by Tigris Eden
“It’s like he was the last in line for super villain names,” Royce joked right back.
The guys around Draven snickered as they crept closer to the warehouse. There were no guards out front that he could see or smell. That didn’t mean a damn thing. The warehouse could have been cloaked, hindering them. There was a foul odor in the air; it was sickly sweet, death meet Febreze, Febreze meet death. The combination made his nostrils hurt.
“Dude, I swear if I don’t get to kill at least ten motherfuckers, I’m going home. Word.” This came from Dietrich, the smug bastard.
“Dumbass, what if there isn’t anyone to kill? You know this could be easy-peasy,” Gabe bantered back. The guy had tagged along; the entire lay of the land mapped in his head. Gabe, the super whiz they called him.
“And your dick could be bigger than mine. Not,” Dietrich said as he flipped him the bird.
“Guys…” Draven said.
They both looked his way and flipped him the bird in unison, but kept quiet. Everything was quiet, too quiet. Royce motioned with his fingers for the teams to move forward, and with fluid motion, the men went to their markers and waited. Royce was his point man, and it was Draven’s job to back him up. Royce’s brother, Ronin, would be able to hear the thoughts of whoever was inside the warehouse, hopefully. They hadn’t been able to read Oliver until Ronin ate the vampire’s brains. But this Red Sun guy was cocky, probably didn’t think his location would be ousted.
Ronin led Gabe, Hawke, and Adam. Royce, Dietrich, and Draven were in their own team. Ronin and Royce stopped walking at the same time and they both winced.
“What?” Draven asked. Royce didn’t look at him but cursed low under his breath. “What!” Draven said again, this time his tone more rough.
“He’s got her, man… shit,” Royce scrubbed his face with his hands, “Fuck…man… I’m sorry, but the bastard’s got Jesminda and she’s hurting real bad.”
The entire world threatened to tumble down around him. His life played out before him, a series of what ifs streaming through his mind. He saw it in rapid succession, coming to the same conclusion. He should have never left her that first time. Never saw her as a one-night stand. A part of him knew back then that she was his mate. He’d been too blind to see it. Didn’t want to man up and do the right thing, too stubborn. He should have claimed her then, watched her swell with his pup and greeted his daughter into the world the way his people did. Instead, he’d turned, leaving her in the dark jungles of Belize. He’d told himself it was because she was human. His one true reason for living was her—and Faith—and now his mate was hurting. Something he’d said he would never let happen to her again. All because he didn’t take the time to do the right thing, which was to care for her since day one.
“Where,” he growled.
Royce put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed tight.
“Draven, I know you’ve seen the movies where the gung ho hero runs in and saves the day, but what the story doesn’t tell you, is that it never works out that way. The hero dies because he was too stupid to plan his attack. You’re not Tom fucking Cruise, man, don’t go in there guns blazing.”
Dietrich held him, as well, shaking his head, telling him it wasn’t a good idea. He looked Draven in the eye and nodded. The beast didn’t care what plans they had for rescue, all his beast cared about was that their mate was in there and she was suffering.
“Dietrich, do your thing, bring Jesminda safely out of there, and then let’s get the rest of the survivors,” Royce stated plainly.
Draven watched as Dietrich went ghost. Literally. The brother was there one minute and then the next he was translucent and completely gone. What the fuck was he?
“He’s a watcher,” Royce said.
“A what?”
“A watcher, he can go in undetected and watch the entire scene. What most don’t know is that he can also possess Jesminda’s body, take the brunt of the pain for her, and then walk her out of there.”
“Dravaggio needs to re-write his “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” clause. This is vital information we all could have used,” Gabe said into Draven’s earpiece. But they were all aware of why the clause was put in place. Any one of them could have information or abilities that were best kept to themselves. Normally, they worked alone. There was no reason to depend on a fellow member. Men, especially of their ilk, didn’t like to follow the other’s orders. You worked alone and you died alone. But after tonight, Draven was going to have a conversation with the captain and get this shit all sorted.
It didn’t calm his wolf, not in the slightest, but Draven tugged on the reins and attempted to bargain. He tried everything, offered up firstborn sons of the enemy. Promised to grow Jesminda’s belly full with pups, but when that didn’t work, he tried sheer brute force. He tried to force his wolf into a submissive position, anything to allow him to think properly. He knew what needed to be done, but couldn’t execute. His wolf wanted out and wanted out now.
“Shit man, you’re shifting. Talk him down. Dietrich can do it.”
“My mate, my responsibility,” Draven said around a mouth full of teeth.
The werewolf took off at a dead run to the warehouse.
# # #
Jes’s head was pounding and her vision was blurry when she finally opened her eyes. She was in some kind of room. It was dark except for the slivers of light the moon bathed the floor in from the windows. It should have been morning. Shouldn’t it? Her body ached in unseen places, and she knew her ribs were cracked, at least two on her right side. The left side felt just as bad. She found that out the hard way when she’d tried to take a deep breath.
She didn’t know what time it was or where she was; only that her surroundings smelled like urine and feces mixed with the metallic tang of blood. Oh, God, was it hers? She tried to get into a sitting position against the wall, but she was losing the battle. Each lift of her arms cost her. The pain was excruciating. Felt like her body was a light socket, being plugged in for pain. A small whimper escaped her and then the room flooded with light as a door opened. There was a table she could see now with instruments. All kinds of cutting tools, and blood stained, each one. Don’t look. Don’t look!
“I see you’re awake human.” A cold blast of air hit her face. God, was that his breath? Death and blood swirled in the air around her in frost, and she knew if her eyes weren’t so puffy from crying she’d see her breath mist in front of her face.
“I wondered how long you would be out. Marcus and the boys took wagers, such a human thing to do, such disregard for human life. It’s just as well, fitting of your husband to be angry with you. After all,” his voice drawled, “You left him, took his only child, and ran straight into the arms of a werewolf. Humans…” He spat the word and her body flinched. “You don’t even realize, how do you say, ‘Fucked,’ your situation is.” He began to pace the length of the room. Jes couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer but she could hear his feet shuffle.
“Don’t you know a war is coming? Not some small civil war between governments and their wayward factions. No, it will be a war of good versus evil. Where only the strong and diabolical survive, Dravaggio and his men are fighting on the wrong team. But soon, soon my dear, they will come to see the Agency for what it really is. A way to control, a way to collect us and do their bidding; humans and immortals have existed alongside each other for thousands of years. Against my better judgment, I conformed. But, no more will I walk alongside such puny life forms. My kind is meant to be worshiped as the Gods we are.” What the hell was he talking about? A war, what war?
He pulled her up into a sitting position. His fingers burned her skin, causing her to cry out in pain. He squatted in front of her face so she could see him clearly. Her eyes hurt like hell, but she forced herself to peel her lids open. The light from the hall fell on his back throwing his entire face into the shadow. He could see her but she couldn’t see him. She knew she was in real trouble; this was the man back at the cottage,
the one that wanted to do harm to her child.
Her throat was on fire, but she managed to whisper, “What do you want from me?”
His laughter made her shiver, took her mind and her body into the very pits of darkness. He was evil from the ground up, deep to his core. It slithered over her skin, tried worming its way inside what little light she had left.
“Oh, nothing that will be too hard for you… it’s quite simple.” He hesitated before he continued, the silence felt like a million lifetimes. With a very calm voice, bending forward and taking her face in his hands he replied.
“I want to hear you scream for me.”
# # #
Jes couldn’t scream anymore, her throat was bleeding. She could taste the blood on her tongue, sharp and tangy. The man from the cottage continued his torture, first with his hands and now with a whip, he sliced into her skin. Her body wasn’t numbing, she thought vaguely as another lash stripped the flesh from her back. She’d wanted to pass out after the first minute of his whip, and that minute had seemed like hours. There were spikes at the end of the tail, and each of its talons dug into her flesh. When he would pull back, it’d hook into her skin, peeling it from her back in strips. Her back was splayed open to the muscle.
The thought made her gag over and over again in between screams. She grew hoarse at first. The feeling of sandpaper scraping over the soft tissue in her throat stopped her from screaming more. She didn’t want to damage her voice. But then he’d gotten really inventive. He’d take a break, walk around her flayed body, and bend to lick the blood from her toes as it dripped down her thighs to a pool on the floor. She told herself that was the worst part of this whole ordeal, but she’d been wrong.
In his hands, he produced a ball with tiny maggot like things that crawled over each other. He shook it and a loud buzzing noise emitted from the orb, almost like they were screaming. He brought the ball closer, until her swollen eyes could adjust, she could see the worms, biting at each other, and although she couldn’t see blood, they were pissed that he’d shaken them up.
“Aaah… the ball worms,” he hissed.
Jesminda’s body went taut with fear; he was going to put them on her. She just knew it. Her voice a ragged whisper she looked him in the eye.
“Just fucking kill me you son of a bitch!”
“That would be entirely too easy… death.” He tilted his head to the side to study her. “No, I think I will keep you alive for a couple of weeks, months even. I’ve experimented with this and that where humans are concerned. Should you survive it will be a miracle.”
She didn’t think she had a voice left but as he opened the ball of worms and threw them in her face. She screamed a horrid ragged sound that severed her vocal cords. A few of the worms had gotten into her mouth, chocking her, and she chewed, thinking she could kill them that way. To her horror, when she bit down, the few in her mouth became many. She realized with agony they couldn’t be killed. No, they fucking multiplied, and as her body struggled and the worms ate away at her, a sudden calm took hold of her and she felt warmth. Intense warmth, as if she were locked in a box in the deepest regions of her mind, the pain blissfully went away. She was going home. Finally, death had showed her mercy.
25
The wolf didn’t care as he leapt into the warehouse of man-made material, it smelled horrible. There was defecation and death all around him and still he ran. Vampiri and Regs were caged in cells not fit for dogs. In this place, they were equal. Draven’s wolf passed the cages, ignoring their cries for help. What he cared about was his mate. Her fear knocked him back a few steps once he’d penetrated the barrier that had kept the noise out. The others hadn’t been able to hear the noise and neither could he. She could have been screaming for hours. He howled in rage at the thought. Draven didn’t hesitate as he pounded up the metal stairs and ripped the door off its hinges. He knew the others were following somewhere close behind. He ran and ran until he came to a door slightly ajar. The screams had come from the direction to his left. No sound came out now, was he too late? Was she dead? Gods help the man who did it! His wolf crept quietly to the door and looked inside.
Her body was strung up by some invisible line he couldn’t see. As he took in the scene, his wolf recoiled for a split second before he regrouped and took in his surroundings. Her skin was stripped at her back. There were stitches going from her throat to her navel. Both beast and man raged at the atrocity of her condition. He’d failed, failed to keep her from harm’s way. Draven’s wolf understood now why she’d fought him at every turn. Even if Marcus hadn’t helped to commit the crime, he put her here. Her neck was bruised and blood dripped a steady stream off her toes onto the floor. The beast and the man became crazed with rage. They would fix it, would save her, he had to. He tried to process the different smells inside the room. There was a strong malevolent presence. It reverberated in the space and attempted to beat at his skin. The hairs on his back rose in aggression. His teeth elongated further, waited for whatever evil still stood in the room with him, now waiting to strike. He looked to his mate, and sent a prayer to his Gods. She seemed peaceful, as if the pain she’d born hadn’t destroyed what resolve she had left.
The animal part of him knew she smelled different. The human part of him tried to quell his rising anger at her mistreatment. He could hear his human half yelling. Dietrich is here, patience will get us all things. Calm be the waters ‘til the storm hits.
Calm be the waters, but the wolf’s storm was rising, and rising fast. There wasn’t much he couldn’t do in this form, and that included defeating the dark magic that swirled around him. The temperature in the room dropped as the presence peeled itself away from a darken corner on his far left.
“I see we are no longer alone.”
Draven’s wolf rose to his full height on his two hind legs and stalked closer. His body contorted, adjusted into a true werewolf. In his beast form, he wasn’t able to reason, there was only one goal, and that was to get to his mate. But in his Were form he could be calculating and think clearly. His wolf reached out, claws extended and attempted to slice the thing in half. They went straight through, didn’t stop his progression. He continued wildly, attack after attack but was unable to break skin.
“That’s not gonna work on me dog,” the man stated.
Draven roared in frustration and attempted to pounce on him but was thrown into the wall in the opposite direction by an unseen force. He was hit with such impact he was sure his bones protested. There was something really wrong with this picture. He could handle all things in this form. Didn’t matter what he faced: immortal, magic or human. He could take it! Blow after blow came, and when it seemed all was lost, he smelled something foul in the corner. Distracted by the smell of death he approached it. As he made contact with the mass on the floor, the dark man went into a rush of flying fits and blows to his side. It didn’t stop Draven, who lunged at his opponent who was no longer in non-corporeal form. Their bodies connected mid-air and landed on the ground in a heap of fists, claws, and skin. Draven wasn’t going to be defeated. He refused to let Jes down again. The man attempted to sit on top of his chest and stab him with something glowing bright blue, but he deflected it time and time again.
He roared when the knife successfully stuck him in his shoulder. It immediately turned him back into his human form. His body crumpled on the floor as the blood from his wound ran down his bare shoulder and burned like hell’s fire.
“Who brings a knife to a fist fight?” Draven asked sarcastically as he attempted to stand. The dagger was deep, draining him of his strength. What kind of dark magic did this man wield?
“Someone prepared to do battle with anything,” the man answered.
Draven could see his eyes, and they were dead and soulless. It was as if he were one of the Death Walkers, only smarter. Or dumber depending on how you looked at the situation. He looked to where he knew Jes was hung up and stifled a shocked gasp. She wasn’t there. Dietrich. He must have posse
ssed her body and somehow got her out of the warehouse. He didn’t care how, he was grateful for what the other man had done. Large portions of gratitude poured from his soul. She was safe, would survive. That was all that mattered. The others would show up soon enough.
“Question,” Draven asked hoarsely.
The man arched a brow as if surprised. “Answer.”
“Were you last in line when it came to getting super villain names? My friend Royce seems to think so.” Blood began clogging his airway as he spoke. He spit the blood on the floor and smiled. Being hurt like this wasn’t something he ever thought he would have to deal with. Turns out he did.
The man stood straighter at the question and looked completely perplexed.
“You’re about to meet your maker and you ask me about my name?”
Draven was amazed at the level of intelligence from the notorious Red Sun, or lack thereof. He outright laughed, well he tried to laugh. He spit more blood. Where the fuck was back-up?
“Come on, I mean really, The Red Sun. That doesn’t inspire me to fear you, or to even consider you a worthy opponent. Seriously, the name sucks,” Draven taunted. His lungs were burning. What did that dagger do to him?
“The Red Sun is not my name, it’s the name of my organization.”
“Even worse,” Draven said through harsh breaths. He was sitting up now and the sting of pain in his shoulder was easing for the moment. He eyed the black mass in the corner again and noticed it was no longer there. It was on the ceiling of the room, silently slinking across the width of space. Draven’s skin burned from the inside out. He winced.
“I see you’ve noticed your normal state is somewhat altered.”
“Is this where you go into your long babbling monologue of how you’re going to take over the world? Because I don’t think I have the patience to hear it.” Damn.