Sin Undone d-5

by Larissa Ione

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Con, wondering what she was going to say to him when she saw him. She probably wouldn’t say anything at first. Her primary goal at this point was to get him inside her. Her brain was rapidly turning to a hormone mush, and any arguments she tried to form for getting him to go back to UG were interrupted by images of him naked.

  Sunil finally appeared, and he approached warily, moving like a cat caught out in the open. If he had a tail, it would be twitching madly.

  “Hey, boss.” As always, his voice was a deep rumble, his words precise.

  She cut to the chase, not wanting to be here for one second longer than necessary. “My assassins wanted me dead.”

  “Yes,” he said sadly. “People are angry. We need work, and we need it badly.”

  “I know,” she said, sinking into the chair. “I’ve been a terrible master.”

  His ears twitched the way they did when he was uncomfortable. “Not terrible. Just too nice.”

  She gave a startled laugh. “That’s something no one has ever said about me.”

  “Glad I could be the first.” He cocked his head and studied her. “So why am I here?”

  “First, I need to know who has been trying to kill me.”

  “Everyone,” Sunil said simply.

  Sin shifted, winced at the poke of some creature’s finger bone in her butt. “Including you?”

  “Yes.” His brown cheeks darkened with a blush of crimson, and his nervousness was now fully explained. She had the right to torture or put down every assassin who had tried to kill her. “You know I like you, Sin, but I have a family to feed.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t have respected you if you hadn’t tried.” Oh, the assassin code was interesting, wasn’t it?

  “So,” Sunil prompted. “Am I here to be tortured? The Peelers have been anticipating your return.”

  She shuddered. Those unholy, eyeless demons lived for torture. They were also bound to the den, so Sin hadn’t found a way to get rid of them. “I want you to take over as assassin master.”

  His golden eyes flared, the pupils elongating and then rounding out again. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Very.”

  “But… why?”

  “My reasons are my own.”

  “There are only two ways to escape the life,” Sunil pointed out.

  “I’m aware of that, and I don’t plan on dying.”

  Sunil started to reach inside the tattered wool trench coat he’d worn since World War II, but dropped his hands at his side. “I can’t use a weapon against you.”

  “I know.” Idess had been the exception to the slave-can’t-harm-master-in-the-den rule. She’d been human when Deth bonded her, and humans weren’t meant to carry the assassin-bond. “But you can shift, and as long as I allow it, it should be fine.”

  He hesitated, which was one of the very reasons she’d chosen him for this. Accepting the job meant he’d be stuck, the same way she had been. He’d have to move his family to the den in order to be with them, and he’d have to assign them bodyguards any time they left. But it was better than belonging to someone cruel, who would use your family against you, like Deth had.

  “If you don’t want it, I’ll send for Tavin. He’s the only other person I’d approve of.” The blond Sem was new to the den, but his contract was huge—he was an all-purpose, anything-goes slave until he went through s’genesis and was freed from the contract. But he was very young, so he had a good seventy years to go until he went through the final maturation process.

  “Agreed. He’d be a good master.” Sunil grinned. “But I think I’d be a better one.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  Sunil bowed his head. “It has been an honor to serve you.”

  “The mushy stuff is embarrassing. Let’s get it over with.”

  Closing his eyes, Sunil stepped back. A sudden stillness came over the dank air in the chamber, and then a massive vibration shook the big male. A moment later, he was gone, and there was a six-hundred-pound tiger in front of her. He bumped his head up against her hand, bucking her palm until she scratched behind his ears.

  “You shithead,” she murmured.

  She could have sworn he smiled as he rubbed his cheek against her and then took her hand in his mouth as tenderly as he might carry a fragile egg. He used his sharp teeth to tug the ring as far up her finger as it would go, to the very tip.

  Then he bit down.

  The crunch of bone echoed through the chamber, or maybe it just echoed in Sin’s skull. She clenched her teeth to keep from screaming. Fiery agony shot up her arm, and when Sunil let go, she fell back, clutching her bloody hand… which was now minus the first joint of her left ring finger.

  “Put pressure on it,” Sunil said, his voice raspy from his shift back to his human form.

  “I am,” she gasped. Fuck, it hurt.

  He held up her severed digit. “Do you want it back?”

  Sin sagged against the stone wall to keep from falling over. “Keep it… for snack time or something,” she gritted out.

  Sunil grinned. “Couldn’t your brother reattach it?”

  “Probably, but I don’t have time for that. It’s just a finger. No biggie.”

  “Thank you,” he purred. “And, Sin, if you or Lore ever need any of my services, for you… half price.”

  Despite her pain, she laughed. “You are a true mercenary. Take care, Sunil.” She paused at the door. “Also, fair warning: If I find out that someone from this den was in on the attack on Lore’s mate, I’ll kill them, so be prepared to look for a replacement.”

  * * *

  Sin hurried down the den’s halls, her thoughts racing. She had to get to Con, but first, she had a warg to grill. The walls were a blur, the people she passed not worth saying good-bye to. She’d liked some of her colleagues while she’d worked with them, but the dynamic had changed when she’d taken over, and for the most part, they’d treated her as the enemy.

  When she passed by one of the two sleeping quarters, she slowed, sensing that the one person she wanted to see was inside. She shoved her aching hand in her pocket and stepped into the room.

  “Lycus.”

  He spun away from his open chest of weapons, his movement so smooth she wouldn’t have known she’d startled him if she didn’t know him so well. “You’re back. I didn’t know.”

  “Clearly.”

  His toothy smile nearly made her shudder. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

  She cocked her head and studied him, his handsome, hard face, his dark, soulless eyes. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “I don’t know.” He rolled one powerful shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve made it clear that I want you. If you’re dead, I can’t have you.”

  “You can’t have control of the den, you mean.” He shrugged again, but she didn’t expect him to deny it. They both knew the deal. “I’m curious, Lycus… where’s Marcel?”

  Something flashed in Lycus’s eyes, but it was gone before she could read it, and in an instant, his expression was neutral again. “Don’t you know?”

  “I know he was responsible for an attack on Lore’s mate.”

  “Then I assume Marcel is dead?” He narrowed his eyes. “You suspect me of knowing about the attack.”

  “You’re a rocket scientist, aren’t you?” She started moving, a slow circle around him that he tracked with his gaze. “What would you say if I’ve decided to hand over control of the den?”

  This time, his grin was genuine. He moved to her, slid his hand around the back of her neck, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. “I’d say you won’t regret it, baby.”

  She pulled her hand out of her pocket and flashed her ringless finger at him. “I won’t.”

  Lycus’s eyes shot wide open, his expression filling with rage, his hand tightening on her neck. “You bitch!”

  Twisting, she wrenched away from him, settled in a defensive stance, his chest of weapons behind he
r. “Don’t do it, Lycus. You know the penalty for injuring another assassin in the den.” Not that she was an assassin any longer, but she was entitled to safe passage until she was inside a Harrowgate.

  “I’ll kill you, Sin. I will have your head within the week.”

  Smiling, she eased backward, next to the chest. Keeping an eye on him, she reached inside, removed a clay bottle. “Infernal fire, huh? For some reason, I’m not surprised to see this.”

  “So?” he snarled.

  “You know it’s forbidden to use this in the human realm.”

  “Which is why I don’t use it there.”

  “Oh, I think you did. The question is, why. Why would you want me dead in a way that would mean you couldn’t get my ring?”

  He took the bottle from her, and she could practically feel the hatred rolling off him, scorching her skin. “You little succubus whore. You should have taken me up on my offer to become my mate. Now you’re dead. And I think, just for fun, that I’ll have your body stuffed and preserved, and the things I’ll do to you…” His voice lowered to a creepy, shiver-inducing whisper. “You’ll be my blow-up doll, baby. Forever.”

  She hit him. Decked him. And then she got the hell out of there. She wouldn’t belong to anyone in life… or death.

  Twenty-two

  Con’s boots felt like they were full of lead as he trudged across the rocky grounds of the dhampire sanctuary in northern Scotland. The evening breeze brought with it the scent of the ocean, the bite of salt air, and the stench of angry wargs.

  Thatch-roofed cottages dotted the mossy countryside, but it was the larger, wooden motte and bailey structure that Con was heading toward. At the base of the grassy hill, where fog had settled like soup in a bowl, heavy trestle tables and chairs were visible in the mist like mountain peaks poking out of a cloud deck. No matter what the weather, dhampires preferred to be outside, whether they were conducting business meetings or celebrating a holiday.

  Now, the members of the Dhampire Council were gathered in the area, as were several Warg Council members, including Valko and Raynor. As Con drew closer, the familiar sensation of his skin tightening grew stronger.

  “Conall.” Valko’s deep voice cracked like a whip, and everyone turned to Con. “Where the fuck have you been? Did you know there’s a war going on? The damned varcolac attacked us.”

  Raynor swung to Valko. “Because someone leaked the fact that only we are affected by the virus! You knew what would happen, and now you’re using the attacks as an excuse to exterminate us.”

  Valko scoffed. “It wasn’t the pricolici who leaked the information. But we will finish this war. Your curs are already on the run after the battle in Canada—”

  “No,” Con interrupted. “The Aegis and human military will finish it. The virus has mutated, and it’s affecting the pricolici now.”

  Every drop of color drained from Valko’s face. “What? Are you sure?”

  “Very.”

  Valko’s legs seemed to give out, and he sank onto a bench. “Have you found a cure? A vaccine? Where is Sin?”

  Hearing Sin’s name come from the warg scum cranked up Con’s temper. “Why do you care? You wanted her dead.”

  Valko’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull “She’s dead?”

  Con didn’t answer. “Tell me who you hired, Valko.” He moved toward the warg, prepared to beat a confession out of him, but Raynor blocked him.

  “Has a vaccine been developed?”

  “It’s close,” Con said tightly. “And the irony is that if the vaccine works, it’s all because of the Feast warg you both tried to kill.”

  That shut everyone up—everyone except Bran, who barked out a laugh until someone called his name.

  A gangly blond female was loping toward them, her coltishly long legs eating up the ground. “My lord,” she panted as she halted in front of them. “There’s trouble… a female demon on the property.”

  A lick of unease went through Con, but he tamped it down because no way would Sin have come here—

  “She’s demanding to see Conall,” the girl finished, and Con swore.

  “Damn you!” Sin’s outraged curses carried on the wind, and despite Con’s increasing anxiety, he felt a flicker of a smile touch his lips. At least, until he saw her, struggling against the grip of two big males, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth.

  Rage rolled in like a thunderstorm, roiling up from his gut and crashing into his skull. His feet were moving before his fury-soaked brain knew what was happening. He tore off across the wiry grass, each step parting the wispy tendrils of fog that skimmed the ground.

  “Release her,” he roared.

  Enric stepped back, but the other, Baine, gripped her tighter. Sin took instant advantage of having a free arm and decked him with a right hook and a knee to the groin. Baine fell to the ground, one hand clutching his face, the other cupping his balls. Enric struck out at Sin, but Con, his blood still running hot, tackled him, knocked him clean out with a flurry of blows. He was going to kill Enric for touching Sin. He was going to rip his—

  “Con!” Sin grabbed his arm, halting his attack as the Council members from all three societies came running.

  Body still wired for battle and clamoring to turn his fellow dhampires into mulch, Con lurched to his feet, hoping someone made a move on him or Sin. She stood in front him, her raven tresses spilling over her shoulders and onto the black leather sleeveless top she wore. A savage light glinted in her equally black eyes, as well as something just as primal, something that called to the male animal in him: desire. And, when he caught the scent of her blood, hunger.

  He should have stepped away from her. Instead, he closed the distance between them. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I had to find you.” She licked her lips, the pink tip of her tongue catching the blood in the corner of her mouth. His gaze zeroed in on the action, and his loins filled with heat and his fangs pulsed, and he felt himself fuzzing out, leaning toward her, mouth watering, cock hardening.

  He barely managed a grunted “Why?”

  “I couldn’t let you do the oath thingie.” She spoke on a whispered breath, her face tilted upward, and he wanted to kiss her, claim her, right there against the rugged backdrop where his people had been mating for centuries. “I can’t stand the thought of you losing your freedom.”

  Bran clapped his hands, the harsh crack drawing Con’s attention. “Get her out of here.”

  Raynor reached for Sin, and oh, hell no. Con put himself between them, fangs bared. He didn’t say a damned word. Didn’t need to. Raynor backed off, but hatred blazed in his eyes. Icy, ancient hatred that Con had no explanation for, but right now he didn’t give a shit.

  Wheeling around, he gripped Sin’s arm and marched her away from the group. Gods, her skin was hot in his palm, and it radiated right to his groin. “You need to leave.” His voice was guttural, barely controlled. “Now.”

  “No.” She dug in her heels and jerked them both to a halt.

  He blinked. “No?”

  “I…” Her gaze dropped to the ground and she shifted her weight, and suddenly he was struck by a blast of need that came off her in an atomic shock wave. “It’s time. I… I need you.”

  Fierce male pride made him puff up like a rooster. “You don’t need me.” He clenched his fists to keep from grabbing, kissing, doing that public thing he said he’d never do. “You could have anyone if that were the case. You want me.”

  She snorted, an automatic response no doubt, but then her chin trembled, softening her appearance, and once again, he felt like a bastard. “Yes, okay? I want you. I know you have that”—she lowered her voice—“issue, but we can find a way around it. You don’t have to bite me…”

  His mind whacked out at the mere thought, and suddenly he could hear the pump of her heart, the swish of her blood running like raging rapids through her vessels, and, around him, he sensed Bran and several other dhampires closing in.

  “Back
away from her, Con,” Bran barked. There was a dagger in his hand, and he was focused on Sin. The icy fingers of déjà vu wrapped around Con, strangling him. Following Con’s mother’s death at the fangs of his father, the Dhampire Council had taken a hard stand on addiction.

  No more attempts at rehabilitation.

  They killed the source, which killed the cravings. Con hadn’t lied when he’d told Sin he was responsible for Eleanor’s death. He just hadn’t killed the leopard-shifter female himself.

  Bran had done it with a blade through the brain stem. They hadn’t even given Con a chance at bonding with her.

  Con pushed Sin behind him and backed them both up toward the Harrowgate. “I’ll handle this, Bran.”

  “You know the law,” the big male said.

  “I will handle this.”

  “See that you do,” Bran said, as he ran his finger along the edge of the blade. “Or I will.”

  * * *

  Sin had no clue what that craziness had been all about, but she kept her mouth shut as she and Con entered the Harrowgate, kept her mouth shut as he tapped out the map until the gate opened up into London’s east end, kept her mouth shut as he stiffly led her to a flat half a block away.

  As he closed the door behind him, she studied his tense demeanor, the way his chiseled features sharpened even more when he was angry. But she couldn’t tell if his anger was directed at her or not.

  The question was answered when he stalked to her, all sensual energy and rolling muscle encased in faded jeans and a tight black tee. His lips came down on hers, and she opened for him, met his tongue as she plastered her body against him. Desire roared through her, flaming hot, hotter than it had ever been with anyone, even at the height of her need. This was different. As pure as the snow they’d made love in.

  Con held her tight, and while his hands stroked her back, they didn’t stray. He dragged his mouth along her jaw, down to her neck, and then he kissed her there, right over her jugular. “That was stupid, Sin,” he murmured against her skin. “You shouldn’t have gone to Scotland.”