“He’s got five minutes,” Ivan pronounced. “I’m not wasting my time for a measly valet to take a vein.”
Indignation bloomed in Nadia’s gut and she bit down into her lip to keep from retorting in annoyance. Gunnar needed his blood source to heal. Otherwise he’d be of no use to the Council, or anyone for that matter. Ivan’s plain expression did nothing to hide his impatience. His vivid gray eyes flashed with irritation, the little jet-colored specks around the iris only adding to the animalistic intensity. In the hierarchy of their people, he had only one person above him—Aleksi. The responsibility of power belonged to Ivan. As the Kartal, he made the laws and enforced them with an iron fist. It was his duty to orchestrate matings, determining which candidates might make the strongest match and then presenting them to the Council scientists for confirmation. Holding to the customs and rituals, Ivan kept the old practices alive, ensuring the Kan Asma retained their tradition. She’d heard about those who’d dared to cross him, the males who survived intact told nightmarish tales of Ivan’s híbe talent.
All males of her people possessed some special ability. Those of common blood tended to wield basic preternatural skills, like her father’s ability of manipulating inanimate objects. Others only had increased telepathic tendencies and deflection. The Komars, though, possessed a stable of inherent power ranging from Traian’s skill of controlling nerve endings in the body to Ivan’s far-reaching talent for altering brain chemistry. Fearing Ivan’s híbe made Nadia keep her mouth firmly shut, even if she was piqued by his displeasure at Gunnar’s basic need.
“Did he divulge anything?” Confused, Nadia tipped her head and peeked at Ivan. Oh, good. He posed the question for Mikhail and not her. Relief washed over her.
“Tight-lipped bastard said Tray’s got nothing to hide.” Mikhail bent his knee and propped a booted foot against the wall. The black boots were scuffed and laced up with silver eyelets. The thick leather soles added to the badass façade. He wore loose-fitting cargo pants which hid the delineated muscle of his thighs and calves but were low slung across his hips. His clothes screamed out playboy. The wicked grin on his kissable mouth and slash of dark eyebrows only confirmed her suspicion: He enjoyed the ladies and wasn’t afraid to show it.
“Once I get into his head, we’ll see what he’s hiding for our miserable excuse of a brother. Perhaps it’ll be enough dirt I can use for leverage to force Traian into relinquishing his half-breed.” Ivan brushed an invisible speck off the cuff of his sleeve.
“Kâfi!” Aleksi ordered in a ruthless tone. It made Nadia tremble with the dominant power he conveyed in just one simple word. She knew enough of their language to recognize Aleksi was curbing Ivan’s diatribe. The relationship between Traian and a half-breed female was common knowledge throughout their community. He’d defied his family, broke the mating sacrament, and went against the Council’s dictates to take Bethany Miles for a mate. When Ivan had threatened to eliminate the woman, or face a possible excommunicating, Tray had taken off with his mate to parts unknown, but only yesterday, he had returned, Bethany in tow. The gossips said an uneasy agreement was reached between the brothers. Watching Aleksi clench his jaw and project a raw authority had Nadia’s suspicions rising to the forefront of her mind. The Kartal hadn’t suddenly found a tolerance to his brother’s disobedience. Aleksi had intervened on Traian’s behalf.
“O dilsiz,” Kartal sneered and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Nadia rubbed her arms, uneasy with the vibe crackling between the two aggressive males.
“I don’t care how fucked up you think it is, you gave your word. Leave Tray and his female alone. We need him willing to work with us. Your threatening bullshit will only send him back into hiding.” Right then, Nadia saw the Komutani she’d always revered. His shoulders were angled back, his spine ramrod straight, and the features of his face shifted. A tiny glimpse of fang tips pierced his lower lip. Hostility swirled in his eyes where a preternatural light seemed to make them glow. She stepped to the side wanting to ensure her own self-preservation.
Ivan’s chest puffed out and chin lifted. There was no change on his face, no hint of wicked lethal fangs, not one sign of the vampire-like creature under the surface. “Your father would never stand for such insolence.”
Aleksi went completely still. His nostrils flared with long indrawn breaths. “I will not break the oath I made and sealed with blood, Ivan. As my subordinate, you will adhere to the vow I made your brother. Bethany’s off limits, and is afforded the same treatment any mate of his would entail.”
Ivan brought a hand to his face and tapped a bent knuckle to his chin. “You ask too much, my Komutani.” The title was a vicious sneer. “She’s nothing to me but a nuisance. I don’t break my word…the mating’s safe for the time being.”
Nodding sharply, Aleksi pivoted on his heel and stalked to Nadia’s space. She stepped out of his way. He pulled open the door and moved across the threshold. “Snack time is over, Nakani. You will speak with us now.”
Ivan followed the Komutani into the room with Mikhail on his heels.
“Imagine being related to Mister Head-Up-His-Ass. It makes the Annual Family meal quite entertaining.” Mikhail shot her a wolfish grin before going into Gunnar’s room and shutting the door behind him.
Nadia let out the breath she held. Poor Gunnar, he’d be wiped out after the Kartal and Komutani got through with him. As a nurse, she felt it was not in Gunnar’s best interest to be interrogated right now, but who was she to put a stop to it? Determined to aid Gunnar, however she could, she made her way to the other side of the unit. Hopefully, Dominic would be open to helping. If not, she’d arm herself with some high dose pain meds and use them to give him a reprieve.
Chapter Four
Gunnar hoped the pained expression he’d plastered on his face worked to end this interview—interrogation—soon. He’d explained about the explosion and what he recalled about it several times. Nothing stood out in his mind other than that human bitch Tory being there. One moment the penthouse looked fine and dandy; the next it was engulfed in flames.
“Mikhail, you need to track down Tray’s former Adak, and question her before tossing her ass in the delik.” Aleksi stared up at the ceiling, his throat working with a frustrated motion.
On the opposite side of the gurney, Mikhail didn’t budge from his position in the corner. He put off a dangerous vibe. It smelled of electricity, and the tinges of static in the air offered a bit of a warning regarding his lethal attitude. The normal swagger had dimmed and in its place Gunnar could see the inborn warrior prowling under the surface. Mikhail’s lips parted as he inhaled deeply. “Think it’s something simple, like she has a Buffy fixation?”
Ivan’s hands were folded together in an indolent grasp. His thumb swept back and forth over his knuckles while his sharp chin tucked against his hard imposing chest. With eyes veiled by half-closed lids, he looked lost in deep thought. Gunnar knew better. The male was aware of everything and everyone. His sense of perception was off the charts. He could anticipate what each person in the room would do before they even did it. That’s why Gunnar remained still, aloof. Any overt signs of stress would have Ivan’s innate bloodhound scenting a trail of anxiety. Then he’d be shit out of luck for an end to this conversation.
When Ivan looked up, a glacier cold stare swirled in his cool grey eyes. “Vampire slayer fantasies went out in the eighties. We’re dealing with something else. Once you find Tory, have Sevastian mine her memories before locking her up. I want to know what her motivation is. Tell him I said hold nothing back.”
Aleksi tucked a thumb into the front of his jeans pocket and tipped his head. Long, loose hair slid down his shoulder with the motion. “Human casualties need Council approval.”
“That’s a rule none of us have ever adhered to, Vastian especially.” Mikhail strode toward the little cabinet on the far wall and leaned a shoulder against it. His weight compacted the pressed wood and it crackled a bit with the pre
ssure. “If you want her eliminated, I’m sure Tray would be happy to oblige after the work she did on his place.”
Gunnar watched Mikhail closely. He sounded sarcastic and amused but his body language gave away his irritation. Gunnar couldn’t deduce who’d brought on the annoyance, though. There were an awful lot of suspects ranging from Bomber Tory to Autocratic Ivan. Even so, Gunnar couldn’t help but add, “And I would have thought he’d want to avenge poor little me.”
“Seems like he’s jeopardizing your ass with the covert crap he’s got you doing for him. It might help things to know if the torching of his place happened because of a spurned lover or some hedonistic asshole scientist with an agenda.”
It’d be Gunnar’s greatest pleasure in life to track down the people who’d tortured his boss. Those crazy scientists deserved a long, painful death. Not only had they invaded the Kan Asma’s quiet town causing those who were lucky to flee Abkhazia in the dead of night, but they’d managed to kill many males while taking females for their perverse experimentation. Gunnar gnashed his teeth. He’d been helpless to do anything but carry supplies on his back, like a lowly peon, as he rushed from the village. He’d watched his friends die, some from forced sun exposure which was a horrid way to succumb. The cries of the captured innocents, several just younglings, would forever be emblazoned in his memory.
After his parents had died, Gunnar found himself aimless and alone. Back in the eighteenth century he and Traian attended combat training together. They’d formed a fast friendship. When Tray had asked him to take on the role of his valet, Gunnar took the job eager to find some form of security. The pay was great but that part didn’t matter as much as his purpose. Acting as his right-hand man, Gunnar assisted Tray in a personal capacity. He also did things for him that fell under the radar of the ruling cabinet. He watched Tray’s back and would sacrifice himself to ensure Traian’s protection. Ever since they’d found safety in Los Angeles, Traian had a covert mission. His vengeance for the torture he’d been subjected to ran deep and he’d enlisted Gunnar to help him track down the assholes who hurt him. Whatever Traian asked him to do, he’d gladly take on the task, but he’d sworn an oath to keep the shadier details to himself.
“We’ll have a chat later about these shady dealings as long as they don’t have anything to do with the bombing.” Mikhail pushed into his mind and it stung, like brain freeze.
Gunnar met Mikhail’s penetrating gaze and held entirely still. Then, he lifted his bad arm, enduring the throbbing ache to overindulge the dramatic flair as he grimaced and said, “When you find Tory, send her my regards.”
“Oh, I’ll do more than send regards,” Mikhail sneered, almost like a private aside. Gunnar could see calculation in the younger male’s eyes. And vengeance.
“Where does that leave us?” Gunnar leaned his aching head back against the pillow. Weary and hurting, he stopped concealing his weakness and hoped his guests realized his dwindling strength.
“At an impasse.” Aleksi sighed. He tightened his hand into a fist and his knuckles cracked. “I’d like to know if Tory’s actions were independent of the recent massacre at the Polat residence. If they have any ties, I want to know about it. We need to cut this off at the pass before it gets out of hand and we expose the truth of our existence to our neighbors.”
Mikhail straightened and jabbed the heel of his boot against the linoleum, grinding it in a tight circle. “Little annoying human ants are always looking for a scoop. Never know when we might end up on TMZ.”
“Or YouTube,” Gunnar added with a tight grin.
One side of Mikhail’s mouth kicked up and he laughed under his breath. “Vampires prowling West Hollywood. Damn, we’d go viral.”
“This isn’t the venue for fucking around, boys.” Ivan moved across the small space in two military sharp strides. He gripped the metal bedrail. It rattled as he leaned in close. “At the same time of the bombing, an entire family was slaughtered. On our watch. We lost younglings to some psychotic killer. And, we don’t know why, or who the bastard is that did it.” He lifted his granite hard chin and glared at Mikhail across the bed. Little lines creased at the sides of his eyes and a pungent citrus scent tainted the molecules of oxygen forcing Gunnar to take the overpowering element inside his lungs with each shallow breath. It was an unmistakable warning—alpha and aggressive—used to bend lesser beings into Ivan’s submission. “Instead of having your head up your ass, kardes, perhaps you can do something productive besides screwing your way through the greater Los Angeles basin.”
Unfazed, Mikhail remained in place. The tip of his tongue swiped across his top teeth and swirled around an elongated fang. “Unlike you, dearly beloved brother, I’m allergic to sexual frustration.” Mikhail shook his head and black hair fluttered around his shoulders with the rough motion. “Stupid zhopa. Eblan! You need to get laid.”
Ivan’s jaw clenched tight. Gunnar had spent plenty of time around Mikhail to recognize the Russian insults. He was one of the only Kan Asma who preferred to speak in Russian. The rest of them had a fairly fluent knowledge of English to get them through life in the USA While in the confines of their homes and within the native community, though, most spoke Turkish. Mikhail had spent many years installed at the university in Moscow, prior to his maturation, and there, he’d learned to speak like the other students. Tray was proficient in many languages, but completely ignored the language shifts his brother tended to use, and Gunnar agreed with his assessment Mikhail employed the foreign tongue as a way to mother-F everyone he deemed unworthy. Which was most of the people, most of the time. Gunnar wanted to laugh at the name calling but the throbbing currently razing its way along his shoulder and neck made it impossible. Instead, he met Mikhail’s stare and nodded quickly. They all agreed on one thing: Ivan was an asshole.
Tugging at the hem of his jacket, Mikhail straightened to his full height. “Did you ever stop and think maybe your genetic engineering produced a psychopath?”
Gunnar could imagine a blood bath happening right beside him. His pristine bleached sheets would be splattered with streaks of crimson red while Mikhail was torn apart bit by bit at the hands of his tyrannical and deadly eldest brother. Except, Ivan didn’t so much as twitch at the insult. Instead, he ducked his head and his nostrils flared.
Tanned fingers gripped Ivan’s upper arm. The massive bulk of Aleksi’s body slid into place beside the enraged male. “Get a grip, Ivan! Let’s keep the insults to a minimum. All we have to go on right now is a family was gunned down during a celebratory feast. We’ve got to find the murderer and put a stop to any more reckless killings. Mikhail, you have your task. I only want to hear from you when you have that bitch under lock and key in Komar Industries’ holding cell.”
After shooting an arch look at their Komutani, Mikhail inclined his head imperceptibly and pivoted on his heel, stalking out the door. It closed behind him with an audible whoosh.
“And you,” Aleksi leaned in close, intimidating. “Will stop being so clammed up. If Tray’s in hot water, I want to know about it.”
A flash of emotion lined Aleksi’s brow, but before Gunnar could try to discern the implication, it vanished, squashed behind Aleksi’s implacable guise. It gave him a slight hint his leader felt more than just duty regarding what had transpired with Tray.
Nodding his understanding, Gunnar hoped the pain would escalate and knock him the hell out. This interview had long lost its appeal. Wait, it had never held any appeal. Where was his nurse? He needed something to dim the pain, like morphine…or Nadia’s smile.
»»•««
Nadia toed off her Dansko clogs and flexed her feet. A dull ache in her ankle reminded her of the long hours she’d been working. The rest of her body felt heavy and unwieldy. She needed to go home and call it a night. Except her worry for Gunnar kept her at the hospital. Though she’d clocked out over an hour ago, some compulsion to see to his needs forced her to stay a while longer. She leaned against the chair rest and dropped her head
back. Bending one knee, she propped her foot on the seat attempting to alleviate the strain in her spine. Between her shoulder blades, the muscles spasmed, and she rolled her head side to side, stretching out the tightness there.
Her stomach rumbled and twisted. The bag of chips she’d wolfed down fifteen minutes ago did nothing to dim her hunger. She suspected the pounding at her temples had a lot to do with her need for calories. A little part of her recognized the pain as a form of anxious stress. Not for herself but for her patient. She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Her feelings for Gunnar were bizarre, surprising, and a bit too real. The tips of her fingers tingled as she recalled the warmth of his skin as she soothed him through pain and worry. She wanted to touch him again, to feel that strength coalescing under her palm. A potent image flashed through her mind of Gunnar pulling her into his embrace, the hard plane of his chest crashing into her breasts as he held her close and feathered kisses down her cheek. Heat bloomed within her, simmering low in her core and the more she allowed the fantasy to develop, the greater the burn became. She shifted in her seat and forced her eyes to open. Focusing on the far wall, she read the OSHA guidelines poster a few times hoping to jar her thoughts into reality. On her third time reading the process for safely cleaning up spills, she decided maybe it was time to head home.
Morning hovered just an hour away. The commute would be full of honking horns, irate drivers and traffic congestion which never was fun to drive home in. Once there, her father would be grouchy and incensed about her tardiness. Sometimes her parents drove her batty with their over-protectiveness and dependence upon her. Soon, she’d be able to slip under her covers and sleep off this awkward state of mind. At the very least, she’d be well rested before she came back to work again. Definitely a bonus, since Gunnar would still be one of her patients, and when she was around him, she required all possible mental faculties to be at their prime.
Mated in Treason Page 4