Mated in Treason

by Christa Paige

  They were compatible. Hell, yeah. Nadia was his. For-fucking-ever!

  The other leech died a miserable death when Pavel fed it a different sample. Thing exploded in a gruesome horror movie way, as if it had been congealed like the fat of cooking meat, all grey and gelatinous. Disgusting. Gunnar had pressed Pavel, a nervous twist in his gut alerted him to the necessity of a chat. So, maybe his fingers had come perilously close to strangulating the male, Gunnar didn’t want to sit there all night playing proverbial footsies as they danced around the topic. Why the fucking hell did Pavel check more blood types with the second leech? Gunnar never got a straight answer he liked. The guy skirted the truth by deflecting, claiming he’d been doing it on orders from Şefi.

  Now, Gunnar paced around the men’s latrine, attempting to figure out Kane’s purpose. Being one step ahead of the game would give him the upper hand, allow him a certain confidence in their success. One thing for sure, if Kane thought for a teeny second he could add any other male candidates’ blood to the altar, there’d be loss of life happening during this gruesome ritual and it wouldn’t be Nadia’s.

  He still resisted trying to call for Mikhail’s help. Mating Nadia came first. Afterward, he’d switch hats and take down the faction. He’d deal with the sketchy telepathy problem later. Right now, the pressing matter was getting cleaned up, presentable, for their coming blood-rite ceremony. His clothes had been torn during the earlier tussle so he wore borrowed duds. Jeans and a T-shirt would’ve been more comfortable, but for Nadia, he’d look his Sunday best.

  Even if the damned collars itched and the pants hugged his hips a bit too tight.

  Leaning over, he inspected his face in the hazy mirror. Healing cut on his forehead, check. Yellowing bruise at his jaw, check. Pale cheeks and tired eyes, double check. Yup, he looked like a prime catch. The minute Nadia’s blood infused his veins, though, all the haggard and worn-out characteristics went bye-bye. He’d be a picture of health. Strong, fast, enhanced…he’d be the freaking Captain America of vampires. But without the patriotic spandex.

  Better yet, she’d be his mate for life. Couldn’t beat the perks.

  The creak of the decrepit door warned the end of his alone time. He splashed water on his face and dragged a hand through his hair forming spikes with his fingers. Making quick work of the buttons on his dove gray, Persian shirt, he closed the top one and tilted his head trying to loosen the tightness.

  “You ready, big boy?” The eerily familiar voice barked.

  Gunnar turned and glared his displeasure. The male near the door stood there all loose-limbed and cocky. Classical middle-eastern features with thick dark eyebrows and deep-set mocha eyes showed his Turkish roots. His nearly black beard cut short and long sideburns matched the inky waves of hair brushed to the side of his prominent forehead. Dusky lips curved down in a grimace. Gunnar knew this male from Abkhazia. They’d practically grown up together. “Look who survived. Pity.”

  “Killed my way out of that hell-hole laboratory. Took out a few cockroach scientists before I left.” Nikolai still acted the same way. His haughty demeanor matched the disdain apparent in his gaze. He leaned to the violent side. Back in the old country, he’d take great pleasure in aggressive conquests specifically in the human inhabited areas. The Council had curbed his raiding and he’d spent much time locked up serving time for his inappropriate use of human women. The guy still looked like a scum. Gunnar would be glad when the Council had tabs on Nikolai again. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “The ceremony’s starting in a moment. Think you should be there.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Briefly, he glanced into the mirror and rechecked his reflection. Everything looked good. Tapping down his excitement, he followed Nikolai from the bathroom.

  A few moments later, they came to a room the faction obviously attempted to construct within the original open space. The drywall warped a bit in the middle and even though a paint job hid most of the flaws, Gunnar recognized the lack of skill used to fashion this area into a separate chamber. This long rectangular room had little square windows all along the far side. The decades-old sills were pocked with bits of broken plaster. Each window had a candle flickering in the casement. The wisp of fragrance the stubby candles gave off resembled that of a mating ceremony. Cinnamon and nutmeg merged with the dank aroma of dust and mildew. Several rows of benches filled the space in front of a makeshift dais of shipping pallets. A folding table with metal legs had been set there and covered with a red checkered picnic tablecloth. In the center sat a clear plastic wine goblet. Gunnar’s feet stopped as he narrowed his eyes on the décor. It was a farce. A complete abomination to the ceremonial rites. A growl choked his throat but he kept it locked behind his teeth. Go with the flow. Do what they want and Nadia is yours. And, you are hers. For good.

  Taking a deep breath, he soldiered onward, moving to stand beside Kane. The male wore the traditional garb of a jet-black coat with high pointed collars decorated with red embellishments. He also wore a medallion around his neck. The design twisted the kraliyet symbol into one of war with crossed scythes against the backdrop of a blood red moon. Aleksi would use it as a hockey puck if he ever got a glimpse of the gaudy ornament. Gunnar despised the whole affair but he’d grin and bear it.

  “Nice décor,” he drawled while scratching his cheek to divert his fangs from elongating.

  “Has a certain flair to it.” Kane twisted the chain of the medallion around his thumb. “I think it sends a message.” He made an obscene gesture with his middle finger. “To those righteous fuckers who get a hard-on for all the tradition and ceremony.”

  “Glad there’s only one Goblet, then.” Oh, hell, he was so relieved.

  Kane snickered and twirled the chain again. “We’ll get you mated. Don’t you worry about that. I want Aleksi dead. And not to be cliché, but I want him like a door nail.” He swiped his tongue along his upper teeth lingering on the tip of a fang. “There are contingencies in place, in case you decide to back out of our agreement.”

  Shit. Contingencies? Aha, the second leech. Either Kane planned to introduce a possible new mate or he’d use an incompatible male to poison Nadia’s blood. Hell, Kane was one twisted asshole. Gunnar fought the urge to react to the veiled threat and stared at the dais with the plastic goblet. He imagined his blood in there. Imagined Nadia drinking every single drop. It was worth it. “You don’t need any contingencies.”

  “Glad to hear it, but nevertheless…” He tilted his head toward the double doors where a male stood with a GoPro. Ah, said contingency would also include blackmail. Gunnar ignored the male and watched as Kane’s people entered the chamber all dressed in elegant but mostly modern clothing. They took their seats, filling up the benches. Interestingly, the females sat on one side and the males on the other.

  “You segregate them?” Gunnar muttered in disbelief.

  “Like dangling that proverbial carrot.” Kane grinned wickedly.

  Gunnar couldn’t hide his look of astonishment. “Wow, talk about archaic. What about those who’re mated?”

  “They’ll sit in the back rows. Can’t get those males to budge when it comes to their females. Rather give a little than have a fight on my hands. It’s what good leaders do.”

  Kane was delusional. Completely wacked. He’d destroy the people and everything they stood for through his convoluted ideology. No wonder he hated the kraliyet. None of those powerful families would bow to his rule. It seemed only the weak and lost formed this faction. Easily brainwashed, they posed the greatest of risks.

  Each time the door opened, he paused and watched, hoping Nadia came next. When Kane indicated he take the seat on the front bench but to the far side, he forced himself to sit down and wait just like any potential mate would have to do. It sucked. At that moment, he’d like the tradition of groom meets bride at the altar. He longed to take her hand in his and hold her close. Kiss her when instructed. Promise to love her forever and always.

  When the ro
om went silent, the lights dimmed and the candles flickered. Kane strode to the dais and picked up the goblet. He held it up for a moment and bowed his head uttering an incomprehensible declaration. The mix of Russian, Turkish and Circassia made no sense. It was a jumble of harsh sounding phrases and rolling accents. Gunnar peeked over his shoulder and watched the audience as they stared in rapt attention. Hell, they had no idea what Kane said. Everyone nodded their heads at different times. Gunnar curled his fingers into tight fists and slowed his breathing. Soon, it’d all be over.

  “Come now, our brother, and fill this goblet for your mate.”

  Well, okay, then. Gunnar pushed to stand, ignoring the pinch of his too small, borrowed boots. He rolled his shoulders back, straightened his spine and lifted his chin. Proud, determined, he would act like the male he’d become despite the faction’s hatred for the people he served, and loved like family. “You banned my ceremonial dagger. What’s your plan? Steak knife or letter opener?”

  Kane’s furious glower brought gasps from the audience. Gunnar arched an eyebrow. Impassive to Kane’s show of dominance, he threw back his own hostile vibes. He would not be cowed by this imposter.

  “Give me your wrist.” Kane held out his hand.

  “And then what?” A chill slithered down Gunnar’s back. Something in Kane’s posture and calculating stare increased his apprehension.

  “I sanctioned this mating. I alone have given you the right to bond to this female. Therefore, you will submit to my blooding.” Kane glared a challenge.

  The ultimate act of submission. Everything within him revolted at the thought. Offering his wrist to this traitor’s fangs went against his inborn nature. He could follow a leader. That didn’t require subservience, it simply took loyalty. Aleksi lead the people with honor and integrity. But if the Komutani asked for the same right, Gunnar’d still hesitate. Males did not let other males bite them. It could be toxic and painful. It was weak, too.

  It was not happening. “I got it,” he uttered for only Kane’s ears.

  A low rumble of a snarl followed but Gunnar pretended not to hear it. He took purposeful strides to the altar and lifted his chin, watching Kane. He narrowed his eyes in a deadly challenge. “I’m not your bitch or one of your followers,” he mouthed in highly accented Turkish so only Kane would understand. The male’s hands curled into fists and his features shifted, cruel and fey. Two could play that game. Allowing his own transition to slide into place, he focused on Kane, brought his wrist to his mouth, slashing it with his fangs straight across the vein there. The bitter sting dissipated as his skin grew warm, damp and the blood flowed free. Turning his wrist, he filled the plastic goblet. When it contained enough of his essence, he swiped his tongue over the wound to heal it and walked backward to his seat. He kept his eye on that goblet the whole time making sure Kane didn’t pull a fast one.

  Thankfully, Kane left the sample alone and returned to the bench with a dark scowl. “I can’t imagine Traian would stand for such insubordination,” he whispered, but Gunnar heard the seething tone.

  “Only difference between you and Tray asking the same thing of me is I’d sucker punch Komar for assuming I’d obey. Consider yourself honored. I simply declined your invitation.” Gunnar leaned close, flashing his fangs in warning. “I’m no wussy beta groveling at my master’s feet, Iskander. I choose who I work for and what I do. I’m part Viking, remember? Subservience isn’t in my gene pool.”

  With pinched lips and a muscle ticking in his cheek, Kane wrapped the medallion’s chain around a long a finger. “You’re not mated, yet. Things could change, very fast, if you continue to frustrate me.”

  Gunnar chuckled with a fake grin. “And Aleksi isn’t dead. Yet.”

  “We’re at an impasse.” Kane crossed a knee over his thigh, traced the pleat of his trousers with his fingertip. “If I didn’t need your skills and ability to get close to the Komutani, you’d be dead. You know that, right?” He snapped his fingers. “Curtains, just like that.”

  Sure, I’d like to see you try. Gunnar forced himself to nod but remained silent. He couldn’t risk spouting off some rejoinder that’d piss off Kane even more. At this point, keeping Nadia safe ranked right up there with breathing.

  “Of course, there’ll be repercussions for your insolence.” Kane tried to sound menacing. It fell flat. How the hell this male led a group of people so willing to do his bidding confused Gunnar. He was more of a dictator than Ivan and that was saying a lot. Perhaps someone else did lead and Kane was the puppet.

  “Of course.” Gunnar nodded. Fortunately, after the mating, the faction would be no more and the repercussions would be all for Kane.

  When the doors at the back of the room swung open, all thought of Kane and the uprising vanished as expectation took its place, simmering in his gut with cold and hot nerves. God, this was truly happening. Finally.

  He cocked his head just enough to watch as three females came into the chamber. They wore dresses, hair all curled and elegant. His gaze traveled from the petite one with the scar on her face to the taller female whose nose was pierced. Beside her, a familiar face proved his first glance had been wrong. Correction, two females and one traitorous, human bitch. Tory. A murderous urge welled until his vision rimmed black and fury mounted. Hell, she’d been hiding out with the faction this whole time. No wonder they hadn’t found her yet. She’d gone underground. He gripped the lip of the bench seat and held on. He couldn’t leap up and tackle the woman in the middle of his mating ceremony, no matter how powerful the desire was. Afterward, vengeance was his, so sayeth Gunnar Nakani.

  Their eyes met and she flashed him a wicked little smirk. Grinding his molars together, he forced himself to look away and watch the door, needing to see his female the second she walked into the room.

  All thought of revenge and any hint of anger vanished with the rapid beat of his heart. Then it stopped all together. His lungs did a wacky dance, seizing until he couldn’t breathe. Nadia moved across the threshold and sheer uncontained joy radiated from the tips of his fingers straight to his tippy toes.

  Holy shit, she was stunning.

  Gorgeous.

  The sight of her standing there dressed in an elegant gown, bottom lip between her teeth and eagerness sparkling in her eyes made Gunnar forget everything but her. She took a step and faced the dais. He saw the moment she became aware of the picnic tablecloth and plastic goblet. One side of her glossed mouth kicked up and she let her eyes slide from the front of the room, searching for him. He pushed up a bit in the chair, mouthed, “Kjaere,” and noticed her visibly relax.

  She twisted the end of a wispy veil cascading across her shoulders. It covered her dark hair but he could still see the elegant hairstyle. All her lovely waves had been pulled into a thick twist at her crown but some had been left down and the tight curls flirted with her throat. It drew his eye to her pulse points where a sheen of glitter dusted the pale arch of her throat.

  God, his mouth watered for want of her.

  But, it was the dress that had his body tightening, his desire intensifying. It was one of those sheath dresses fitting her curves in an enticing way. The creamy lavender fabric hugged her breasts but dipped a bit at the front showing a hint of the space between. Minimal sleeves had a lacy pattern which matched the bottom of the gown’s skirt. As she passed by, Gunnar’s mouth dropped open. There was no back to her dress. He could see the elegant arch to her spine, the dip before her ass and the flair of her hip. The ankle-length skirt gathered at the small of her back where a long train connected. It was provocative, yet modest. Hell, he couldn’t yank his gaze from her.

  She passed his row and turned her head meeting his gaze. Her secretive smile had those butterflies waltzing in his belly again. With kohl lining her eyes and a silver chain across her forehead, she looked every bit the Kan Asma female on the cusp of her bonding. It was the happiness lining her features and the eagerness in her steps that made Gunnar the most excited for her.

  F
or him, too.

  He waited on pins and needles, needing her to march up there and grab that goblet, downing the sample as quickly as possible. Waiting sucked.

  She lifted the glass by the stem and turned toward Kane. The male stood and moved to her side. Typically, the female’s parents would give a little speech and ask their daughter to confirm her choice. Since this unconventional mating had gone sideways, Kane obviously stepped in.

  “You’ve made your choice?”

  Nadia smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “As long as it’s Gunnar’s.”

  A few giggles from the audience followed until Kane spoke again. “If it’s successful, you’ll be mated to Gunnar Nakani.”

  “That’s all I needed to hear.” She raised the goblet and toasted the air. “Bottom’s up,” she cheered and brought it to her mouth. The veil fluttered as she tilted her head back and sipped. A low groan followed. She took more. Licked her lips and shivered. Downing the rest, she turned and placed the goblet back on the dais. She moved like an apparition, nearly floating, as she closed the space between them. Holding out her hand, she reached for him.

  He jumped to his feet and took her cold fingers in his, drawing them to his mouth where he placed a reverent kiss. “How do you feel?” he asked in a hoarse voice filled with dread and expectation.

  “Like, I want you at my vein.” She tugged him closer. “Right now.”

  “But,” Gunnar protested. This part, the blood sharing, happened in private.

  “Let them see. Just a taste. So they know it’s done. It’s official.”

  He tugged her into his arms, wrapping them around her until her breasts crushed into his chest.

  Sweeping the veil from her shoulder, she traced a finger down the thrumming vein at her throat, oh so teasing, utterly enticing.