by Virna DePaul
If he didn’t know better, he’d say the sensation was guilt. Even if it was, so be it. After all, any guilt he felt was well deserved.
When Jesmina Martin had called him, proposing an exchange of money for information, there was no way Mahone could have guessed just how bountiful the information she possessed really was. Or that it would have concerned one of his own team members.
According to Jesmina, Bodin of Hammersham had abandoned his grandson in order to protect him because he believed Dex possessed the gift of immortality. A gift Jesmina hoped to replicate with her test tubes and microscopes. All of her theories were based on the whispered accounts of an old legend, the same legend that predicted a werewolf with an identity crisis would save the world by shepherding a bunch of dark demons back to hell.
What she hadn’t known, at least as far as Mahone could decipher, was that shape-shifters were killing each other and that dark magic and incantation spells were somehow involved. But Mahone had certainly made the connection fast enough.
Even if it was only speculation at this point, it was speculation accompanied by a gut feeling that he was right. And Mahone paid attention to his gut feelings. If what he suspected was true, shape-shifters were killing other shape-shifters based on what they truly believed was self-defense. They were killing their own in order to stop those in their midst from bringing dark spirits back to earth.
When he thought about it, it made sense. As Walker had recognized days ago, shape-shifters were mostly a mystery to the rest of the world. That’s how everyone preferred it. Shape-shifters were scary not only because of their alien-like exteriors, but because they could travel undetected anywhere and anytime they wanted. They could disguise themselves as someone’s brother, mother, or lover, and most people would never know it. Because they were the most feared and least understood Otherborn, they were also the most persecuted.
Since they’d seemed relatively peaceful, everyone had pretty much ignored the threat they posed up to now. That had been a huge mistake.
If the shape-shifters couldn’t find a place among the living, why not with the dead? And why not use the dead to avenge themselves against all the living creatures who’d fucked you over in the first place?
A legend. Dex. Dark demons. Shape-shifters performing rituals to raise dark demons.
It had to be more than coincidence.
He’d wait to see if Dex made the same connection—without any help from Mahone. And who knew? Maybe Jesmina would play a role in things, which would validate Mahone’s decision to keep their little arrangement a secret from Dex.
Of course, Dex hadn’t mentioned a single word about Jesmina to Mahone, but Mahone was no fool. He knew Dex wouldn’t be able to resist seeing the vampire again. Mahone had followed Dex the night he’d gone to see Jes at her hotel, and Dex had been inside her hotel room far longer than it would have taken Jesmina to take the samples of blood she’d been after.
However he got the information, Mahone was counting on Dex bringing him back something useful. And if the “good” shape-shifters wouldn’t open up to him? Well, Mahone had prepared for that contingency, too.
By strategically leaking Jesmina’s suspicions about Dex to several shape-shifters, Mahone was gambling that word would get around and that the “bad” shape-shifters would go after Dex themselves. After all, what better way to get those shape-shifters’ attention than to dangle the promise of immortality in front of them. Immortality not just for them, but for the dark spirits they raised.
Of course, that meant others might hear the gossip and go after Dex, too. In effect, Mahone had probably unleashed a whole hella-lotta nasty on the werebeast. Mahone couldn’t afford to feel regret or to hesitate because of it.
Mahone would send Dex backup if Dex needed it, but Mahone already had a Goddess threatening him with world-annihilation. Now he had to deal with the possibility that shape-shifters were plotting an apocalyptic revolution of their own. He had nothing to rely on but his own instincts and machinations. It might make him untrustworthy and it might result in his team members dying or hating him, most of all Dex Hunt, but at this point Mahone had no choice.
The pitcher was on the mound and he was stepping up to the plate.
He just hoped when the time came, Essenia would have his back. The only other alternative was her bashing him in the head with the bat then spitting on his body before she wiped out every single living thing on earth.
Game. On.
CHAPTER TWELVE
VAMPIRE DOME
PORTLAND, OREGON
Dharmire Knox Devereaux stared at his wife, Felicia Locke Devereaux, with an expression that could only be described as horror.
She sighed and murmured, “I guess the honeymoon really is over.”
“If you honestly think I’m letting you leave here, then yes.”
Here, being their home. The Vampire Dome. A place Felicia loved, but not one she was willing to become her prison. She understood Knox wasn’t trying to imprison her. He loved her. He was trying to protect her. And she loved him even more because of that. She just couldn’t allow it to continue any longer.
“I’m a federal agent, Knox—”
“I don’t care if you’re the President of the United States. Nothing is as important as your life. The Quorum tried to have you killed.”
“I haven’t forgotten—”
“But you’ve obviously forgotten who you’re married to. Because I won’t allow you to place yourself in jeopardy, Felicia. Even if you hate me…”
He’s so scared, she thought even as he kept talking. And she understood the feeling. She’d be terrified if she thought too much about all the people who wanted him dead, the Quorum least of all. And she certainly didn’t want to die. She wanted to enjoy the life she’d finally managed to attain—with him, the children, and the rest of the vampire clan. The last month had been a dream come true for her. She’d never been happier. Until she’d started to feel unhappy, of course. Confined. Restricted.
Protected, yes, but also smothered.
And she knew that in order to safeguard the love she and Knox had always felt for each other, she had to force him to let her breathe, even if it meant she wouldn’t be quite as safe as she was now.
“…you insist on leaving, tell me where you want to go. I can teleport you almost anywhere in the world. Somewhere you haven’t been. I know you must be getting bored, but—”
She sighed. “This isn’t about being bored and you can’t accompany me everywhere I go. We can rejoin the team together, but—”
“Fuck the team,” he growled.
His bald statement simply made her smile. She knew this male inside and out, and she knew how much the Para-Ops team and every one of its members—even the were, Dex Hunt—had come to mean to him.
“Honestly, I’m not sure you could handle that,” she said lightly. She cupped Knox’s face in her hands and rose on tiptoe to give him a light kiss. Despite the scowl on his face, his lips immediately returned the gesture. When she backed away, she sighed regretfully at the sheer terror on Knox’s face.
She’d known all she would get was resistance. But she’d paved the way and she was going to continue doing so. Right now, she was going to wipe that expression of fear off her husband’s face and replace it with pleasure.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PALADINE ABBEY
AUVERGNE REGION, FRANCE
Jes lay in bed listening to the sound of rain patter against the window. The tinny beats beckoned to her, urging her to stand, but she didn’t move. She hadn’t been able to move for days.
The sheets that had always felt luxurious against her skin were a heavy weight. She hadn’t changed the bed linens, hadn’t been able to get out of bed at all. She’d been too afraid of what might happen.
She curled her knees tighter to her chest, as if that action would protect the tiny life inside her. She didn’t look pregnant, of course. Not yet. A vampire pregnancy lasted only a month, and the fetus didn
’t grow large enough to show until almost two weeks. Her baby was just a week old. But even though no one else could see it, her baby was there, inside her, a part of her.
Even now, it struggled to hang on. Her baby—Dex Hunt’s baby—was dying, and there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t help wondering if she was being punished. Again.
She shouldn’t have been able to get pregnant. The doctors had told her that after the last miscarriage. When she’d found out her night with Dex had led to a miracle, she’d convinced herself things would be different this time. That unlike the others, this baby would flourish with the strength and vitality he’d inherited from his father. After all, if Dex possessed the gift of immortality, wouldn’t he naturally have passed along his health and well-being to his child? But it wasn’t as if he could actually control that type of thing even if he’d known one of the condoms he’d worn wouldn’t block a life determined to be created.
No, Dex Hunt hadn’t known he was blessing her with something so precious. Just like he hadn’t known she’d taken his blood in order to save the werewolf he wanted to kill.
Due to Jes’s weakness, Jes had barely managed to visit Bodin since her return. When she had, the old werewolf had looked horribly gaunt. His hair and beard, once a dark, lustrous black, had turned a shocking white in her absence. He could barely get out of bed now, but still he’d noticed Jes’s own weakness and called her on it.
“You need to rest. Go now,” he’d commanded.
And Jes had retreated to her bedroom and had been there ever since. Not even the lure of Dex’s blood and the experiments she’d planned to perform on it were enough to raise her. As a result, Amanda had once again taken over caring for Jes’s patients, including Amanda’s own grandfather, and to Jes’s surprise, the female was far more nurturing and skilled than she’d ever expected her to be.
Amanda had even shown a modicum of tenderness and affection when she’d come to visit Jes. She and the rest of Jes’s makeshift family had rallied around her, but it didn’t matter. None of them knew Jes was pregnant. Even if they did, none of them could stop Jes’s body from doing what it had always done—losing a baby she so desperately wanted to keep.
Someone knocked on the door. She said nothing, barely stopped herself from hiding beneath the sheets, but Giselle, her feline housekeeper and friend, came bustling in anyway. “I’ve brought you your favorite breakfast. Morning buns and fresh fruit.” She set the tray down on the table next to the bed.
Jes closed her eyes as a wave of nausea rolled through her. “Per—perhaps later, Giselle.”
“Cy’s downstairs. He wants to see you.”
Cyrus Mead was Jes’s adoptive Draci brother, one of the males she was closest to, but she didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to see anyone. “Please tell him I’m not feeling up to company.”
“I’ve been telling him that for days, but he says he doesn’t care anymore. He’s worried, Jes. We all are.”
“I know, but—” She froze as awareness swept through her. She felt the knowledge in the sudden flutter of movement inside her. More vigorous than ever. Jess sucked in air as an irrevocable yet impossible certainty flooded her. She sat up.
Dex was here. In France. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. And so did her baby.
Joy and hope infused her, and not just her own.
Somehow her baby had connected with his father, almost as if Dex’s proximity had infused its small body with strength.
Energy zipped through her veins, compelling her to move. She reached out and grabbed Giselle’s arm. “Giselle, please tell Cy I need to see him. Now.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PARIS, FRANCE
Trosseau, the shape-shifter Dex was supposed to meet in the French market, had said he’d be identifiable by his red hair and matching glasses. Of course, he’d be in disguise, taking the form of some human or Otherborn instead of traveling in his true state—smooth translucent skin, large dark eyes with no whites to them, no hair, and a flat nose. He wasn’t simply trying to avoid the same staring or even abuse he might encounter in the United States, but because in Europe, Otherborn were still in hiding, hoping to avoid detection given what had happened to their kind when the United States had attempted to integrate them into their population. As it was, even Dex got looks as he traveled from the airport to the heart of Paris. Looks that suggested that people knew his stocky build, hazel eyes, and tawny hair made him part were. Granted, his neatly trimmed soul patch was particularly favored by weres, but still …
Many of those who gave him a second look took care to move out of his way. Any other time, he’d have called them on it. Picked a fight. But he wasn’t here for that. He was here for the team and that meant he had to put his own tendencies aside and do the job. Besides, ever since he’d landed in Paris, his beast had been getting more and more restless. His mind more distracted. His senses were filled with the scent of Jesmina. His fingers tickled with the memory of how soft and wet she’d been. His ears echoed with the cries of her passion, each climax seeming to take her by surprise.
He hadn’t understood it then and he didn’t now. He’d explained away her fear, but not her surprise. She wasn’t innocent. She’d told him herself she’d had many lovers. Yet that hesitance he’d sensed when he’d first kissed her had reared its head throughout the night, and no matter how much he tried telling himself it was due to were prejudice, he just couldn’t seem to let it go.
Fuck, this was bad. He was distracted. Even if all he was supposed to do was gather intel, he couldn’t let his guard down. Enemies could be anywhere. He shouldn’t let a piece of vamp ass make any difference, but it did, which was why he wanted to meet the shape-shifter, get the info he needed, and get the hell back to the States.
Of course, also in the back of his mind was the fact Lucy had to be suffering. Before he’d left, he’d tried to talk her into letting him give her sexual release, but she’d completely frozen him out. She’d emphatically told him she wasn’t sleeping with him again. And while part of him had been relieved, he’d pushed things the way he always did.
“Yeah?” he’d taunted. “So you’ve found another male to give you what you need?”
The normally unflappable Lucy had actually sneered at him. “I don’t need any male, Dex. I dealt with the heat for a helluva long time before you came along, and I can do it again. Thank you, but your services are no longer needed.”
His services.
Dex’s mouth tipped up at the memory of Lucy’s words.
If Lucy no longer needed his services, then that meant he was free to find his pleasure elsewhere. But despite the number of beautiful females all over France, the only beautiful female he was interested in was a vampire who’d vanished into thin air without even bothering to say goodbye. She’d probably been so disgusted with herself for sleeping with a lowly were that she’d run away in horror.
Whatever. He didn’t need her. She’d just be a distraction, and if he was going to do his job and deal with his grandfather, Dex needed as few distractions as possible.
He prowled the market, impatiently scanning for the shape-shifter. Since it was past five in the afternoon, many of the merchants were packing up. Almost all of them looked up as he passed. His scowl made them avert their gaze pretty fast, which was why he was surprised when one female merchant stared at him.
To his even greater shock, she motioned him over.
Cocking a brow and unable to resist the sense of intrigue she emitted, Dex strode up to her. He stopped a few steps away, saying nothing. That’s when he noticed she had artfully painted on brows. He studied her shiny blond hair, perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place.
“You’re wearing a wig.”
Statement, not question, but still she nodded.
“You’re a mage?” Mages were all bald, with no eyebrows or eyelashes. Unless, of course, like Lucy, the mage was also part feline.
She looked around, eyes wide, as if she couldn’
t believe he’d uttered the words out loud. “You’re American?”
“What gave me away?”
“You’re friends with a mage?”
There was that word again. Friend. Yeah, okay. Why deny it? It was true. “She’s a friend, yes.”
“A lover?”
“In a way,” he said.
“Ah, a mystery. I sensed it about you right away. You are not what you appear. Not what you think yourself to be.”
He laughed at that. “I know exactly what I am. I’m a half-breed werebeast on a mission.”
“What kind of mission?”
He shook his head, started to walk away, then stopped. He turned back to her. Studied the flasks, herbs, and textiles she had on display. “Do you cater to your kind? More than humans do, I mean?”
“I suppose it depends on what you’re looking for.”
“The mage I know…she’s not an herbalist. These potions. Is there something that will help felines with the heat?”
“If I had that cure, I’d be far richer than I am. Far more popular, as well.”
“What about birth control? Something for—for males?”
She frowned. “Afraid of reproducing a feline?”
“Not at all.” He stared at her. Let his message come through: Back off.
Only she didn’t quite do it. “Ah, afraid of reproducing yourself. I’m surprised. Weres are generally so…proud.”
“Do you have anything or not?”
“I don’t.”
Not surprised, he nodded, then caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. He turned. Bingo. Red hair. Red glasses. He caught Trosseau’s gaze, but the shape-shifter kept moving.
Dex followed the shape-shifter into an alley straddled by shops, staying several feet behind. The longer they traveled, the more deserted the street became. The more penned in he felt. On either side of him, windowless, towering walls provided little maneuverability.
Dex didn’t like it.
He stopped, and as he did, it was as if the shape-shifter immediately sensed it, because he stopped, as well.