The Siren Series 3: Brandon (A Siren Novel)

by Eros, Marata

  “Give me”—he winces, grabbing at his side—“the small dagger.”

  I pass him the dagger I've often admired. Its breadth is deep and wide, and an embedded piece of turquoise is stranded in the hilt like an unseeing eye. Ren fumbles with the butt of the hilt, unscrewing the solid brass. A small bag with a draw-string top falls onto his lap.

  “Bless the bag with healing, Nova.” His eyes meet mine. “Hurry.”

  Sunset bleeds into the room like spilt wine.

  “Yes.” I wrap my hands around the bag.

  The blessing bottoms out my magic. Not a drop left. For anything.

  I lift my fingers from the sack, and I’m shaky with exhaustion, hunger, and fear. Ren unties the top and pours something into his mouth.

  His head falls to his chest. “Stay with me.”

  I would never want to be anywhere else.

  I close in around him, holding him tightly. I feel whatever inert material I sanctified with my magic strengthen him as we sit there.

  Night continues to encroach. The colors of the sinking sun coat the walls in rust like dried blood.

  “Ren,” I say, worried the Reapers will find us when they wake from their tombs.

  “Help me up.”

  I stand, and Ren takes my hand, about dropping us both. His eyes are no longer mangled but have bruises all around them. His lips are swollen but free of cuts. His shoulder is mended, his body stiff.

  He's done what he can.

  We turn to go, and a stranger fills the doorway. He’s as silent as the night that threatens. I know he's a supe immediately.

  I also know he's the Druid male. I'd recognize him anywhere. Tall as the Reapers, he’s built to fill the doorway with his broad shoulders, muscular chest, and trim hips. Gorgeous.

  His black gaze levels its smolder on me.

  A mixture of relief, resignation, fear and desire moves through my body like an avalanche.

  Then he speaks.

  “You are mine, breeder.”

  Goddess.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Brandon

  The blood from Alicia sustains me as I shadow-skip. Like most Reapers I encounter, this bunch isn’t much for modern accoutrements. Their dislike of cars really works for me.

  Broken branches and impressions of three sets of the typically worn soft-soled, knee-high shoes show the direction the Reapers have gone.

  Two sets of footprints wear deeper in the spongy soil of the forest.

  They carried someone. Two someones.

  The Harborer and the Druid. I'd stake my life on it.

  A frown bisects my brow. Why keep the Harborer alive? Maybe he'll be a pawn to gain control or cooperation from the female.

  Hard to know, and I'm not a big fan of speculation. I’m more a fan of concrete facts, and those are: the breeder is gone and three Reapers are in control. Whether she is aware she's a pure-blood or possesses witchery skills is unknown. If she were privy to her inborn talents, it could be her only advantage of escape.

  The sun reigns, weakening me. I lean against a trunk, checking the position of the light. It’s late afternoon. I've been traveling all day, hoping to beat the Reapers’ wake-up call. Time is on my side. It's late summer, so I have just a little more light before night falls. If I can slip into wherever they're holding her, I can snatch her away before they awaken.

  That's the hope. Whether that'll happen? I'm not a betting guy.

  I continue traveling. When the trees thin, I use the shadows of buildings. Those eventually cease as the area becomes progressively more rural.

  Finally, I find myself in front of a meadow. A thatch of woods stands a quarter mile away like an oasis. But I must travel in the open sunlight to make it to the secure shadows of the forest.

  I breathe deeply, taking in as much damp, shadowy air as possible.

  I sprint.

  Dirt kicks up from my heels as long fronds of pasture grass whip my legs.

  The sun blisters my skin, and I gasp.

  My flesh cooks in a slow broil. If I were not Druid, I would be burning like a vampire shish kebob.

  The distance between the two stands of woods seems to grow longer.

  I pump my arms as I race toward the treeline like water for a starving man. I leap and roll past the border of cool dimness. Tumbling into the trees, I hit a trunk with a teeth-rattling crash. I fall to the side and just stare up through the canopy, getting my wind. Lifting my arm, I watch steam rise from scalding red skin. My arm drops.

  Close. Too close.

  I wait a vital minute then stand. Time to move out.

  *

  I attempt to blend into the last stand of trees before a huge stone structure. Pushing a heavy branch aside, I study the fortress I'll need to break into.

  I remember a similar practice mission with one of my vampire mentors, Tarrin. Tarrin—who would be king in his own right—was a rare Exotic and possessed many layers of the rarely encountered old magick. He is now mated to Lucia, also an Exotic warrior. When I was a youngling, he took me on various scouting missions. This moment holds that same feeling.

  I squint at the stone building, which is a rarity in the United States. I've been here before. From what Tarrin says, these houses are typical in Europe, where he spent many years.

  Done in the Victorian styling of the late nineteenth century, the mansion's three-storied stone façade is anchored by an elaborate turret at the forward north corner. Ivy runs the length of the turret, leaving holes where small rectangular windows appear to float inside the greenery.

  I glance at the sun.

  It's hovering at the horizon.

  If I do anything, it must be now. I can't sit around stinking up the entire countryside with my presence, which the Reapers will scent out in about four seconds.

  Trees line the trail to the front door, which is done in a medieval style that predates the building. The thick wood door is every bit of nine feet tall at the highest point of its arch. Patina covers the metal fasteners holding the slats together.

  I try the door.

  It gives.

  Of course, Reapers would have a very secure fortress, probably at the base of the structure. They’re safe in their daylight chambers, so why lock the door? I wonder how many stupid cattle have entered to squat inside then found a nighttime greeting of three bloodthirsty vampires.

  Many would be my guess.

  I enter the cavernous space. An old-fashioned chandelier holds candles collecting cobwebs twenty feet above my head. Grand stone steps rise from the center of the large foyer. They split after eight treads and continue to the second floor in opposite directions. My gaze follows both trails to where they end.

  I shut my eyes and let my senses wander to find the breeder.

  I hit on many deaths in this building. The blood is old, but there's an assload. My speculation was correct. This building is a large spiderweb, and humans are the flies. It's a handy food supply. As I've intuited, the Reapers leave when they seek females.

  I smell terror, adrenaline, and female sweat. Normally an aphrodisiac to a vampire, it is the very smell I've wanted to find.

  I dismiss the lingering scent of injured male. I'll deal with him, assuming he’s the Harborer, when he presents himself.

  Though time grows short, judging by the shadows lengthening from the undersized windows with stone sills, I don't want to deplete my reserves in case I need a burst of energy to escape.

  Jogging down the hallway, I whip my head first left then right.

  Nothing.

  My ears prick. Voices above me.

  I look at the ceiling.

  Sprinting, I take the turret steps two at a time. Though I’m forced to move at human speeds, my strength makes the climb easy.

  The voices of a female and a male hit my eardrums. I run the rest of the way down the hall.

  I grab the wooden door jamb and swing into the opening, my eyes seeking the first glimpse of my breeder.

  She looks up in surpri
se. Swimmingly gorgeous green eyes meet mine.

  Like an invisible thread pulled taut, I feel her.

  Our heartbeats sync instantly.

  I grin. I'm so damn glad to have found her. I flick my gaze toward the window. My internal clock tells me I have thirty minutes before true nightfall.

  I hold out my hand, dismissing the male at her feet. I scent her readiness, her perfection.

  “You are mine, breeder,” I say in encouragement.

  The silence seems to swell between us. She makes no move to fly into my arms in gratitude over my saving her from the Reapers. Disgruntled, I put my hands on my hips.

  She shrugs. “First off, pal, I'm nobody's but my own. And even though you're a hunky guy, so are the other vamps. I'm not buying what you're selling. Now move out of my way so Ren and I can get out of here.”

  I'm so shocked that I retreat a step, hands falling to my sides.

  Her lips twitch. “Close your mouth. You're catching flies.”

  Still I'm silent as anger fills me.

  This isn’t how this is supposed to play out. She called to me.

  I dreamed of her.

  And now she's telling me to—what? Fuck off?

  “Hello?” She snaps her fingers a foot away from my face. “We're taking off.”

  “Nova,” the male says in a voice that holds some of the respect I'd hoped to have from the female.

  I fold my arms across my chest, standing like an unmovable statue in their way.

  “What, Ren? We kinda need to go. The three crazy fanged hotties are going to rise like the dead and come get us for some more all-night fun.”

  I blink. She's an absolute smart ass. My eyes rove her form. Beautiful. Black hair, green eyes, tall—athletic build. I guess her eyes would be beautiful if they weren't slits of disdain pointed in my direction.

  “He is the one, Nova.”

  Her eyes widen on me and I smirk. Her Harborer recognizes my importance.

  She throws up her hands. “Pfft! So where the hell was he when we were getting our asses tag-teamed by the Reapers? Nowhere!” She pushes past me and shuffles along with the Harborer.

  I blur to her, my rage a breathing thing. I shove the Harborer away, and he slaps the stone wall, barely maintaining his balance. I smell his healing injuries and tally them automatically.

  I pin her to the wall by her throat. “Listen, breeder. You called to me. It is you who has signaled our union. I but follow.”

  I am not used to anticipating females.

  Her knee lands in my groin, and a crushing pain steals my breath. My last meal disgorges itself from my body.

  “Dick,” Nova says as she loops her arm through the Harborer's.

  “Wait,” I gasp. “Don't leave without me. I can assist in your escape.”

  “Right,” Nova says as she makes quick progress down the hall. “You've been helpful so far.”

  Her thick sarcasm reaches my ears from my undignified crouch on the floor.

  Females.

  I stagger to my feet and sway, my crotch a fucking lit nightmare of numbing pain. I limp after the breeder.

  Nova.

  It figures she'd be one of the Druid females I'd been warned about. What had Tarrin said they could be?

  Oh yeah—willful. Well no shit, Sherlock.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nova

  Prick.

  Gorgeous, irresistible, magnetic, stud dick.

  I walk on, Ren limping beside me.

  That—that?!—was what Grammy said I needed to wait for?

  Some future that is! This guy might be Druid, but “you're mine, breeder”? Oh my Goddess, the comment is straight out of Do Me Caveman Style 101.

  I do feel a teeny bit bad I kneed him in the nuts though. I might have overreacted just a little.

  “You way overreacted.” Ren snaps, presumably from all the pain he's keeping in. And boy, can he read me.

  Or maybe he's just pissed at me. It could be that.

  I look at Ren. His arm is draped over my shoulder as we hobble down the main staircase.

  “Huh, well maybe—but he's a little bit too Druid for his britches.”

  Ren chuckles.

  “Feeling better?” I stroke the side of his healing face.

  He nods.

  “Wait for him. He won't hurt you—I don't know about the Reapers. They're capable of doing a great deal.”

  Our gazes lock in mutual understanding.

  I guess he's got a small point. I shouldn't take out the protectors—not super-smart. “Tell you what. I'll leave gorgeous Druid back there to work over Mikhail, Damon, and that dweeb, Kellan. If he's vamp enough to escape that, I might give him the time of day.”

  “Nova,” Ren says, shaking his head.

  “Nope. I'm done compromising. We'd almost gotten away from those dodo birds before they pulled the unfair whammy on us and I spent the night with my wrists and legs bound uncomfortably.”

  I study Ren’s healing wounds. “And they knocked the shit out of you.”

  “They did,” he laments. “Three Reapers is a tall order for even a Harborer. I'm better at warding buildings that you can remain safely ensconced within.”

  Ouch.

  “I'm sorry. I was hungry and your cupboards were as bare as Old Mother Hubbard's.” I blink my eyelashes prettily as we sweep out the front door.

  “Don't even try Nova.”

  Damn.

  I look up. The breeze lifts sweaty hair off my forehead, the rest of it clamped under Ren's arm. Sunlight balances on the treetops, shimmering in an angle toward the house at my back. The sun hangs low as though suspended.

  Night is coming.

  Suddenly, the Druid stands in front of me again.

  He makes my loins weep, which, in turn, pisses me off.

  “Do not do that again,” he says.

  I put my hands on my hips, and Ren straightens. I take note how big this guy is.

  How handsome.

  How insufferably arrogant.

  “Then don't tell me what to do,” I say.

  We glare at each other.

  He plows his fingers through short, dark hair. “Fine. But can we argue somewhere where three Reapers won't wake up and want a battle?”

  “Not vamp enough?” I tease as I jut out my hip.

  “Goddess!” he yells and paces away.

  Ren says, “Nova, that's not smart.”

  “Yeah, but it's fun to needle him.”

  The Druid blurs back to me, and my pulse tries to escape my throat. “I am Brandon. Druid male and Mer—both. I have been called from my kiss to your side. It's not want, female, it's biology. Ours.”

  His face is so close I could kiss it.

  Of course, I'm the most impulsive woman alive, so I do.

  Stepping away from Ren, I roll to the balls of my feet and balance my hands on his muscular chest.

  “What?” he whispers, obviously taken aback by me switching gears that fast.

  I give him my lips. My choice. He needs to understand who's the boss.

  Then he kisses me back, and I'm utterly lost.

  My body fits against his perfectly. His arms snap around me, pressing me deeper against him.

  I groan, climbing his body like a monkey. He swings me against his chest and flips my arms behind him. My head is above his, so I mash my lips harder. He answers my hunger.

  Ren clears his throat. “Need to go!”

  His urgent tone chills my passion—barely.

  Embarrassment chokes me.

  Brandon lets me slide down his body. His king-sized erection is a telephone pole between us.

  So awkward. I so want to look.

  But somehow I force my eyes to his.

  “And you deny this?” Brandon sweeps his palm between us.

  I think he's replaced lava for oxygen. I breathe in only the heat of us.

  Can't deny it.

  The sun blinks out behind the trees and Brandon's face falls into shadow.

&nbs
p; He turns to Ren. “You stay here as a meat shield. If you are really her Harborer—”

  “I am,” Ren answers, the clear insult in his voice.

  “Then you will provide a distraction while we escape.”

  “No,” I say.

  Brandon looks at me. He lifts a hand, and I flinch. “I will not harm you.”

  He frowns.

  He slowly lowers his hand until his fingertips brush my cheekbone, and he palms the side of my face. “He must sacrifice himself for your safety. That is his only job.” His eyes search mine for a semblance of reason.

  Ha! I stomp my foot. “No. He goes with, or you don't—I don't know. Any ‘chance’”—I use air quotes—“you think you have with me is null and void. Ren's important.” I glance at him. “He's all the fam I've got. So deal.”

  Frustration pours off Brandon in waves. “I can't believe you are meant for me.”

  I shrug. “Take it or leave it.”

  His hand drops.

  I feel the ghostly brand of his fingertips on my skin.

  “Let's go.”

  Twilight leaks around us in washed tones of bloody scarlet and sherbet.

  Brandon cocks his head to the left. “They're awake.” He grabs my hand and yanks me after him.

  “Ren!” I yell.

  He does a jerky crab-run after us, pain covering his face as each breath causes his healing ribs to scream in protest.

  *

  “Goddess help me, can we stop yet?”

  “No,” Brandon the Great answers.

  How I can want to hump someone and beat on them at the same time is a mystery.

  I snatch my hand from his. “I want to rest.”

  Ren catches up, doubling over as he gasps for breath.

  “We don't have enough of a head start,” Brandon says.

  I can tell he's being logical, but I'm tired. Logic's not my best thing anyway.

  “I know a place,” Ren says.

  “No,” Brandon answers. “We're going straight to my coven. I have who I came for, and the kiss will provide better protection against the Reapers.” His gaze flicks over me. “Actually, we have Reapers of Druid descent in our coven.”

  What? Nothing makes sense. I'm rebelling. “What if I'm not interested in coming with you?”