Those four words wound through his ribs like a greedy vine.
My woman needs me.
Elias paced away, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His mate’s instinct wasn’t something he could turn off and on. He embodied all the protectiveness of the man who’d met and fallen for Roksana in Vegas, but the call inside him to make it known was loud and unceasing. Having his claim on her soothed the beast, but denying that claim? He could already hear the bars rattling, the caged animal pacing back and forth.
She is your mate.
She must know it. The world must know it.
“I agree to your plan.” Elias paced to a stop in front of her, the heart she’d brought back to life rioting in his ribcage. “But you agreed to marry me and I want to hear your promise again. I’ll have my lifetime of calling you mine in exchange for denying you, Roksana.”
Roksana’s chest rose and fell swiftly, a tremor coursing through her. She opened her mouth to speak several times, but seemed unable to find the words. Then finally, “I won’t go back on my promise,” she said unevenly, stooping down and dragging her hands through the dirt, covering herself in filth, turning her hair to a tangled web in seconds. “However, I have a quick reminder of my own. I went on a few dates with the manager of Enders and he wanted me to meet his parents.” She straightened, looking as if she’d been in a scuffle with two vampires. “Shall we?”
“Ah, for crying out loud,” Tucker muttered.
Several yards away, the enflamed trash can exploded.
Elias gripped Roksana’s wrists behind her back in one hand, lifting his hand to knock on the non-descript metal door with the other. She struggled against him, attempting to free herself, but he only tightened his grip, wincing when his fingertips bit into her delicate skin. Footsteps approached from the other side of the door, and Tucker stepped closer, pressing a metal blade to Roksana’s neck. Elias closed his eyes momentarily, breathing in and out, reining in the overwhelming need to protect. To get the weapon as far away from her as possible.
The door opened a crack, then slowly pushed wider, letting out house music turned up to an earsplitting level. A man appeared in the opening, his white T-shirt a stark contrast to the deep brown of his skin. “You’ve got to be joking,” he said, eyeing Roksana with distaste. “Not only do you come crawling back here, you bring two undead with you?”
Fire rippled in Elias’s fingertips, his fangs vibrating with the need to slice down from their home within his gums. After punishing Roksana with pleasure for daring to be jealous of someone inconsequential, he recognized his own hypocrisy, but hell if he could help it.
This man had been on dates with his mate. Dates plural. He’d only taken her on one, they hadn’t even finished their drinks—and she thought he didn’t remember it. Everything about it was a travesty.
“Luther,” Roksana choked out, her attempts to break free increasing. “A little help here, please? I didn’t come by choice. They—”
Elias slapped a hand over Roksana’s mouth, forcing her down to her knees in front of him, pressing his hand tighter to her lips when she tried to bite him. “Not another word,” he barked, his stomach rebelling at the sight of her knees grinding into the dirty ground.
“We’re here to meet with Tilda,” Tucker said, holding up the document at a safe distance from Luther. “Tell her we have the decree.”
Luther eyed the paper suspiciously. “What decree?”
Tucker snorted. “Wow. You’re obviously super important around here.” He puffed on the lit cigar between his lips. “Tilda will know what we’re talking about.”
“You’re delusional if you think I’m letting two bloodsuckers in here.”
“Send us away.” Tucker ashed his cigar. “Tilda will probably let you live.”
“We had a feeling you might be a little hesitant, seeing as how we kicked your asses last time we were here,” Elias said, gripping Roksana’s jaw and turning her face up to the single fluorescent light, highlighting the bruise around her eye, the split lip she’d gotten in Moscow. Not from them. But Luther didn’t know that. “We’ve been holding her a while, waiting for the right time to play this particular card. Consider this the closest you’ll ever come to getting an apology for wrecking your little clubhouse.”
Slowly, Luther leaned an elbow on the doorjamb. “You’re turning the traitor over to us?”
“We’ll turn her over to Tilda,” Tucker answered, giving the slayer a tight smile. “Gotta get those brownie points, right?”
“She fought on your side that night.” Luther intoned, his forehead wrinkling thoughtfully. “Your allegiances changed so quickly?”
Elias tilted his head. “Are you saying vampires are capable of loyalty?”
“No,” Luther said quickly, curling his lip at Roksana. “We know damn well she isn’t capable of it.”
It was the slightest flinch that jolted Roksana. And though Elias kept his features bland, he felt it like a five-point-oh earthquake.
I’ll kill you one day, Luther.
Maybe even tonight, if I’m lucky.
“This offer is good for another five minutes,” Elias said coldly. “I suggest you let Tilda know we’re here before we find another buyer for this decree.”
“That won’t be necessary,” came a cultured English voice. It was quiet and breathy, but somehow sliced through the loud music with no effort. A second later, a rail-thin redhead came into view, looking straight down her nose at them. “Oh my. What a scene.”
Elias put the woman in her late forties, but he was basing that on the weight of knowledge in her eyes, because her skin looked like it was made of porcelain, not a single wrinkle or blemish to be found. “Tilda?” Tucker asked.
The woman’s movements were unnatural, as if she was shifting each body part separately to face Tucker. First her head, then her torso, finally her lower half. Elias could only describe it as a graceful version of the robot. “I am she, yes. Proprietor of this place. Famously.”
Roksana lunged onto her side, delivering a kick to Elias’s kneecap and rolling to her feet.
“You better catch her, I suppose,” Tilda said breezily. “If she is to be my gift.”
Elias moved in a blur of speed, wrapping an arm around Roksana’s waist and hauling her back up against this chest. Every time she struggled or drilled an elbow into his gut, the beast inside of him howled in confusion, but she was counting on him to hold it together, so he soothed the beast with a reminder that she’d wear his ring soon. “Your gift is a pain in the ass. Do you want her or not?”
“Oh yes.” Tilda reared back, hand pressed to her throat. “Where are my manners, you must come in at once, of course. Did I hear you mention you’d also brought the marriage decree for Mary?”
Tucker held up the piece of paper between two fingers. “Got it right here, ma’am.”
Tilda’s skin beat in a glowing pulse of light, her eyes taking on a luminescent quality. “Brilliant. I can’t wait for her bastard father to know I got the last laugh.” She patted Luther on the shoulder on her way into Enders. “This way, please.”
Tucker passed Elias with eyebrows raised, mouthing, “She’s fae?”
Elias gave an almost imperceptible nod, tucking Roksana against him and carrying her wriggling form over the threshold, barely quelling the urge to brandish his fangs at Luther as they passed.
Mine, motherfucker.
Enders looked exactly as it had the last time they were there. A bar ran along the right wall, a dance floor in back. Dancers undulated to the frenetic beat on elevated platforms. The atmosphere was dark and dramatic, a lot like most slayers of his experience. Neon phrases had been written on walls, such as send the undead to hell and protect the living.
Not in a million years could he picture Roksana in this place, drinking and reveling in a united purpose to commit murder. Neither one of them belonged in this underworld to which they’d been relegated, did they? Life-altering decisions had been made on the
ir behalf. Their personal choices had been taken away and yet nothing seemed to stop them from continually choosing each other, no matter the consequences.
Would that always be the case for Roksana?
He would always choose her. No questions asked. His loyalty was absolute.
Once this exchange was made with Tilda, however, they would be on their way to Moscow. With Inessa in the picture, up close and personal, Elias was no longer confident in his ability to keep Roksana…with him. She had a deep, complicated allegiance to her mother.
Thus far, she’d been unable to seal the deal and kill him, but if her mother refused to be lenient and demanded his head, what would Roksana do?
What would he do?
The music fizzled to silence in the club, the slayers ceasing their movements in waves, drinks pausing in mid-air at the bar. Customers parted on the dance floor, nodding in deference to Tilda as she breezed through the middle, sneering at Tucker next. They all registered shock when they saw Roksana, but recovered quickly, spitting on the floor in front of her.
“Traitor,” they hissed.
“Judas.”
Roksana jerked out of his hold, settling her feet on the floor. “I can walk,” she snapped at him over her shoulder. Walking behind her as he was, Elias couldn’t see her expression, but the rigid tension in her shoulders didn’t appear to be for show. Nor was the jagged pounding of her heart. It echoed in his ears and the desire to soothe her ate him alive, scrambling his objectivity like the blades of a lawn mower.
Pull back.
Elias focused on her citrus scent and continued through the club, which remained suspended in animation. If he made it through tonight without starting a structure fire, it would be a miracle—
“Oh!” At the head of their human convoy, Tilda turned and clapped her hands twice. “I almost forgot. The vampires have brought you all a gift.” She lifted a hand and released a sprinkling of glowing sparks. They whirled in an arc above Tucker, twisting to stop above Roksana’s head, blinking and dancing. “The traitor slayer is all yours. I could tell you to be firm yet fair, but I’d rather save my breath. Paint the walls with her blood, if you must, just keep the noise down.” She cupped a hand around her mouth and whispered, “Mary is sleeping upstairs.”
Elias’s world narrowed down to a pinpoint, his throat collapsing in on itself. Hands reached for his mate, pulling her into the crowd, their boisterous cackles ripping through his bones. His fangs filled his mouth and fire blasted from a deep, dark, unknown land inside of him. The place would be leveled in minutes, but he’d be damned before something inflicted so much as a fucking scratch to Roksana—
“Mother?”
The flames were poised to erupt from Elias’s pores when a young woman stumbled into view among the paused bodies on the dance floor. Not so young, he amended. A teenager at least. Maybe eighteen or nineteen. She wore an old-fashioned nightgown, her deep red hair in a tangle from sleep. In her hand, she felt along the floor with the handle of a broomstick, her bare feet sticking to the nasty wood, though she didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Mother?” called the young woman.
“Mary, you’re supposed to be sleeping!” Tilda admonished, rushing forward with an air of maternal concern that definitely hadn’t been on display when she suggested her slayers paint the wall with Roksana’s blood. “Go on back up to bed now. Mummy is working.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She stared straight ahead with sightless eyes—and it was then that Elias noticed Tucker’s expression. He was staring at Mary, as if she’d been beamed down from heaven in a ray of light. “Is it the marriage decree? Have you found it?”
“Yes, dear. Yes.” Tilda patted Mary’s arm, trying to guide her daughter toward the back staircase leading up to where Elias assumed the office was located. “I told you I would take care of everything, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but…” Mary started to become visibly upset, the broom twisting in her hand, her breathing sounding as if it came through a straw. Around her the slayers remained eerily unmoving, their silence almost reverent, as if there was a saint in their midst. “Yes, but now will I have to go away and marry the—?”
Tilda interrupted with a nervous laugh, a pink glow blooming on her cheeks. “This should be a family discussion, dear. Not a public one.”
“Will you tell my future husband I’m blind or are we going to surprise him?”
“Mary, please. Come upstairs.”
The young girl tilted her head in a quick movement, the way someone might listen for an approaching train. Her nose wrinkled and she took a few steps forward, the nightgown swishing around her calves. Slayers stepped out of her way as she advanced, her hand lifting slowly, reaching out, her fingertips making contact with the center of Tucker’s chest. She walked them along his gold chains, up the side of his neck, then carefully traced them over his features. All the while, Tucker appeared to be under hypnosis, his eyes fixed on Mary’s face.
With everyone’s attention drawn to Mary and Tucker, Elias seized the opportunity to sidle closer to Roksana, signaling her with his eyes to do the same. The fear in her expression hollowed him out, but he did everything in his power to keep his composure, when in reality he longed to start kicking ass and taking names.
“Who is this, Mother?”
“You can ask him directly, Mary. He’s standing right in front of you.”
“I’m just Tucker,” he said in a funny voice.
“Just?”
Elias’s friend rubbed at the back of his neck. “Why do you use a broom to guide you?”
Mary seemed surprised by the question. “Because it serves a dual purpose. I’m not just walking around, I’m cleaning the floor behind me. I’m like a human—”
“Roomba,” they said at the same time.
“Yes,” Mary breathed, a smile widening her mouth. Little red sparks began dancing around her head merrily and several of the slayers traded astonished glances. “Are you here to bring me to my future husband?”
Tucker’s throat muscles worked. “No.”
“Can you?”
“No,” Tilda said firmly, taking Mary by the elbow and attempting to move her away from Tucker, visibly distressing the vampire. He seemed powerless to do anything but move with them, keeping Mary close. “No, he can’t, dear.”
Mary frowned and shrugged out of her mother’s hold. “You haven’t even asked him.”
“I’ll do whatever she wants.” Tucker’s voice was gravelly. “Please.”
Tilda snorted. “Absolutely not.”
The red sparks flying in a meandering pattern around Mary’s head started spinning faster, faster until they were connected in a continuous blur. Her shoulders lifted and fell, distress bringing spots of color to her cheeks. She took a deep breath and screamed, the earsplitting decibel shattering every drinking glass, cell phone screen and liquor bottle in Enders. Elias fought through the pain plaguing his ear drums, taking advantage of everyone’s distraction to lunge for Roksana, pulling her from the midst of her would-be attackers.
“Mary!” Tilda shouted, shaking the young girl by the shoulders. “Enough of this—”
The scream lifted in volume. To such a degree that Elias had to bury Roksana’s face in his chest, wrapping his arms around her head, fearing her human ears wouldn’t be able to withstand the sound. Slayers dropped to their knees on the dance floor, doubling over and pressing their palms over their ears. Meanwhile Tucker didn’t seem to be affected at all by the noise, seeming more worried about Mary than anything.
“Fine!” Tilda screeched. “Fine, yes…he can bring you. All right? Stop this at once!”
Mary quieted gradually, her red sparkles over her head returning to a happy glimmer. With a quiet smile growing on her face, she threaded her fingers through Tucker’s and led him through the parted crowd toward the stairs.
“Well now.” Tilda watched her daughter and Tucker walk away with a mixture of dread and shock on her face. “Pleasantries are ou
t of the way, I suppose. On with the meeting.”
The tension remained in Elias’s back and shoulders until he and Roksana were safely inside the upstairs office with the door locked. Thankfully, her intention to toss Roksana to the wolves had obviously been forgotten in the uproar, but he wasn’t letting his guard down for a single second. Not until they were free of this place and she was safe in his arms.
Tilda’s office was decorated like it belonged in a Victorian mansion. All the furniture was miniature, ornate and cluttered, the walls hung with side profile paintings of people in period clothing, and classical music played lightly from a record player in the corner.
Mary and Tucker had entered the office in front of them, taking a seat on a plush bench to the side of Tilda’s desk, Mary pressed tightly to Tucker’s side. He appeared caught between alarm and disbelief over his own luck.
Remembering his role as captor, Elias caught Roksana’s wrists behind her back, propelling her toward a leather couch on the far wall of the large office. He stopped short when Tilda snorted and waved a floppy hand at him. “You can drop the ruse now, Mister Broody and Damaged. The jig is up.”
Roksana’s pulse leapt against his fingertips, but his expression didn’t change. “I’m sorry?”
Tilda sat down behind a feminine, antique desk and lit a cigarette, blowing out a thin cloud of smoke. “Perhaps you weren’t aware of the ungodly roar you let out when I handed her over to the slayers?” She laughed without moving a single one of her facial muscles. “Your prisoner, she is not.”
“Mother talks like Yoda when she’s stressed,” Mary piped up with a stage whisper, scooting even closer into Tucker’s side and patting him happily on the knee. “Stressed she talks Yoda like Mother.” She frowned. “I don’t think I’m doing it right.”
“Yes, you are,” Tucker rasped, staring down at the crown of Mary’s head.
Tilda diverted Elias’s attention when she nodded at Roksana and asked, “Is the traitor slayer your mate?”
“I’ve had enough of her being called that.”
This Time Tomorrow Page 22