Primal Instincts

by Susan Sizemore

  With a cry of pain and completion, Tobias shattered back into himself. And down into the lonely dark.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The bruises were already healed by the time Francesca came awake, but she was exquisitely aware of where each and every one of them had been. The fact that she’d been marked was the first thing she was consciously aware of. They were like invisible ink, tattoos only she was aware of . . . delicious secret marks of possession. She lay on her back, savoring these new sensations.

  Who, why, and how were concepts that didn’t filter into her head for a long time. But come they did.

  Along with a satisfied smile and flesh thrumming with total satiation.

  She considered purring.

  Until sensation turned to vivid memories. Hands. Mouths. Fangs and claws. Blood and sex and a big body covering, claiming—

  A will stronger than hers. Wanting that strength. Being made to want it.

  Being conquered.

  Damn, it felt good!

  What the demon is the matter with me?

  Francesca sat up swearing, eyes opening onto a room she didn’t recognize, naked on a rumpled bed that had seen a lot of use. There was blood on the sheets. Patches of dried blood on her as well, and the sharp, mingled scents of sex with—

  “Strahan!”

  “Here,” he answered through a nearby doorway.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet sinking into a thick carpet. She recognized where she was now, a guest room in Ben’s house. The curtains were open to the morning light. The ocean murmured close by. The sound of a flushing toilet covered the Pacific for a moment and brought her attention back to Strahan.

  “That was an accusing shout of your name. I wasn’t asking where you were,” she told the Prime as he came out of the bathroom.

  “Oh.” He scratched the rippling washboard of his naked stomach. “You hungry?”

  He looked tousled, barely awake, his hair still damp from a shower. It was a good act, but she didn’t miss the way his gaze assessed her from half-closed eyes.

  “You are not disarming me,” she told him.

  He gave her a thorough look that sent tingling heat through her. “If you’re armed, you’re better at concealing weapons than any of my Angels.”

  “That’s too blatant an invitation to flick my fangs and claws at you, Strahan.”

  “But they’re so pretty,” he said, coaxing her. He was looking at her bare breasts as he spoke.

  Neither of them made any attempt to cover their body. Her mortal lover would have come out of the bathroom wearing a towel. She would have at least pulled on her nightshirt to hold a serious conversation. But her borrowed T-shirt had been turned into small gold and purple shreds covering the bed and floor. And vampires didn’t have the same nakedness taboos as mortals.

  “Maybe we spend too much time around mortals,” he said, picking up on her thoughts. “Too much time mimicking them, blending in.”

  “I like quite a few mortals,” she answered.

  “But do you want to be one?” he asked.

  It would have been easier to respond if he’d been needling her. This was worse; it was a serious question that called for a thoughtful answer. One that it was too early in the morning to come up with.

  Francesca shook her tangled hair away from her face. “Go put on your uniform and go save the world.”

  “I intend to. Should I bring you back a cup of coffee while I’m at it?”

  She wanted to fall back onto the mattress and sleep for days. She wanted him out of her sight no matter how grand he looked naked and freshly clean.

  He sat down beside her on the bed. He clasped his huge hands around a raised knee and gave her a sideways look that radiated diffidence.

  Was Tobias Strahan actually embarrassed?

  “I should explain about last night,” he said.

  She was suspicious of his sudden shift from typical Prime to reasonable being. He’d played her before, and that wasn’t an easy thing to do. All her defenses went up against him.

  “Just what was last night all about?” she asked.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Besides the obvious,” Francesca added. Several obvious reasons, she added to herself. “Tell me the ones I haven’t figured out on my own.”

  “You’re a very intelligent female, Fla—Francesca.”

  Does he somehow consider that a compliment? Oh, well, at least he called me by name. If he could insult her intelligence, she’d parry with a dig at his origins. “Females are the brains of the species,” she pointed out. “That’s something you Tribe boys seem to have trouble with—and look where that’s gotten you. On the run and in the dark.”

  “I’m right here,” he said, and ran fingers up her bare thigh.

  She took a moment to enjoy the shiver that went through her, then said, “Yes, you are. I suggest you don’t come any closer at the moment.”

  His smile struck her in the heart. In a good way. Which was a very bad way, all things considered. . . .

  “I don’t have time to make love right now,” he said.

  “Was that what we did, make love?”

  “No. But we could work our way around to it without too much trouble.”

  He was so correct, and there was no reason not to admit it. Francesca nodded. “But we’re not going there,” she added.

  “There will be more sex.” He was very sure of himself.

  She decided not to argue about future encounters but to work on avoiding them instead.

  She returned to her original question. “What was last night about?”

  He got up and started putting on clothes. He was mostly dressed before he answered. “You haven’t been trained to take orders from anyone but your Matri. I can’t have anyone around me who doesn’t do what I say, when I say. Last night was to help save your life in case I ever put it in danger. I was also jealous of Jimmy kissing you and got a little mean,” he added, once again giving her that heart-attack-inducing smile.

  Jealous and possessive was a Prime’s natural state, but Francesca couldn’t mind it. She normally wasn’t pleased by it, like she was this time. Better to concentrate on the original subject.

  “You didn’t put me in danger at James Wilde’s place.”

  “I still need you to talk to Rose Cameron.”

  She couldn’t see how there was any potential danger in talking to a little old lady mortal. “Do you always use that kind of sex as a basic training exercise?”

  “Only with the beautiful ones.”

  A moment’s jealousy of her friend Sid Wolfe, the latest female Angel recruit, shot through her—before she realized he was joking. By the Lady of the Moon, this Prime truly was a danger to every defense she’d built up around herself. She wondered if she should run off and hide in the Reynard Citadel until the Dark Angels evacuated Los Angeles.

  “That would be cowardice,” he said.

  “A strategic retreat,” she answered loftily.

  “The time for vampires to run from their problems is over.” He gave her a hard look. “For all of us.”

  She was prepared to argue that he had no business speaking for all vampires. A knock came on the door, and the smell of coffee and frying bacon drifted from the kitchen.

  “Now is the time for all vampires to have breakfast,” Francesca said.

  “Boss?” the witch called from the hallway. “Time to roll. And thanks for keeping everybody up all night.”

  “You’re a brave woman to bring that up, Delilah McCoy,” Strahan yelled back.

  Francesca laughed at Strahan’s momentary discomfort. Being a Prime, his blush faded quickly, then he gave her a proud thumbs-up. She didn’t remember a lot of details, but they’d both probably howled like banshees.

  “Somebody had to say it,” Dee’s voice came through the door. “When shall we expect your exalted presence, oh potent one?”

  “Be there in two,” he said.

  Strahan seemed to tot
ally forget her presence as he put on his shoes. There was a lot more Francesca wanted to talk about, but the Prime was in warrior mode now. Everything about him was alert and focused. She knew that petulantly demanding his attention wouldn’t do any good, so she didn’t bother invoking her Flare persona.

  All business, he marched out and closed the door behind him.

  She missed him instantly.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Francesca showered and did her hair, then applied the powder and lipstick she found in her purse, a paltry excuse for her normally complex makeup regime. She wasn’t sure if her luggage had been flown back to Idaho or was still at the Shagal Citadel, but at the Lancer house she had to make do with scrounging for something to wear. Fortunately, her sister-in-law wore similar-size clothing and kept some there at her grandfather’s house.

  Francesca made do with what she found, but she didn’t have to like it. She and Domini did not have similar tastes. Domini understood perfectly well that clothing was persona in her professional life but didn’t have the need for constant armor in her personal life that Francesca did. Francesca would never have picked the pair of skintight jeans and college team sweatshirt for herself. She supposed she could roll up the legs of the jeans and fasten her long wavy hair into a ponytail to try for a sort of sophisticated retro mock-fifties teenager look, but decided this effort would look silly among Strahan’s hard-assed commandos.

  “Furthermore, I’m a Spartan, not a Bruin,” Francesca complained as she pulled the burgundy UCLA shirt over her head.

  She followed the scent of coffee and not her awareness of Strahan into the kitchen, though her attention riveted on him the instant she stepped into the crowded room. At least she wasn’t alone, as everyone else’s attention was on Strahan too. He was talking to Dee and Jake, who were doing a superb job of ignoring each other by concentrating on him.

  Interesting couple, she thought.

  They’re not, Strahan thought back, letting her know he was aware of her.

  “Why Wyoming?” Jake asked.

  “Why not?” was Strahan’s cold reply.

  His attitude brooked no argument. The Prime didn’t give him any, though his anger burned close to the surface.

  “What about the prisoners?” Dee asked.

  “Have you dosed them with the memory drug?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then they’re Sid’s responsibility now. You have your assignment. Report when you know anything.”

  Francesca discarded her avoidance of caffeine and took the mug of coffee Ben Lancer offered her but couldn’t take her attention off the trio in the center of the kitchen. The Prime was furious, the witch clearly unhappy, and Strahan ignored their reactions. Whatever this assignment might be, they didn’t want it, he didn’t care, and they didn’t argue despite their reservations.

  “Yes, sir,” they said together.

  “I’ll send you a postcard from Yellowstone,” Dee McCoy told her leader.

  “Make it a Christmas card,” Strahan replied. “Dress warm,” he added.

  The vampire and the witch left, physically together but mentally far apart. Why on earth had Strahan assigned them to work together on an op far away from the rest of the Dark Angels when the pair so clearly detested each other?

  To teach them to work together, obviously, Strahan thought at her.

  Of course. Discipline. Authority. He’d used sex on her to assert leadership and was now using isolation on this pair. You really are a first-class total control freak, even for a Prime, she thought.

  A female of the species would know.

  She didn’t argue; running a vampire Clan was similar to commanding a military unit. She was slated to become a Matri, so maybe she could learn a few tips from this martinet.

  There was a plate stacked with toast and a platter with some bacon and scrambled eggs. Francesca made herself a sandwich out of the leftovers, and she leaned against the sink, her back absorbing warmth from the window behind her. The winter sunlight was feeble even by Southern California standards, but she loved the feel of it.

  What on earth had it been like to be a vampire before the daylight drugs? It didn’t bear thinking about. No wonder the Tribe boys were so mean. And angry about having to do without the miracles of science unless they gave up their own ancient, evil ways.

  She ate, sipped coffee, and watched the master of the Dark Angels as he dealt with one after another of his cohorts and sent them on their way. It occurred to her after a while that she was going unnoticed. She’d been so busy appreciating the fine figure of Tobias Strahan that it took her a while to realize she wasn’t being watched, leered at, or come on to by any Prime in the room.

  Because Strahan had marked her as his? Oh, please. But it seemed to be working.

  She wasn’t the object of anyone’s lust. She liked it.

  You most certainly are a lust object, Strahan thought.

  You don’t count.

  I’m the only one who counts.

  She thought about arguing but kept her thoughts and words to herself for now. She respected the command structure of the Dark Angels enough not to challenge Strahan in front of his people, waiting for her chance to get Strahan alone.

  Flare didn’t like being the center of the universe? Tobias hid his surprise at this revelation. He thought he must have been mistaken at thinking that was what he’d picked up from the most beautiful woman in the world. Who knew she was the most beautiful woman in the world and took Primes worshipping at her feet as her due.

  Or maybe he’d just imagined that.

  Her relief at being left alone? Or her regal acceptance of being the center of the universe?

  He wanted to ask her which was the real Flare and probably couldn’t stop himself from doing so even though it would be smarter to leave her alone. One of the problems with two beings trying to meld into a bond was the instinctive compulsion to learn everything there was to know about each other. His curiosity was killing him when he needed to concentrate on more important things.

  If he was lucky he’d gotten Flare pregnant last night and she could be sent away to a safe haven. But would he be able to put the need for her aside, for even a little while? He was tough, he’d cope.

  Until she came crawling back begging to be with him.

  Or vice versa, he admitted ruefully.

  They hadn’t shared blood. She’d been smart to insist that they not taste each other. That would help slow the bonding. But if she wasn’t already pregnant he’d continue to have sex with her until she was. At some point blood was bound to become a part of the equation. He could hardly wait.

  Calm down, boy.

  For a moment Tobias wasn’t sure whether the thought was his or hers. He shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on business.

  “Tell Ed I want a sweep of the Citadel ASAP, Tsuke.”

  The Japanese werefox made a note on her PDA. She wasn’t exactly a werefox but a kitsune. Tobias wasn’t quite sure of the differences. Vampires were vampires, werefolk were complicated.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose as he mentally ticked through the assignments and orders for the day. “Okay, that’s everything,” he told the remaining Crew. “Dismissed.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Within moments he was alone with Flare Reynard. His impulse was to take her back to the bedroom.

  “Let’s go,” he told her.

  Her faint smile told him she knew what he was thinking and what he meant. “To the clinic.”

  He nodded. But the cell phone in his jacket vibrated before he could take a step. “Excuse me.” He took out the phone to check the text message.

  Flare was standing at his side as he gave a snort of laughter. “What?” she asked.

  “From Saffie.” He let Flare read the message on the small screen:

  Remember the cheek swab thing?

  “Meaning?”

  “My mortal teenage daughter.”

  “That was who you were talking t
o last night? I thought it sounded like you were talking to a kid. I tried not to eavesdrop but heard some of what you said.”

  “That’s okay.” He typed an answering text, which wasn’t easy on the tiny keyboard with his big hands, while he explained. “Her science class got involved with a DNA study.”

  Remember. ??

  Mistake?

  ??

  What if results suck?

  U don’t suck.

  U do.

  UR adopted.

  “I thought it would be a good idea for her to learn something about her ancestry. When this came up she told me she thought the work mortals are doing to trace migration patterns is fascinating.” He sighed. “I never thought consenting to a biology project would cause a panic attack.”

  “She doesn’t know anything about her family?”

  He was annoyed by the notes of alarm and sympathy in Flare’s question. Of course a Clan female would only understand about Clan connections.

  “You don’t need bloodlines to make a family,” he told her.

  “I know that. But you must think genetics counts for something, or you wouldn’t have encouraged your daughter to—”

  “Point taken,” Tobias growled.

  “I’ll take that as an apology.” She walked away.

  He went back to soothing Saffie’s worries, but guilt nagged at him the whole time he typed text messages to his daughter.

  He was beginning to suspect that he suddenly had more women in his life than was healthy for a simple soldier Prime.

  Francesca looked out the patio door with her arms crossed tightly across her stomach and tried unsuccessfully not to think about how easy it was to become attached to mortals.

  If she and Patrick had had a daughter, she would have been mortal. Nothing wrong with being mortal; Francesca would have loved her just as much. Taken pride in her. Raised her to be the best person she could be. Vampires lived longer, were faster and stronger, healed more quickly, but they weren’t any smarter than mortals. They didn’t have any more spirit or talent or anything that really made their minds different from a human’s.