by Marata Eros
Kael slides his hand between her and the tree trunk, pressing the small of her back against the front of him.
She opens her eyes and meets those of an unfamiliar vampire only strides away from them.
She stiffens, trying for a silent alert.
“No!” Siana cries as talons pierce Kael from behind.
They spear him even as they lift him from her.
Out of her depths.
Kael's expression burns into her memory. Surprise, guilt, remorse.
Love.
There are too many of the Faction.
They hold her down as she watches Kael's slow death. Unable to assist.
As his seed leaks out of her body, Siana's voice goes silent and raw from shouting his name until she no longer can.
*
Three are in charge of Siana.
Another volunteers after she kills one and the second loses an arm to sloppiness.
They had been expecting to kill what they presumed was Siana’s vampire mate and pick up a female they could fuck and discard.
What they have is a female insane with despair.
Her sisters are in parts unknown. The possible father of her child is dead, murdered for their spontaneous lovemaking.
Would Kael have lived had they not succumbed to their passion? If alertness had not failed to protect them, what would have been the outcome?
Siana would never know.
What she does know is hunger, acute and terrible. It matters not what her captors think. She must feed.
“I need to feed,” she announces to the two Faction mutts who haul her.
One tries to put a hand on her sex, and she slices him with a precise talon swipe.
A ribbon of scarlet appears across his chest, leaking blood across his stomach that seeps into the waistband of his breeches.
He inhales deeply, more blood sliding against alabaster skin. “Druid whore.”
Siana smiles. “If you wish to keep me alive, you will feed me.” Her eyes meet his blood red irises, his demon genes showcased like a red tide of poison. “You cannot rape the dead.”
“You there.”
The one with red eyes looks away from her to glare at the leader.
“She has already opened a vein, Titus.” Their leader has a lick of Reaper in his genes, and his glacial eyes sweep her half-nakedness. “Let her have her fill.”
“I do not want a whore to leech my blood. I want a place to stuff my sausage.”
The Faction laugh at her expense.
“Hungry?” The leader smirks.
Siana is dizzy with starvation.
“Yes,” she hisses.
He sweeps his hand toward the bleeding vampire, Titus. “Feed, Druid female—feed.”
Siana stands then falls.
No one catches her. They laugh instead.
She crawls to the vampire she, moments ago, had strength to injure.
Finally she lands at his feet, her body too weak to work up to the fragrant blood at his chest.
She closes her eyes against the grief of losing Kael to these murderers.
“Pick her up for fuck's sake, Titus. She's too weak to fight now.”
She hears a noise of disgust as strong arms lift her.
Instinct takes over, and she turns her head into the blood that flows freely. Her hand wraps around his shoulder, and her fangs give a push, piercing through her gums.
Siana opens her mouth, striking the open wound.
Titus flinches.
Hard arms hold her as she suckles blood from Kael’s murderer. She moans at the taste.
Her eyes roll up to his.
His gaze begs her to say nothing of the discovery she’s made.
He cups the back of her head against every fiber of his will.
That is the trouble with genetics and being a mixed-blood. You never know when one of your own may cross your path.
She feels him grow hard against her, involuntarily rocking his hips against her.
He gives a hard thrust, and her side grows wet from the release of his seed. Titus groans, and his arms convulse around her.
The act of blood letting from one Exotic to another is intimate.
Bonding.
The leader of the Faction meets Siana's eyes as she licks the wound, getting every last drop.
The act also closes it. She is meant to drink blood from a male of Exotic blood, as she did with Titus, though she did not know his lineage until now.
The leader strolls down from the knoll he had been upon when she asserted her independence.
“What have we here?” He circles them.
Titus of the wet breeches and healing scar on his chest replies, “She is fed.”
“Then let her up. She can stand, walk, and be guarded.” The leader’s eyes narrow.
Titus's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “I cannot, Edward.”
His face knots between eyes like dirty glass. “Why ever not?”
Titus wastes blood on a blush that burns beneath his fair skin. “She is blood-bonded to me.”
Edward laughs in disbelief. “Impossible.”
Siana shrinks back when Edward flares his nostrils at her neck.
He jerks back, a stunned expression overtaking his face.
“She is not a lone Druid female.”
A triangle of Faction move nearer to them and Titus jerks Siana against him.
Edward frowns. “Let go of the Druid, Titus.”
Siana looks over her shoulder and sees his jaw clench.
“I cannot,” Titus says through gritted teeth.
Edward's eyes narrow. “You cannot because she is not just Druid.” His smile widens. “But queen.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Baird
He and Carrig make haste, using their skills as trackers to their advantage. It is not the first time Baird has been grateful for that inborn talent of the Reaper. Except for that little bit of Exotic blood, he is fully Reaper and maintains much of what is unique to his species.
Some believe pure-blood genetics are an advantage.
It is a point of blinding ignorance.
Any being who encounters the Faction would know better. Their mixing is arsenal aplenty to combat the “purity” of genetics.
There has been much conjecture about what separates the rogue from the nomadic criminal Faction who call themselves vampires. The truth remains, the difference is more a choice of alliance than genetic make-up. Is it true that the rogue are made up of mainly Reaper-driven blood? That a healthy dose of Druid lineage is a part of that? Yes.
As he and Carrig run toward the scent of Druid females, Baird reminds himself that many of the Faction also hold the blood of the Reaper—and of the Druid.
There are also some who may hold that of the Exotic.
The most disturbing fact is vampire blood might be mixed with other supernatural blood that is far from vampiric.
Werewolf, the blooded enemy of vampire. Demon and angel's blood might also be a part.
He and Carrig might walk into a trap from which there is no escape. It is sure to be a surprise, and sometimes surprise can act as a fine weapon.
Carrig holds up a hand. “Baird,” he says in a voice almost too low to hear. Full of caution.
Baird slows, the small lashes on his face from the branches healing as he stands.
“Do you smell that?”
Baird nods. Death. He smells the death of... his nostrils flare. He scowls.
Kael.
Oh goddess no. Siana.
Baird tears off in the direction where the scent is strongest.
“Baird, no!” Carrig roars, tossing caution aside.
Baird ignores him. Rushing into an open area, he sees the broken body of Kael.
He knows what it means. Carrig does not.
“What is it?” Carrig says, dismissing the dead rogue.
“He—he was with Siana. He is her protector.”
Carrig's brows come together. “She is now... unprotected?”
&n
bsp; Baird throws his head back, shouting to the sky as answer. Birds that were nesting rise, flying into the deep night.
Baird curses, lowering to his haunches. He looks over the wounds. The most grievous is the slaughter of Kael's manhood. It causes Baird to think in another direction.
Baird looks over the small opening in the wood. His eyes catch on a fat tree trunk where the bark is torn. He stands and walks to the tree.
He scrutinizes the base. Moss is depressed in the shape of feet. Male feet. Baird's hands move to two areas where bark is missing. They fit his hands.
His height.
Someone stood here with their palms pressed against the tree trunk. Baird stares at the bark, willing it to speak.
He leans forward, his nostrils opening wide once. Hard.
Siana's scent fills him.
His eyes burst open and narrow on a single strand of golden hair caught in a deep groove of bark.
He plucks it out of the trunk and slides the silky strand between his fingers.
Baird backs up a few steps, measuring his breathing.
“What?” Carrig asks from behind him.
“Siana is with the Faction.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Kael was fucking her against yonder tree.” Baird is proud he said those words without flinching.
Carrig laughs behind Baird.
Baird whirls in an anger so deep, it is a trench in his heart, running with a river of deep denial and desperation.
“Tell me why you laugh before I stuff my fist down your throat.”
“You have never been our best tracker, Baird.” He taps the bridge of his nose.
“Get to the fucking point, if there be one within a mile of here.”
Carrig smirks, glances at the rogue at their feet, then nods. “Yes, Kael rutted with Siana—for all the good it did.”
“The point!” Baird commands without a bit of patience.
“I smell who was here, how many—that they be Faction.”
Baird throws his arms apart, pacing away. “As do I—get on with it.”
“It is what I also smell that might sway your stubborn arse.”
Baird turns slowly.
“She fucked Kael. Siana also watched his murder—her only protector.”
Carrig’s words momentarily somber Baird.
“See what direction they were headed?” Carrig asked.
The Reaper stronghold. Siana and Kael were seeking them.
Why?
It is a solid guess upon discovering the Druid females were missing they had been making haste to form an alliance with the one sect who would want to make the same effort of reacquisition.
Baird nods. “Aye.”
“There is one other thing I smell.”
Baird stalks toward him.
“Siana is with child Baird.”
Baird halts, frozen. “With child?”
Carrig gives a short nod.
Baird's mind spins. He had thought her bred already. Now he understands he and Kael were amongst her first lovers.
The Sacred Stone.
Legend spoke of stranger things than an out-of-season Druid being made ripe if circumstances were perfect.
Could it be?
She fucks Kael now, he reminds himself. Of course, that was no longer accurate as Kael grew stiff from death at their feet.
Carrig says something.
“What?” Baird asks, deep in speculation.
“Yours.”
Baird raises a brow. “Mine?”
“The child. The child is yours.”
Baird stares.
“No. Siana, we—there was just the one time to save her life. She is—was spreading herself for Kael at every turn.”
Carrig laughs heartily.
Baird wishes to extract his teeth one by one.
Carrig studies Baird's expression, and his laughter dies. “For a smart Reaper, you behave like an imbecile. Baird,” Carrig says slowly, “it only takes once.”
Baird feels ill. His palm flings out, smacking into a solid tree as he steadies himself.
“Your female is in the hands of the murdering Faction, and she carries your young.”
Baird’s stomach gives a lurch.
He gives in, turning to his side, and throws up against the tree. When he finishes, he looks Carrig dead in the eye.
“She will not want me no matter what the circumstance.”
Carrig gives him a serious look. “She cannot want for anything if she is broken, bleeding and abused.”
Baird does not think—he runs.
Siana might not want anything to do with him.
He has been callous, dismissive, assuming.
Baird is the fool.
A fool in love.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Siana
Siana looks between her captors, Edward and Titus. An interesting development.
Perhaps their anger could result in a fight to the death and the Faction would then be manageable.
However, they would not easily let her go.
Not now that her blood had been the tell of her lineage.
“Why in the name of all that is unholy would a Druid queen be wandering about with only one vampire?” Edward asks.
Kael.
Siana closes her eyes against the grief that assails her for yet another wasted life.
Titus stands, bringing her with him. “I cannot share her.”
Edward's pale Reaper eyes narrow on Titus. “She is a Druid queen. We do not squabble over a found treasure.”
The other three Faction circle around the two who fight about her.
Siana knows her worth and cuddles against Titus.
Survive.
“Please, do not let them have me.”
Her words get the expected reaction. Titus hisses at Edward, sweeping Siana behind him.
“Titus,” Edward says casually, throwing out his hands. “Do not do this.”
However, her body is slick with seed and blood, and she slips out of his hands, falling behind him.
Two Faction land on her.
She smells their lust before they lay hands upon her.
The blood of the Exotic Faction is rich, feeding the smallest of the starving cells within her.
Talons tear through her fingertips and impale both Faction as they bite an inch from her face.
Siana is too busy fighting for her life while she lies naked and vulnerable to see what transpires between Titus and Edward, but she hears their fight.
Without the help of her hands—which are buried within the two Faction assailants—she has only her legs.
She swoops them up, nailing both males, jerking her talons out of their bodies at the same time.
Siana rolls forward into a somersault.
Stabbing one set of talons into the ground, Siana launches toward Edward.
He is engaged with Titus, beating him in the kidneys, but he stops when Siana takes out the back of his leg.
Blood arcs, splattering her face while she is at his knee level.
Siana licks her lips, turning to slice the two Faction who approach. She takes the nose off the first, and he staggers, taking large gasping inhales through his mouth.
She plunges her other fingertip topped with a talon into the underside of the second's jaw. Jerking it out, she shoves him to the ground and turns as Edward limps forward.
He grabs a handful of her hair that comes undone from its binding.
Siana screams, flying backward, her scalp on fire.
Her eyes round as Titus approaches with ten talons outstretched.
She closes her eyes, her hair fisted in Edward's grip and blood all over her naked body.
Titus will kill her.
Siana has gravely injured their leader and put two Faction out of commission.
She would kill her in Titusʼs position.
Siana jerks at the impact.
The ten talons sink into the male behind her.
Her e
yes spring open. Titusʼs face is an inch from her own.
Eyes which appear to bleed latch onto her gaze.
The grip of her hair loosens and she falls forward.
Without a word, Titus takes her against him and they fall to the ground together.
*
Titus
He does not ask permission but widens the legs of the breeder, seating the head of his cock at her entrance.
Hard again, he pushes inside her.
Sheathed fully, Titus shudders. Mouth slack and arms screaming with tension, he moves his hips, and she meets his charge.
The queen is exquisite, blood-slicked, seed-coated, and every bit the Druid.
Titus has never lain with a female like this one.
His hidden blood rose to the surface when she fed, and he was lost.
He opens his eyes, closing hands now free of talons around her shoulders, and bears down, sliding over her body, holding her still.
“Your name, Druid,” Titus says.
*
Siana
Titus pulls her to the forest floor, barely missing the dying body of the Faction leader. Without a second's pause, he kicks her legs apart and hangs over her for a moment before plunging inside her.
Siana grunts with the invasion of another male so soon after Kael.
Survive.
Titus could kill her now. She is vulnerable beneath him and without surprise in close quarters, he has her.
Siana does not fight.
She is ashamed to admit, how wonderful a dessert his rut is after the main entree of battle.
Blood and bodies are torn asunder yet Siana spreads her legs to receive her kidnapper's meat.
“Your name,” he demands, and she gives it.
His hand leaves her shoulder and cups the top of her head. He shivers, saying her name over and over. “So good, Druid.”
His rhythm becomes faster. When he is close, she draws nearer herself, beginning to pulse around him.
Titusʼs eyes go wide, and he withdraws. He crawls up her body, his stiff cock bobbing.
His legs are at either side of her shoulders, and she has only his eyes to tell her his needs.
She takes his cock in her mouth, tasting Kael, herself, and this new male.
He groans, falling forward. His hands bite into the ground, and he stabs deeply in her mouth.
Once, twice, and the third stroke brings him.