by Celia Kyle
Damn it. She’d never met the vamp boys, but she’d told Wren that the men needed to let her look over their place to make sure it was clean… Stupid idjits.
The sparkly asshole wasn’t done yet. “After your little call to Wren… How is she, by the way? And Griffin? He looked a little pale the last time we got together. Anyway, you should tell her to get her affairs in order. All of the Protectors, really. I don’t foresee them having much time left.” A flick of the pixie’s wrist and a laptop appeared in his hand. “Now, you can restore my files.” His dark eyes glowed brighter. “Or we can head to my home to discuss how much pain the human body can endure.”
If she was honest, pain endurance was not her forte.
“Can we talk about how you can go fuck yourself? Or your minions can fuck you. Guys like you have minions, right? It’d be no fun to be evil without them. Are they pussy glitter guys like you?” Aw, look at her act like she had balls and stuff.
The man stepped forward and placed the computer on the hood of the car. “I see we’ll have to be a bit messy. It’s unfortunate. Enjoyable, but unfortunate nonetheless.”
Another flick of his fingers and a badass sword a la Lord of the Rings appeared in his hand. Had it been any other time, and any other winged fucker, she would have asked to hold it. ‘Cause, yeah, totally cool.
Pinxton approached, steps measured as he neared her. With every step forward, she retreated. She traveled deeper into the unit, darkness encompassing her more and more with every movement. She had no delusions that she might die in the little metal box. Then again, it may just be torture now, dying later.
Back hitting the wall, she took a chance and bolted around the back of the car to the other side of the space. Except she wasn’t expecting Pinxton to do some weird, Sci-Fi popping in and out of space thing. He was suddenly in front of her, crowding her into a corner, and Tory’s inner she-cat-beyotch came out.
With a scream, she scratched and clawed, fighting as only a girl could. Her hands and legs flew at him as she rained hits upon his pixie-asshole body. Unfortunately, Pinxton retaliated.
A flash of light, followed by trails of glitter, and the sword disappeared. Apparently, cat-fighting was not sword friendly.
First one fist, then another, struck her. Dizziness encroached, but she pushed it back and kept on.
How many cop shows had she watched? How many of them had repeated over and over that a person should never allow a kidnapper to take them to a secondary location? Fight to the death where attacked because going somewhere else was certain death. So, she’d make sure she bit the bullet in her unit at U-Store-It.
Another strike, another wave of vertigo washed over her and she pushed the advancing blackness back. She felt wetness flow down her body, and realized that Pinxton was no longer using fists, but claw-tipped fingers.
But, hey, she hadn’t been dragged off. That had to count for something.
Except…except that blackness she’d been shoving aside finally won. It triumphed when Pinxton’s hand descended, when those nails sliced through her abdomen and overwhelming pain wracked her body.
She truly hoped she got to see the white light thing. That sounded kinda cool. Because, yeah, she was dying. But not at a secondary location motherfucker! So, suck her non-existent dick.
* * *
The scent of a woman’s blood hit Liam first.
The delicious, sweet aroma caused his fangs to burst from his gums and descend. Even the stench of alcohol that normally clung to him was drowned out by that seductive, heady flavor permeating the air. Females smelled so delicate, sweet and tempting to a vampire’s palate, to him. Nothing like the heavy scent that surrounded male humans.
His shaft hardened, immediately aroused and craving the body that held that life giving fluid. Yeah, he could go for a sip or two followed by sinking deep into the woman…
A glance at the numbers above the storage units revealed that he was closing in on Victoria’s space. He’d missed her at the bank, but Wren had told him that U-Store-It would be her next stop.
Each step brought him nearer to that delicious aroma and even closer to where he hoped to find Victoria. Liam broke into a jog, and then a flat out run when a high-pitched scream rent the air and was suddenly cut off.
His feet pounded the pavement, body speeding toward that sound, a snarl on his lips. He swung around the corner in time to see a body capped with purple hair collapse to the ground and a winged asshole looming over the prone form.
Without question, he flew toward that pansy-assed sparkling body, one hand grabbing onto the base of a wing and the other on the man’s neck. He used his hold to throw him aside, and he smiled at the satisfying crunch as the guy hit the concrete wall. God damned pixies. He hated the evil fuckers. He ached to rip out the man’s throat with his teeth, but that would mean certain death. They’d nearly lost Griffin that way, and Liam wasn’t about to take a walk down that same road.
He followed the path the body had taken, crouching above the motionless form and getting a good look at the guy. Damn. Hyde, King-of-the-Pixies, Pinxton.
Fuck.
Pinxton shoved him back and then pushed to his feet. Liam got a good look at all the blood coating the King. With as much of the fluid the pixie wore, he wondered if the woman even had a drop left in her body.
Liam cracked his knuckles and then turned his head side to side, rolling his shoulders and loosening up for a battle with the fluttery creature. True, Griffin hadn’t done too well when he’d battled the King, but there’d been another pixie on the scene. With just the King before him, Liam prayed he’d do a bit better.
Really, really prayed.
A soft moan to his left reminded him of the woman, and he bared his teeth, anxious to get rid of the King and check out the female. He had little doubt that the body was Wren’s best friend, Victoria Price.
He couldn’t actually let her die. He’d never hear the end of it from Wren.
“Protector.” Pinxton tugged his clothes into place , wings fluttering in agitation.
“Pussy.” He tipped his head in acknowledgement.
An ethereal glow surrounded the pixie and Liam tensed, ready and waiting for the bastard’s attack. From the fireworks, he guessed that it’d be a little more magical and a lot less bloody.
Unfortunately.
The swirls of light grew brighter, coalescing into a tight ball in Pinxton’s hands. Without hesitating, Liam lowered his shoulder and ran at the King. Sometimes brute force was the way to go. Liam wasn’t inherently magical, and he hadn’t thought to bring along any charms to protect him from the fucker’s power, so distraction through pain was his only option.
Ducking below the globe, he plowed into the pixie, sending the lithe body back against the solid wall. A one-two punch to the man’s midsection elicited a grunt, but he wasn’t done yet. He needed Pinxton down for the count so he could give his attention to the dying chick.
Another dig and Liam took advantage of some of the damage the little human had already inflicted. Shallow scratches were deepened to fierce wounds, and the black blood of the pixie poured over his hands.
At least until a bone-shattering pain consumed him. The King’s hands rained down on his back, and Liam had no doubt that the lovely glowing orb had been introduced to his body. Goody.
Roaring in agony, his muscles gave way and he fell to his hands and knees, breath leaving him in a gusting whoosh. Fuck.
The scent of Victoria’s blood slithered through the fragrance of his and Pinxton’s life-giving fluids, teasing him, and he felt an insane urge to end this. Yes, the woman was important to Wren who was important to Griffin, but somehow she was important to Liam as well. Every cell inside him screamed with the need to dispense with the threat against Victoria. His Victoria. He shook his head free of the thought. No, not his, not—
Another sprinkling of sparkles caught his eye, tearing him from his thoughts, and he watched as the King’s wicked sword materialized, the honed blade le
ngthening beside his head.
Shaking off the remnants of Pinxton’s attack, Liam rolled to his feet. He’d barely had a moment vertical before that razor sharp piece of magicked metal came at him. He bent back, the deadly sword narrowly missing his neck.
“That all you got, fairy-boy?” Liam flashed his fangs at the King and dove back in.
On the next swing, he ducked but caught the pixie’s wrist and countered the move, aiming his own claw-tipped fingers at the other man’s throat. Too bad the King blocked him. But not for long. He struck again, fingers sinking into the King’s flesh with ease, sending more black fluid pouring from that incandescent body. Victoria’s bright red blood was overshadowed by the midnight hue of Pinxton’s.
Liam hoped the Pixie King bled to death. Really, really hoped.
A shove sent him sliding back from Pinxton, booted feet slipping over the concrete floor. The King followed, sword raised, but the steel collided with the metal ceiling, and the pixie spat a curse, tossing aside the weapon.
Liam had the intense urge to stick out his tongue and bust out with “neener, neener, neener”. Only he didn’t get a chance. Not when the King came at him with his claw-tipped fingers and punishing fists.
They tangled, arms, hands and legs inflicting as much damage as possible. There was no time for verbal barbs. Not when simply breathing took most of Liam’s energy. He’d fed not long ago, but he hadn’t exactly planned on tussling with someone as strong as Pinxton.
Fucking pixies.
Another swipe, a spray of black blood, and the poisonous liquid burned against his skin.
Why wouldn’t the asshole just die?
Liam placed his foot against Pinxton’s stomach and shoved, driving the man back against the wall and putting a few feet between them. Panting from the exertion, he bunched his muscles and prepared another attack.
“Flee or die, asshole.” Liam spit out the few droplets of the toxic liquid that had snuck into his mouth.
The King smirked, hands swirling before him and an ethereal glow built between his palms. “Neither, Protector.” The shining orb grew, expanding with every passing moment. “I believe it’s you that will die. Your death will mean one less Protector between us and Carac. Between us and the wor—”
Before the King could finish, a soft pop sounded, and a stranger entered their midst, larger than the King and heavily muscled, searing rage on his features. This larger-than-life man struck out at Liam, plate-sized palm hitting him square in the chest, and he slammed into the back wall of the space. The concrete crumpled around him, gray dust sprinkling over him.
As if a light switch were flipped, the brightness from the King snapped off, and the pixie paled, eyes wide as he stared at the newcomer.
Liam shoved himself up and glared at the man. Taking a deeper look revealed a haze of black surrounding the new arrival. Swirling tattoos on the guy’s neck had Liam’s heart stilling.
A daeva. A fucking daeva. The things were half-god, half evil sickos and all about chaos. And the King was involved with the perverted assholes.
If something big and bad was going down, there would be a daeva nearby pulling the strings. No doubt. With a daeva joining Pinxton’s cause, the Knight Protectors were in deep shit.
“Jemshir.” The King barked back. Ooh… The King was not happy with being reigned in like a puppy.
The daeva merely swelled in size, the shadows of the space deepening, and the being’s evil licked at Liam’s skin. He received a soul-pricking glare from the daeva and then the man gripped Pinxton’s wrist. “We’re done here, pixie.” A black haze enveloped them but didn’t entirely mask Jemshir’s words. “I won’t have you ruining our plans. We’ve worked too hard to resurrect…”
A whisper soft shift of skin on concrete diverted Liam’s attention. He spared a split-second to glance at the crumpled body and by the time he looked back, both the King and the daeva were gone.
Jemshir…
Liam hated his life right then. But at least he knew that a daeva was pulling the King’s strings and that they were resurrecting…someone. It also meant they were neck-deep in shit, but knowledge was power, right? Brom would probably cream his jeans when he got this new bit of intel.
Turning back to the woman, he saw exactly what he’d been expecting. Victoria, purple hair and all, was covered in her own blood, fluid coating the ground and continuing to flow from her various wounds. Between the stuff that’d coated Pinxton and what soaked the floor, he figured the human had lost five pints. Considering she’d probably started with around nine, it wouldn’t be long before she died.
Which meant he wasn’t supposed to touch her. Not a single finger. The laws decreed they were not to interfere with life and death situations with humans.
But Carac sent me out to bring her to the mansion… And, hey, bringing her to the mansion would have been interference since, had he arrived early enough, she would have lived even with the enemy chasing her.
Maybe that didn’t make sense.
He seriously needed to stop drinking. His memories hadn’t ceased haunting him after a few hundred years of drinking, and they probably wouldn’t ever disappear. Maybe there wasn’t a reason to keep swilling the alcohol.
A low groan snagged his attention, and he dropped to his knees, moving until he hovered over the woman. It was time for a shit-ton of interference. He hadn’t been able to do anything all those years ago…
“Victoria? I need you to focus on me.” Her eyelids fluttered and then he was staring into a pair of shocking purple orbs.
He’d forgotten that the human coordinated her eye color with her hair. “I can save you, but I have to Change you.” Not that he’d ever done it before. It was something reserved for Master vampires, those that could control a baby vamp when it came to their first Hunger.
Well, it was better to ask forgiveness later than permission now. He figured maybe Wren could put in a good word when the time came. And if not, it might be time to be Released. He’d lived a long time, saw things that plagued him with nightmares. Hell, he’d done things that tore at his soul. Or rather, not done things…
Yeah, Carac would be doing him a favor by Releasing him from the world, killing him and then scattering his ashes into the wind so he couldn’t be brought back by some witch.
“I need you to say ‘yes’, Victoria. I need the word. One syllable, love.” The endearment slipped out, but the word hadn’t felt wrong. In fact, it’d seemed very, very right. Arousal and worry warred within his body and mind. He grew warmer with every moment spent in her presence, and he refused to ponder the meaning behind his body’s reaction to Victoria’s nearness.
The word finally came on a shallow exhalation.
If asked years from now, in the darkness of the night and within the confines of a confessional with the Pope himself, he’d admit that he hadn’t truly heard that single word. No, the sound was actually the woman’s death rattle, the final wheeze as her body reached for true death.
Liam tore at his wrists, gaping holes in both arms, and held them over Victoria’s battered body, whispering the forbidden words he’d overheard long ago. “I give you life on this eve of death…”
Chapter Two
Tory knew pain. Really. She’d stubbed and broken her baby toe (the same one) a gajillion times, and it’s not like docs could actually do anything when that happened. They’d just send the person home with instructions like “ice the area” and “keep off it”. Hadn’t they heard of the need to pee? How could a person keep off their feet with the whole peeing issue? They’d gone to medical school for goodness sakes! She’d thought they’d be smarter than that.
Anyway. She knew pain.
This…this was not pain.
This was dying a million times over with baby atomic bombs going off within her body. Every beat of her heart was like a blow to her chest with a dull butter knife. Her lungs burned, and it felt as if someone was stabbing her in the eye with a pen. Repeatedly.
It blan
keted her, covering her from head to toe with no reprieve in sight. Something…lurked within her body, crawling beneath her skin. Like an animal waiting for the perfect moment to burst free.
Memories assailed her, snippets of blowing up her home, going to the bank and heading to her car. Then…then a winged freak of nature showed up. From that point, it became a blur of pain and blood, more and more pouring from her with every breath until something drew the pixie’s attention from her.
A guy maybe?
After that moment, agony overwhelmed her.
Tory did her best to push the lingering aches away, drawing air into her lungs and then letting it ease from her chest, but the pain still enveloped her ribs with the movement. She remembered the blood. Hers. Everywhere.
And there had been no fucking white light, damn it.
Wait. The “fucking” part of her internal rant was probably why there hadn’t been a white light. She had to admit, she was pretty fucking free with the cursing and shit. Maybe she didn’t rate the angelic welcome?
Besides, would she still hurt in heaven? If so, God had some explainin’ to do.
Prying her eyes open, whimpering with the sting that came with the movement, Tory found herself in what appeared to be a bedroom. Lavish, antique furnishings occupied the space.
This whole deal sounded way too similar to what had happened to Wren.
Wren had been attacked by pixies. Small ones, but still pixies.
So had Tory. Sorta. She’d only had one, but he’d had a sword.
Wren had seen a guy, and he’d saved her.
Tory vaguely remembered a wicked hot angel that she wanted to lick from head to toe. Or that may have been her imagination. She was praying it was a memory.
The jury was still out on the saving aspect.
Wren had woken, after said saving, in a fancy smancy bedroom on a yummy bed.
Tory was currently in a fancy smancy bedroom on an O-M-G-Yummy bed.