The Way You Bite

by Zoe Forward

  Neither Lexan nor Eric had acted like the barbarian monsters she’d been led to expect. Instead, they’d been civilized but wary, like all werewolves she’d encountered.

  Lexan fascinated her. Maybe it was his insane good looks or that he was older than any being she’d ever met. A crush was one thing, but this felt far more powerful than a giggly teenager infatuation. Were he vampire, Ambrose might even encourage her into an affair to put them on even ground, but only after their marriage. Even then, Ambrose wouldn’t do that until she produced an heir. Pregnancy meant she’d need to actually have sex. With Ambrose. She shuddered with revulsion.

  Her mind funneled pictures of Lexan back into her mind, to calm her, as if sex with him was right.

  Get over him. A beautiful veneer rarely housed a worthwhile soul. Both vamps and wolves specialized in gorgeous packaging. Well, except her.

  Lexan wasn’t done with her. The thought simultaneously unnerved and excited her, even if he did plan to blackmail her into something. She’d probably do whatever he requested—and not because she’d be happy to hop into bed with him. Wolves made her uneasy, but Dominic’s reaction to the news she’d assisted wolves more than once in the not-so-distant past petrified her. She could probably talk her way out of the incident tonight, at least she hoped.

  No more thinking about King Werewolf. Others at this party had the rare gift of mind reading. She couldn’t get caught focusing on the glorious abs of one’s perceived worst enemy, even if it was a worthy vision.

  Inside the foyer of the plantation-style mansion, a member of the waitstaff pointed her toward the great hall, as if she didn’t know the location of the reception based on the noise level. Countless tables decorated with expensive china and crystal accommodated the hundred or so guests. The toasts to the married couple had already commenced. She entered just as someone relayed a cheek-flaming misadventure of a time when her sister, Brooke, had a crush on a human in high school. Brooke accidentally killed the kid by taking too much blood while they made out in the car. Only a roomful of vamps would find that funny.

  “Velvet. Over here. I saved you a spot,” a female voice loudly whispered her way.

  “It’s Vee, Aunt Carol. Your dress is gorgeous. Is that Versace?” No one could resist a slight infatuation with Carol. She definitely scored a ten on any vamp rating scale and didn’t look to have aged a day beyond thirty, even though she was at least three centuries old. Her independence and unwillingness to keep her opinions secret kept her off the marriage market, at least according to her.

  “It’s Louis Vuitton. I found it in France a few months ago.” Carol kissed her on both cheeks and then smashed Vee’s head against her voluptuous bosom.

  Vee sat and sipped at the blood already poured into the goblet at her place. Expensive stuff. Tasty.

  Carol yawned and whispered, “This is dull as boar shit. There’s not even a promising male to amuse me.” She glanced around. “Asswipes, all of them. I can’t wait to return home where at least the males are honest incorrigibles. They don’t hide behind masks of righteousness. Oh, dear. Here comes your brother. I love him to pieces, but rumor is he wants to fix me up with a business associate. If I wanted a mate, I’d find him myself. Excuse me.” Carol rose and glided out the French doors into the dark of night on the veranda.

  “You didn’t want to do a toast to Brooke?” Trace asked behind her.

  She whirled in her chair to glance up at her brother.

  Trace took Carol’s empty chair and sipped the abandoned blood. A fond smile curved his lips when he gazed at Vee.

  She returned his smile. How she’d missed him. He may be general of the Squad and answerable to Dominic, but he would always be her brother. In this den of pit vipers fixated on war, he’d chartered a taciturn course, remaining coolheaded when others got violent. Some thought him surly and aloof, but he never cared about other’s opinion. He killed when he had to, fought when he deemed it right, and kept his own counsel.

  He inclined his wineglass toward her dress. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks. You enjoying yourself tonight?”

  He shrugged. His body tensed as he leaned forward and said low, “You should go home. Dominic has plans that aren’t good for you.”

  “Does he ever have good plans?” Her gaze darted to Dominic at the head table. Clan heads swarmed him, each waiting their turn to kiss Dominic’s left pinky ring, affirming allegiance.

  “Some relish the thought of you two fighting again.” Trace’s face smoothed over as he straightened in his chair and made eye contact with his first lieutenant, who claimed the seat across from her. Hsu-Li scrutinized her.

  “Hsu-Li, you look nice.” She pasted on a demure smile for the massive Asian vamp across the table and pretended to be breathless. Flattery worked best when dealing with the guy. He loved himself above all else and remained under the delusion every female found him irresistible.

  “As do you, Lady Scarpa. That’s a pretty dress.” Hsu-Li broke into an amused smile and scanned her as if she was a prized pet. The title should command a lot more respect, but all knew the tension between she and her father. Most interpreted her fiancé’s frequent “business trips” as reason to doubt her ability to keep his interest long enough for him to follow through on marriage. She’d be relieved if he called it off, but Ambrose would use her as cover for as long as possible. He let her do what she wanted in exchange for her silence.

  Secrets. The holy bond on which their matrimony would be founded.

  “Thank you.” She lowered her eyes modestly while hate simmered an ulcer in her stomach.

  Trace nodded toward the head table. “He wants to speak with you.”

  Dominic’s green laser stare trapped her. His lips drooped into a frown. She caught a flash of thought from Dominic.

  Her father knew about King Werewolf’s visit.

  Chapter Four

  “Duck.” Eric swerved and pushed Lexan toward the passenger window. Two bullets whizzed through the windshield on a failed trajectory for Lexan’s head.

  Lexan leaned around his seat to assess the truck closing in behind them. He rolled down his window. “Give me your gun.”

  “No, I’m not giving you my gun so you can lean out the window like you’re James Bond. Last time, you shot my foot.”

  True. He sucked with guns. Give him a knife or sword and he could kill anything. “That was ten years ago. Who’s James Bond?”

  “You’re shitting me, right? British Spy?”

  “Have I met this spy? I’m not a fan of spies. They’re duplicitous.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t know James Bond. Movie character? He’s fictional.” Eric swerved to avoid another round of bullets. “Forget it. I’ll get the movies on the iPad. Get down. I’m getting you out of here.” Eric yanked out his cell and auto-dialed, keeping the phone on speaker. “TC, you boys got these assholes?”

  “We authorized to use lethal, sir?” asked TC.

  “They just tried to assassinate Lexan. Take the motherfuckers out. If you feel you can get anything out of them, then interrogate, but leave nothing for the police.” He squealed the SUV into an abrupt left. The car leaned hard, struggling to stay on all four wheels.

  Behind them, their attacker’s truck crashed into a telephone pole, with two flat back tires.

  “I wouldn’t have missed,” Lexan muttered while gazing at the smashed truck in the side view mirror until it was far behind them.

  “It wasn’t worth the risk of you getting your head blown off.” Eric slammed his hands against the steering wheel. “That’s twice the Squad has attempted to assassinate you since we set foot in this country twenty-four hours ago.” He wove through streets at dizzying speed.

  “We knew the risks were high in coming here.” Lexan hoped his tone hid the fury seething in his brain. Running into a vampire at the airport after their plane landed had been rotten luck. Since then the Squad had been on their ass.

  Lexan sank into the plush SUV se
at. Intense violence whipped around inside his head, mixed with surprise. This was real give-a-shit emotion. He hadn’t experienced much beyond exhaustion bordering on apathy in eons, which had signaled him close to the dreaded ennui. He liked it. This gift was because of her.

  Eric braked hard to a complete stop, whiplashing them both. He angled to face Lexan. “Look, I believe in fulfilling promises, but not at the risk of your life. This is suicide. You dead is a house of cards. There will be an all-out massacre to avenge your death, and then we’re back to global war. Well, without the whole freedom-from-slavery ideal of the Forty Years’ War. You may not believe your people care about your fate, but believe me, Your Majesty, they do. They would rise to avenge you. All of them. I want you out of this country tonight. We’re good at protecting you, but there are too many hostiles here. Someone’s got the inside track on your location, or a witch with precognition abilities is freakishly accurate.”

  Lexan blinked against sudden fatigue. Should he be flattered his people might rise up in his defense? They’d use his death as an excuse to initiate the war many in other countries craved to wage against vampires. He rubbed his forehead, longing to escape the political crap. For too long he’d wished he could walk away. Maybe even stand in front of the next bullet headed for his head and end everything. For the past year, he’d dreamed of living out the rest of his days somewhere quiet where his people weren’t always relying on him to purport profound insight on whatever momentary minutia gripped them. Free of assassination attempts. Free of tricky negotiations with vampires. Free of every wolf family angling to marry off a daughter, niece, or cousin to him.

  The strong emotion of moments ago vanished, leaving indifference.

  Panic ensued. He needed to feel something. Anything. He waited.

  Feel something. Feel something…

  Nothing.

  Damn it. Eric needed him to be upset about yet another murder attempt. He was not at ennui.

  He dredged up the memory of his ex-wife after her second contracted assassination attempt a half century ago, something he did when he feared himself close to ennui. He’d gone to confront her and order she desist hiring assassins to kill him, but their son prevented the conversation.

  His eight-year-old had glared at him. “Why are you here? You stopped loving Mom and me long ago.”

  “Ryder, I have never and will never stop loving you. Your mother and I, though, are no longer on the same page.”

  “We don’t want to see you again. Mom said you wouldn’t be here anymore. That’s the way it should be. You left us. You’re not coming back.”

  A feline smile spanned her lips. “You abandoned us.”

  Lexan ignored her. “Ryder, I never left you. I want to see you, but your mother prevents me. Your mother tried to hurt my friends and me today. I’m here to speak with her.”

  “It’s your fault everything is like it is now. Mom would never hurt anyone.” He shot her an adoring gaze. He puffed up as if ready to fight in defense of his self-centered mother. “Leave us alone.”

  “You will always be my son.” Lexan knelt at his son’s eye level. He reached for Ryder, but his son batted away his hands.

  “I hate you.” Ryder fled.

  His son alienating him, hating him…it had hurt. A lot. Although its bite had diminished over the years, even now he experienced the familiar tweak in his chest.

  Good. You’re not to ennui yet.

  His ex didn’t have anything to do with what was going on right now. She’d been behind multiple assassination attempts for decades. He’d spent far too much emotional capital early in the last century on attempts to convince his son of his mother’s lies, and of reaching out to Rachel. At his last altercation with her twenty years ago, he’d threatened if he linked her to one more assassination attempt, he’d personally kill her. His understanding of her anger over their divorce, and leniency over mothering his only child, was long gone. She’d slipped into quiet isolation and died in an accident a few years ago.

  Eric released a loud, agitated snort and sifted his hair through his fingers. “We will get the girl and get her out of here, if that’s your priority, but I don’t want you dead doing this.”

  “Maybe there’s an earth bath waiting for me at the end of this. I’ve had a long run. I don’t fear death. The task is a nonnegotiable. I’ve got to finish. It must be me who reveals the truth to her and perhaps helps her with the transition. No kidnapping. She can make her own choice afterward if she prefers to stay in the States or come with us. It’s three days to full moon.”

  “Fine, but let’s crank the lid down on this operation. No surprises. No going off the grid. No more random crazy, like allowing yourself to get shot and dragging us to visit a vampire veterinarian at an animal clinic.”

  Lexan didn’t jump to agree. He would do what he needed to finish this. Plans of how to draw her to him amped him up again. The beast within him loved a good hunt.

  “Earth bath? You meant grave?” Eric cracked his gotcha-smile.

  “Did you get Roman’s number?”

  “Here,” Eric handed his phone to him and pulled the car back onto the road.

  Lexan pressed to send through the phone number. When Roman picked up he said, “This is Aleksander Dimitrov.”

  “Your Majesty. It is an honor to receive your call. How may I be of service?”

  “Tell me of your relationship to Velvet Scarpa and of her assisting wolves.”

  Roman cleared his throat. “Are we on a secure line?”

  “As secure as possible for a cell phone.”

  “On occasion she has treated injured wolves, usually young, as a favor to me when they are closer to her than me. You understand, this puts her at great risk.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “I was her advisor while she completed her rotations senior year in medical school long ago. Our coexistence in an academic atmosphere was unexpected. We had to come to a necessary truce.”

  “Are you and she…involved?” Lexan tensed, vexed to realize how important the answer to this question had become.

  “What? No…uh, nothing that isn’t professional.”

  Lexan settled back into the seat. “Why does she help us? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “She doesn’t like suffering, especially in animals. It doesn’t make sense as a vamp whose mother might’ve been killed by a wolf, but she is the exception. Did you know she’s one of the only vamps to go up against Dominic on multiple occasions?”

  “Does she know about the virus?”

  “No. Very few here know. It’s here, though. I’ve sent two infected wolves to Europe, to one of the facilities.”

  “It is to remain quiet until my people have the cure. We’re not there yet. No need to inspire panic.”

  “She might be able to help. You know she’s got an MD and a veterinary degree.”

  “We have the best working on it. Thank you, Roman.” Lexan ended the call and handed the phone back to Eric. He’d find out the reason she helped them.

  His phone buzzed with an incoming message. It wasn’t the minutia he expected: Two hours. You alone. Location to come.

  …

  Lexan drummed his fingers against his sweating beer glass. Bodies gyrated on a packed dance floor a few feet away. He didn’t frequent human haunts as a rule. He had no interest in anything offered by the barely dressed girls draped around the periphery of the downtown club or the pierced, leathered guys eyeballing from the bar ready to deal pharmaceuticals.

  He punched the Indiglo on his watch. This meeting should’ve been over five minutes ago. Three more minutes. Then, he was out of here.

  He tugged at the edges of his sweatshirt’s hood to ensure it still camouflaged his face. He didn’t want to deal with an accidental female enthrallment. He adjusted the loose black coat floating down to his knees, ensuring easy access to the double-edged blade at his side. The sweatshirt-coat combo, although hot, was vital to camouflage his weapons, a bad habit, a
leftover from the War. He didn’t miss the old days when werewolves fought to emancipate themselves from vamps. But, back then, no one cared if he carried a big-ass blade. These days, metal detectors and the paranoid security rampant in the human world made concealment a nightmare. Weapons remained a necessity. When the vamps broke the peace, he’d kill before reverting to subservience.

  Over the human lust hormones he detected a nonhuman scent.

  Finally.

  The human techno-grind parted. Those at the edge of the opening halted as a darkly clad form glided through. Blaylock.

  He and Blay represented a slim minority of living veterans of the War. Relic warriors of an era long gone. That didn’t mean they shared beers and war stories on the weekends. This particular wolf chose to walk his own path in the shadows, although not alone. He had an army of wolves who worked for him, many who were scientists researching medical problems inherent to wolves.

  A curvaceous brunette woman threw herself into Blay’s path. He barely paused. The girl jumped away. He probably used a mental nudge to get rid of her. The nifty ability unnerved many, but not him. Mental coercion didn’t work on him, maybe because he held some serious seniority over this wolf.

  Blay slid into the straight-back chair opposite. His head swiveled to glare behind him toward the entrance. Distinct disadvantage to be back-to-the-exit. He shifted around. “I was delayed.”

  “Apparently.” Lexan scowled. No one showed up “late” to meet with him. Ever.

  Blay dropped his gaze. Marginal submission, but not enough.

  Lexan glanced at his watch. “My time until they track me down is limited.”

  Blay glanced around as if one of the Elites might slither from the shadows.

  He hated giving the boys the slip earlier, but no one was to know this wolf still lived. The Elites were wickedly good at their job. Actually, they were better than good. As ex-cons and criminal masterminds, they were downright terrifying in their ability to track and ferociously protect him. They had to be. Between extremist vamps like those in the States, human hunter zealots, and dissenter wolves, there were more than a few gunning for the king.