by Aubrey Ross
“I’ll have to participate. It will seem suspicious if I don’t. Can you guarantee my safety?”
“We will guarantee your survival. It will reinforce your apparent innocence if you’re injured during the fray.”
His fists clenched and a muscle in his cheek twitched. “How do I know you won’t just kill us both?”
“If you both die, Tara would face a full-scale war with Strigo strain. It will be your job to restore order to your people after they’ve lost their beloved prince. You will have to help them understand that it was all a senseless tragedy and an alliance with Vladya strain is the only way to ensure no more blood is shed needlessly.”
That would be easier said than done with Bronik in the picture. He would demand blood for blood. It was the Yeager way. The thought sent a fresh wave of dread washing over him. Did Tara know Bronik was a Yeager too? It didn’t seem likely or Bronik would have been included in the scheme.
He pulled back from his surging emotions and forced himself to examine his options with brutal objectivity. If Tara killed Alexi and then Bronik killed Tara, Edrick would be restored to authority and Strigo strain would be more powerful than ever before. Excitement sped his pulse and eroded his anxiety. Could he steer this from the shadows, rearrange everything to his own advantage?
“And if I’m unable to defuse their need for blood?” he asked, hoping the question would explain his suspiciously long pause. “I’m not sure you understand how popular Alexi has become.”
“His popularity is precisely why this must be done. The balance of power will never be restored as long as Alexi lives.”
She was right. Though Bronik was a Yeager, he was a younger son just like Edrick. Bronik’s claim to the throne was even less direct than Edrick’s, which made Bronik the perfect ally. But he must never suspect that Edrick had anything to do with Alexi’s death. Once Alexi was removed, Edrick would allow Bronik to wreak havoc on Tara while he restored order to their traumatized strain.
He fought back a smile, refusing to tip his hand. “I don’t like it, but I understand the plan.”
“And you agree to do your part?”
“I agree.”
The blonde raised her hands to the front of her dress and began to release the buttons. “Then I’m a gift from Tara. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Chapter Nine
A warm breeze brushed Eloise’s face as she stepped out onto the balcony. It was easy to understand why Inatta had chosen Las Vegas for Rom strain’s headquarters. Tangible energy radiated off the city. It felt vibrant, almost alive, yet dark and edgy.
She stared out over the Strip, mesmerized by the lights and shapes of the sprawling resorts. This was only a reprieve, a temporary fix. She needed to form a new future for herself, one free of Vladya strain. Nomads were tolerated by the established strains, begrudgingly at times, but they were generally left alone as long as they followed territory rules.
Income was a must. She would have expenses for the first time in her life. And she’d need to hunt for sustenance rather than enjoying the chase. No more blood-slaves, no servant. She needed to be invisible, to blend so well with humanity that no one would guess her true nature.
Or she could accept Bronik’s protection and become an extension of Strigo strain.
She released an exasperated sigh and walked back into the luxurious hotel suite. Was she really so cowardly that she would run for shelter before she even tried to make it on her own?
Too anxious to sit, she wandered about the spacious living area. This wasn’t a matter of courage. She’d always faced challenges head-on. But she was a realist. Her training had all been paramilitary, weapons, recon, interrogation, research. How did that skill set translate into civilian life?
The hairs on the back of her neck bristled and her restless steps faltered. She was being watched, but was the surveillance remote or was someone in the room with her?
She resumed her pacing as she meticulously scanned her surroundings.
Someone knocked on the suite’s main door and Eloise released her pent-up breath. She must have sensed the approaching visitor. Peering through the peephole, she saw a uniformed man holding a large serving tray.
“I didn’t order room service,” she called through the locked door.
“Courtesy of management.”
“Just leave it in the hall.”
He shifted the tray, steadying it with his free hand. “I need your signature.”
She hesitated another moment then opened the door. “Set it down anywhere.” She remained by the open door as he walked past her. Determined not to be caught unaware, she scanned the stranger as he set the tray on a nearby table. He was a host but his shields prevented her from determining which strain he carried.
He took a small form out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the table beside the tray. “Do you have a pen?”
Feeling paranoid, Eloise released the door and moved to the writing desk against the far wall. She picked up a pen and turned around. The stranger was right behind her, knife firmly grasped in one hand. She blocked his first attempt, twisting sharply to avoid the blade.
He agilely tossed the knife into his other hand and sliced from the opposite direction. She blocked with her arm and the point of the knife caught her sleeve. She retaliated with a sharp jab to his ribs then quickly scrambled out of reach. Attack and retreat. The strategy had kept her alive through numerous missions. She saw no reason to change it now.
The assassin stalked toward her, murder gleaming in his dark eyes. She backed up a step then suddenly kicked him in the stomach. He grunted and stumbled but kept right on coming. She swung for his face but he caught her wrist with his free hand and yanked her forward.
She used the momentum to throw him, jamming her shoulder into his gut as she lifted with her legs. Pain seared her back and a cry tore from her throat, but she didn’t lose focus. Her assailant slammed into the floor, sprawling on his back. She ran for the door but his hand grasped her ankle and yanked hard.
Her free foot lost purchase and she collided with the floor on her hands and knees. The assassin lunged for her, knocking her sideways, silent and utterly focused. She clawed his face and thrashed wildly but he didn’t seem to notice. He drew back the knife and her stomach cramped as she felt death rushing toward her.
A flash of light pulled her attention away from the assassin’s cold eyes. Bronik appeared, catching the assassin’s arm before it could descend. With one vicious twist, Bronik snapped the smaller man’s wrist then jerked him away from Eloise. The assassin screamed, clutching his broken arm against his chest. The knife fell to the floor forgotten as the assassin rocked and moaned.
“You all right?” Bronik stood over her like an avenging angel, gloriously savage.
“I’m fine.”
He accepted the statement with a stiff nod then grabbed the assassin and flashed them both from the room.
Stunned and shaken, Eloise sat up and stubbornly fought back tears. Tara had actually done it. Eloise wasn’t surprised by the ruthless act but she hadn’t expected the betrayal to hurt this badly. Tara was the only mother she’d ever known and now they were enemies.
She drew up her legs, folded her arms then lowered her head. Pain pulsed in her back and she could smell blood. That’s right. The bastard had stabbed her. She knew she should check the wound, see if her symbionts could handle it or if she needed a healer. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t think beyond the staggering isolation. She was no longer part of Vladya strain, at least not while Tara Kovak was alive. She was alone, without a home, without—
A warm hand touched her shoulder and she gasped. Bronik bent to one knee beside her, his expression still murderous. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’re white as a sheet.”
She was anything but all right, but her emotions were still too tumultuous to express. “Where did you take him?” She wasn’t sure why she cared. It just seemed like a logical question.
“I gave him to Kass
.” He tried to pull her into his arms but the slight pressure on her arm made the pain spike.
She gasped then pivoted away from him. “He sliced my back. How bad is it?”
Bronik carefully pulled her shirt up so he could examine the cut. “Let me see if I can help.”
She couldn’t see what he was doing, but tingling heat sank into her flesh. The pain gradually mellowed and then dispersed. She rolled her shoulder and tentatively stretched. “Much better.”
“Good.” He got to his feet and held out both hands. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She couldn’t think of a valid reason to object, so she took his hands and he pulled her to her feet. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d been desperate to escape him less than an hour ago. A sudden calm settled over her being. She felt as if she’d just survived emotional rapids and now she was floating along on a peaceful stream. It was probably shock but she didn’t care. Bronik was here. She was safe.
He led her into the bedroom and looked around. “Do you have a spare shirt? The back of this one is covered in blood.”
As the shock receded questions inundated her mind, along with unwanted emotions. “How did you find me so fast? How did you know I was in trouble?” He reached for her blood-soaked shirt but she twisted away. This was more important.
He crossed his arms over his chest but a lazy smile bowed his lips. “I wouldn’t be much of a protector if I couldn’t sense when you’re in danger.”
“The link?”
He nodded. “Strong emotions activate it automatically. I’ll always know when you need me.”
Had he realized she ran away? Had he been searching for her?
Not yet ready to tackle those questions, she walked into the bathroom and peeled off the blood-soaked shirt. Her back was still tender when she moved her arm but the long gash was barely visible. Bronik lounged in the doorway, silently watching her. Their gazes met in the mirror and held.
She wasn’t wearing a bra but his gaze remained on her face, so she didn’t feel self-conscious. “I ran. Doesn’t that violate the conditions of our agreement?” She snatched a washcloth off the stack between the double sinks and turned on the water.
He was beside her in an instant and took the washcloth from her trembling hands. “The vow is sacred. It will take a lot more than a moment of panic to get rid of me.” He wet the cloth then shut off the water as he turned his attention to her back. With slow, gentle swipes he cleaned her skin and soothed her frayed nerves.
She rested her hands on the countertop, lightly bracing as he worked. There had been an element of fear in her actions. She’d been terrified by how much she wanted him. But it had been more than fear that made her run away. She wanted to prove to herself that she could survive on her own. She needed to feel capable, useful.
He finished with her back and tossed the washcloth into the other sink. She crossed her arms over her chest as she turned around. “My life has to mean more than giving you pleasure. I won’t be your whore.”
His hand wrapped around the back of her neck and he tilted her face up with his thumb. “I never thought of you that way, not even for a moment.”
Heat curled through her, making her nipples tingle and her core ache. All he had to do was walk into a room and her senses came alive. It gave him power over her. It was dangerous.
“What are your plans?” His voice was calm and patient. “Why Las Vegas?” He slid his hand from the nape of her neck to her upper arm, his fingers warm against her skin.
“I don’t have plans yet. I was just hoping to disappear long enough to make some.” His casual touch was making her restless. She twisted out from under his hand and slipped past him. She rushed through the bedroom and out into the living room.
He chuckled and followed at a leisurely pace. “Here.” He pulled off his shirt and handed it to her. “You still look spooked and you don’t need to be. You’re safe. I’ll make sure of it.”
She donned the shirt but wasn’t sure having him half-naked was any better. All that well-toned flesh made her want to squeeze—and lick. If she stood here staring at him, they’d end up in bed, or on the living room floor, or bent over the couch, or… She needed a distraction!
“If you honestly need a purpose, we can use your help with our investigation.” He strolled to the sofa and sat, casually resting one booted foot on his opposite knee. He looked too damn comfortable, too self-assured. But then he had just proved himself a worthy protector. While she’d acted like a frightened child, racing into the night without a concrete plan or even a pair of shoes. Well, she wouldn’t dwell on her myopic race into the unknown. She still intended to have a life apart from the control of others. She would just have to secure her happiness one step at a time.
“I’ve told you all I know about the Rom captives.” She moved up behind one of the high-backed chairs and rested her forearms on top.
His foot bobbed as if keeping time with a beat only he could hear. “Have you shared blood with Tara or Garrett? They doubtlessly know more about the situation than you do.”
She shook her head and dragged her gaze away from his handsome face. “There are very few in Vladya strain who can read blood. I’m not one of them.”
He extended his arm along the back of the sofa and she couldn’t help picturing herself snuggled beneath that arm, pressed tightly against his side. She’d tried so hard to escape him, so why did she find his presence comforting?
His mouth curved up at the corners. Had he guessed the direction of her thoughts?
“Have you ever tried to see through their eyes?”
Again she shook her head. “Tara’s shields are much too strong and I have no desire to know what Garrett is doing most of the time. He’s not a nice person.”
“Maybe not, but he’s in charge of the Rom captives. If we could slip into his mind and—”
“I don’t have that much control. He’d sense me long before I made it through his shields.”
“That’s why I said ‘we’.” He patted the seat next to him. “Come here.”
If she followed his lead, allowed him to take control of the situation, where did that leave her bid for freedom? She didn’t want to be defined by her relationship with Bronik. She had to live life on her own terms.
“What’s the matter?” He lowered his arm and frustration crept into his tone.
“What are we doing?” She crossed her arms over her chest, not wanting him to realize how close she was to tears. “I can’t sit down and pretend nothing’s wrong. My mother just tried to kill me! I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“That’s understandable.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “We’ll talk it out, but come sit down. You look like you’re about ready to dive off the balcony.”
If there had been an autocratic bite to his tone, she would have refused. Instead, he just sounded weary and that was a feeling she understood. She crossed the room and sat on the sofa, keeping as much distance between them as possible.
“I didn’t think she’d do it,” she whispered. “My mind understood the danger. That’s why I agreed to your bargain. But in my heart of hearts, I didn’t believe my mother would try to kill me.”
She expected him to point out that Tara wasn’t really her mother. Instead, he scooted closer and said, “I’m sorry. I can only imagine how upsetting this must be.” When she only nodded, he reached over and took her hand. “Your future has been rewritten by events you had no control over. That must be incredibly frustrating.”
Nodding again, she took a deep breath and waited for the tightness in her throat to ease so she could speak. “If the Levari hadn’t kidnapped me, you wouldn’t have rescued me and—”
“I would have found you, baby doll.” His hand gently squeezed hers and desire sparked within his eyes. “We had unfinished business and it had nothing to do with the Levari.”
Rather than take exception to his semi-threatening words, she accepted the truth in
his statement. Their attraction had flared to life before the Levari screwed with her symbionts. An affair had seemed inevitable the first time they touched.
This wasn’t about desire! She gave herself a firm mental shake and pulled her hand out of his grasp. Others might have left her few alternatives but she would choose her own life path. “Before we focus on the captives, there’s something you should know.”
“I’m listening.”
“At least one of the Levari hosts can shapeshift. He took on my brother’s form the night they kidnapped me. That’s how they lured me away from the party. I thought he was Garrett.”
“How many Levari did you actually see?”
“The one who looked like Garrett and one other. Actually, they might have been the same person. He kept referring to the Levari Brethren but I never saw or heard anyone else.”
“Describe the one you saw.”
“Medium height and build, blond hair. He was on the handsome side of ordinary, except when he smiled. He had dimples when he smiled and it made him almost charming.”
“Shit.” Bronik shook his head, clearly upset by what she’d said.
“Do you know him?”
“Maybe. Desmond, the Levari host who led the mutiny on Alexi’s ship, perfectly fits that description.”
“So do a lot of other people.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to comfort him but she couldn’t suppress the impulse.
“You’re right.” He scooted closer to her and framed her face with his hands. “Show me.”
She formed the Levari’s image, trying to remember as many of the details as she could.
“Fuck.” He dug his phone out of his pocket without further explanation and quickly placed a call. “Desmond is alive. He shifted into Garrett’s form the night we escaped. That’s how they got Eloise away from the party.” He paused as the other person asked a question. “I don’t know. Hold on.” He looked at Eloise and asked, “Did you see a female? Pretty brunette with big blue eyes?”
“No. The blond man was the only one I saw.”
“She only saw Desmond.” After another pause, he said, “Will do.” Then he ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket.