centuries or bringing back a runaway female, one chooses wisely.”
She licked her lips, tasting blood.
The scent of warm sunshine and summer breezes invaded her. A finger brushed her lower lip. “Do not worry, it is not yours, but my blood.”
This was no dream.
“Look at me, my Blythe,” his voice was compelling, oddly familiar. She could feel his power.
Yet she stared at the stranger.
He towered over her and the tiny bed, bare-chested, rippling six-pack, with two streaks of blood streaming his throat. Long dark hair fell half way down his back. Perfectly proud features stared back at her. Eyes so golden they could pass for a lion’s, but anyone could see that he was too powerful to be a mere king of beasts. He blinked deliberately, flashing silver pupils instead of the customary black.
Behind him, a white silk shirt lay haphazardly across a covered bench. Underneath was her leather dress. He followed her eyes. A slow sweep of a piercing gaze heated with lethal seduction. “Ah, I remember when you first wore that dress.” A golden hand clenched at his thigh. “Or didn’t wear it.” His tongue trailed his lower lip. “I could not keep my hands off you, and we never made it to the club opening. Do you remember that night? The first night I took you in my private bedroom. Made love to you, treasured your body, and committed my heart to you as a woman and not my Donor?” His eyes flipped up, penetrating her head-on. “Think back.”
Pressure increased inside her skull. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t comfortable, either. Then, she saw the same dress tossed across a damask chaise in a bedroom fit for a king…
“Don’t turn away from me.” Gianni gripped her chin between his finger and thumb. “Face me. See me for what I am. Understand
what you are. You have needs only I can satisfy.” He thrust deliberately, lifting her knee with his other hand to drive deeper while reaching that sensitive spot within her.
They weren’t in that room.
She didn’t want him this way. In his bed and lying on his pillow while playing his mind games that spoke of true love and everlasting commitment. Things she didn’t believe in anymore.
“You can speak freely in my bedroom.” With his opposite hand, he reached between their bodies, expertly kneading her clit. “You know that.” Her heart was beating faster, nearing the orgasm she desperately craved. “Pet, why aren’t you?”
“I have nothing to say,” she moaned around the words, “that would be what you want to hear.”
“Love me, Blythe.” He buried his face against her throat. “It’s a simple thing to love someone.”
“Loving someone is the hardest part, hating is simple.” Her breaths picked up. “To whisper words of love and then turn away from lovers’ promises is the cruelest thing a man can do.”
“Tell me who destroyed your heart, and I will lay his at your feet.”
She gasped, placing her palms against her eyes. Her lids were fluttering, as she relived portions of her time with him in Italy, frame by frame. From the moment that she met Gianni until months later when Anthony secreted her away. There were major gaps. Things were missing…chunks of her life, huge pieces of her existence. “What happened to me?”
Dark brows slashed over golden eyes. “Even now, you have no recollection?”
“Not everything.” She gathered the covers, hiding her nudity, definitely remembering the room. “Who took my memory away?”
“I only fed you once.” He sat next to her, ignoring her flinch. “Still, you should have remembered all.”
“Fragments.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “My memories are a patchwork quilt, still unsewn, strewn all over the place.” Her heart raced. Where was Sixten? Had they harmed him getting to her? Was he even alive? Fear of losing him overpowered her. A terror she’d never known. “You referred to me as a Donor.”
“I did.” He wrenched the covers away easily. Eyes widening in appreciation as he perused her naked form. “But now, I call you mine.”