She shivered again, and this time it wasn’t from the cold.
Keeping her gaze, he tore out the IV.
Blood dribbled from his vein. She swallowed and fought the need to step back. “All right. Too far, Simons,” she snapped. “Waaaay too far.”
Barclay edged toward the door. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
Faith shook her head. “Occam’s razor, Dr. Barclay.” Either the laws of physics had just changed or this was a joke. The simplest explanation was that Simons had just won the jokester title for all time. “Enough of this, though. Who are you?” she asked the actor.
He slowly turned his head to study Dr. Barclay before focusing back on her. “When did the shield fall?”
The shield? He seemed so serious. Eerily so. Would Simons hire a crazy guy? No. Faith tapped her foot and heat rose to her face, her temper stirring. “Listen. This has been fantastic, but it’s getting old. I’m done.”
The guy grabbed her arm, his grip unbreakable this time. “Did both shields fail?”
Okay. Her heart started to beat faster. Awareness pricked along her skin. “Let go of me.”
“No.” The guy pushed from the bed and shrugged out of his gown, keeping hold of her. “What the fuck?” He looked at the Foley catheter inserted into his penis and then down to the long white anti-embolism stockings that were supposed to prevent blood clots.
Faith’s breath caught. Holy shit. The catheter and TED hose were genuine. And his penis was huge. She looked up at his face. The TED hose might add a realistic detail to a joke, but no way would any responsible medical personnel insert a catheter for a gag. Simons wouldn’t have done that. “What’s happening?” Faith tried to yank her arm free, but he held her tight.
Dr. Barclay looked from her to the mostly naked male. “Who are you?” he whispered.
“My name is Ronan,” the guy said, reaching for the catheter, which was attached to a urine-collection bag at the end of the bed. “What fresh torture is this?”
“Um,” Faith started.
His nostrils flared. “Why would you collect my piss?”
Huh? “We’re not,” she protested. “You were in a coma. That’s just a catheter.”
He gripped the end of the tube, his gaze fierce.
“No—” Faith protested just as he pulled it out, grunting and then snarling in what had to be intense pain.
God. Was he on PCP or something? She frantically looked toward Barclay and mouthed the words security and Get the nurse out of here.
Barclay nodded and turned, running into the hallway.
“Where are we?” Ronan asked, drawing her toward him.
She put out a hand to protest, smashing her palm into his ripped abdomen. “Please. Let me go.” She really didn’t want to kick him in his already reddening penis. “You could’ve just damaged your urethra badly.”
He started dragging her toward the door, his strength beyond superior. A sprawling tattoo covered his entire back. It looked like…a dark image of his ribs with lighter spaces between? Man, he was huge. “We must go.”
Oh, there was no we. Whatever was happening right now wasn’t good, and she had to get some space to figure this out. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, fighting his hold.
He snorted.
She drew in air and kicked him in the back of the leg, twisting her arm to gain freedom.
Faster than she could imagine, he pivoted, moving right into her. Heat and muscle and strength. He more than towered over her, fierce even though he was naked. She yelped and backpedaled, striking up for his nose.
He blocked her punch with his free hand and growled again, fangs sliding down from his incisors.
She stopped moving and her brain fuzzed. Fangs? Okay. This wasn’t a joke. Somebody was seriously messing with her, and maybe they wanted her hurt. She couldn’t explain the eyes and the fangs, so this had to be bad. This guy was obviously capable of inflicting some real damage. His eyes morphed again to the electric blue, and somehow he broadened even more, looking more animalistic than human.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice shaking as her mind tried to make sense of what her eyes were seeing. “Who are you? Why were you unconscious in a coma? How did you know my name?”
He breathed out, his broad chest moving with the effort. The fangs slowly slid back up, and his eyes returned to the sizzling aqua. “My name is Ronan Kayrs, and I was unconscious because the shield fell.” He eyed her, tugging her even closer. “I know your name because I spent four hundred years seeing your face and feeling your soft touch in my dreams.”
“My—my face?” she stuttered.
His jaw hardened even more. “And that was before I’d accepted my death.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ronan kept a tight grip on the woman while moving out of the room into another area: A corridor of sorts with no windows. Why were there no windows? Was he underground? Only dim yellow candles glowed from the ceiling. “Where are we?” he asked, choosing a direction at random and moving.
She pulled back, digging in her heels.
He paused, not wanting to harm her. “Stop fighting me.” They had to get away from this place with smells that burned his nostrils. What was that stench? Why had his cock, head, and arm been hooked up to those objects? “We must go.” To have her in his hands after he’d given up the dream of her was too much. He needed to acquire safety and regroup. To find his people. Perhaps she could help him do so. “You’re one of the Enhanced. Take me to your king.”
She jerked her arm, nearly freeing herself. “King? Are you nuts?”
He blinked, looking down at her. She was smaller than she’d seemed in his dreams when she had whispered her name to him. Long black hair, olive-colored skin, stunning amber-colored eyes. Brown with a glow much brighter than in his dreams. She wore dark boots, blueish pants, a pink shirt with a white overcoat. “Nuts? No.” Perhaps her king was dead. “Your father, then. Let’s seek him.”
Her chin lowered while her dark eyebrows rose. “Seek? All right, crazy man. Release me, now.”
Why wasn’t she cooperating? He stood to his full height. “I am Ronan Kayrs of the Kayrs ruling family. Obey me, woman.”
She snorted.
He gaped. What had happened to the world he’d protected? A chill swept down his back, and he looked around. The floor was comprised of odd tiles, and boxes with blinking colors covered a raised table-like area. His heart thumped. “When am I?”
She kept her gaze on his face. “Excuse me?”
“Year, woman. Give me the year.” He’d learned the hard way that time was fluid and felt different in other places. Other realms. “Or just a century. Give me that.”
“Twenty-first century,” she said, her voice softening along with her eyes. “Please let me get you some help. You’re hurt.”
He looked down at his mostly naked body. The holes in his head, arm, and inside his cock had already healed, but his knees still trembled. He wasn’t at half-strength yet. And the long white material on his legs appeared ridiculous. “Are these the fashion of the day?”
She patted his arm, leaning toward him. “No. Those are to prevent blood clots, since you were lying in a bed.”
Blood clots? “My blood doesn’t clot.” He bent, shoved the offending garments off with his free hand, and kicked them aside. He looked around. “I require clothing.”
The tall man from earlier ran around a corner with two other men, these wearing brown garb with what appeared to be weapons at their belts. As soon as they came into sight, the first man drew back and let the other two with weapons slowly approach him.
“Don’t hurt him,” Faith said, holding out her hand to partially ward them off. “He’s sustained extensive head trauma.”
Truth be told, his head did hurt like a motherfucker. “Leave us,” he ordered,
not surprised when they continued advancing. “What the hell has happened to the world?” he muttered.
“Amen, buddy,” Faith said, her body tensing. “Release me, and let’s figure this out.”
He looked around, his gaze catching on a drawing of himself lying on the table. “Did you draw that?”
She frowned and followed his gaze. “That’s a picture of you. They probably put it on the news to see if you have any family or friends.”
“The news?” His mind worked rapidly to catch up despite the headache. “That drawing was taken away and shown to others? Publicly?” How big was the world now? “When?”
“I don’t know when,” she said, pulling against his hold once more.
Pain flashed through his palm, burning up his arm and right into his heart.
She gasped and tried to jump back.
“Sorry,” he said, wincing. It wasn’t much of a surprise, though. “Did I burn you?”
Her eyes wide, she slowly nodded, her scent of wildflowers filling his head. “How did you…ah, do that?” Her hand was still up toward the advancing soldiers as if she was trying to keep control of the situation.
“It’s the marking,” he explained, facing her but tracking the men out of the corner of his eye. “The mating marking.” How could she not be aware of the phenomenon?
“Huh?” she asked, her body tensing again.
What was happening? The two soldiers were getting closer, so he released her and held up his palm to show them the design. “Here. I am Ronan Kayrs. This is my marking, and this is my mate. I don’t know to whom you align, but please take your leave.”
The duo stopped.
Faith slowly backed toward the tall table. “Head injury,” she said to the soldiers as if by way of explanation. “We need to get him to a room in the north wing.” Then she studied his hand. “Nice tattoo.”
Tattoo? “No. Marking.” He looked at the jagged edges of his family marking with the K surrounded by fierce lines. “It appears when we find our mate. Surely you’ve dreamed of me.”
“Right.” She edged farther down the counter, her voice a little too high. “We’re going to get you some help. I promise.”
He turned his attention to the soldiers, seeking their vibrations. “You’re human,” he said, glancing instantly to his woman. “Why are human soldiers guarding you?” None of this was making sense, and it was time to go. “Faith?”
“Listen, buddy,” the taller of the two men said, his gaze remaining on Ronan’s face. “My name is Joe. I’m security, and I’ve been hit in the skull before. I know how you’re feeling. How about we take you to the north wing so you can meet with a nice head doctor there and get some clothes?”
Ronan tilted his head to the side to study Joe. The man appeared to be about thirty years old with blond hair and earnest blue eyes. He looked fit and his hand rested lightly on a square-shaped contraption. “I do not wish to harm you, Joe.” Even though Ronan was weak from the fall, he could overpower a couple of humans. Ronan checked out the other man. This guy was at least fifty, with a neatly trimmed gray beard and bushy hair. “Nor you, elder.”
“Elder?” the guy asked, looking toward his friend. “All right.” He drew a barrel-shaped weapon from his belt and pointed it at Ronan. “Enough talk.”
“Agreed,” Ronan said. Apparently, the soldiers weren’t going to listen. He hated fighting naked. Nor would he attack two humans without further provocation.
“Joe?” the elder said.
“No—” Faith protested, just as Joe pushed something on the box.
Two wires sprang out, landing on Ronan’s chest. Lightning shot through him, zipping painfully. He gasped, looking down at the twin metal squares. His innards protested, but he couldn’t help but smile. Delight mixed with the pain. “You’ve learned to harness lightning.” He yanked the offending wires out of his body and tossed them back at Joe. “Very impressive.” He nodded at Faith. “Lightning. I never would’ve thought it.”
Her chin dropped. “How are you still standing?”
Oh. “The weapon is probably meant for humans, sweetheart.” His heart rate was slightly elevated, but it still clutched as a horrible thought hit him. “Tell me my people still exist.” Of course they did. What a ridiculous fear. Vampires and demons couldn’t be banished, even though he’d felt two of his brothers die. He just didn’t know which two. Yet.
“Ah,” she said, looking toward the soldiers. “Was that thing charged?”
“Yes,” the elder said, moving to the left and pointing the other weapon at Ronan. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.”
Ronan sighed. “I do not particularly wish to be shot.” The lightning had hurt and no doubt this was a bigger weapon. If they kept attacking him, he would never regain his strength. “What does that release?” Might it be fire? That could harm a vampire-demon hybrid.
“What’s he on?” Joe asked Faith, looking down at his box.
“Undetermined,” Faith said, squinting to study Ronan. “The tox report came back clear, but obviously…”
The air changed. The hair rose on the back of Ronan’s neck. He inhaled, searching for a scent. “Faith. We must go.” The drawings of him had called attention to his location. “Now.” He moved toward her.
The elder fired.
Something exploded and pain ripped into Ronan’s shoulder. Instinct took over, and he leaped across the space, grabbing the elder by the neck and throwing him into the wall. Before Joe could move, Ronan punched him squarely in the jaw, tossing him back several yards to land on the floor, where his head hit with a loud thump. The elder dropped to the ground, also unconscious.
Ronan rushed and grabbed the weapon from Joe before reaching for Faith. “I did not want to hurt them.” But at least they’d live.
She cringed away, her gaze on the blood pouring from his shoulder. “You’ve been shot. Please let me take you to the surgical wing.” Her fear was palpable, and the animal he kept bound deep inside began to stir in protest.
He looked down at the hole in his flesh. A metal of some type was embedded inside him, and he mentally shoved it out—but nothing happened. He was too weak. He tried to send healing cells to his wound, but it didn’t close. Damn it. He required sustenance to rebuild himself.
Faith tried to back away.
“We have to leave,” Ronan said, grasping her arm again. “Where is the exit to this place?” He looked around, seeing large doors at the opposite end of the hall. Perfect. The guards had arrived from the other direction. “Please don’t fight me.” His temper was finally starting to boil, and he needed time and space to figure out this new world. So, he started moving.
Faith hit him in the other arm and struggled, but he didn’t stop this time. He’d have to explain everything to her once they were out of danger. It was coming closer and his breath quickened.
Those doors opened.
“What the hell?” Faith breathed, focusing on the enemy.
Ronan’s chest settled. The metal object fell out of his shoulder, and his wound began to heal. He’d been too slow to get her to safety. “Apparently, your picture of me reached faraway villages.”
“What in the world is he supposed to be?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“He is one of the Cyst,” Ronan said, grateful she hadn’t encountered them before. So, it wasn’t known she was his mate. Good. Stretching his hands, he allowed weak power to clash through him. “Have you ever teleported?”
“Jesus,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re freaking crazy.”
He drew on the elements of time and dimension, trying to make the jump.
Nothing.
“My powers haven’t returned yet.” Not a surprise, since he’d apparently been unconscious for quite some time. Well, he would have to fight, full power or not. It had been too long. “Stand out of the way, wom
an.” He released her.
“Gladly.” She turned in the other direction just as another Cyst soldier emerged through the doorway, standing guard on the other side of the downed human soldiers. “What the fuck?”
His woman had a mouth on her. Had she been shown no discipline in her life? That was about to change.
The first soldier moved forward, studying him. Apparently they had updated their uniforms through the years, from long black robes to black pants and shirts with matching boots. Their skin was a pasty white, their teeth yellow, and their eyes a blood purple. Only one strip of white hair ran down the middle of their heads, braided down their backs. Most Kurjans had red hair with black tips or black hair with red tips, but the Cyst, the special ones—they had white hair. Freaks.
Ronan growled.
The soldier moved closer, withdrawing a sword. “It is you. The Butcher.”
Finally. A weapon Ronan recognized. Since they’d only sent two soldiers, it just must be a scouting party. Good. His hands itched with the need to do violence, although his body wanted to shut down. “I’d hoped the Kurjans had died out,” he said, tensing his back leg.
“You tried.” The Kurjan hissed and charged, swinging the sword in an arc. Ronan pivoted away from Faith and ducked. Then he turned quickly and kicked the Kurjan in the chest. The soldier fell back and then rushed forward again, his movements graceful but not nearly fast enough. He sliced down and Ronan dodged, striking the Kurjan’s neck with the blade of his hand.
Bones shattered.
The Kurjan shrieked and fell back.
Ronan kicked him in the gut, spun, and claimed the sword. This male was barely trained. So, they hadn’t trusted that picture and hadn’t believed it was him. Or they would’ve sent a force. Thank the gods they hadn’t. The Kurjan grabbed his neck, his eyes morphing to a pure red.
Ronan swung and cut the enemy, but he didn’t have the strength to decapitate. “Your death will have to wait.” He kicked the Kurjan beneath the jaw and bones snapped.
Vampire's Faith (Dark Protectors Book 8) Page 2