Immortal Heat (The Guardians of Dacia Book 1)

by Loni Lynne

  Moroii were created by other Vamiers. Most were men dying on battlefields over the millennium, wanting to live and being offered a second chance. Technically, the Vamiers weren't doing anything against the contract written by the gods. As soon as they had the okie-dokie from the fatally wounded, they were fair game.

  What didn't sit well with Draylon or Rick, was Vamier's treatment of his victim-offspring. They would starve them and only then offer the blood they so desperately needed to survive, like cocaine to an addict—for a price, the price being "loyalty" in exchange for nourishment. They never let their victims learn to care for themselves. Blood banks all over the world were bootleg businesses for Vamier and his top goons in order to supply his kind.

  But a few made it through their control, realizing the game for what it was. They would work to fight the addiction, move out under seclusion, always wary of being lured back. Some found their way to the Dacian Compound where they were safe, once investigated. If there was a price on their head from Vamier, then they were usually legitimately in need of sanctuary.

  Rick had his own form of working with them. He would give them a chance for a new start and have them work in some capacity for him—depending on their abilities. Most became an underground railroad of sorts for those wishing to leave the Vamier life-style. Ballue was one of them. He also had connections with government and political allies who could work to get diplomatic situations taken care of.

  Right now, they didn't have to deal with any paperwork. Even though Marilyn still had her passport on her, it didn't matter. He was taking her to his house in Austria, where she didn't need to clear customs.

  "So what's so important about her that has you taking her to Eskardel? You've never taken anyone to Eskardel as long as I've known you," Ballue said.

  "Aiden is after her. He wants to tutor her in Dacian History. She supposedly wrote a paper on Dacian folklore that Aiden found quite fascinating."

  "And that's why he has his army of moroii after her?"

  "I know. It doesn't add up."

  Draylon shuffled that idea around in his head. No, Aiden wouldn't send his troops out on a rampage just because she had an 'A plus' mind on Dacian history…unless she'd come across something that Aiden Vamier didn't want her to, or worse yet, something that Aiden or Rick didn't want anyone to know.

  He remembered Rick's dire need to see Marilyn safe. He'd never seen the man more tortured or frantic. The man had been less concerned when Romania became communist. Was it because of her connection to Diane Reddlin and Livedel? He couldn't see that being a reason. No, Rick still hadn't calmed down, even knowing she was safe with him. There had to be another reason.

  "Is she going to be all right? She doesn't look so good," Ballue asked as he turned in the passenger seat of the BMW he'd let Draylon drive.

  "I don't know. I'm not sure what's wrong with her."

  "Could she be wolven?"

  Draylon stared at his friend. "She happens to be birthed by two mortal humans, one, and two—when was the last time there's been a female wolf in the pack?"

  "But did you see the way she devoured the steak?"

  "Yes, I saw." Draylon still mulled the issue over in his head. Something about Marilyn didn't add up. He would like to know more about her. The one thing he did know was her mother was a pain in the ass—maybe she ate raw meat, too. Yeah, he could see her chewing on someone's hide. The woman's bite was definitely worse than her bark. One hell of a businesswoman, but damn did she turn people inside out to get things done.

  "And that doesn't worry you? Did you see those teeth? I wasn't sure if she was wolf or Vamier. And her eyes turned all cat-like with those tiny slits for pupils."

  He'd seen it all. Ballue didn't have to recap the situation. Looking in his review mirror, he was thankful to see their subject of discussion still sound asleep. She'd passed out on the tile floor of the bathroom after twenty straight minutes of heaving up her guts. With her physically exhausted and mentally weakened, he knew they couldn't stay there any longer than necessary. Calling the airport, he made sure his crew was ready to depart as soon as they arrived.

  When they pulled up onto the tarmac, the whine of the engine of his personal jet was the only sound, other than the high winds whipping through the valley. Draylon rolled down the window as his personal assistant, Donovan, came forward, holding onto his bowler hat against the heavy breeze.

  "Sir, so good to see you. Everything's awaiting your orders."

  "Thank you, Donovan. Go prepare the sofa sleeper for our guest. She's not feeling well and needs some rest."

  Donovan nodded and went to carry out the task.

  "Call me when you get settled. I'll find out what I can about Vamier. If she's as important as you say, he's going to be pretty pissed by now, knowing you have her. I'm just surprised he doesn't have more of his people out looking for her than he does."

  "I know. That's worrying me, too." Getting out of the car, Draylon walked around and retrieved one Marilyn Reddlin from the backseat, marveling at how light her body seemed to be. Was it her illness or was she always so tiny? "I'm not sure of anything right now. But if that's why Rick wants her out of country, it's a good bet she's not safe anywhere. He never wanted her to set foot in Europe, much less Romania."

  "Fascinating."

  Ballue followed behind with their bags, the only personal luggage they had at the moment. Again, Draylon was thankful for Marilyn being a light packer. It made their desperate attempt to flee Romania easier.

  Ballue stored the backpacks in the travel closet and turned to Draylon. "Have a safe flight, my friend. Keep me informed when you can."

  Draylon grabbed Ballue in a man hug, pounding his fist on his back. "Keep safe. Let me know if you hear anything out there about our situation."

  "Will do."

  The jet engines whined higher, preparing for take-off. Draylon watched from the window as Ballue made it back to his BMW and drove away. Once the night darkened, the moroii would be out and then, not even Ballue would be safe.

  As soon as the plane took off and reached a steady elevation, Draylon tended to Marilyn. Her features were so pale even her freckles had begun to fade. The contrast set her hair ablaze with warmth. He inhaled her scent, the undertones of sweet vanilla and soothing lavender kicked him straight in the groin. Damn. He didn't have time for these ridiculous thoughts. It'd been awhile, but there were other issues to worry about.

  Like her health. Yes, he needed to focus his attention on her well-being. Sitting next to her, he lifted her limp torso so he could remove her woolen coat, scarf and hat. He couldn't help but smile, remembering the difficulty he and Ballue had getting her back in her winter weather gear.

  Marilyn's senses started to awaken. He could see her mind opening, trying to put everything together and make it through the fog of illness. Only days ago she'd suffered from fevers and now this. She wasn't fully recovered. Had he pressed her too hard before she had a chance to heal?

  Her mind may be waking but her body was still uncooperative. Struggling with removing her outer sweater equaled wrestling gelatin onto a dessert fork, it just wouldn't work. He managed to pull the sweater inside out over her head but the tight collar was secured about her neck. If he pulled any more he feared her head would pop off.

  "Would you care for a hand, sir?"

  "Yes Donovan, I would." Draylon huffed.

  "Young women can be difficult to undress, though I had the opposite experience. My daughters were impossible as tykes—they squirmed, hated wearing dresses with a passion, and preferred running around naked. My wife and I had to chase them down the street one summer's night because they'd taken their bath and went streaking when we tried to put their nightshifts on them."

  Occasionally, his friend would talk about his family, but not often. The wounds were too deep. Draylon didn't know the whole story other than a group of moroii, high on induced blood, had broken code and attacked Donovan's family while he was aw
ay on business. They'd tried to cover their bloody massacre by setting fire to his house. The fire was extinguished before the evidence could be destroyed.

  When Rick heard about the injustice and the man who wanted his revenge, he took Donovan under his wing and showed him what he could do to avenge his family's death. It wasn't about the revenge so much as learning how to take care of the present and help others against the moroii. Draylon learned that even a man in his mortal forties, given the right training and discipline, could kick the shit out of a Vamier…when the need arose. These mortal men were known as Shields. They were invaluable in their day to day activities with the human race.

  "So this is the young woman you were sent to protect?" Donovan asked as he sat down across from Draylon. "She doesn't appear to be your average consideration in women."

  Donovan knew his type of woman and no, Marilyn didn't fit the image. He nodded, smiling at the sleeping bundle, snoring away beside him. "I guess this one is different."

  "Not all women are the same. The problem is finding the right one in a lifetime."

  "Whose lifetime?" Draylon's mood turned serious again. "Theirs or mine?"

  Chapter Six

  Waking up in the same place twice lately had become a luxury. Marilyn fought to remember where she was and couldn't. She didn't remember a damn thing about the room she was in or whose bed for that matter.

  Lifting her head, she raised up on her elbows. Nope, didn't help matters at all. She looked down at her sleeping clothes. Someone had dressed her in a linen nightgown that looked more like it belonged on a colonial bride than it did on her. The elegant embroidered stitching and simple tied bow was too old fashioned for her likes.

  "Good morning, Miss," a cheerful, British laced voice called out as sunlight poured into the room.

  Marilyn screamed but she wasn't sure for what purpose. Was it because of the strange man in a bedroom she wasn't familiar with or the sudden bright light threatening to melt her retinas? She buried herself in the thick down comforters.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." The muffled apology drifted to her as a hand lifted the blankets from her head. "You look like a ragamuffin all tousled and frizzed. Come, I have a nice breakfast all set out on the patio. I'll draw your bath and have fresh clothing for you momentarily."

  "Oh dear." He looked aghast. "I'm such a nit! We haven't been formerly introduced. You were under the weather I'm afraid when Draylon brought you onto his jet. I'm Draylon's assistant, Donovan."

  Other than seeing a middle aged Brit with a balding head of hair in formal butler garb, she assumed he was an extra on Downton Abbey. He did mention Draylon though, so he must be around here somewhere.

  The man held out a thick, spa-like robe for her, but she wasn't awake enough to be sure about anything right now.

  "Draylon doesn't have any women staff, just me." Donovan smiled to try to ease her. "It's all right. I had two daughters of my own I had to dress when they were younger. You will not come to harm in this household. If anyone tries, I assure you I will come to your aid."

  Marilyn tried not to smile. It would be rude. What could a pencil thin man of his age do to protect her from the kinds of creatures she'd been running from? He didn't look like he could handle a normal attacker much less ones with deadly fangs.

  Making her way to the edge of the bed, she noticed how large it was for the first time. Fine damask drapes were tied back to an elegant, antique canopy. Sheets of fine cotton hugged the mattress as jewel toned duvets and matching shams covered the large down filled comforters and pillows that she'd cocooned herself into during the night.

  Donovan held out his hand, helping her to stand and slid the heavy robe over her arms and up her shoulders. He was modest and yet precise in his movements. Marilyn couldn't feel safer and yet she didn't even know the man.

  "Thank you, Donovan," she whispered, gathering her hair from beneath the collar and letting it fall down her back.

  "My pleasure, Miss." He motioned to a small, femininely padded stool at a mirrored vanity. "Please sit. I will attend to your hair."

  She wanted to argue but her brain didn't respond. Was he trying to manipulate her? Lately, she wouldn't put it past anyone she met. She sat as he gathered an ornate hairbrush from the table top.

  Her shoulders bunched as he slowly untangled her hair with gentle tugs and small strokes. Soon she relaxed as the man stroked the brush through her tangle free hair. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in the steady massage of the weight of the bristles dragging though the mass she'd had to deal with daily.

  Upon opening her eyes she gasped. Had he done that? Her hair, normally a non-descript reddish brown was ablaze in a deep auburn, almost burgundy curtain of shiny waves that framed her face.

  She peered closer into the mirror. Her face had changed too from the last time she remembered seeing its reflection. Her skin was porcelain. Her natural freckles across her nose were gone. Her cheekbones appeared defined, the arch of her brow more pronounced, the natural coloring of her lips replaced by a deep blood red permanent tint.

  Marilyn stood up, knocking over the chair and backing away from Donovan. "What the hell happened to me? Who did this?"

  Donovan looked puzzled, his hands dropping to his sides. "I don't understand, Miss. What seems to be wrong?"

  "My hair…my face. It's me but not me."

  "You don't appear any differently than when Draylon brought you here a week ago?"

  "A week? I've been here a week!" She looked around, trying to find a way out other than the opened French-style doors leading out onto a balcony overlooking…a very steep Alpine valley a good thousand or two feet below.

  Hot panic poured through her veins. She could feel it like boiling water coursing through her. Burning up, on the verge of combustion, she screamed as pain merged into a pleasurable transformation, but the scream only echoed in her head like an animalistic growl.

  She dropped to her hands and knees, the sound of fabric ripping around her. Her body seized.

  A door opened and she took off as fast as she could. With no thought or knowledge of what she was doing or where she was going, she just ran.

  Someone chased her. She could hear footsteps pounding down the hallways behind her. The warm scent of musk had her turning on the runner. She hunkered down, exposing her snarling lip and that damn raspy growl until it erupted into a full out howl that echoed around them in the cavernous hallway.

  Draylon stood still, anticipating her next move. She didn't smell fear on him though. Why the hell would she be able to smell fear? No, what she sensed were his natural pheromones setting her glands into overdrive.

  She growled at him…he growled back, dominantly. Draylon squatted down to her level, patting his inner thigh. Marilyn took a tentative step towards him and another. He held out his hand. She came closer and sniffed. He didn't try to capture her but instead let her come to him. Closer and closer she moved until she placed her nose along his thigh. His hands cupped her face. Stroking her hair, he smiled at her.

  "I'll be damned," his voice fell out in a breathless rush. "Rick's not going to believe this."

  "What do you mean she's a wolf?" Rick Delvante bellowed into the hands free phone, missing his practice shot on the billiard table in his den. The sudden shock of news had him scratching. He threw the cue stick on the table, sending the remaining balls to scatter.

  "She's a gorgeous auburn haired bitch."

  "Don't call her that, Draylon," Rick instructed. Yeah, that is what they were known as, but they hadn't had a female of their kind in centuries. She didn't deserve what most commoners would consider a derogatory name.

  "What do you know about her that you're not telling me, Rick?"

  Too much and not enough. That's what he knew about Marilyn Reddlin. For the first time—no second time in his long, long life—he didn't have a fucking clue what to do. He should've known something like this might happen, and yet he didn't want to accept it.


  "I think I should bring her up to the Dacian Compound—"

  "No," Rick growled at his friend. That's the last thing he needed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He wasn't ready for this. "Do you know what the clan would do to her if they got a hold of her?"

  "And you're entrusting her to me? What makes me so different?"

  "Because I know you are the one man I can trust. I've trusted you for over a millennium, Draylon, and I know you won't let me down now when I need you the most. This is it man. You wanted to know how you could pay me back. Well this is it. I need you to protect her with all you have. Guide her through the transition until I let you know what we need to do."

  "You better make it quick, Old Man because she's carrying some heavy pheromones that I'm having a tough time with. I'm not a god, Rick."

  "No, but you're the next best thing," Rick said. He rubbed his shadow of beard. "Just take care of her, teach her the ways, and for the sake of the gods, whatever you do, don't change around her."

  "Which formation?"

  "Either—she won't understand. And I don't want her to find out."

  "Well, I have a feeling Marilyn might be more like her mother if we don't get her questions answered in a timely manner."

  "Yeah. That's another thing I have to fear. Just keep her safe and let me know how things progress."

  Rick hung up before Draylon could ask any more questions. He could field his calls the rest of the day but he knew his buddy—he could either be your best friend for life or turn you into ash if you pissed him off. There were those you wanted to keep as your friend for the rest of eternity, and Draylon was much better on his side as his friend.

  Draylon had trusted Rick implicitly for more than a millennium. Now a shutter of doubt closed over their once forthright friendship. He'd noticed it deteriorate over the past half century or so. By the 1980's, when Rick set up Livedel in the United States, his trips there had become more frequent and longer. When he'd been questioned he would get defensive. Then the trips stopped as abruptly as they started and Rick settled in Dacia, taking on the duties as leader like he had in the past. But he wasn't the same Rick Draylon had known for centuries.