Blood Drenched Conquest (Ryze Book 3)

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  Which sparkle?

  The one coming off a specific female’s dress.

  My nervous system barrels through my body, taking the reins faster than I can assimilate what’s happening. Spinning around, I stare at the massive space outside the Gnetica, at the crush of immortals . . .

  There she is.

  Cheek’s flushed, eyes even glossier than before, beautiful, white teeth bared in a smile.

  On another male’s arm.

  Walking the periphery of the space, head thrown back in laugher, eyes focused anywhere but on that male.

  Still.

  Her arm’s looped through his.

  And she’s laughing at whatever BS he’s feeding her.

  It takes me several seconds to realize there’s a vibrating, rumbling sound echoing inside this Gnetica.

  “Wonder if Xreak added anything in the fine print to explain to those Sesengts that their immortality would one day be eradicated by a psychotic, unhinged, starving-for-sex, Hyren male—”

  I leave my eternal pain-in-the-ass of a friend to continue his asinine rambling on his own.

  As I approach, I catalogue the details that make up the male’s physique. He’s shorter than me by two inches, but no less wide. That baring’s familiar. Only a specific type of male carries himself that way, and no. It has jack-shit to do with his being a guardian.

  Light blue eyes. Short, pale blond hair cut into one of those bitchy-ass faux-hawks that recently came back into style.

  But this motherfucker isn’t rocking it due to its popularity. Males like him were rocking the style millenia before it entered the modern human’s consciousness.

  Just as my suspicions solidify, I get close enough to hear Soleria let out a giggle. “I can’t believe you were a Viking once! And you’re serious? This was actually a popular hairstyle back in the days?” And she raises her arm to sift her fingers through his hair.

  I slam to a halt and hear a shocked, worried groan from behind me.

  It’s Cyake. He followed me. I can sense him.

  Fuck him.

  I materialize next to Soleria, spine blowing the fuck up with fire, fury, brimstone, and pure fucking poison. As gentle as I can be, I wrap an arm around her waist, coming into contact with soft, warm skin thanks to all the flesh the upper body of that dress leaves bare.

  Soleria jumps about a mile in the air, choking on her gasp.

  When she spins in my arms and realizes it’s me, the way she melts into my hold isn’t lost on me.

  Nor is the way her eyes widen at the sight of me in this white button-down and my Barney’s New York black dress pants.

  Not that it does anything to ease the sheer ugliness I’m aiming at the viking/Sesengt before me.

  “Hunt.” Brows raised, he stares between me and Soleria.

  Who’s still busy reacquainting herself with the sight of me all dressed up.

  That combined with the viking’s next comment brings a malicious smirk out of me. “Didn’t realize that’s your territory.”

  Soleria tenses in my arms, picking up on the meaning behind that comment.

  “You will never wear anything like this unless I’m around,” a powerful, pissed-off, double-toned male voice echoes into the party. “Got it, Evesse?”

  As one, everyone in the general vicinity jumps into evacuation stance, recognizing the scent of that male.

  Come on. Like all that possessiveness aimed at that one specific female isn’t also a dead giveaway. They were all warned which one belongs to Zeniel—AKA newly-awakened-and-dying-to-gut-you-and-your-dirty-ancestors Mavrak.

  Who’s out in the hallway with his mate, if I’m not mistaken.

  “What the fuck did you just say to me?” Evesse fires back.

  Then, as if being forced to eavesdrop on one inappropriate exchange isn’t enough . . .

  The sex sounds start up.

  That very specific set of moans, groans, whimpers, and growls that we’ve all become nauseatingly acquainted with the last month.

  Dyletri’s fucking his R’ma in the rooftop garden.

  Again.

  Soleria shoves her face into my shoulder, groaning. “Not again.”

  On instinct, I curl my arm tighter around her, loving all that softness and heat up against me.

  Cyake arches that shit-eating eyebrow of his.

  Right as Zen decides to lay down yet another unwelcome, mated-male edict. “Unless I’m around to show them who you belong to, you will not dress like this in public. You’re mine.”

  That tone is enough to give us a good idea where the male’s mind’s at, but the feminine, hungry sound that follows cinches it.

  “Uhn!”

  Cy waves his arms around and lets out a high whistle as he wills a Gnetica around the entire place, closing us in. “Contribute, fuckers! Strengthen the shield and get back to partying. You weren’t invited for a free sex show, regardless of what those two males are willing to give you!” As everyone laughs and turns back to whatever they’d been doing before, he faces me and Soleria, already pointing at us.

  “Later,” I tell him, cupping Soleria’s chin. “You. You’re done. You’ve had enough for one night.”

  As expected, those pretty eyes flash with pure malice at being told what to do. “Excuse me? I was busy talking to Erasan. Who do you—”

  “Shush, baby. You’re coming with me.” Wrapping my other arm around her, I throw one last, “friendly” warning look at Erasan, and will us back to her home on Earth.

  She’s had enough fun for one night.

  Chapter 15

  Three Days Later

  - Enzyria

  IANTHEN

  I t’s been three days since that conversation with Cyake.

  Three days since I looked him in the eye and attempted to desperately convince him that I was gods damned sure of myself.

  And I was.

  Kind of.

  Okay, for the most part. Trusting Nylicia is almost impossible and the shit going on between Sol and I is too odd to ignore.

  Then, Nylicia showed up yesterday with a little gift for Ismini.

  The throwing-that-energy-orb-at-her thing? Straight bullshit.

  Yet as fucked up as Cyake told me it was—what with the Watcher simply marching in here and flinging the powers at Ismini without so much as a by your leave—at least that one took place face-to-face.

  Nothing hidden or sneaky about that.

  But then Nylicia approached Evesse and put her back under, while joyfully announcing that her own powers were taking too long to set into her physical form.

  In other words: Nylicia shoved something into Evesse, something we all sense is familiar, and she did so without asking the ex-human permission.

  Did it while none of us were looking.

  Did it without informing any of us it was going to take place. ‘Cause, hey, not letting us know our new friends will be absorbing the powers of our fallen allies isn’t a big deal, right?

  Therefore . . . yeah, fuck this. I’ve been trying to hunt down that lying, scheming female to confront her again, and also . . . well, I can’t help the thoughts going through my mind. The ones that keep pointing out how everything had seemed lost for Ismini and Dyletri, and suddenly it wasn’t.

  As for Zen? We still have no fucking clue where that situation is heading, but Vedlyl had an interesting story to tell us yesterday. Apparently, he accidentally stumbled upon Eve and Zen the night of the Ziaphrite. Only problem? It wasn’t Zen controlling that body. It was Mavrak.

  The God of Vengeance almost attacked Ved.

  That is, until Evesse commanded him not to and he actually listened.

  For once, the war demon God of Vengeance was controlled by a power outside himself.

  And it worked.

  Ergo, although it’s foolish to hope so soon, we can’t help but agree that this might mean a solution to Zen’s problem is in sight. Meaning: Cyake’s second prophecy won’t end up in tragedy like his first—Zexistr—did.


  I’m sure you get where I’m going with this. If Zeniel doesn’t end in tragedy, maybe that means I won’t really as well.

  Which would make Soleria being my mate a-o-fucking-kay, wouldn’t it now?

  More than okay. It would be fucking perfect. I run my hand through my hair out of habit—and as I have the last six hours since cutting it, I’m surprised to find it all missing. Only the longer two-inch strands up in front greet my seeking fingers.

  After wearing my hair in the same style for an entire century, this is going to take some serious getting used to.

  My sister gave me the haircut and she seemed to know exactly what I wanted before I even asked.

  Actually, she saw it for herself. Turns out, she was watching that entire exchange between Sol, Erasan, and I the night of the Ziaphrite. All I had to do was ask her for a faux-hawk, and she knew exactly what to do.

  I drop my hand and take the corner leading towards Cyake’s room. Letting myself analyze my choice in hairstyle change is yet more proof of where my head’s at.

  Where my head’s been at for weeks now, although I didn’t want to go there and admit it to anyone.

  The idea of Soleria being mine? Fuck, I want it. I want it more than I want anything else in my immortal life.

  I’m just not sure I really want to die, yet. And forget about me. Unless Zex, Cy, or Keiros do the honors, my powers will ping-pong out of my body and slam straight back into the universe.

  The consequences? A fucktastic ripple-effect of shit that’ll bubble out of the Source and rip apart the balance of the universe, one galaxy at a time.

  Zex may be able to rebalance it, or he might not.

  Always with the fucking maybes as of late. Frankly, I’m getting sick and fucking tired of them.

  I stop outside Cyake’s door, preparing to just phase my way in—

  “Are you serious? Oh my God, that’s so fucked up!”

  I freeze at the sound of Soleria’s voice.

  She’s in there.

  She’s in Cyake’s room.

  “I would’ve never guessed. You know? That you have to carry that weight around with you. You’re just so happy-go-lucky most of the time.”

  What weight?

  Hold on a second. Is he . . . is he telling her about his “curse”, as he calls it? About the mammoth burden he’s constantly running from?

  “Yeah,” my best friend says. “That’s the whole reason I was interrogating you on the Karma thing and all that.”

  He’s telling her about Karma, too?

  “Jesus. And now with the whole being followed around thing . . .”

  What is Soleria talking about? Who’s following him?

  “Oh my God, I’m sorry, but you need a hug. Come here.”

  WHAT?

  I slam my hand against the door, sending it flying right off the hinges . . .

  And find exactly what I’m expecting to find.

  Cyake, chilling on his favorite leather chair—the one he transports everywhere with him—his upper body pulled forward.

  By what?

  Oh nothing. Just Soleria’s arms.

  The same arms wrapped boa-constrictor style around his head.

  They’re both frozen, eyes bouncing between me and the pieces of the door floating back towards the frame.

  I’ll give the male credit. She clearly caught him off guard with this whole hugging-routine, but he did manage to turn his face to the side before being suffocated by her tits.

  Only problem with that?

  His fucking cheek is still up against her motherfucking tits.

  My entire world implodes into a series of wretched howls within me. Irrational. Beyond powerful.

  And un-fucking-stoppable.

  Separate them.

  Stop him.

  End him for approaching what’s ours.

  Soleria exhales slowly, lips parting. “Your—your hair . . . you cut your . . .”

  Whatever else she says is lost behind the very irrefutable fact that she still hasn’t let the idjit go.

  Heat . . . up and down my spine, pounding in my heart . . . my teeth start grinding and I can feel the aggression boiling up, the need for flesh between my locked canines . . .

  The way Cyake’s eyes widen tells me everything I need to know.

  My own eyes are morphing.

  He starts gently extracting himself from her hold, one of his fingers wagging in my direction.

  As if that silent, frantic denial is going to change what’s happening in my gut.

  I’m seconds away from the change. My inner wolf’s most driving goal? Get at my best friend for being so close to that female.

  The door already reformed on the hinges. Somehow, I have enough semblance of mind to close it behind me gently.

  Then it’s all about the mad rush down the large hallway as my vision begins to collapse into nothing but an energy grid. Within the flashes of darkness in my mind, the world around me is peeled away, leaving only the ghostly-outline of the compound’s infrastructure and the energy signatures of every being in the dimension.

  The Hyren struggling to take over only cares about a single one.

  Go back!

  FIGHT HIM.

  Against my will, my head snaps back in the direction of that gold-and-black energy vortex that signals Cy’s presence. His scent is all the wolf cares about. Heading back in his direction. Finishing what he unwittingly started by letting the female so close to him.

  Holy fuck. Holy fuck. It’s happening. It’s truly freaking happening. The urge to destroy any male that goes near what’s mine is taking over—

  A figure stumbles in front of me, crossing my path.

  My head shoots around, eyes tracking that catastrophic energy.

  Aqua. Hazel. Yellow.

  Interspersed with red-and-black.

  The miniscule amount of logic left in me screams out the identity of that being. The three, preceding colors are a unique combination, one that only a certain god has.

  Medicine.

  Healer.

  The disjointed words bang around my brain, at the same time my inner wolf shoots back, Red. Black.

  WAR.

  “What the fuck?” Vedlyl’s voice echoes into my mind as if from afar. “Great. Another one of you. I swear all the males around here are losing their minds lately.”

  My lips peel back from my canines and I hear myself growl back, “Your aura’s all fucked up again . . . and it’s making me want to bash your face in.”

  “The lack of sex is what’s got you like that. Jesus. I can smell it all over you.” Suddenly, a hand lands on my forehead, and all it takes is a single shock from him for my full vision to return with a snap.

  The urges leak out of me just as fast and the abrupt relief leaves me stumbling in place.

  Vedlyl grabs my arm and shoves his mug in my line of sight, those pupils flashing between blue and yellow. “Ianthen, how long?”

  I shake my head a little, still trying to regain my bearings.

  He rag-dolls me one more time, yanking me in closer. “Ianthen. How fucking long?”

  “How long what?” I bark, squinting at my surroundings.

  “You’re literally starting to destabilize. How long have you gone without sex?”

  Destabilize.

  Dragging my stare back to him, I find those pupils still doing their flashing-lights dance, reading my body’s functions at their deepest levels. “Just destabilize? No . . . bonding symptoms?”

  He rears back. “What are you talking about? What bonding symptoms?”

  He’s not seeing any. “How about any R’mannev symptoms?” I rush to ask, switching places with him, latching onto his biceps. He can probably see how frenzied I am, but fuck it.

  “No . . .” Vedlyl reaches up to remove my hands, staring at me cautiously. “Wait a moment. Are you saying you thought you were mating to . . .”

  He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t have to. No need to say her name aloud.

  But f
ucking hell, no symptoms? None at all? “So it’s all about the sex,” I mumble, feeling oddly dejected and empty inside.

  “Yeah, and I’m guessing based on your age and the progression of your symptoms, that you’re going on twenty-seven days, fourteen-hours, and thirty-three minutes without sex.”

  I’ve known him my entire life, but for the millionth time I have to ask myself: just how the fuck does he do that?

  “Ianthen, you need to take care of that.”

  Holding up a hand, I put some space between us, my heart still racing. “And your aura is bleeding red-and-black. I’m not the only one with a little problem to handle.”

  “I would’ve handled it, if I could actually head out into the human world. There’s no one to watch Eve, Ismini’s still fluctuating, Soleria’s insisting I look into her DNA—”

  “Say no more.” Dropping my hand, I crack my neck and take a deep breath. “Ismini has Dy, and Soleria can wait. You are a bigger time-bomb than I’ll ever be. I’ll watch Eve for a few. You need to go take care of your problem.” And I need a fucking distraction. Anything to stop me from thinking about this confusing-as-hell problem.

  Lack of sex.

  Okay, that explains me almost killing Cyake just now—I think—but what the hell does that have to do with how I feel towards that mortal female?

  Sonofabitch. Am I falling for her without bonding to her?

  “You sure?” Vedlyl asks me, those pupils still scanning me, as if he’s trying to confirm what he just told me.

  “Is Eve in her room or the medical wing?” I ask him, pushing the urge to question him further to the back of my head.

  Nylicia confirmed Sol isn’t the one.

  Vedlyl just confirmed it, as well.

  So, I’m nowhere near dying. Just close to going rabid from lack of sex. Something I’ll have to deal with, stat, before I finish “destabilizing.”

  The problem is . . . I’m so stuck on Sol, I can’t even put myself in the right mindframe to fuck another female. For some reason I can’t even begin to make sense of, the thought leaves me feeling ill.

  Legitimately ill.

  Yet I’m not bonding to her.

  The confusion is almost enough to finish triggering my inner wolf’s madness.

  “Yeah. Thanks by the way,” Ved finally answers.