Primal Instincts

by Susan Sizemore

  He wondered if maybe he should ask Flare.

  She said, “You’re driving toward Malibu. If you’re heading where I think you are, it’s not much of a secret hideout.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Where I’m taking you is totally safe,” Tobias told the spoiled female. He resented her comment deeply. “I’m not going to risk your pretty hide.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t safe. Security is your business. I said the location isn’t exactly secret.”

  He turned the car into a long driveway that went downhill to a cliffside house overlooking a long stretch of beach.

  “You can’t possibly know where we are,” he said as he stopped the SUV.

  Flare sat very straight and tense. Her aggressive posture triggered a primal instinct in him. There were times when a Prime absolutely had to put a female on her back and make her accept his dominance. Flare was close to driving him over that edge.

  Tobias forced himself to look around, to assess their surroundings and precautions. The grounds were lit by strategically placed floodlights. Dark Angels stood guard in shadows to keep out immortal intruders. The house’s state-of-the-art security system would alert them to most mortal trouble, and he knew the owner’s gun cabinet was well stocked.

  Flare leaned close to snarl, “What do you mean ‘You can’t possibly know where we are’? This is my sister-in-law’s grandfather’s house.”

  The distinctive scent filling Tobias’s awareness wasn’t perfume, it was her. She was as receptive as he was aroused, even if she didn’t know it. It was too bad he’d managed to get himself under control.

  “This is Ben Lancer’s house,” he said calmly. “He’s an old friend of mine.”

  “And Ben is family.”

  Tobias calculated the kin relations of the Reynard Clan. Flare had two brothers. One of them, Alexander, was bonded to a mortal woman named Domini, who was also related on her paternal side to the Corvus Clan. Domini’s mortal father’s father was—

  “Ben Lancer,” he said again.

  “Small world we live in,” she sneered.

  “Getting smaller all the time,” he snapped at her.

  The space between them was certainly small. Primitive lust still burned between them. He saw that Flare was finally aware of it when she turned sharply away from him, her hand shaking when she reached for the door release.

  The door was opened for her by an Angel and a hand was extended to help her out. Tobias barely stifled a jealous snarl but didn’t try to stop his triumphant smile when Flare’s glare sent the other Prime hastily back a step. She stalked off alone toward the front door.

  Tobias got out of the vehicle and watched her walk away. The other Prime watched with equal appreciation. “Don’t you dare even think, dream, or fantasize about her, Ali,” Tobias told his subordinate. “She’s all mine.”

  He knew the truth of it in his blood. He followed her to the house, unsure where the truth was going to lead them.

  I hate fighting all the time. Why do I have to fight all the time? Strahan started this one and—

  The fight had gotten her so turned on she could barely walk. And so embarrassed she never wanted to face Strahan again.

  I have to do something about my temper.

  How many times had she been told that? By how many people? Especially by herself. They called her Flare for a very good reason. Anything could set her off. Her temper was frequently useful for keeping horny Primes at bay, but not tonight. Oh, no. Blowing up at Strahan had the opposite effect, and she still wanted to claw his clothes off, to taste his hot blood in her mouth.

  Didn’t they call that “truemating” back in the old days? “Bloodfire” was another translation from the old language they all learned but never used. Did Primes and females still practice it behind closed doors? She’d never experienced that kind of intensity with a Prime lover. Maybe you had to be bonded first.

  “Oh, no,” she muttered as she reached the door. “That’s not going to happen.”

  She could feel Strahan coming up behind her. At least she was distracted from the shiver of anticipation by the door opening before she could knock.

  “Francesca!” Ben greeted her.

  She gladly stepped into the offered hug. He was still large, solid, and strong. Despite the mortal’s advanced age, Ben Lancer was a sexy old dude. A lot of it had to do with his deep, whiskey-rough voice. That a vampire female had loved him when he was young and let him go was a shame.

  He released her as Strahan came up behind her. “What’s the most beautiful woman in the world doing here?” Ben asked.

  Francesca peered past his shoulder. “Domini’s not here, is she?”

  “She is.”

  “Then cut out the most-beautiful-woman-in-the-world crap. It’s taken years for her to get over our first meeting.”

  Strahan put his hands on her shoulders and shoved her inside the house.

  “Hey!”

  Once the door was closed, he ignored her to confront Ben. “Domini should be safely out of the area with all the other females.”

  The old man was not intimidated by the suddenly fierce Prime. “She’s not a vampire yet,” he answered. “You told the locals to go about their business. Domini’s business is her weekly gaming night with her granddad.”

  “Arkham Asylum?” Francesca asked eagerly.

  Ben nodded.

  “I want in on that.”

  “Hush,” Strahan told her, his attention focused on Ben. Who glared right back.

  After a few seconds of alpha male staring, Ben said, “Come on into the kitchen. Your witch wants you.”

  Strahan gave up and followed the mortal. Francesca followed him. Along the way Strahan’s Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me? leaked to her.

  Because civilians don’t think like you, Francesca answered before she could stop herself. He gave her a puzzled look over his shoulder.

  “Oh, were you expecting me to reply, Because you’re an asshole?”

  She chuckled as his very strong determination to ignore her from then on came back to her.

  “That’s not going to happen,” she said.

  I know, he thought. But we can both give it a try.

  Chapter Eight

  The rich, dark smell of strong coffee permeated the large kitchen. Tobias noticed a half-full carafe sitting in a chrome coffeemaker, but Dee McCoy was standing by the stove, stirring a large copper pot, and that was where the coffee scent originated.

  “If she offers you a cup don’t take it,” he whispered to Flare.

  “Why? Did she flunk potions class?” Flare whispered back.

  Dee gave them an arch look. “I can hear you.”

  “I’ve given up caffeine anyway,” Flare said.

  This reminded Tobias that she wanted to have a baby, and of his role in the procedure.

  “I’m not making this for you,” Dee said. “It’s a special brew for a couple of recalcitrant Purist homeboys. No offense, Ben.”

  “None taken,” Lancer answered. “I haven’t been one of those loons since I was a teenager.”

  Tobias gave Flare a quick look to see how she took the references to Benjamin Lancer’s vampire-hunter past and saw that she wasn’t appalled or offended. But then, she seemed to already know the mortal fairly well. Tobias found this hard to fathom. Flare Reynard was the ultimate vampire female, right? Far too superior to associate with mere mortals, except possibly to hand store clerks credit cards while shopping on Rodeo Drive.

  Domini Reynard came into the kitchen. She smiled and ran forward. “Francesca!”

  Tobias fumed at all this domesticity while the sisters-in-law hugged. They then stood in front of the refrigerator conducting a whispered conversation full of such devastatingly boring homey information that eavesdropping would have put him to sleep.

  Two more of the Dark Angel Crew entered, a werejaguar named Joaquin and the newest Prime recruit, Yacov Piper, known as Jake. Dee also referred to him as “that pain-in-the
-ass Tribe boy” and glared at him as he walked past her to take a seat at the kitchen table.

  Jake didn’t glance her way. After all, she was mortal, and a female at that. Jake had been a member of Tribe Manticore but had come over from the dark side a few years back and been sponsored by Family Piper. He’d signed on with the Angels to fulfill the vow he’d had to make to protect others against the Tribes. But he hadn’t yet absorbed the notion that such protection extended to all people, mortal and immortal alike.

  Tobias trusted him. Dee didn’t. Jake seethed over the mortal female’s outranking him. As long as they both obeyed orders and didn’t cross any disciplinary lines, Tobias was leaving the pair to work their dynamic out on their own. No rule stated that members of the Crew had to like each other. Work together, yes. Die for each other if necessary, yes. Hugs and kisses not required.

  Tobias wanted to shoo the civilians out, but since he also planned to keep Flare with him at all times, he decided to get on with the meeting while her attention was on Domini. Besides, it was Ben Lancer’s house, and the old mortal had insights he could contribute.

  Dee turned off her concoction and took a seat as far from Jake as possible.

  Tobias sat at the head of the table. “Telepathic interrogation didn’t work on the prisoners?” he asked the witch.

  “My questioning of them was a partial success,” Jake answered. “But they have been worked over by a very talented Prime—and yes, there was a strong Tribe feel to his technique. The Purists’ memories only go back several days. I got the impression that they’ve been wiped and reprogrammed several times.”

  “Nasty,” Joaquin said.

  “Clever,” Jake replied.

  Francesca glanced toward the table as the Prime spoke, in time to see the witch tense up. The Prime had the most world-weary eyes Francesca had ever seen and a totally ruthless attitude. A personality very much to Strahan’s tastes, she supposed, but without the civilized veneer the mortal felt comfortable with. The blond male had the feel of a shapeshifter, but Francesca wasn’t any good at detecting the nuances separating the different types of werefolk if they weren’t wearing their fur coats. She knew a few werefoxes, because they were affiliated with her Clan, but hadn’t spent time with any other type of shifter. Well, there was the sweet selkie at the clinic.

  “We can’t get a clean look into their heads until they have all of their memories back,” the witch said.

  “We know they were working with a Tribe,” the Prime said. “What more do we need to know?”

  Francesca spoke up. “Whether or not it was voluntary. Did they make a deal with creatures they consider mankind’s worst enemy, or were they forced to help vampires? The hunters will want to believe the worst.”

  She came closer to the table as all gazes shifted her way. She ignored all but Strahan’s curious dark glance. Curious but not contemptuous.

  “You’d like to have the help of the sane members of the vampire hunters. Getting them to cooperate will be easier if you have proof their fringe Purist movement is voluntarily working with Tribe vampires. If they think the Tribes are coercing mortals, suspicion falls on all vampires. Better to have the hunters help go after their own crazies.”

  She smiled with a bit of fang showing for all those watching her, but her gaze never left Strahan’s.

  “Military matters aren’t my department,” she said. “Politics I get.”

  She hoped that Strahan understood she was offering to help and not just mouthing off in infamous Flare fashion. As Reynard Clan heiress she couldn’t openly give her support to the Dark Angels. Anything she did could affect her mother’s position on the ruling council. Her being allowed to have a child with the help of the clinic had already caused Lady Anjelica some political trouble.

  But if Strahan wanted to ask her opinions . . .

  He gestured for her to sit beside him at the table. “Tell me, Lady Flare, what’s really going on with these attacks?” he asked when she took a place beside him.

  She could detect no mockery in his attitude or his mind, though he’d pounce on her least mistake.

  “As you have already said, terrorism is theater. The attacks have been done to get a response. The intention is to use the response against us. The enemy wants us to out ourselves. I’m sure that the Purists involved have finally abandoned the secret game mortals and immortals have always played. They want to finally destroy us by making the general public aware that monsters really do live among them. They’re playing along with Tribe vampires because they’re certain mortals will kill all of us once they know we exist. They are thinking that they are only giving the appearance of being manipulated while really using the Tribes. Of course, that’s not what is happening at all.”

  “What is happening?” Strahan asked.

  “Probably more than I can guess at, but I’m certain of several things.”

  “I’m listening.”

  His concentration on her was so intense that Francesca forgot about everyone else in the room. She’d never seen anyone with eyes as darkly compelling as his.

  “I know that the Tribes have united with each other for the first time in centuries to destroy the Clans and Families. They’re putting aside their differences temporarily to face a greater threat. This alliance is something they should have done a long time ago and we’ve grown complacent thinking that the Tribe mentality wasn’t capable of it.”

  The voice of the other Prime at the table chimed in. “Amen.”

  Francesca continued talking to Strahan. “The Tribes have grown weaker and weaker while our cultures have prospered in the modern world. We have been trying to destroy their culture and can’t blame them for hating us.”

  “Even if they deserve it,” said the witch.

  “So, they’re conspiring to bring down the Clans and Families by getting us to out ourselves by responding to the recent attacks. They want the media spotlight all over us. They’re used to living in hiding, while we’re living more and more among mortals. They are certain they’ll survive while the villagers will take torches and pitchforks to the rest of us. And that’s still not all that’s going on.”

  “Are you about to agree with my personal conspiracy theory?” Strahan asked.

  “That there is someone behind the scenes manipulating the Tribes who are manipulating the Purists? And that the conspiracy started decades ago? Oh, yes, I quite agree.”

  “Who? Why?” Strahan asked.

  “The usual suspects. The usual reasons for war—we have what they want.”

  “You think we’re really fighting mortals who are hiding behind the more obvious enemies?”

  Francesca nodded. “Mortals with the resources to finance research to provide the Tribes with knockoff daylight drugs. Mortals with the resources to create a private security force of feral werefolk. Mortals with contacts in the very secretive Purist community. Mortals with the resources to recruit disaffected offspring of mortals and Primes.”

  “There are too many of those dwelling in the trusting bosom of the Clans and Families,” the other Prime said. “The Tribes are right not to allow that sort of breeding. The population explosion of half breeds is a big mistake.”

  Francesca ignored him. “I think there’s a secret master out there somewhere pulling all the strings. You’ve been preaching it for years, Strahan. It’s always sounded like a crazy conspiracy theory, but I believe you’re right.”

  Strahan beamed at her. “You think I’m right.”

  Oh, Lady, a Prime with deep dimples!

  He took her hand in his.

  She enjoyed the warmth and latent strength in his touch and didn’t try to pull away. She said, “I may agree with you, but that doesn’t mean we’re dating.”

  The witch sitting next to her gave a snort of laughter, and Francesca finally broke away from Strahan’s penetrating gaze.

  She looked around the table and focused on the blond shifter. “I’m guessing that right now, the area werefolk are meeting to argue
over whether or not to go along with this plan to keep the locals out of the fight. Their leader was furious at the stunt the Matri pulled trying to execute a werewolf. That’s going to make the shapeshifters leery of following any vampire’s orders.”

  “They are meeting,” the shifter said. He looked to Strahan. “I did my best to soothe the situation, but you need to talk to Shaggy Harker again, Tobias.”

  “It’s already on my list.”

  “Maybe you should make him an honorary Dark Angel,” the witch suggested. She tapped her watch conspicuously. “You do have a date this evening, Tobias.”

  He glanced at his own watch. “It’s getting a little late out on the East Coast.” He held up a hand as the witch frowned at him. “Just saying. A promise is a promise.”

  “It’s not like Saffie’s going to be in bed just because she’s supposed to be. I’m sure Saffie’s up doing homework,” she added.

  “Speaking about flunking potions class . . .,” he muttered.

  The witch gave him a shrug and an unconvincing innocent smile.

  Strahan focused on the group around the table. “Let’s wrap this up. Joaquin, let Shaggy know about Joe’s investigation into the ferals. The local werefolk can help in the hunt if anything turns up,” he said to the shifter.

  Joaquin nodded. “That will make them happier.”

  “Make the rounds of everywhere we’re guarding, Jake,” he said to the Prime. “Get a personal feel for individual situations.”

  Jake stood. “Understood.” A second later the Prime was gone.

  Strahan turned his attention to the witch. “How soon before you can dose the Purists, Dee?”

  She went over to the stove and sniffed the steam rising from the copper pot. “It’s ready, boss.”

  “Then do it. I’ll want Sid Wolf to interrogate them when they’ve gotten their memories back. She was recruited for her telepathic talent; this will be a good test of it.”

  Dee dipped fragrant dark liquid into a thermal container and turned to leave the room. “I’ll give Sidonie a call as soon as they drink this.”