Blood Enchantment

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Then she gets a load of the tail. Tessa backs up a step.

  Lazarusʼs eyes flick to hers then back to this new threat. She'd thought Lazarusʼs tail was something.

  But this guy—this guy…

  His tail whips above his head, and spikes, all black, extend from a deep-red bulbous end. The tail end looks like a f fleshy medieval flail.

  Tessa backs up another step, burning to turn and see how far the Suburban is from her present position. She flares her nostrils, trying to locate safety that way.

  “I have the Blooded One contained. We only need kill who we can then proceed to wipe her out of existence. Why you are wasting your time with antagonizing”—his nose wrinkles, vapor exits his nostrils in smoky spirals that drift away, and a strangled sound of fear squeaks out of Tessa—“these ridiculous beasts?” He tsks, a forked tongue flicking out at the last syllable. “You are not staying on task, Lazarus.” The snakelike tongue snaps back into the black interior of his mouth.

  Oh, baby Jesus, a forked tongue.

  His inky brows come together in a clear frown of chastisement. He takes in the bleeding but healing Were at his feet. Then he stomps Tramack’s head into the ground, crushing his skull instantly. Brains ooze out from underneath his shoe.

  Lazarus doesn't even flinch.

  These demon guys mean business. Tessa dares turning, seeking Tahlia. As if in total sync, Tahlia bleeds back to quarter-change and races to the passenger side of the Suburban. Tessa breaks, ignoring the demon interaction, and runs to the driver's side. She hops in, starting the engine.

  “Or are you doing something else?” the other demonic asks Lazarus. His voice sounds closer.

  Tessa tries to squish the panic. Could this dude be even worse than Tramack? She can't unhear their conversation. She closes her eyes, remembering the feel of Lazarusʼs hands on her body and his mouth on hers.

  “Come on, Tessa—what are you waiting for?” Tahlia hisses.

  Tessa pauses, noting a string of gristle dangling off Tahlia's chin.

  “I need to know he's going to be okay,” Tessa says.

  “What!” Tahlia shouts. “Leave him. He is a horned one!”

  I can't.

  The other demonic stands before Lazarus, who is shaking. The other one has him around the neck by the tail. His face intent, he squeezes Lazarus around the throat like a python.

  “Tell. Me.” He shakes Lazarus.

  Nope. Can't do it. Tessa exits the car, stepping over Tramack. His hand snakes out, grabbing her ankle, and she kicks him. He grunts.

  “Don't, Tessa.”

  “Fuck off, Alpha,” she replies without glancing at him.

  The second demon's eyes move to her, unnerving and flat black. Soulless. Obviously.

  Tessa shivers.

  Evil radiates from him, coating her through the layers of skin, muscle, and organs, making her insides quake in revulsion. Still, Tessa moves forward against the horribleness of the creature before her.

  His black eyes widen in surprise. “Who is she?” His tone is somewhere between shocked and affronted.

  “Get your tail off him, jerk!” Tessa shouts.

  The demon smiles. Black teeth.

  He slowly unwinds his tail from Lazarusʼs throat. A mark like a rope burn twines around his neck.

  Lazarus drops to his knees choking, clawing at his throat.

  That pisses her off even more. Why can't anything ever go right? Why can't fucking males just leave me alone?

  And, for the love of the moon, why must she do the white knight shit? And the one male, albeit a demon, who's actually treated her decent, is busy getting his assed kicked by his own kind.

  No. Something deep slips inside of Tessa, like a mudslide in her brain. She rushes forward, red-hot.

  Lazarus bellows, “No!”

  And then the demon is on her, wrapping her with his tail. That's fine. Tessa's talons are at the ready.

  She slices off his dick.

  All guys have one.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Julia

  Julia forces her gorge down. She's pretty sure that the queasiness woke her. She rubs her eyes and groggily closes them again. But before she can doze off, the last memory sinks into her, grounding her in the present. Images of brutal clarity force her up off the cold floor like a reanimated corpse.

  “Oh God,” she moans, palm to stomach, gazing around the bare concrete surfaces. Emergency lighting flickers. LEDs struggle to warm in the ambient low sixties temperature of the bunker.

  Her eyes latch on to the stainless-steel ladder rungs leading to the first floor of the mansion. Beads of sweat pop on her upper lip, and Julia shelves the last images of Jason's death for the moment. She can't touch them or grieve.

  Peter—or whoever he is—owns her region while she's down in the bunker.

  Jason did what he promised. He saved her—at the expense of his own life. Julia sucks back a sob, instinctively looking for Scott. Her eyes find his form only feet from her own.

  She tips off the edge of a cot and crawls toward him, vertigo making walking impossible. Putting her hand to his chest, she feels for a steady heartbeat—and can’t find it.

  Don't panic, Julia.

  “He cannot sense you.”

  Julia jerks back, her heart thudding.

  Steady gray eyes regard her.

  Victor.

  She releases a held breath. “You scared me. I forgot—” She ducks her head. “I forgot that you and Scott…” Julia puts her face in her hands. They smell like dusty concrete. She lets them drop, meeting Victor's handsome face.

  “He probably has a concussion.”

  She grabs Scott's limp hand, reveling in the warmth. “Right,” she says, nodding a little too rapidly.

  I can't take them both being gone.

  “He will regain consciousness.” She hears Victor’s attempt to soothe her.

  She nods as a tear trails down her face. “We need to get outta here, Victor.”

  “Impossible.”

  Her face jerks from the study of Scott's relaxed features to Victor's stern ones. “What do you mean ʻimpossibleʼ?”

  Victor sighs, running his large hands down his slacks. “It is timer driven. If no timer is set, it will automatically default to seventy-two hours.”

  Julia's mind whirs. “How much longer?”

  “Roughly forty-seven hours.”

  Julia's shoulders drop in disappointment. “How do you—”

  Victor points at the far wall. A clock similar to the countdown clock from the Northwestern Kiss where William held her runs the seconds down in digital format, marking time's passage eerily.

  “That bastard is up there—doing God knows what to my people!” Julia says loudly.

  “I know,” Victor glances away, his frustrated expression exactly matching her feeling of helplessness.

  Julia scans the space restlessly, scrutinizing the rows of cots. They're harder than damn rocks. A queen should be able to do something about such slack accommodations, right? She feels a grim smile perch on her face.

  Queen.

  What the hell kind of queen can't even command the region she was prophesied to rule over? A sucky one.

  Jason pops into her mind.

  Don't think about him, Julia. Just. Don't.

  She sucks in a shaky inhale then lets it out with agonizing slowness. “Okay.” Julia stands, slapping her thighs and dusting off her hands. “I'm going to check out this bunker.”

  Her eyes move to Scott, so still on the adjacent cot. As she watches, his chest rises and falls.

  Julia has to occupy herself, or she'll go crazy

  “I will accompany you.” Victor’s battered body is mending before her eyes.

  “It's okay. Just rest.” Julia knows Victor must have hauled them away from the hatchway after they fell in here. “I can do this.” Her brows pull together. “How'd you get down here?”

  A rueful smile tucks itself into the corners of his mouth. “I was uncer
emoniously tossed down by the demonic ruffian and his cohort.”

  The older Singers speak so strangely. “So no one noticed you were missing, for like a day?”

  “I did.”

  Julia whirls. “Scott!” she squeals and rushes to his side, relief surging through her.

  Standing, he lifts her off her feet then twirls her. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Julia.”

  She automatically kisses him—right there in front of Victor, with Jason's dead body on top of the escape hatch. Julia doesn't even have time to analyze how practical she's become in the years she's survived the supernatural world.

  The soul-meld doesn’t care about circumstance. Their bond dictates and overpowers everything.

  Their mouths mash, tongues inserting and twining passionately as reason and rationale depart. Scott and Julia touch, moved only to have skin-on-skin contact, reuniting and strengthening each other as only they know how. The reaction is natural for soul-meld Singers.

  Victor clears his throat, reminding Julia they have an audience.

  They leap guiltily apart—at least Julia does. She doesn't think Scott feels guilt about much, especially their union.

  Julia feels the sting of shame because the circumstances are dire. And caving to their need of each other somehow seems selfish in the face of the potential suffering going on above their heads.

  Julia knows there is no alternative to the bunker, but that doesn't change her feelings. She self-consciously covers her mouth as though she can erase the moment.

  Scott shushes her, pulling her against his chest.

  “Are you okay?” he asks against her hair.

  She nods, though she's anything but. Silently taking comfort from the steady beat of his heart, she lets Scott's warmth seep through his shirt and heat her cheek.

  Victor inclines his head. “My king.”

  Right. Now that Marcus is gone, Scott's it. Julia closes her eyes against a reality she can't deny.

  “Please, Vic, I can't take all the pomp and circumstance.” He rakes his free hand through his inky hair. “You just treat me like you did before-before Father died,” he ends quietly.

  “As you wish.” Victor clasps his hands behind his back, his chin dipping.

  Scott exhales in relief without mentioning the obvious: how they would all love to be above. Instead, Scott tugs her away from the cots. “I've been down here, but you want a tour?”

  “We've got nothing better to do,” Julia admits. “That horrible guy is up there, doing I don't know what while we're here languishing. I need a distraction.”

  “Hey.” Scott stops walking. He tilts her chin up with one finger, “We can't get out, Julia.” He pauses for a moment. “I wasn't a fan of Caldwell.”

  Julia shuts her eyes against an agony she can't name, against Scott being that insensitive to all that's happened. Julia knows Jason's conduct was terrible at times, but now he's dead. Truly gone.

  “Julia.”

  Resentfully, she meets his nearly black gaze. “He did right by you. That demonic had me. He was going to do you in, and I couldn't change fast enough, get past his evil, to save my own soul-meld.”

  Scott shakes his head, eyes narrow. “That spore”—his mouth flattens into a tight line of anger—“that thing made you susceptible to the demonic.”

  Julia's surprised by his words and relieved Scott's giving credit to Jason.

  “Not just that, Scott.”

  They look at Victor.

  His expression is apologetic.

  Julia gets the idea that he's accustomed to having to say things that might not be real popular. Cue Jacqueline being the queen of Region Two.

  “If your meld remains unconsummated, you're especially vulnerable.”

  Julia's face bursts into flames, but he pretends not to notice her obvious embarrassment, though Scott wears a smirk.

  Victor continues, “You would have done yourself a great service to have accepted the triad between the wolf, vampire, and your soul-meld.”

  Victor hangs his head in apparent regret, and Julia wishes she had a rock handy, so she could crawl under it.Victor casually discusses her nod to a plural marriage as if it's the weather.

  Julia's still trying to wrap her head around being a Rare One—a queen. It's all so foreign. But as the death toll mounts, the enemies draw closer, supernaturals literally pour out of the woodwork, and people she loves sacrifice themselves for her—Julia has slowly come to the realization that she is who they claim she is.

  She fills her lungs, shoring up her weak stores of courage. “So now that William is gone, and Jason—” She can't finish.

  “Yes, completing the meld will make you nearly invincible and hasten the powers that all Rare Ones hold within themselves as potential—unrealized without the correct prompts.”

  Scott's lips twitch. “So you're saying if we come together, then Julia will be safer?”

  Knock that off!

  He flinches at the shouted telepathic communication.

  “Of course,” Victor says smoothly, a slight furrow between his brows as though they are the dumbest people who ever breathed.

  Julia crosses her arms. Maybe one of them. She glares at Scott.

  Victor's eyes bounce between her and Scott. “I apologize if what I've said is—”

  Julia stabs the air with her palm, remembering all the other times sex had come up as The Solution. “Nope.”

  “Let me show you the bunker,” Victor says, appearing to sense the tension.

  Julia grunts softly, jabbing her elbow into Scott's side.

  He guffaws quietly, tucking her under his arm. “That was so uncool. Why would you let him go on like that if you understood everything already?” she asks in a fierce whisper.

  Scott flicks her nose. “Fun to watch you get all flustered.”

  Julia rolls her eyes. “This isn't funny. Jason is dead.” Her voice shakes, and they slow, letting Victor move down a long corridor ahead of them. “And I don't know what that Peter demon is doing to our people.” Tears fill her eyes as the earlier levity flees.

  “Hey,” he says, “he was after you. There's too many in the complex for him to try for everyone. You're safe here with me, and he's probably—I don't know—gone to hell.” He offers her a crooked smile.

  “You're so not helping!” Julia jerks away from him, and he yanks her back.

  “Let go!”

  His dark eyes narrow. “No.” His hand wraps the bare skin at the base of her skull. A painful breath eases out of her as her head dips forward in defeat. “I'm sorry about Jason, but I'm never gonna regret what he sacrificed for you. It was the right call. I would have done it.”

  “Do you hate me for being sad over Jason? It's so awful, Scott. I can hardly breathe.” Her hands fist the front of his T-shirt.

  “Yeah. I hate—really hate—that you care for another man. But I love how tender you are, Julia. Those two things aren't separate. I can't have one without the other. And…” He pauses for so long that Julia lifts her head off his chest. “He was there first. Before I knew you. Before all this.” He sweeps his palm around their subterranean prison.

  Julia's chest aches.

  Right then, she realizes it's from a broken heart.

  Scott threads his fingers through hers, and they walk down the corridor together again. Victor waits patiently at the T where the hallway ends.

  Julia's lost interest in checking out the tomb-like surroundings. Exploring her lackluster prison of the next two days doesn't seem nearly as important as getting the hell out of it and excising the demon that somehow infiltrated her region.

  But her want is in direct conflict to what is possible, so she walks.

  Scott smooths the tension of her brows with a kiss between her eyes, and her breathing settles into a regular rhythm. She’s survived worse.

  I’ll survive this.

  She turns her face up to meet Scott's concerned stare and smiles through tears that remain unshed.

  The time for
grief is gone. Julia has a role to fill, and it's there for her whether or not she's ready for it. Jason's death can't be for nothing. He died because he believed in her importance. In her.

  Julia's hand finds the place where the demon's wound festers. It pulses briefly before quieting.

  As long as Scott and she are touching, it doesn't progress.

  As long.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Slash

  Slash has suffered greatly in battle. He’d been beaten to within an inch of his life and always triumphed in the end.

  He's just that determined, but this is utterly different.

  He spears the ground, using it like a handhold, and drags his upper body along the debris of the forest, making his way to his mate.

  Slash's head spins.

  Blood loss.

  He has so many puncture wounds from talons, he's a Lycan pincushion. But right now, none of that matters.

  Adrianna is injured.

  Tramack of the Western harmed his precious mate, and for that—he'll suffer.

  Finally, Slash gets to within arm's reach of Adrianna and rolls to his side, heaving his unfeeling, broken legs around in a swinging arc with his hands.

  Slash resists the urge to weep. Mere crying isn't enough to quantify how grievous the situation is. Adrianna's face is battered; every bit of skin that meets his gaze is abraded by touch, talon, and teeth. Nips from sharp teeth march across her flesh.

  But only one holds Slash prisoner—the area around her left areola has been punctured by a single fang, as though marked.

  The vision of her beautiful breast marred by another male bottoms out Slash's guts, leaving him shaking in a rage so pure, there's no name for it.

  Adrianna's clear hazel eyes open slowly then round with fear and disorientation.

  “Shhh,” Slash croaks, his healing throat like sandpaper. “I'm here.”

  Adrianna begins to cry, frantically touching herself all over. “Did they? Oh God, Slash, did they touch me?”

  He hangs his head, his palms flat on her shoulders. He leans against her temple, lips against her ear. “They did not have the chance.”

  Her body shivers against his, and hot tears scald the cheek he holds. Her grief and fear shred Slash on a molecular level.