Mackenzie McKade

by Black Widow (lit)

  Deirdre moved between him and the marble fireplace in the study of his mansion. She pressed her palms against his chest. Their eyes met. “Marcellus, you know what you have to do.” Shadows danced across her face and flickered off the walls lined with books from all time periods. A collection he treasured almost as much as his art, but tonight they were just pages of the past—paper.

  Without answering her, Marcellus moved away, heading toward the window. He pushed back the drapes and looked into the star-studded night. Even though Sasha and Deirdre remained quiet, he felt their disapproval and anxiety. Both women had been with him for the past two centuries. Friends. Lovers. Yet tonight neither of them was on his mind. He didn’t crave Sasha’s touch or Deirdre’s kisses, but that of another.

  Mentally, he attempted to shake his wayward thoughts. His desires were of no matter. He had the future of his people to think of. “Leave me.” Marcellus needed a moment to prepare and gather his thoughts. His guest had waited long enough and the night was not over.

  Roark Lanier’s host certainly had an odd sense of humor. Pristine white walls and floors graced the chamber he had been led, to await Marcellus Donne. Several sets of chains and D-rings were strategically placed, which probably accounted for the lack of windows. From the doorway he eyed the room’s single inhabitant, an unconscious woman. Her wrists, manacled in iron, were connected to chains hanging from the ceiling while her splayed ankles were bound to the tiled floor. She even wore a black leather collar around her neck. Golden waves of hair fell forward, hiding her face and parts of her body. Her naked body.

  The scene was shocking and strangely arousing. Desire slammed into him. Blood rushed to his nether region, creating an ache between his thighs. He swallowed hard and retraced his steps. What the hell was Donne up to?

  Although the room was clean, Roark’s keen senses picked up an acidic scent of antiseptic, beneath it a trace of blood. A whiff of lingering fear revealed a struggle and the musky aroma of sex mingled. The last thought thickened his cock more. Another familiar aroma rose that didn’t belong—lycanthrope. He brushed the ridiculous thought aside, drawn by the female. He took another step into the room. His gaze traveled up the length of the blonde’s shapely legs. His beast woke with a jolt. The animal within rippled beneath his skin. The sensation that he knew her made the pit of his stomach flutter.

  Anger rose on swift feet that she, or any woman for that matter, would be held in such disregard. Even more disturbing was the sudden urge to protect her—take her into his arms. He didn’t, realizing that he knew nothing about her or the situation. For all he knew, she could be a willing participant in some kinky game his host enjoyed. The idea only served to arouse Roark more. He stroked his gaze over her slender neck, frowning at the bite mark marring her tender skin. Donne’s handy work no doubt.

  Damn vampire.

  Through lush hair the glimpse of full breasts pulled Roark’s attention away from Donne’s pinprick signature lying below the collar. Roark adjusted his hips to relieve the growing pressure in his jeans. Somehow he knew her eyes would be blue, bluer than the sky.

  Now where the hell had that thought come from? He shook his head to erase his curiosity. When that didn’t work he attempted to focus on why Donne dragged him out tonight or more accurately early morning? It had to have been around two a.m., no longer Monday but Tuesday. When the vampire had called, Roark had been running with the pack. A full-moon always put the lycanthropes on edge. Nights like this one were for running and hunting and making love. The thought drew his attention back to the woman.

  A rosy nipple peeking through a web of silky hair made Roark catch his breath. The urge to taste her and run his tongue around the taut bud consumed his thoughts. Would she be sweet like honey or spicy like her perfume? His mouth salivated.

  Drawn to her, he stepped nearer for a better look. Through breaks in the thick strands of hair, pink, angry scars were visible on her flat belly. Roark saw red. This was not a consensual act. Someone had attacked her.

  Moving closer, Roark used his animal senses and inhaled deeply. She carried the stench of several vampires, but undeniably there was another presence he recognized. Wild and earthy and most definitely lycanthrope.

  “Grady.” His dearest friend’s name came out a whisper. But it couldn’t be.

  The slightest of movement from behind had Roark spinning on a dime to come face-to-face with the leader of the undead.

  “What’s this all about?” It had taken Roark several hours to trek through the rugged mountain range to make it to the city, but it had been his choice. He’d had a bad day and felt the need to stretch his legs, run in his wolf form. Bad decision. His feet hurt and the trip hadn’t improved his mood. He should have driven, but hindsight was worthless. He tugged at the collar of his red flannel shirt. Instead of running amongst his clan on this night, he was clothed in jeans and uncomfortable shoes that he kept hidden just outside the city for sudden visits like this one.

  One shoulder propped against the wall, Donne stroked a toothpick around one sharp canine. Dark hair tied back by a leather thong flowed down to touch his waist. Wearing a black silk shirt, dress pants and leather shoes, the vampire could easily pass as a prominent business man. But the fangs were a dead giveaway he was not human.

  “You recognize one of your wolves’ scent?” He pushed away from the wall, flicking the toothpick into a nearby trash can, as he came to stand beside Roark. “Lovely isn’t she?” His words came out on a purr of appreciation.

  Hell yes, on both accounts. But that didn’t answer Roark’s question. He had recognized Grady’s presence on the woman, but why? No self-respecting werewolf would share a lover with a vampire. Besides, this woman had not been loved but abused. Another question rose swiftly. Why was she healing so fast? Bruises were fading before his eyes. The odd sensation that he knew the blonde kept nagging him. Had he met her through Grady?

  Roark pushed his fingers through his hair, the ends brushed his shoulders. Vampires and lycanthropes didn’t commingle. He wouldn’t say vampires and werewolves were enemies, exactly. Hell, who was he trying to fool? They couldn’t stand each other.

  Centuries of conflict in a world where both species were the minority had gotten them nowhere. Instead of fighting to establish dominance over each other, they should be working together to solve common issues, mainly how to live amongst the human race. Lycanthropes and vampires dwindled in numbers. More and more of Roark’s people were losing their lives in hunting and trapping incidents. Vampires had a different problem. They needed the humans to sustain life, at least the undead kept human conversions to a minimum.

  Roark and Donne thought much alike. They were the leaders of their races. Through extensive negotiations and hard work, they had come to a gentleman’s agreement. The metropolitan areas of Phoenix and Tucson were vampire territory. The outskirts and Northern Arizona belonged to Roark’s people. Occasionally their paths crossed, tempers flared, but to date all had been rather calm, unlike in the past.

  Grady’s participation here—in this room—was inconceivable. Not to mention the woman was held captive and apparently ravished against her will. But the evidence before Roark said his friend had stepped beyond the limits of lycanthrope law.

  Roark’s jaws clenched. He berated himself for not taking action sooner. For weeks he had seen it coming, but because of his relationship with Grady he had turned a blind eye. No longer. Friends or not, Grady would have to pay for dishonoring this woman.

  “Where is he?” Roark spoke no name. Donne knew who he referred to. The vampire leader was as familiar with Roark’s pack as Roark was with the vampires. Both believed in the philosophy of keeping your friends close, your enemies closer.

  “Dead,” Donne announced calmly. Only a twitch in his jaw gave away his anxiety.

  So much for peace between their people.

  Heat crawled up Roark’s neck consuming his face and ears. The muscles in his neck crackled as he resisted the change and his ins
tinctive need to strike out at Donne and shred him to pieces.

  The vampire had the good sense to back away as he held up an outstretched palm. “Now don’t go furry on me, Lanier, hear me out.”

  Roark’s nose twitched, his skin itched to transform. The beast within him paced, roared for revenge, begging to be released. Saliva formed in his mouth. “Where is his body?” The words came out garbled, caught between a demand and a growl.

  “My people are preparing him for your return to the mountains.” The cavalier attitude Donne usually held onto slipped. Roark could have sworn he saw something close to regret flicker in the vampire’s eyes. “I swear I’d never seen him like this. He attacked not only the woman, but me. I only defended myself.”

  Grady had been Roark’s best friend from the moment their fathers had introduced them as children. They had played, hunted, and caroused together, and then something had changed. Several weeks ago, Grady had come home mangled and beaten. He had not revealed what had happened to him, but he had never been the same. Quiet. Despondent. His temper volatile—he was a powder keg, on the edge.

  An invisible fist squeezed Roark’s heart. Emotion pricked his eyes making them burn. His gut was a twisted mass. How could he tell Grady’s father? The clan would want an eye for an eye. Even now Roark fought the need to taste Donne’s blood, rip him apart from limb to limb. He struggled to center himself. The only calm he found was in the chained beauty before him. “And the woman?”

  “Well… That’s another problem.” The hesitancy in Donne’s voice rattled Roark’s control. He clenched his fingers, nails biting into his palms as he resisted reaching out for the immortal. Donne watched him cautiously as he continued, “I felt sorry for her, so…”

  Damn vampire. The undead were unscrupulous—they took what they wanted without permission or thought of consequences. Lycanthropes lived by strict rules—humans were not on their menu.

  “You were attracted to her,” Roark stated the obvious. What man wouldn’t be—she was perfection—a piece of art?

  Donne shrugged. “Well, there was that. But it was your brethren that robbed her of life.”

  Just like a vampire. Disdain struck Roark hard. Donne refused to take responsibility for his actions. “So, what? You felt so sorry that you saved her life by turning her into a vampire, chaining her to the ceiling and floor as a trophy?” Bitterness oozed from Roark’s mouth.

  His friend was gone. Grady was dead.

  Donne strolled toward the woman, stopping more than twenty feet away. “Not exactly.”

  Roark pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. He released a heavy sigh. “I tire of this game. Show me to Grady. I wish to take him home.” Roark wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t smelled and seen Grady’s devastation.

  “Ah, yes. But the woman?” Donne gave him an inquisitive glance.

  Roark took one more look at the luscious blonde. What had happened was indeed a shame, yet he didn’t see how her becoming one of the undead was his concern. He had bigger fish to fry—like how to convince his clan not to kill every vampire that walked the earth.

  “Not my problem.” He turned and headed for the door. His fingers wrapped around the doorknob when Donne said, “It seems she is.”

  As Roark slowly pivoted, the tautness in his stomach drew tighter. “She’s lycanthrope?”

  What the hell had Grady done? He knew the law. Anger exploded inside Roark once again. “Why is she chained? Have you so little respect for my people?”

  Donne shoulders squared. His pupils darkened as his voice grew serious. “Like I said we have a problem.”

  The hair beneath Roark’s skin prickled, tingling to be released. The beast inside him was demanding his attention, pushing against his will. His gums ached, his canines threatening to expose themselves. By a thread he held onto his human form, even as he felt his fingernails grow, curling into sharp claws. “Explain, Donne, and do it fast. My patience has come to an end.”

  “Do you recall the tale of the Lamia?”

  Donne’s absurd question forced a huff of disbelief from Roark’s mouth. He brushed his fingers through his hair. It was a nervous habit, but God he was tired. His heart and eyes felt heavy and he had a long trip back up the mountain. Not to mention the vampire was fucking nuts.

  “You must have sucked the blood from one too many loony humans. Still that doesn’t explain why she is bound like an animal.” Donne didn’t expect Roark to believe the innocent woman chained to the floor and ceiling was the mythical creature that had brought destruction upon all mankind? But the gravity upon his host’s face gave him pause.

  “It appears the combination of our races is very dangerous,” Donne stated frankly.

  No way could the woman be a hybrid, half wolf-half vampire. The bloodlust of this creature was legendary. Roark assumed the myth was a childhood story meant to retain the purity of their races.

  “You’re kidding right?” Roark asked. “She’s lycanthrope and vampire?”

  Donne slowly nodded.

  There had to be some explanation. Roark tried to calm the pounding in his head. Just the idea that such a monster existed made him ill. “Have you seen her change?”

  Donne shifted his feet. “Not personally, but my people have. That’s the reason for the collar.”

  Grady, what have you done? The conversion of human to lycanthrope was nearly unheard of. There were stiff penalties for a wolf who disobeyed the law.

  Okay, let’s be rational here. Lamia don’t exist. Vampires and werewolves don’t mate. Donne had to be wrong. Roark glanced toward the peaceful woman and felt another jolt to his cock. Rays of electricity zapped him hard enough to steal his breath. His beast answered with a roar. It paced restlessly beneath his skin.

  Donne and his people were confused.

  Roark thought for only a moment, his resolve firmly in place. He would take her home and make up for what Grady had done to her. As leader of the Mogollon Rim Pack, she would be his responsibility. If he had addressed Grady’s problem before now this wouldn’t have happened.

  The hardness in Donne’s stance relaxed, he gazed upon her with something close to appreciation. “Perfect is she not?” He took another step closer, stopping just out of her reach. “When awake she draws men like honey…” he paused before adding, “…to their deaths.”

  “What?” This was ridiculous.

  “Yes. She is a veritable black widow. She almost killed two of my men, Titan and Darta. They only meant to feed her, but she can be very seductive when she’s awake. And well, they also wished to accommodate her lustful needs, after which she turned furry and nearly took their lives.”

  Roark couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “There is no way an injured woman could take on one vampire, much less two. Not in her weakened condition.” Yet Roark knew a lycanthrope’s sexual needs and hunger were always an issue with young female wolves when they came into their first heat. There was no telling what would happen during the heat cycle of a converted wolf.

  He had witnessed a human’s transformation once. The life-changing hormone lycanthropes released during a bite that altered a human to wolf caused unstable, results.

  “My pack stopped turning humans several centuries ago. It has been outlawed. Grady knew this. He wouldn’t—”

  But evidently his friend had. It did Roark no good to keep trying to ignore the obvious.

  “Your man was not in control,” Donne interrupted. “The truth lies before us.”

  “If what you say is true, you should have let her die.” Roark regretted the words the minute he said them. But it was true. How would she live? The human race would not welcome her, nor would she be accepted by the wolves or vampires. And if what Donne said was true—that she was dangerous—they had no alternative but to end her life. His beast screamed in protest.

  “How was I to know the abomination she would become? So, what are we going to do?” Donne asked.

  “We?” Damn Grady. What the hel
l was Roark to do?

  “Yes, we. She will not be welcomed in my world.” Donne confirmed what Roark already knew.

  An uneasy chuckle pushed from his tight lips. They faced each other. “And you think she will be in mine? The only solution is—”

  “Release me now.” A female’s disgruntled voice finished Roark’s sentence with a recommendation that was far from what had been on his mind. She could not live in this world. He jerked his attention to where she hung.

  His breath caught.

  She was the most incredible creature he had ever seen. And he was right. Her eyes were sky blue.

  Chapter Three

  Tammy was trapped between sleep and that moment when her conscious mind begged for control. Sleep. That’s all she wanted. Just ten more minutes before she had to face the day, rise and go to work. Was it Tuesday morning? She had no idea as she fought the threads of wakefulness threatening to pull her from slumber. Maybe she’d call in sick. Hard as she tried, sounds and smells began to seep through the mental wall she had erected.