Blood Enchantment

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  They walk away, and Drek's gaze follows them until he can no longer see their forms.

  “This is inviting trouble, Drek.”

  He faces Bowen, finally succumbing to the pull of his fatigue without the audience demanding answers. “I don't want more loss. And even if the female, Tessa, has a sharp tongue—”

  “She is female,” Bowen states thoughtfully.

  Drek nods. “Exactly.” He gazes up at the full moon, wondering how this mess happened so quickly. Every solution feels insurmountable. If he kills the demonic, he is a villain for the murder of the one savior the females had. If he doesn't, it teaches his people a demonic can be trusted. That is a lie, with Lazarus perhaps proving to be the exception. And that means there is no justice for the two dead guard. As the humans say, Drek is between a rock and a hard place.

  Then there is the chosen. He felt a connection to her that couldn't be denied. But her manner… and his earlier thoughts of wanting to change the tradition to something with more free will make his mind full.

  “You weren't even sure you wanted to go through with the pairing, Drek,” Bowen states. He's vocalized Drek's exact thoughts.

  “True.”

  “Then find out what's what with this Tanya—and Tahlia.”

  “Did you feel it?”

  Drek turns to Bowen. “Feel what?”

  “The connection. The Book of Lanarre speaks of a true match having an enigmatic pull.”

  Drek stares at Bowen. Lies, one of the benefits of being royal. “No.”

  Bowen slides his jaw from side to side, hands going to hips. “But one of them must be your match.”

  Yes, one is. Drek shrugs. “Time will tell.”

  Bowen seems to accept that vague answer.

  Drek cannot. He must get to the bottom of the identity issue. And if a mate exists for him, she will become his. If not, she can be part of his pack in another capacity.

  It's really not that complicated. Safeguarding the females is simple.

  The answer to what will become of them is complicated.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tessa

  “Fuckers!” Tessa grates.

  The male Lanarre holds his fist up, and she clamps her mouth shut.

  “Get your hands off me!” Tahlia says loudly, twisting her lithe body from side to side.

  The obvious lead Were yanks her to him, clearing her feet off the forest floor. “Do not make me beat a female.”

  “Again,” Tessa states in a dry voice. How dare they not own up to how they converged on her and Tahlia—or how bad their manners are. This is royalty?

  If Drek is in charge of this group of thugs, Tessa is certainly better off with Laz… or on her own.

  The lead Lanarre—Tessa thinks his name is Ospere—turns down his mouth. He's wolfen.

  Both Tessa and Tahlia have stayed in quarter-change. Tessa doesn't even look at that bitch, Tanya. She docilely walks along. “You entered our territory with a demonic. You are rogue. She”—he jerks his square jaw toward Tahlia, who pouts magnificently—“is Lanarre.”

  “I have told you, you—oof! That I am Drek's chosen.”

  This is met with a knowing smirk. “You do not behave as a chosen.”

  “She behaves like a female alpha who has been roughed up by males. Pissed.” Tessa's face rocks back from the love tap given by the guard who holds her. She turns faster than he anticipates and sinks teeth sharper than human—more exacting too, on his forearm.

  He tosses her, and Tessa goes sprawling on her butt, landing in a heap of arms and legs with moss to thankfully cushion her fall. She flicks her tongue out, coming up with a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. “That the best you have, needle dick?”

  Ospere cocks his head, giving her a considering look. “Why would you goad my guard, female.”

  “Because I can. And it's fine—beat me. But you will never take from me who I am.” Tessa hears her voice shake with conviction.

  Ospere shakes his head as though weary of her. She has that effect on people.

  “Bind her.”

  The one who hit her approaches with a ready smirk.

  Tessa salivates with wanting to kick him right where it counts.

  “Come here, little female.”

  “Piss off, brainless.”

  He launches.

  Tessa avoids him and hits him on the back of the head with her laced hands. His wolfen arm, thirty percent longer and more muscled than usual reaches back and body slams her to the soft ground.

  Still, the wind leaves her lungs. She opens her mouth and can't breathe.

  He flips her over, and her face plows into the moist vegetation of the forest floor.

  “She can't breathe!” Tahlia screams in a panic.

  The Lanarre takes too much time to bind her wrists, enjoying her vulnerability, with her unprotected hindquarters on full display.

  He hovers. “Where's your demonic lover now, bitch?” his whisper is loud enough to be heard by all.

  Her shame is a seed that plants itself in her brain, causing Tessa's tear ducts to fire on like light switches. Air finally returns to her lungs, and she sucks in just enough to say softly, “At least he's got a dick.”

  Tessa doesn't know anything about Laz's dick, except it looked beautiful. But she'd maybe wanted to know more.

  The Lanarre jerks her up, whipping Tessa around so suddenly, she groans at the onslaught, her shoulders throbbing from the abuse.

  “That's enough, Erik.”

  “Yeah, Erik,” Tessa manages.

  Ospere jerks Tahlia beside him. “You do not want to save yourself. However, maybe you care about this young female. She's barely beyond whelphood.”

  “But she is,” Erik says with sick casualness.

  Tessa's face whips to his. “Touch her, and I'll end you.”

  He laughs in her face, his wolfen breath vile. The jerk's been eating the wrong animal diet.

  Tessa leans back and, jumping forward, clocks him in his forehead with her own.

  She's lifted from behind by the waist.

  Instantly, she knows it's Laz, and a part of her that had shriveled to hopelessness at his departure fans to life again.

  Erik staggers forward, and Laz's tail wraps around Tessa, bashing Erik in the skull with the hammer head at the end of his tail.

  His head bursts like a soft watermelon. Bits of brain scatter like gray seeds. Mushy, dirty gray brain matter falls before them, and Erik's body slumps to its knees.

  His elevated status as Lanarre feverishly tries to repair the damage a mundane Lycan could never hope to achieve.

  “I'm afraid he lost his head,” Laz says.

  Three Lanarre rush him.

  Tessa uses Laz's body, swinging her feet out, and punches them into the closest Were.

  “Tahlia!” Tessa screams.

  An achingly high-pitched caw meets her fevered plea.

  Tahlia's bird form lands on the next, talons sinking into his skull like a knife through butter. She rises, the powerful legs of the inky bird she uses in this form twisting and jerking. She breaks his neck, and he falls face forward.

  The sound of bones breaking has Tessa struggling to turn in Laz's hold.

  He drops her, and Tessa loses her balance, helplessly sinking to her knees. “Shit!” she yells.

  Ospere has become his wolf, and Tessa slips to her knees on the carnage of his exploded form.

  Tahlia has lighted on a strong branch directly above.

  Tessa is kneeling like a sacrifice one yard from where Ospere growls, circling Laz.

  Laz's injuries make Tessa want to cry.

  Deep lashes run down his face, arms, and legs. He's still naked and vulnerable. Gorgeous.

  Tessa blinks, suddenly realizing that there's something good to have come out of all this. Might as well die in a lust-induced state. She feels the stupid grin overcome her face. Old Erik got his, and Laz standing around in all his muscular naked glory's not too bad.

  And
Tramack didn't get me.

  “Stop!” Ospere commands in a booming voice that makes Tessa's teeth thrum.

  “Now what?” Tahlia asks from beside her.

  Tessa gazes up at her from her spot in the mud and filth, a black feather sticking out of her hair, and laughs. It's not the laughter of humor, but that of hysteria.

  *

  “I can't believe Drek didn't choose to kill us,” she states quietly. “I guess if more guards had been killed… and now Tahlia's tied up somewhere with that phony Tanya.”

  “Nor I,” Laz agrees.

  Tessa chances a glance behind them. Yup, the two guards are their shadows, one in front of them and one behind.

  Tessa trudges beside Laz.

  “How did you get away from the guards?” Tessa whispers.

  Laz's brow quirks. “I heard you beyond me, and I couldn't control my actions. But they'll live.”

  A vague outline of a cottage appears. Nicer digs than the Western had. It's been so long since Tessa lived with her pack of origin, so she can't be sure that improvements have been made during her absence.

  Doubtful. If there's one thing that's consistent, it's Tramack. He cares about one thing: himself. Not the comfort of the pack.

  The small cottage appears to grow out of its surroundings. Situated perfectly between a cluster of hemlocks on one side and western red cedar on the other, it stands as a low, story and a half. A small window is anchored in the gable pitched roof like a single warm eye. A soft light glows through the glass.

  Tessa doesn't hear the drone of generators, and this deep within the wood, she's not sure how things like electricity or plumbing reach this isolated structure. The thatched roof looks newly done, if she's any judge. It's beautiful and cozy. She doesn't want to relax her guard, but her exhaustion is taking over with each step.

  “More than you deserve, female,” Ospere remarks.

  She slides her gaze to him, her tongue ready for the lashing such a comment deserves, but Laz presses a fingertip to her lips.

  “Thank you for the hospitality of the Lanarre,” Laz says with quiet intensity.

  Tessa surveys his wounds again. They weep blood.

  Hospitality, my ass. But she remains silent because they spared his life, even after he beat his way to the front of the group to save her from Erik’s “hospitality.”

  She looks back at his convulsing body. Fresh skull, like the membrane of a hardboiled egg, is a thin opaque sheathing covering his healing brains. Tessa shudders.

  “It is sad commentary when a horned one would extend courtesy where a female of our kind holds nothing but derision.”

  How can he say that? His buddies are the one that beat them into submission.

  Laz touches her shoulder lightly, and she pivots on her heel, climbing the wide, bowed wood steps that lead to the front door.

  Laz gracefully follows, though his wounds should be causing him a lot of grief.

  The Lanarre at back steps forward. He holds the solid plank door wide as they step through the threshold. “Do not leave.”

  “Where's Tahlia going?” she asks, frantically searching for the young female.

  “She will be escorted to Drek's home.”

  That sounds bad. But she clamps her mouth shut. They haven't killed her or Laz yet. They probably won't hurt Tahlia, Tessa hopes.

  His mouth puckers.

  Tessa closes the door in his face and listens as the tumblers of a lock engage. She spins, facing Laz. “It's completely weird that they'd leave us alone together if they believe I'm in heat.”

  Tessa keeps strict eye contact.

  “It's baited,” Laz says absently, his hands running over the huge logs that bisect the structure. His fingertips hover over the chinking in a dull ivory. Finally, he turns.

  Tessa crosses her arms. “What are you talking about? You killed two Lanarre. You accompanied a rogue female in heat. They're going to kill you—slowly.”

  Tessa raises her hands to her face. “Why didn't you stay gone, Laz? You're a demonic. They're keeping you alive for something awful. Look at how they treated Tahlia—their possible future queen.” She grunts her disgust.

  Laz peels her fingers gently away from her face.

  The wounds of his own are beginning to heal. By tomorrow, they'll be gone. He brushes a hair out of her face. “They will try.” He looks off, eyes trained to the dark forest beyond the window. “It is not the Lanarre who frighten me, but Praile. There is nothing they might do that would be worse than what the Master is capable of.” His face tightens.

  “That other guy—Peter?

  A small smile erupts over his face.

  “What's so funny?” Try as she might, Tessa doesn't find anything amusing. Tahlia's somewhere. Some other Lanarre chick has decided to impersonate her, and Drek seems like a class-A asshole.

  “Inside joke.” Laz's smile widens.

  “Huh. Okay. Anyway…” She gives him a look that clearly says, get serious. “ Why is he a threat. He's demonic, like you.”

  It's Laz's turn to give her a disbelieving stare. “We are demonic.”

  Tessa nods. So?

  “High demons are the best of us.”

  “I remember.”

  His exhale is a rush of temper. His skin deepening to the light red she remembers so well.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” His blond eyebrow rises. But now there's a hint of red.

  Tessa waffles her hand between them. “That. One minute you look like an average man, then the next, you're all demon.”

  “Average?” he asks, a seductive lilt to his voice.

  That one word heats her insides.

  “Not average,” she says, hating the squeak in her voice.

  He moves his hands to her shoulders, brushing his thumbs over the curve where shoulder meets arm.

  He explains by leaning forward, his mouth tickling her ear. “It is more difficult to keep my human costume when my emotions are near the surface.”

  Laz pulls back, and Tessa sways.

  He is back to looking like a Viking: a blond, chiseled, tall, blue-eyed Norse specimen. She lowers her eyes.

  Oh, Moon. I want to ride his boat. Tessa's face flames.

  Laz smirks as though he can read hear thoughts.

  “Why are you emotional right now, Laz?”

  He turns without answering, pacing away from her.

  She admires the view, the muscles of his ass flexing and clenching beneath the black smoothness of the pants he was given. What is wrong with me? Oh yeah—heat. But it should only be for a Lycan.

  “It seems right that I would be emotional from having been captured by Lanarre—Lycan royalty, no less—and my commander hunts me for my wrongdoing. That my injuries take much of my remaining strength to heal. That's enough.”

  Tessa walks to his broad, bare back. The Lanarre provided clothing when he conceded their capture to Ospere, but the athletic pants don't fit him, and he never put the shirt on.

  Laz runs warm. She stifles a laugh.

  Tessa swallows the ball of desire lodged in her throat by all that the pants showcase.

  “I smell your lust, Tessa,” he comments in a low voice.

  She stops walking. “How?”

  He slowly turns to her. The wounds of his face are now scabbed. “I am demonic.”

  Right. I guess lust is their biz.

  “Ask me why those things are not the cause of my emotion? The fluctuation of my form is not caused by those extenuating circumstances. I have excellent control of the cloaks I choose to wear in this realm.”

  “Why is—” Tessa takes a deep breath. “What is causing the emotions.”

  Red water rushes through the air, and Laz suddenly stands before her.

  She gasps.

  “What is that?” Her voice is shaky.

  Laz palms the side of her face. “That? That is my essence. What you have seen thus far is not all that I am. This is only part of what it is to be demonic.”


  Tessa gets ahold of herself. “What's made you emotional, Laz?”

  Soft red moves under the surface of his skin like subtle blood. His hair darkens to gold. The flash of his tail spins above them, seemingly rotating with his thoughts. His eyes darken to gray licked by pewter.

  He feathers a fingertip across her cheek, trailing his touch along her hot skin.

  Tessa sighs.

  “Proximity to my Redemptive.” Then his lips are on hers, and Tessa's questions melt to what he's doing—and what she'll allow.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Scott

  They're quiet as they ascend from the bunker. Julia's anxiety scoops out Scott's guts.

  All he can do is fall harder into her.

  He couldn't wait to have sex with Julia and get it out of his system. Scott figures there's nothing more unnatural than not bedding a soul-meld. Now he has.

  And if anything, his attachment to her is tighter. The connection is not like the noose married human men joke about, but a net of love and protection. Its weight is heavy.

  Maybe it's because of that spore. The thought of having to go to the sithen and worry about Julia's safety causes the Combatant inside Scott to rise. He beats the primal reaction down with a mental club. He can't be busting his form every time he feels threatened. He has to actually be threatened. None of the Combatants had known what having the Rare One present would be like until Julia was among them. Then their role wasn't just theory anymore, wasn't fun and games, but something real.

  Swaths of light pierce the dim interior of the cylindrical ascension as it marks they're progress.

  Finally, they reach the top, and Vic gives a hard twist of the spinning handle, lifting the portal.

  “This is it,” Julia says.

  Scott doesn't reply. He feels the sludge of her anxiety, and he knows what awaits above.

  Chaos.

  *

  Victor pops the hatch and slowly rotates on the top of the ladder rung like a human periscope. His eyes meet Scott's, and he gifts him with a slightly bemused shrug. “Everything appears normal.”

  “Nah,” Scott says. “Get your ass out of my face, Vic.”

  A smile flashes across his perfect features, and he hops out the top then holds out his hand to Scott. He slaps his palm into Vic's and exits. His eyes scurry over the surfaces in search of Jason's remains.