Beast of All

by J. C. McKenzie

  Not again.

  My heart pumped so hard, my hearing became overwhelmed with the thudding sound.

  Please, no. Not again. I finally know what I want. Who I want.

  The colour continued to drain from Wick’s face. I clutched him closer, taking in his rosemary and sugar scent with shaky breaths. Warm blood trickled down my arms.

  Please, Feradea. I’ll do anything. Just give me the time to tell him how I truly feel.

  The wind whipped around us, flinging my hair in front of my face while my heart stopped and my breath lodged in my throat. Time stood almost perfectly still, like each second passing painfully stabbed at my soul with excruciating accuracy.

  Wick grimaced, and his eyes fluttered open.

  I breathed out and pulled back.

  His body’s self-healing pushed the bullet from the wound in his chest. The deformed bullet dropped to the metallic deck with a clang. The blood on Wick’s shirt stopped spreading, and now the wound knitted together before my eyes. The shot had been too far to his right to hit Wick’s heart. A lung, maybe, but with Were healing, and only one bullet hole, he’d survive a punctured lung.

  I released a deep sigh. My shoulders dropped. Oh thank you, Feradea! He’ll live.

  Wick growled. “I hate getting shot.”

  “Tell me about it.” My voice sounded thin, even to me. But I knew what he meant. I’d been shot three times in the last year. At least Wick had Were healing on his side. Seeing him vulnerable and injured like that made awful flashes from my past resurface.

  Wick’s smoldering gaze locked on mine. My thoughts halted. His gaze flicked down quickly to take in my naked body, and flashed yellow. His nose flared. “Worried?”

  Wick stood and pulled me up with him. His hard body close and warm.

  “I thought…I thought I lost you.” Again.

  Wick hesitated. Something soft streaked through his expression before hardening. He pushed my hand away and turned to walk away. “You keep me at arm’s length. Why would you care?”

  My belly knotted. No amount of wishing could turn back time and erase Wick’s pain or prevent this distrust from cloaking his fierce heart. My vision wavered. My muscles tightened.

  Oh, to hell with waiting until this mission was over. “I never said I needed more time or space.”

  Wick froze.

  “I’m not keeping you at arm’s length. Not anymore. You keep pushing me away in fear I’m going to bolt or lead you on. And you have good reason to think that, I know, but you put words in my mouth I never intended to say.”

  “What?” He stepped forward and gripped my arms. His fingertips dug in and his chocolate gaze flashed yellow, again.

  “If recent events have taught me anything, it’s to cherish the time we have. Not to let chances at happiness slip by.” I slid my shaky hand up to cup his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Wick squeezed his eyes shut, but he didn’t let me go.

  “I know I hurt you. I’m truly sorry for that.” I took a deep breath. “I’m ready now.”

  A loud boom shook the vessel, and we staggered to the side. An alarm blared—the kind that sounded for the passengers to abandon ship. My sensitive ears throbbed from the high-pitched wailing. The boat rocked.

  “The boys!” I turned to run, breaking free of Wick’s hold.

  His hand clamped on my arm and spun me toward him. His other hand gripped the back of my neck and hauled me closer. His hot mouth claimed mine. Strong arms encased me. My heart beat heavy against my ribcage as I kissed Wick back, matching his haste, desperation and passion.

  Finally! My wolf howled in my head. Her energy reached out to caress Wick.

  He lifted me in his strong arms, his muscles bunching as his tongue twisted with mine and sent heat pooling low in my belly. I wrapped my legs around his waist and clung to his tall, solid frame. My nerves tingled, yearning for more of his touch. He slammed me against the nearest wall and pressed his hips hard against mine. Fire raced through my veins as he stroked my tongue with his own, his hand still clutching my neck possessively.

  Gunshots sounded toward the stern. We froze, Wick’s tongue still in my mouth, his free hand gripping my naked breast.

  Wick gave my lip a nip before withdrawing. I dropped my legs and settled on shaky limbs. My body reeled from unfulfilled promises, and shivered from the loss of Wick’s warmth.

  “You better shift to your beast form now.” His gaze burned as it travelled down my naked body. “But we’re not done, here. When we get home, we will finish this.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Seriously?

  “Talk low, talk slow, and don’t say too much.”

  ~John Wayne

  We ran down the nearest corridor. Tarnished and corroded by rust, the surfaces were muddied by filth and dirt, the floor stained with grime. The alarm no longer blared with deafening intensity. Eerie silence settled on the vessel, punctured only by the slapping of our feet against the wet thinly-carpeted floor and the occasional groan and creak of the ship. We rounded a corner and almost crashed into Stan and Lucus.

  Lucus held his finger to his lips and tilted his head toward a nearby stairwell. Ben and his den must be that way. We nodded and followed at a brisk jog.

  Gunfire sounded again, somewhere above us. Must be the other half of Team Andy making a ruckus and providing a much needed distraction. Hopefully, they were okay.

  They’re all right, Wick whispered in my head as his hand settled on the small of my back and pushed me forward. He picked up his pace and passed me to join Lucus. He leaned down to ask the Witch something quietly. My pulse thudded in my ears as I continued to keep pace and prevented me from hearing the conversation.

  Something gnawed at my senses. Kind of like another fera wanting to bond, but different. Darker. Creepier. The hairs on my arms and neck stood up, and ice crept through me. I slowed, but the energy continued to taunt my neurons. I stopped running. The team ahead rounded the corner at the base of the stairs.

  Andy? Wick asked.

  Go ahead. Find the boys.

  Wick growled, but I ignored him and turned to climb the stairs. Floor after floor, I kept climbing, following the juicy tendril as it led me somewhere. I hoped it was the Pharaoh. Let the guys save the Witches. I wanted to sink my fangs and talons into an ancient Vampire tonight.

  Sweat dripped from my face as my skin grew cold and clammy. Where the hell was the rest of the team? The other half of Team Andy? Surely, I would’ve passed them by now, or at least scented them.

  My limbs screamed as I continued to keep the hard pace. Soft light trickled through the closed double doors at the end of the hall. My heart skipped a beat. The paneling and ornate door handles gave away the importance of who, or what, lurked on the other side.

  The boat shook again.

  Someone called out on the deck below.

  I didn’t recognize the voice.

  The trickle of voices floated down the hall, along with the Pharaoh’s scent. Different than the usual Vampire perfume of death and blood, this ancient supe smelled old, like dried leaves from the end of a hot summer before the rains started.

  I threw open the double doors. The dim light from two lamps illuminated a lone figure in the middle of the room. The doors closed behind me with a thud of finality.

  The Pharaoh turned around.

  My breath caught. Though I’d seen the Master Vampire before, his appearance was no less startling.

  With a long slender neck, elongated face, high cheekbones and a sharp chin, the Pharaoh’s face had a harsh, alien-like appearance. Almond-shaped eyes, full lips, and delicate arms and fingers on his tall, willowy frame made him appear delicate. Yet, I’d never use delicate to describe this supernatural being.

  The ancient Vampire radiated strength so powerful it hung heavy in the air.

  “Andrea McNeilly. What a pain you turned out to be.” His deep voice contradicted his weak frame and vibrated the air.

  “Pharaoh.” I inc
lined my head. No point in listing all the reasons he’d been more than a pain to me.

  “Please, call me Tancheres.” He flicked his wrist like revealing his true name was of no importance. It wasn’t, really. I already knew it, having researched the Pharaoh extensively after discovering his connection with the KK drug.

  “Tancheres.” I took a step toward the Vampire. He didn’t move—not in a frozen with fear way, but in an I-couldn’t-care-less way. “Or do you prefer Djedkare Isesi?”

  The Pharaohs full lips twitched and his eyes sparkled. “You’ve done your research.”

  “One thing I never understood.”

  He bowed his head, feet still firmly planted and unmoving as I continued to approach.

  “Why didn’t you just squash us all when we had no idea of your plans?”

  The Pharaoh tilted his head back and laughed. The deep, unsettling sound didn’t fit the frail, odd form standing before me. “With any kind of coup, you need to identify all the key players first. Otherwise, you risk an uprising. Revolution is like an infection. To prevent a future rebellion, I needed to identify and squash every person involved. In the beginning, too many unknowns existed, including you. Had Lucien played you better, he’d have the Werewolves, the Carus, and the Wereleopards under his thumb. Instead, he lost it all.” He flicked his wrist again, the gesture so similar to Lucien’s.

  Would he appreciate the comparison?

  “Every significant member must be eradicated.” The Pharaoh’s deep growl of a voice continued. “Or like a disease, unrest will fester and flare up again, and again. A premature coup would’ve inevitably led to a revolt. Much better to identify all the pieces first and then pick them off like a strategic game.”

  He may as well have said a direct attack was uncouth and beneath him. Not sure if I agreed with his logic, but then again, I’d never attempted to take down a Vampire empire, much less succeeded at it.

  “Of course, you weren’t meant to survive this long. I’m not particularly pleased with my minion’s failures.”

  Christine. Who else could he mean? He had to refer to the female Werewolf who’d tried to kill me three times, and instead, succeeded in murdering Tristan. Had she always worked for the Pharaoh? Or did he use her hatred for me to convert her to his side?

  My knuckles popped as I took another step closer, only a few feet from striking distance. I clenched my fists and smiled wide, knowing my beast fangs would gleam in the dull light. “Well, in about two seconds you’ll wish you’d chosen a different minion for the job. Let’s do this.” I drew my hands up to fight.

  Instead of tensing, or preparing, or the preferred cowering in fear, the Pharaoh remained relaxed and aloof. He made no move to run or to attack, instead, he tilted his head and his gaze twinkled.

  I let my hands fall to my sides, and frowned. Sure, I wasn’t a centuries-upon-centuries old Vampire, but surely I merited a little caution, maybe a pinch of fear? A dollop of respect?

  “Silly child. I’m far too old to get dragged into scraps with mortal weaklings.” He snapped his fingers.

  A sense of déjà vu swept over me. Images of Lucien snapping his fingers that fateful night so long ago—the night that revealed Clint’s survival and my impending servitude. The night that set all if this crap in motion.

  Clint didn’t step out of the shadows, though. He was downstairs somewhere.

  Instead, a large Demon stepped into the soft light. Obscured with his own magic, I hadn’t seen or smelled him until now. One of his many parlour tricks. He relaxed his control on his scent, and it barreled forward, almost knocking me over.

  The walls and room flooded with demonic almond, yet the scent had been twisted with something cruel. The essence of blood and steel seeped from his pores. With the head of a feral dog, and the body of a nine-foot professional weight lifter, the Demon stretched his black feathered wings out, the only beautiful thing about him. His canine jaw gaped open, fangs dripping thick, putrid saliva. Dead and black, with no discernible pupil or iris, his gaze held unbound malice as it met mine.

  Bola.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The showdown

  “You gonna do something or just stand there and bleed?”

  ~Wyatt Earp, Tombstone

  The sound of water lapping against the ship echoed through the room. The decrepit boat swayed, and the dim light flickered as I took in Bola’s smug expression.

  Should I gut him or rip out his throat? Fast or slow?

  “I believe you know one another.” The Pharaoh turned to Bola. “I’ve held up my end of the bargain.”

  The Demon’s soulless gaze glistened. He flicked a vial toward the ancient Vampire. The Pharaoh snatched it from the air and smiled.

  My eyes narrowed. What the hell was that?

  Bola stepped forward, teeth gnashing, dog grin widening.

  My muscles tensed.

  “Finally.” His low voice rumbled. “Some alone time.”

  I glanced over to…Goddammit! The Pharaoh used his Vampire super speed to escape. Again. I needed to pin the tail on that donkey.

  Bola crept forward, arms wide, as if “Come give me a hug” would be his next line.

  I snarled.

  “I like this look on you, Carus.”

  “You’re going to find it a bit harder to fight me.”

  “Please. You’re only half-divine, not even, your blood diluted over generations.” He flexed and his body appeared to swell as his chest puffed out. “I’m full Demon.”

  “Full asshole.” But the curse fell flat when describing this netherworld entity standing in front of me with his puffed chest and gnashing jaws.

  Bola lunged at me, arms outstretched, straining for my neck. He always went for the jugular. About as subtle as a drunk frat boy. I slipped his attack and countered with a strike to his ribs.

  Bola grunted but spun quickly to face me again. Body shots were so underappreciated.

  Again, Bola leapt forward, powerful arms lashing out in a frenzied, but precise attack. With beast-fast reflexes and power, I blocked, dodged, weaved, and slipped past the majority of his attack. My talons shredded his skin.

  Bola was stronger. But I was faster.

  We continued exchanging blows. Sweat dripped off my fur and ran down my scaly spine. I snuck more shots in than Bola. I should be winning. But with less power, the damage wasn’t enough.

  I growled.

  Bola smiled and renewed his attack.

  Could I wear him down? My spine tingled, and my skin grew clammy even though adrenaline raced through my body.

  The boat shook. We staggered to the side as the vessel lurched, and a low groan vibrated through the metal.

  A wolf howled.

  Wick!

  That was Wick’s howl.

  My head snapped toward the exit. My breathing stopped, air trapped in my throat. What happened? Was he all right?

  Focus!

  I turned to Bola. Too late. His fist met my face, flush with my cheek and jaw. White stars burst into my vision. The room moved around me. My knees buckled. Instead of stepping forward, I staggered to the side.

  Another shot to the head.

  I keeled over. The back of my head slapped against the hard floor. Without a moment of reprieve, Bola crushed me under his body weight. His snarling face so close, multiple faces swirled around in my reeling vision. Fetid slobber dripped from his fangs and splattered against my cheeks.

  Crap! Had he been right? Did all my Carus skills count for nothing when against a full Demon? Fear pecked away at my brain as sweat dripped off my heaving body.

  Bola wrapped his hands around my neck. His fingers dug into my flesh. I thrashed around and tried to fight his hold.

  What the hell was I going to do? He was too strong, his advantage, too great.

  Stag! I called.

  Bola squeezed and black dots speckled my vision.

  The air shimmered as the stag appeared ghost white to my left.

  “I’m going to
rip Sid’s pitiful mark away from your soul and stamp a claim on you so hard it will never wash away.”

  My breath caught. Bola’s pressure increased. Heat flooded my face. I stretched my arm out, straining to reach the stag. My fingers fumbled, millimeters away from his soft schnoz.

  Closer.

  Stag bumped his muzzle closer. My fingertips sank into the supple bristles on his snout. My vision wavered, the speckling of black dots so thick, little sight remained.

  “I never understood why Sid didn’t fully claim you with sex to complete the anchor bond. His mistake. His loss.”

  Sid wasn’t “full asshole,” that’s why. His interest in me never lay between my legs, not really. I closed my eyes and reached into my mind, pulling the stag with me.

  A portal, Feradea had said.

  Come visit me, she’d said.

  Okay, Stag, I whispered. Let’s go visit G’ma!

  I pulled the stag’s energy into my own. Power washed through my body, like a giant tidal wave, before whiplashing back, drawing the beast force from my essence as the sheer energy licked my skin. A deep thrum filled the room as the air spiraled around us. The streams kept circling into a thunderous vortex until a portal formed in the center. My body lit on fire, consuming, burning.

  Feradea’s advice trickled through my memory. Shine, not burn.

  Instead of letting the potent energy consume me, I pushed it outward. The heat burst through my pores, radiating out as white light.

  Bola froze.

  His hands around my neck slackened.

  The blood ballooning in my head drained away. Sweat matted my fur. My vision cleared.

  Bola looked up. His gaze widened as he took in the formation of the portal above my head. His throat moved as he swallowed.

  His nice, vulnerable neck.

  With beast reflexes, I thrust my hand up, sharp talons first, and drove them into the soft, exposed tissue of Bola’s neck.

  He gagged.

  Blood spurted.

  Bola’s dark soulless gaze dropped to mine as the portal consumed us.

  “Surprise.” I pushed my long talons deeper. Warm, thick flowing blood ran down my arm.

  My body became weightless. Time stopped. Frozen in a state of suspension, I held the panicked gaze of Bola as his blood continued to spurt and spray from his wound, and splatter against my face.