Vampire's Faith (Dark Protectors Book 8)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  She looked at him, the pupils in her amber eyes wide. Expressions crossed her face in rapid succession—confusion, irritation, calculation, desire. Her leg tensed as if she was preparing to kick him.

  “I will spank you,” he reminded her, his palm itching to teach her a lesson. Just once. Not to cross him. The idea of her over his knee, her arse bare, made his body tight with a red-hot exploding lust.

  “That’s battery,” she retorted, her stubborn chin lifting even more.

  He ran through the dictionary he’d read online. “As is kicking somebody.”

  She pressed her lips together. Tight.

  Beneath the desire, beneath the confusion, was something twisted. Fear. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said, wanting to strip her naked and soothe her at the same time. This woman had him tied up in knots, and he’d only known her a short time. Dreaming about her for centuries didn’t come close to the reality of her. She was kind and giving with a hard shell she’d donned to survive.

  She coughed. “You just threatened bodily harm.”

  He frowned. “A spanking doesn’t count.”

  “Would you stop saying that word?” she exploded, her face flushing a pretty pink.

  Amusement caught him, despite his arousal, and he grinned. He wasn’t the only one seeing erotic images in his mind. He’d bet his last quid she’d never surrendered to anybody. Ever. “I promise you’d like it. At the end, anyway. After you learned your lesson.”

  Her blush intensified. “My lesson,” she muttered.

  Teasing her was much more fun than he would’ve imagined. “Yes. Oh, my sweet Doc. You will submit, and you’ll enjoy doing it.”

  Her pupils widened and she glared. Her foot twitched visibly. Oh, she wanted to kick him. Bad. He could see it.

  This woman, this mate; she was unique. Even trapped in the overly-bright pink chair, so much smaller than he, she faced him bravely. With no escape, no chance of winning a physical altercation, she still spat fire. She brought out a possessiveness in him that was very much expected in his species. This need to be tender, to calm her, was not. “I’m not a male one kicks, Doc.” He also wasn’t one to give a warning more than once.

  “You need to be kicked,” she muttered, grasping his wrist and shoving his hand off her flesh.

  He pulled back, and the marking burned painfully. Deep and sharp. He eyed the partial K imprint left on her delicate collarbone. His marking. Satisfaction with an edge filled his chest. Oh, the mark would fade in a minute. This time. “The logical conclusion for an educated woman like yourself is to mate me. Protect yourself.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Sitting in the chair with her dark hair pulled back, she looked fragile. Heart-shaped face, soft eyes, petite body. Even in jeans and a light blue blouse, her curves made his mouth water with the need to explore and protect. To keep her safe. To know her better. To learn everything about her while she trusted him.

  Then her tone caught him. He delved deeper, scrutinizing her. “You’re afraid of me.” Sure. That was to be expected. He was a vampire from another time with powers she couldn’t match. But…there was more. Oh, the sweetheart. “Little girl raised by an elderly aunt. You took care of her and your sister.” So much responsibility at a young age, and yet she was all heart. “You take in raggedy, damaged cats. I saw them.”

  She leaned back in the chair. “Ronan. Enough of this.” A tremor ran through her words.

  He pressed his palm against the chair arm again, trying to ease some of the demanding pain. His marking wanted to be transferred and now. “You were in control after losing your parents—when you had no control. Then you became a doctor. Somebody in charge.”

  “I am in charge.” Her nostrils flared, but her gaze darted around the room.

  Ah. There it was. “You’re not only afraid because I take your control,” he mused. “You’re terrified because you like it.”

  Her eyes flared. Hot and defiant. “Bullshit.”

  Yeah. She’d protested instantly and out of fear. How could he get her to trust him? There wasn’t enough time to court her. To be gentle. “Afraid to let somebody else take care of you? Or afraid to lose them once you let down your guard and trust?” he asked.

  She crossed her arms and pulled up her legs, setting her feet on the edge of the chair. “Whatever.”

  His heart hurt for her. Sweet little girl who’d never really had a childhood. Hadn’t ever had a chance to let somebody shield her. He was a fucking shield, and she would learn to trust him. To let him handle the darkness in life and keep her protected. “Then you lost your sister.” That must’ve been devastating. What he wouldn’t give to have been there for her that day.

  “She isn’t lost,” Faith snapped. “In fact, the Kurjans have offered to help her. I can get her back, and I will.”

  But Ronan knew that even being enhanced wasn’t enough to survive the kind of coma Grace had suffered. “The Kurjans can’t help Grace. It’s a trick. Besides, you aren’t going to see any of them.” While he might not be on the best footing with his mate, no way in hell would he allow her to put herself in danger with the Kurjans.

  “That’s not your decision,” she countered, glaring at him.

  The sweet scent of her desire was going to kill him. The madder she became, the stronger her scent. In his dreams, when he’d just caught glimpses of her, she had seemed so soft. Gentle and pliable. He liked the real woman even better. “I never thought I’d have to tame you,” he said thoughtfully.

  She gasped. “Oh, just try it, buddy.” Her voice went low. Throaty.

  The tone shivered down his spine to land hard in his balls. Now, that was an invitation. He grasped her throat and pulled her toward him, setting his mouth over hers.

  She sucked in air.

  He kissed her, molding his lips to her softness. She tasted of fine wine and woman. Her hands slapped against his chest and pushed, but her mouth moved beneath his. Her tongue swept inside his mouth first, and a roaring filled his ears. The need to take. To make her his.

  She kissed him back, her sharp nails curling into his chest.

  He went deeper, leaning into her, pushing her head back against the chair. The world narrowed to this small woman, who was devastating him with her mouth. With her acceptance. She was all passion, and soon, she’d be all his.

  She shifted. It took nearly two seconds for the pain to hit his groin. Shock jerked him back. She’d kicked him?

  “Faith,” he growled.

  She blinked twice, desire and temper still mingling in her beautiful eyes. Her lips were rosy, and arousal had turned her cheeks from pink to a pretty red.

  But anger had beat desire, apparently—and challenge was there too. She was definitely throwing down a gauntlet. Had she not believed him? Had his gentleness toward her, his uncertainty in this world, given her the idea that he wouldn’t keep his word?

  Fury grasped him so quickly his lungs heated. “All right. Lesson it is.” He grabbed her arms and hauled her from the chair.

  “No.” She fought him, twisting and turning, slippery as an oiled pig.

  He manacled an arm around her waist, trapping both her arms and lifting her off her feet. He looked around. The bed would be a good place.

  She kicked her feet, striking his knees, but this time he was ready for her.

  “You’re a brat,” he muttered, striding toward the big bed, holding her tight to keep from shaking her like a rag doll. “Let’s see if you want to kick me after not being able to sit for a week.”

  She shook her shoulders, trying to dislodge his hold. “Screw you, dickhead. Let me go.”

  Oh. He was going to actually enjoy this.

  A sharp knock sounded on the door. He pivoted, and her feet swung around. “What?” he barked.

  She let loose a litany of curses that was rather impressive while trying to free her arms. He
r rear shimmied against his groin, and as she fought, his arm brushed the undersides of her breasts. A glance down confirmed her nipples were hard as little rocks beneath that shirt.

  Ivar opened the door, his eyebrows rising. “I hate to interrupt.”

  “Then don’t,” Ronan said shortly, turning back to the bed. He needed to sit before getting her into place. There was a fine line between an erotic spanking and a punishing one, and he was skirting that line right now.

  Faith struggled. “Put me down, you Neanderthal.”

  Ivar cleared his throat. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Disciplining my mate,” Ronan said. “Go away.”

  “You jackass,” Faith said, her butt moving against his groin again during the struggle.

  His cock pulsed painfully against his jeans, and he fought a groan. Then he looked over his shoulder. “Why are you still here?”

  Ivar’s lips twitched, but he wisely didn’t smile. “I found Adare. We have to go if we want to catch him. Right now.”

  Holy damn it. Every muscle in Ronan’s body tensed and then clenched to rock. He really had to go. He exhaled and set Faith on her feet.

  “Hah,” she unwisely said, the sound full of triumph.

  He swung then, his hand solidly connecting with her backside. She yelped and turned around, both hands going to her ass.

  “We’re not finished with this, mate,” he said, turning and stalking toward the door.

  “You’re right—we’re not,” she retorted.

  He bit back a grin. “Get some sleep while I’m gone.” He moved into the hallway, shutting the door. The woman was going to be the death of him. But never, in his very long life, had he felt so alive. God, he wanted her. All of her. And he’d have her. For the first time since he’d returned, his life was starting to make sense and he was beginning to feel like himself again. “Let’s go,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  After a two-hour helicopter ride, Ronan’s temper and arousal had finally abated. Ivar had wisely stayed quiet on the ride, flying the death machine, letting Ronan calm himself. The helicopter set down in a field surrounded by trees. Rain splattered heavily against the windshield. “Where are we?” Ronan asked.

  “Dead fucking in the middle of nowhere,” Ivar said easily, powering down the copter. “Adare wanders from place to place, performing menial work for cash and them moving on. He’s drunk most of the time.”

  Ronan stiffened. It took a ridiculous amount of alcohol to truly intoxicate an immortal. Adare was on a destructive path. Made sense after all of his losses, but enough was enough. “You haven’t invested his holdings?”

  “Sure, I have.” Ivar’s deep blue eyes sizzled with irritation. “Fucker won’t use his money. He’s punishing himself for…everything.”

  Ronan pushed thoughts of his sexy mate to the back of his mind and concentrated. “How many times have you seen him over the centuries?”

  Ivar sighed. “I’ve tracked him through the years, and I’ve sought him out several times a century. I can’t bring him in if he doesn’t want to come in. Keeping him prisoner makes no sense. I’ve argued with him, I’ve drunk with him, I’ve tried to console him. But he’s a stubborn bastard, as you know.”

  Ronan pushed open his door and jumped to the wet ground. Rain bore down, wetting his clothes and cheeks. He tilted his face up, feeling the refreshing chill. “I missed this.”

  Ivar crossed in front of the helicopter and joined him. “No rain in the shield?”

  “No. Sunlight, darkness, water, and wild game, plus vegetation to eat.” Ronan opened his eyes. “Water wasn’t a renewable resource, so I figured I’d only have a thousand more years or so. Guess I was wrong.”

  Ivar smacked him on the back. “I’m glad you’ve returned. Hopefully Adare will now see the light.”

  Ronan nodded and glanced around the clearing. Energy signatures came from the west, so he strode through the wet grass and between trees on a barely-there trail. Ivar followed, his steps silent. Ivar stalked as stealthily as his brother had—sure and quiet. The Vikings knew how to hunt. “Have you hunted anybody in a while?” Ronan asked.

  “Sure. In the last war, we helped the Realm when they weren’t looking. I assume Dage knew about us, but he didn’t get in the way.” Ivar pointed to the right when the trail forked. “There’s a dive bar about a mile away.”

  Ronan followed the trail, taking in the scent of the forest. Wet grass, wild pine, animals not too far away. He’d missed this as well. But he’d missed his friends most of all. He’d give anything to have Jacer still on earth. There was a hole in his heart where his brother should be. He’d mourn later and properly—probably with more vodka. For now, Adare.

  They emerged at an already muddy parking lot with dented trucks, a few rusty cars, and a line of motorcycles near the door.

  Ronan breathed in and settled himself, reaching out to see who was around. Many humans and one vampire-demon hybrid. No other immortals. Adare was an almost-even balance between vamp and demon, which made him rare. And a bit odd. He had characteristics of both.

  “You ready?” Ivar asked, striding toward the door, his size-sixteen boots squishing in the mud. Rain drenched his hair, darkening the thick strands.

  Ronan nodded and proceeded across the lot, clomping up the battered wooden steps. Heat and the smell of bodies slammed into him when he opened the door, and he strode inside, glancing around. The bar was up front with a grizzly older guy behind it. Several people sat at battered barstools or at tables scattered throughout. Music blared from somewhere. Dart games and two pool tables could be glimpsed past an archway to the left.

  He stepped inside and paused as something crunched beneath his boots, looking down. “Huh.”

  “Peanut shells,” Ivar said, turning right. “Adds ambience.”

  Interesting. Ronan avoided making eye contact with a woman wearing a red skirt that looked like plastic and was short enough he could see blue satin covering her female parts. Her shirt was white, her brassiere blue, and her makeup liberally applied. The smell of her rose perfume, even across the bar, made him want to sneeze.

  “The biggest threat might not be the rednecks,” Ivar muttered, launching himself into motion. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Ronan cracked multiple peanut shells as he followed his friend, reaching the archway and then pausing as Ivar slid to the side.

  The Highlander was leaning over the pool table, lining up his shot, as big as ever. His black hair was long, to his shoulders, and was carelessly held back at his nape. Scruff covered his wide jaw, and if possible, he looked even broader than before. A huge bulk of sleek muscle and strength. Two women perched on barstools near him, giggling and not wearing near enough clothing for the weather.

  The balls clicked together as he shot, putting two in the corner pocket. Then he stiffened. Slowly, he stood, his gaze scanning the room.

  The second it landed on Ronan, his dark eyes flared. Not just dark. Adare had the black eyes of a demon but without the white-blond hair. His chin lifted. A myriad of emotions crossed his hard face, finally settling into polite lines.

  Ronan’s temper, still smoldering from the scuffle with Faith, started to burn.

  Adare handed his pool stick to one of the women, not looking, and then came around the pool table. “Ronan.” His voice wasn’t quite the mangled tone of a purebred demon, but the hoarseness gave away his heritage—as did the still-discernible Scottish accent.

  “Adare.” Ronan lifted an eyebrow. Adare had never been overly emotional, but Ronan had expected a little more from him. Maybe even a masculine hug with a slap to the back. Welcome-home type of thing. “What the fuck, man?”

  Adare straightened to his full height, making them eye-to-eye at six-foot-six. “The shield must’ve failed.” Based on his tone, he could’ve been talking about the size of the t
rees outside.

  “Nothing gets by you, huh?” Ronan drawled.

  Adare’s lips tightened into almost a smile. “I’m quick that way.” He glanced at Ivar. “I figured you’d be making a visit sometime soon. Last time I saw you, you were wearing bell-bottoms.”

  “I looked good,” Ivar returned, his gaze on a couple near the back door, his shoulders going back. Whatever he was seeing, he wasn’t liking. “Though I never could quite master disco.”

  Adare reached out and planted a hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alive, brother.” Then he stepped back. “Now go away.”

  Ronan stepped forward. “No. The Sphere I guarded has fallen. We don’t know if the other one and the prison have yet, but they will. We have work to do, and Omar is kidnapping Enhanced women from around the globe.”

  “Good luck with that,” Adare said.

  Ivar stiffened. “Give me a minute before you two start fighting.” He prowled toward the couple.

  Ronan turned. The human male looked around twenty-five, with bloodshot eyes and a weapon beneath his coat. He had his hand around the female’s arm. The female was a pretty girl in jeans and a white sweater. Blue eyes, brown hair, youthful skin.

  Adare turned to watch as well.

  Ivar reached them and instantly grasped the male’s hand, twisting. The human winced and released the girl.

  “How old are you, darlin’?” Ivar asked the girl, adopting a Southern accent. Ronan could discern it with his vampire hearing. Easily.

  She shuffled her feet, looking down.

  Ivar sighed. “You’re not in trouble. Just tell me the truth.”

  The kid swallowed. “Sixteen. I connected with Jeremy online, and this is the first time we’ve met. He wants me to go to his trailer, but I told my mom I was studying with a friend and would be home, and…I don’t want to go. But then he grabbed my arm.”