by Cynthia Eden
Iona stood behind him, and the fast pants of her breath echoed in his ears.
The werewolves were coming for her. He knew it. Once the spell holding Iona had broken, Latham’s witch would have told him the news. And Latham would have sent out his attack dogs.
Too bad. You can’t have her back.
Their “company” broke from the trees. Two black wolves. Two gray. One white.
Latham’s foot soldiers—wolf soldiers.
Jamie barred his teeth and didn’t wait for them to come lunging at him in an attack. He sprang toward them, more than ready to draw first blood.
***
The sounds of the vicious snarls and howls filled her ears. The waves were crashing close by, and the music still blared from the bar, so the humans probably weren’t even aware of the bloody battle going on so close to their safe little world.
Iona was too aware.
Jamie wasn’t a man any longer. But she knew that, in truth, he’d never been a man. That had just been a surface lie. Werewolves were always more beasts than men.
He was in the form of a big, fierce, black wolf now. A wolf that was easily twice the size of the others he attacked. A wolf that drew blood with his claws and his razor-sharp teeth and seemed to love the savagery of the fight.
No hesitation. No fear.
Two of his enemies were already on the ground.
A third would be out of the battle soon.
It appeared that Jamie was a true werewolf alpha.
Iona turned away from the battle. Alphas had always annoyed her. Maybe because she liked to be the alpha, too.
Whatever. She would leave Jamie’s lying beast to his own ends. He could handle the others—and she could find a human to eat. I’ll prove him wrong.
She just needed more blood. There was still a weakness in her limbs that she couldn’t allow. When she faced Latham—oh, I’ll see you dead soon—she had to be at full strength.
A wolf’s sharp cry pierced the air behind her. For just an instant, she hesitated and looked back. Jamie had taken out the white wolf. The beast was on his side, and she knew the dark shadow spreading on his coat was blood.
Jamie stood over his fallen prey, with his big body heaving. The wolf’s eyes—that same, piercing green—were on her.
I won’t let them hurt you. His words whispered through her mind.
As if she needed his protection. Her chin lifted. She’d walk back into the bar. Find another, non-drugged man to sample, and Jamie could fight his little blood battles.
A familiar scent teased her nose. Iona’s body stiffened.
Then a rumble of thunder broke the air. Jamie—his wolf—staggered back. More thunder rumbled. No, not thunder, a gunshot. Jamie hit the ground.
She was running toward him before she’d even realized what was happening. The other wolves had scattered back, but when they saw her rushing forward, the grey beast tossed his head and howled.
Blood.
And…Iona inhaled deeply, wondering about that other heavy, too thick scent in the air. A scent that was metallic, like…
Jamie was shifting before her. She’d never seen a wolf shift so quickly. Except for one time when her vamp coven had attacked invading wolves with silver. Silver could always force a fast change for a werewolf.
The beast was gone. On the ground, Jamie sprawled as a man. Bullet holes were in his chest. Her eyesight was perfect in the dark, probably even better than his, and Iona saw that he appeared to be bleeding in rivulets of silver.
Liquid silver? Was that the weapon of choice against werewolves these days?
Jamie’s claws drove into his own chest, and he yanked out a handful of silver. A brutal move that had the breath freezing in her lungs. Then he did it again, to the other bullet hole.
“Can’t…get it all…” His voice was barely human. “Liquid…in my blood…”
Yes, it would be. Unlike a solid silver bullet, the liquid silver would pour through him.
“I’ll…die…”
She realized that his head was in her lap. Iona didn’t remember sliding her knees under him. Why had she even come to check on him? The shooter could still be out there. The shooter could come for her.
She should run. Leave. Hunt.
Not lean over him and brush the hair from his forehead, but, sure enough, she saw her own trembling fingers sliding thought that thick, dark hair.
What is wrong with me?
“If I die…” It certainly looked like the wolf was close to death. Jamie growled, then managed, “So…do you…”
She gazed down at him. She knew what others said about her. She was evil. Wicked. Without a soul.
And maybe some of those stories were true. But in this one instance…
Iona brushed her lips over his. A soft kiss. Gentle. Their first kiss.
It seemed strange to have it here, with blood around them.
It seemed strange to have the kiss after she’d already taken his blood.
But maybe it was fitting.
The kiss was light, but she enjoyed the taste of his lips almost as much as she’d enjoyed his blood.
Perhaps the werewolf could prove to be addictive to her.
And, maybe, she’d show him just how addictive she could be.
Her mouth lifted from his, a few inches. “What makes you think…” Iona asked him quietly, “that I would let you die by any hand other than my own?”
Then she lifted her hand. Brought it to her mouth. Sliced the flesh with her teeth, then offered her wrist to him.
When he drank, she understood that Jamie wasn’t like the others. For some reason, he’d touched a part of her that she’d buried deep inside. The human part. The part that wouldn’t let a man die before her eyes.
Not a man who’d saved her. Who’d tried to protect her.
I won’t let them hurt you.
Funny. No one had ever tried to protect her. Not even her father. No, he’d been the one to tie her to the stake on her twenty-fifth birthday. The day he’d realized she wasn’t aging as she should.
He’d tied her to the stake and carried the torch that had started the blaze around her. She’d screamed and begged him to stop. He hadn’t.
Too bad for him, she’d been strong enough to break free of the bonds that held her. Burned, savaged, she’d escaped.
Later, she’d gone back for him.
Jamie’s hand lifted and locked around her wrist as he took her blood. As far as she knew, only one other werewolf had ever tasted her blood.
That was the werewolf who’d locked her in that horrible house. Made her a prisoner in her own body.
The same werewolf that had been there tonight because, right before the first bullet had slammed into Jamie, she’d caught Latham’s scent.
Her gaze lifted to the woods once more. The scent was gone now, but it didn’t matter. Latham knew she was free—and she, well, she knew that he’d soon be one very dead wolf.
***
The fool had freed her. Latham raced through the woods, his packmates close to his sides. They were bleeding, and he knew that Jamie would track the scent of the blood.
Jamie thought he was such a fine tracker.
They burst from the woods. Two black SUVs were waiting for him. Latham rushed into the first SUV, the gun a heavy weight in his gloved hand. The silver bullets should have taken out his rival, but Latham had missed Jamie’s heart because he’d been distracted.
By her.
The witch was waiting for him in the SUV. Unlike the other werewolves, Latham hadn’t transformed into his wolf form.
“Is he dead?” The witch asked. Brian Hennessey didn’t look much like a witch. Tall, thin, with small, black glasses perched on his nose, the guy appeared to be a harmless human.
Brian was far from harmless.
The other werewolves were shifting. The others who’d survived anyway—two packmates wouldn’t be escaping with him.
Should have gone in stronger.
“No, Jamie i
s still alive,” Latham bit out. “Because he wasn’t alone.”
Latham knew that once Jamie was out of the picture, the remains of his pack would be easy pickings. Jamie was the strength of that pack. Without him, they’d crumble to nothing.
He wanted them to crumble. Those fools deserved to crumble.
“More wolves?” Brian shook his head and waved for the driver to get them out of there. “I would have thought you’d be able to take them—”
Latham grabbed his arm and let his claws rip into Brian’s flesh. “Most witches can see into the future.”
No fear flickered in Brian’s gaze. “Most witches didn’t nearly burn out their power by locking up a born vampire queen for you.”
His claws dug deeper. “She’s not locked up.”
“Yeah, she is. I put that bitch in her cell, I—”
“Not anymore,” Latham snarled at him as the rage flared hotter within him. “He got her out.” In-fucking-possible. Or it should have been.
Brian paled. “Iona…is free?” Ah, now the fear was there.
The witch was right to be afraid. Iona knew Brian had been the one to cast the spell that bound her.
She’d be gunning for him, too.
But Iona would have to get in line. Latham was ready to rip the witch’s head right off. “You said I was the only one who’d be able to get her out.” Only he hadn’t wanted her out. She just would have fought him then. Tried to take his head. So he’d kept her locked up, and every few months, he’d gone in and drained blood from her.
Iona’s blood was pure power. It gave him the strength of a werewolf—of five werewolves in fully shifted form—but let him keep the body of a man at all times. Why shift? Thanks to her blood, he always had more than enough strength to break his enemies.
“I-I told you…as a werewolf alpha, you’d be able to bind her body.” The scent of Brian’s sweat and fear filled the interior of the vehicle. “And if a werewolf alpha locked her body, then only a werewolf alpha could—could free her.”
Snarling, Latham put his claws at Brian’s throat. “You didn’t tell me that any werewolf alpha would do the trick! I thought I was the only one! Just me!”
More sweat. More fear. But Brian shook his head. “I never said you were the only one who could free her.”
That information would have been important before then. Yet even as the rage pulsed in his blood, Latham smiled at the witch.
Brian’s fear deepened. Ah, the witch knew him well.
“Your power’s nearly out,” Latham said, repeating what Brian had told him. The witch would be regretting those words. “You can’t see the future, and that’s a pity. If you’d seen it, maybe you could have avoided—”
Latham sliced his claws right across Brian’s throat. “This.”
Then he shoved open the door and tossed the witch’s body into the road.
Chapter Three
The cars had changed. Some were smaller. Some were far bigger. They had computers inside of them. Small screens with maps that showed any area with a touch of a button.
Iona touched lots of buttons.
The radio had what seemed like a thousand channels. The music was crazy. Wonderful. Faster, harder than she remembered.
And the seat beneath her ass? It…warmed.
She liked that.
“Yeah, yeah, they attacked outside of the Shore Tavern,” Jamie said, speaking into his little phone.
Iona frowned at the phone. The last time she’d seen a phone in a car, the thing had been huge—and in some black bag that plugged into the cigarette lighter. The phone in Jamie’s hand was just a few inches long and so incredibly thin.
There weren’t any buttons on it. Jamie just touched its screen and things happened.
She liked that, too. She’d have to get one of those phones, soon. Gadgets had always intrigued her.
“We’re on the way. Stay on guard, Sean,” Jamie ordered and ended the call.
Ah…yes. Her turn. Iona snatched the phone from him. She swiped her fingers over the screen. Music blared. The phone…flashed, as if she’d taken a picture, and then some kind of game with little birds popped up and—
Jamie pulled the phone away from her. “What are you doing?”
She wanted that phone back. But her fingers clenched in her lap. She’d always been taught…don’t let others know what you need. “I’m playing catch-up. A lot can happen in fifteen years, you know.”
And it had been fifteen years. Before she’d headed to the bar for a bite, she’d broken into a store and found herself new clothes. After picking up the clothing, it had been time to grab a newspaper in town. As soon as she’d held the paper in her hand, she’d realized all that she’d lost. The date had been big and bold and painful to see. She’d clutched that paper and wanted to rip and tear into Latham.
He’d taken fifteen years of her life away. Fifteen years.
In return, she’d take forever from him.
Jamie was quiet for a moment, as if processing her words, then he said, “So you just…slept, that whole—”
Iona turned away from him and gazed out at the blur of darkness beyond her window. “I told you already, I wasn’t asleep.” If only.
“Baby, I was there. Your body wasn’t moving. Hell, when I first saw you, I thought you were dead.”
She’d wanted to die. For so long.
Iona pulled in a steadying breath and said, “My body was paralyzed.” That was how it had felt. She hadn’t been able to move a muscle. Not one single muscle.
Her hands shook at the memory.
Kill him. A whisper that came from inside of her..
During that long, long time…Iona had begun to hear voices. She’d lost her sanity, she knew it. After so many years of being frozen, hell, just talking with Jamie still felt strange to her.
“Your body…” He repeated in that faint brogue that Iona wouldn’t admit she rather enjoyed hearing. “But…your mind?”
Smart wolf. Maybe he was picking up on the things that she said and the things that she didn’t say. “I could hear everything for years. Could smell. Could feel the bed beneath me.” For at least the first five years. Was it stupid that she’d been counting the days then? “I heard the bugs and the rats. I heard the crash of the waves and the whisper of footsteps.” Latham had kept a guard on her. Always.
A guard that…Iona’s head whipped toward him. “Did you kill the guard? The one who smelled of whiskey and cigars?” The odor of his cheap cigars had burned into her over the years.
A grim nod.
She couldn’t control her smile. “Good.” One less person to hunt and torture. And she was going to kill. The thought of killing had sustained her until her mind had finally broken.
Broken…and slid into the dark.
“Did he hurt you?”
The guard? He’d liked to touch her. Touching a corpse. What a sick freak. He’d also liked to burn her with his cigars. Good thing her kind didn’t scar. “Did he suffer before he died?” Iona asked instead of answering him.
“No. The death was fast.”
“Pity.” Her little claws drummed on the leather inside the vehicle. “I would’ve liked taking my time with him.”
“He did hurt you.” Anger roughened his voice.
And caused her to glance at him with surprise. “Wolf, you sound as if you actually care.” A lie, of course, but Iona could admit—to herself—that it would be nice, to have one person who cared.
The vampire coven she’d so carefully created over the years hadn’t cared. The ones she’d fought desperately to protect. They. Hadn’t. Cared.
They’d left her to wither away.
She’d been so hungry at first. Starving for just a few drops of blood. She wanted to gorge herself on blood now because that hunger was still eating away at her.
But…
But the only blood she seemed to want was Jamie’s. Can’t eat him. Not until I find out what he’s done to me.
She would find ou
t, soon enough.
“If it makes you feel better,” he told her, the words halting, “I killed the five other guards who tried to keep me from you. No one who left you in that house is alive.”
But there were others still alive. Her coven. They might not have been at that house, but they’d left her there just the same.
Before she could speak, the vehicle screeched to a sudden stop. Iona jerked forward even as the seatbelt tightened around her and cut into her shoulder. “What the hell—”
“Blood,” Jamie snapped out as he jumped from the car.
She caught the scent, too. Heavy. Fresh.
Iona hurried out after him. They were on an old, twisting highway. Jamie had kept the driver’s side window down as he drove, the better to follow the “scent” of their attackers, and it sure looked like his nose had led him to their prey.
He stood over a broken body, and the scent of blood called to her.
Then she saw the prey on the ground—saw exactly who he was—and fury rolled within her.
Brian. The witch who had imprisoned her. His throat had been slit, from ear to ear, and blood pooled beneath him.
“It shouldn’t have been so easy for you,” she snapped, the rage clawing inside of her, raking and ripping open her guts. He’d been on her list. Hunting him, killing him—that promise had gotten her through so many days and nights. To see him like this…
“Those are the claw marks left from a werewolf attack,” Jamie said as he bent to better study the body. He shook his head. “Guess Latham got pissed at his witch.”
Surprise froze her breath. “You knew Brian?”
After the briefest of hesitations, Jamie gave a slow nod, but then said, “Never met him personally, but most paranormals out West, yeah, we knew of him.” He glanced up at her. “He’s the one who imprisoned the Blood Queen. He kinda got infamous for that bit.”
Blood Queen.
The name still hurt, not that she’d let him see her pain. Her father’s men had given her that name. When she’d escaped the fire, her father had sent mercenaries—the most vicious he could find—to kill her.
She’d been covered in their blood when she went to destroy dear old dad.