Till Abandon

by Avril Ashton

  Not that he needed an excuse to touch his mate, to bring her pleasure. Those sounds she made when he was knuckles-deep in her cunt were music to him. The sweetest kind.

  "Move it, buster,” Voltaire spoke in his ear.

  One gulp of air into his lungs and he pulled open the door, stepping inside. His mate stayed in stride next to him. All heads in the place turned at their entrance, staring them down. A chorus of rumbles echoed through the confined space, shaking the building.

  What now?

  "They smell you. Your arousal.” She looked like she'd just been fucked—white hair a mess around her face, lips pink and swollen, and his bites all over her neck. He bared his teeth, snarled at the room at large. “And now they smell me on you. They know you're mine."

  She nodded and rubbed her hands together. “Good, let's eat."

  Blake guided her to a booth at the back of the diner. He helped into her seat, then sat, with his focus on the entrance. Voltaire had the back door. He took in the familiar faces trying their damndest not to stare. Violence simmered in the air. More than one male present here tonight might consider challenging him for Voltaire.

  "A challenge, you say?” She leant forward with her elbows on the table. “I'd like to see you fight, get all savage and shit.” Her eyes rolled back in her head as her voice got dreamy. “Oh, I can picture it now."

  "This isn't a game, Voltaire.” He grabbed her hand as a waitress approached. “They could try to kill me to get to you."

  Those two-toned eyes flashed violet and gold fire. “I dare them to try. Besides, you're Alpha, right? They can't challenge you."

  "They can if they think they have just cause. All they have to do is petition the Elders, who hate my guts."

  Voltaire opened her mouth.

  "Hi, Blake. What can I get you?” Debra, the waitress, stared at him wide-eyed, pen and pad poised. Hurt flickered over her features as she waited.

  Ah, I remember this one. Voltaire sat back and folded her arms with a smirk. You fucked her in the back room last summer.

  Damn. How did she know this stuff?

  I'll tell you later—right now she's staring at you like you owe her something.

  Voltaire stared up at the waitress and spoke. “Debra, my mate will have a bacon cheeseburger with a slice of cobbler."

  Do you owe her something?

  Blake shook his head. Sex with Debra had been a huge mistake on so many levels.

  Voltaire laced their fingers together and looked at Debra. “I'll have the same, with extra bacon and chilli fries.” The waitress scribbled away as Blake raised an eyebrow at Voltaire. She shrugged. “What? I'm a growing girl."

  He chuckled.

  "Order coming up.” Debra stuck her pencil behind her ear and turned away.

  "Oh, Debra,” Voltaire called softly.

  Blake tensed.

  When the waitress tuned back to them, Voltaire said, “That plan you have about fucking with my order? I'd rethink it if I were you.” A wink of her violet eye. “I'd hate to have to waste my time kicking your ass."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Six

  * * * *

  Voltaire shoved food into her mouth while Blake stared and chuckled. She gave him the evil eye and licked her lips. Damn burger hit the spot. A movement caught her eye and she turned to see the lovely Debra hovering in front of the door leading to the kitchen. Poor girl couldn't take her eyes off Voltaire and Blake.

  "Ignore her,” Blake said softly. “Tell me why you know me so well.” His eyes turned serious as he stared her down. “You've been in contact with the wolf.” It wasn't a question.

  Damn. She wasn't ready for the serious talk. What happened to more humping? She remained quiet, chewing slowly, until he raised an eyebrow. Voltaire sighed.

  "Yes. I was on assignment in Japan five years ago. The Council had marked the British liaison to Japan for death.” She rubbed her nose, memories flooding back. “Naturally, I was the one for the job. I'd been charged with making sure there were no hiccoughs."

  "And were there hiccoughs?"

  She barked a laugh. “Of course. There's always hiccoughs. I have no idea to this day how Sutcliffe found out about me, but he did."

  Blake leant forward, elbows on the table. “What happened?"

  "Oh, nothing major.” She shrugged. “He paid the Yakuza to ‘deal’ with me.” ‘Deal’ in quotations. “I was asleep and suddenly a green-eyed wolf was in my dreams, jaw snapping, eyes flashing."

  Blake's mouth dropped open.

  Voltaire smiled wryly. “I don't know how I knew he was warning me, but I knew. I woke up firing my guns. Five men surrounded my bed. Took some time and a whole lot of blood but I finally learnt who'd sent them."

  "I remember when Sutcliffe was found dead.” Blake linked their fingers. “It was a big deal, all over the news because no one could determine how he died."

  "The mind death.” She broke eye contact as she confessed, “Something happened to me that I couldn't explain. I—I became so angry. Whatever the fuck it is that's inside me couldn't be contained. Later, I found out the name for what I'd done."

  He slid his callused fingers over her palm. “How does my wolf factor in to all this?"

  Voltaire swallowed and brought her gaze back to his. “He started showing up in my dreams every night after that. Just the wolf at first. Then one night he turned into you—simply shifted. And you'd call me to you. I need you, Voltaire.” Tears welled up in her eyes. "You're my mate, Voltaire. My other half.

  Blake stiffened. “I begged you to come to me?"

  She dashed the pesky tears away and shook her head at the disbelief in his voice. “You were mourning your father and need—"

  "Wait.” He held up hand. “You still haven't explained how you saw my life."

  Taking a deep breath, Voltaire mentally straightened her spine. “When I kept ignoring your calls to come to you, the wolf began showing me your days, what you'd been up to.” She waved a hand. “Sort of a look what's happening type of thing. I resisted at first, but then I began to anticipate seeing you. I worried about you, grew to care.” She whispered the last part.

  "'So let me get this straight. You knew who I was and what I was to you for five years and didn't bother to come to me?” She nodded, and he exploded. “Why? You must've known how much it cost me. The wolf is increasingly volatile and restless. I'm constantly fighting him for control. The Elders want me to step aside, allow someone with a mate to take over.” He paused, held her gaze. “My mate is my control."

  She understood the anger and distrust eating away at him, but he had to understand. “What about what coming here would cost me? Even in my dreams, I knew you'd possess me, you'd consume every part of me. I wasn't ready for what coming to you meant."

  His sharp eyes softened. “What does it mean?"

  "It means I'm trusting you with me—my heart, my body. I hope you don't make me regret it. The consequences will be unfathomable."

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “Threats already, mate?"

  Voltaire leant forward and put a hand on his chest, right over where his heart beat triple time. “I don't threaten. That's juvenile.” She leaned in, brushed her lips along his jaw line. “I make promises and I keep them."

  Blake inhaled a shuddering breath. “Why now? Hmm, what made you come to me now?"

  Voltaire sank her teeth into her bottom lip and closed her eyes. Man, this was harder than she'd thought it would be.

  "I saw your problems with the felines but, more than that, I felt your desperation for your mate.” She cleared her suddenly clogged throat. “I felt the same way—restless, needy, on the verge of combusting with no one but my mate to ease me."

  "And now?"

  "And now I'd kill anyone who looked at you sideways."

  He burst out laughing. Voltaire felt the eyes of other patrons in the diner as they turned and stared. Probably hadn't heard their Alpha laugh in a long while. She smiled at the gorgeous man
opposite her, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

  I love the sound of you laughing, Blake.

  A way-too-familiar coldness rushed over her body and she froze.

  Blake's laughter quickly dissolved. “Voltaire?” He squeezed her stiff fingers. “What's wrong?"

  Her bottom lip quivered. “Death has touched you yet again."

  * * * *

  Blake stared at a trembling Voltaire and frowned. One minute she'd been smiling at him and the next her eyes were wide and unfocussed, her features gaunt, trembling lips thin.

  "What do you mean?” he asked.

  She blinked. “Someone close to you has been killed, Blake. We need to leave.” She slid out of the booth and got to her feet, while he couldn't move to save his life.

  "What are you talking about? How do you know?” He tried to keep his voice steady, despite the doubts and new fears assailing him.

  Voltaire's lips twisted. “You forget, mate. I can read your mind—I know your doubts and your fears—but right now they'll have to wait. We have to leave.” Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she made her way towards the entrance.

  Hungry eyes followed her every move and that brought him to his feet. Looking daggers at the men undressing Voltaire with their eyes, he threw some bills on the table and caught up with her as she slid out of the door.

  She ignored him, heading straight for the Ducati.

  "Voltaire, talk to me.” He cupped her right elbow to slow her down. “What do you...see?” How did her mojo work anyway?

  "Feel,” she corrected him. “I'm the Death Bringer. I feel death has come for someone close to you."

  "But how does it work?” They reached the motorcycle and he stood waiting for her reply.

  A low sound escaped from her, a cross between a laugh and a moan. “Death and I are on a first name basis, Blake. He announces his arrival to me.” She dragged her hand through her hair. “It's like a blanket of ice is wrapped around me. Tight. Freezing the breath in my lungs and the blood in my veins. It's a cold that echoes to the bone and never leaves."

  Blake's heart cracked at the pain shadowing her words. He hauled her into his arms, squeezing her to him. She sighed and hugged him back.

  "I'm here,” he whispered in her ear, “with all the heat you'll ever need. Take whatever you want."

  She kissed his neck, heating his blood. “I'll definitely take you up on the offer, but right now we have to go.” Releasing him, she swung a naked leg over the bike and patted the seat behind her. “I'm driving."

  * * * *

  They pulled up to the bar and were met with darkness and silence. Blake hopped off the Ducati and raced to the shattered door propped in place. A quick push and the slab of plywood crashed to the floor. Flicking on the light switch, he felt it before the body in the middle of the room came into focus.

  Marcus was naked and pale, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, the life in them long extinguished.

  Blake dropped to his knees, a ragged cry on his lips. “Marcus!"

  He pressed a finger to the hollow in his friend's throat. No pulse but the skin still held warmth. His friend was gone.

  Tears ran down Blake's cheeks.

  No foreign smells were present and, at a glance, Marcus's body looked untouched. A trickle of red coloured the corner of his mouth but nothing looked out of the ordinary.

  Voltaire's red heels came into view as she stood over him. Blake glanced up. Her hands were on her hips and a frown wrinkled her brow as she stared at Marcus.

  "What?” He struggled to his feet. “Are you getting some vibe or something?"

  "Or...something."

  She whirled away, pulling a cell phone from her coat pocket. He watched as she tapped the phone to her chin, then turned back to him.

  "All right. If this thing between us is going to work, I need to not keep secrets. Right?"

  He snorted. “That would be the best way, yes.” What was going on behind those multi-coloured eyes?

  She licked her lips. “The PSC has a team of the most highly trained assassins on call. I know, because up until last week I was the leader of that team."

  "You quit the PSC?” Could she do that?

  "I didn't quit—or at least I didn't think I was quitting. The plan was to come here, mate with you and...” she shrugged. “Dunno. Get back to life as usual."

  "What are you telling me?"

  "I'm telling you they knew before I did that I wouldn't be coming back. They've sent someone after me."

  Blake looked from her to Marcus and back. “You're not making sense. Why would they send someone after you? You're the best. The deadliest."

  "Thanks, babe. But I also know where all the bodies are buried. Literally.” A deadly grin split her face. “No one leaves the PSC, y'know. There's no retirement plan except death. And I administer that."

  "Do you know who they've sent? Can we take him?” They would, because no one was taking his mate from him.

  She cupped his jaw. “No. I don't know their identity. Yet.” She held up a finger. “I will, though. In the meantime, let's take care of Marcus."

  Blake nodded. “Okay, let me get something to cover him with.” He headed to the stairs but footsteps at the door made him turn back.

  Voltaire had her guns out and pointed at the three men and two women crowding the doorway. Five pairs of eyes stared him down accusingly. Blake heaved a sigh. Walking over to Voltaire he put a hand on her arm.

  "Put it down, Voltaire."

  "The hell I will.” She shook him off, attention focused on their company. “I'm not liking the way they're looking at you."

  'They're the Elders,” he whispered.

  She shrugged. “I know who the fuck they are."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Seven

  * * * *

  "Holster your weapon, Death Bringer.” A middle-aged woman with shoulder-length grey hair and an unlined face stepped out of the doorway. She wore a simple, long-sleeved white blouse and a matching skirt that brushed the floor.

  Voltaire didn't let her surprise at the woman's knowledge of her identity show. She scowled and tightened the hold on her guns. “You guys chose a very bad time to visit."

  "Murder is always a bad time.” This from one of the men. A rather elderly fellow with hollow cheeks and a full, grey beard.

  Blake stepped forward. “Murder, yes, but not by us."

  Voltaire smirked. “They know that, they simply like fucking with you."

  The woman who had spoken before raised an eyebrow. “What we know, Death Bringer, is that wherever you go, people die."

  "Yet here you are.” Voltaire laughed. “Is there a casket sale somewhere I don't know about?"

  "Stop,” Blake said softly. “We have to take care of Marcus, find out what happened. Everything else can come later. Much later."

  Voltaire clicked the safety back on her guns and blew imaginary smoke from the muzzles. “Later for y'all.” Turning to Blake, she said, “I'll get a sheet."

  He nodded and she headed upstairs.

  The stodgy old coots downstairs were already forgotten. Most important on the agenda was the knowledge that the PSC had sent a hit squad for her. Remi had signed off on a hit squad. Why she felt betrayed, Voltaire couldn't readily say. These were killers, after all—their only allegiance was to the PSC. But she still had a hard time accepting the fact that people she'd trained, worked side by side with, were now on her kill list. And wasn't that just the shittiest place to be?

  She pulled the sheet off the very first bed she saw and made her way back downstairs. A small crowd had gathered, most of them familiar faces from earlier in the evening. Blake draped the sheet over Marcus's body and moved to the back of the room, where he motioned for her to join him.

  Voltaire felt the hostile gazes trained on her and groaned. Her best hope had been for them to work together but that seemed highly unlikely now.

  I'm getting the feeling your pack doesn't like me very much, Blake. S
tepping up to his side, she slid her hand into his and turned her attention to the five Elders now sitting down. Blake's sadness and confusion radiated off him in waves—he couldn't reconcile himself to the idea that his mate might be responsible in any way for his best friend's death.

  Voltaire bit the inside of her cheek. Yet another strike against her. How many more before Blake decided she wasn't worth it? Hard to believe they'd only met tonight—to her, they'd been going at it way longer.

  "This can't continue, Montez,” a pale gentleman with thinning hair said to Blake. “First there's your own volatile behaviour these past years, then the business with the felines, and now you're telling us you've mated with the Death Bringer—who's brought death to our pack on her first outing."

  Blake's jaw flexed. “My mate is not responsible for this, but together we will find who is. I'd thank you all to show her some respect. She's mine and that won't be changing."

  Voltaire blinked. His claiming of her, here and now, felt more real and permanent than his bite. She squeezed his fingers.

  Thank you. I needed it.

  He brushed his thumb over her knuckles and shifted closer to her as he addressed the Elders. “As far as the felines are concerned, they were your problem long before they became mine and you didn't do anything about it. Now you expect me to snap my fingers and make it all go away?"

  "You wanted to be Alpha,” Thinning Hair responded. “As such, you take on an Alpha's responsibility."

  "Yeah.” Blake grunted. “Responsibilities you never told me about."

  Another man—mid-thirties with dark hair—spoke up. “The felines’ claims are not the issue at hand. We want to know what happened to Mr van Treble there"—he jerked his chin towards the dead body on the floor—"and what you plan to do to catch his killer."

  Voltaire squeezed Blake's fingers. Tell him we're on it

  She didn't want any more people getting hurt unnecessarily, and they would. The PSC thought nothing of collateral damage. Blake couldn't handle another member of his pack dying.

  Clearing his throat, Blake glanced over at her, then told the Elders, “Voltaire and I are already on it. We will find out who did this.” He turned and looked at the crowd gathered at the bar. “Leave it to us.” The steel in his voice brooked no argument. “We cannot afford another loss like this. Please, no rash actions."