Last Vamp Standing

by Kristin Miller

  It couldn’t be . . .

  Beyond her control, she breathed him in again. Woodsy pine drowned in a heavy musk, masculine and seductive, warm and—

  It was him. Her vamp.

  Little stirs of excitement whipped through Ariana’s body, but she clamped down the impulses before they warmed her completely.

  “Let me go,” she said and, ever so slowly, twisted against him. If she could sneak an inch of space, she could escape from his massive cage of a body. Ariana wasn’t claustrophobic—if she were she’d feel downright smothered by the size of his arms. But she needed to get away. There wasn’t a reason in the world for him to be holding her so tightly. “I’m not going to ask you again . . . let me go.”

  One muscular arm coiled around her waist and the other wrapped around her chest. She squirmed. He tightened his hold. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m . . . ah”—think fast—“lost.”

  “You’re lying.” He pressed her against him, closer still, evaporating the distance she’d gained. His muscles stiffened as her backside swept against him. His body was rigid. Solid as rock. “Why’d you come back?” His voice was commanding, but velvety soft.

  Flashes of heat seared across Ariana’s skin. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. She shouldn’t be trembling from his touch or feeling dragged down into the warmth of his chest. “I forgot something.”

  He leaned down, and she could’ve sworn he inhaled a soft breath of her hair. All traces of anger from his voice evaporated into a smoky string of words that coaxed the tension from her body. “And did you find what it was you wanted so badly?”

  “No.” She bit back the insane impulse to relax into him.

  His lips brushed her ear, shooting shivers down her back. “Perhaps I can help you with that.”

  If lust at first touch existed, this was it. Hands down. Beyond her control, her arms and legs went languid. The urge to fight faded. Ariana had the ludicrous notion that she could stay here a few seconds longer, wrapped in the steel cage of his body, and that everything would be fine.

  Words failed her. Hell, everything failed her—including her damned fight-or-flight reflex. What was wrong with her?

  His hold loosened. The hand that he’d curled against her waist slowly moved against her, sweeping over her stomach. He pressed firmly, holding her still, but he wasn’t holding her back from escaping.

  Not anymore.

  There was something else in his touch.

  Heat radiated from his palm. Desire, raw and demanding, flashed through his fingertips and clawed its way into her core. He held her as if at any moment his control would snap and he’d throw her onto the bed, as effortlessly as he had the candlestick.

  And damn, if heat didn’t flash between Ariana’s legs at the thought.

  She resisted the onslaught of want surging through her. She should be squirming to get away. Running out the door and down the hall to safety. Saving her energy to project back to the forest. Something, anything, to escape his embrace. But the urge to do any of those things had vanished, leaving her turned on and confused as hell.

  Her body swayed slowly as desire swept over her in a thick, heady wave, dragging her into a whirlpool of endless possibilities. Her vamp was unlike anyone she’d ever known. He radiated sexual energy—raw and all-consuming—and his sights had set on Ariana. Her will was no match for the sensations overtaking her body.

  Good god, this wasn’t like her . . . and she’d be damned if she didn’t like this new Ariana better.

  She didn’t even know a thing about him. Other than the fact that he could teleport and heat her core hotter than a damned volcano, he was a stranger. A stranger with a marble slate for a chest, strong, muscular arms, and a tongue that could whip like a snake, but still . . . a stranger. Was he a newly transitioned elder she hadn’t picked up on? An ordinary vamp? Why would he come back to the black market?

  “Who are you?” she asked as her middle gave the first pre-projection wobble.

  “My name’s Dante.”

  Dante . . .

  She said the name to herself over and over again as a delicious stirring warmed her chest.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” He pulled back, only a bit, but Ariana felt a draft of cold slither between them. “At least not back here . . . like this.”

  Ariana picked up the subtle undertone simmering beneath his words: hope. He’d wanted her to return . . . to see her again. Had he been thinking of her, too?

  “What do you want from me?” As a hollow ache spread through her center, Ariana laid her head back on his chest. His natural scent, musky and strong, saturated the air and settled on her skin. It coaxed away the last of the worry from her bones.

  Damn it, this was crazy. She was crazy. For allowing Dante to press against her. For allowing his body to heat hers to such an uncomfortable level.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed, leaning down to nuzzle into her hair. “You’re softer than I could’ve ever imagined.”

  “What do you want . . .” . . . from me? She let the words linger on her lips. Why couldn’t she finish the sentence? Why did she care what he wanted at all? She didn’t know him from Vlad. “What do you . . .”

  She was free to run. To turn around and knee him in the pressure cooker. He’d released her. Then why didn’t she want to go anywhere?

  As if every moment had slowed to a delicate crawl, Dante spun her around and pulled her against him.

  She faced a steel wall of a chest. Looked up into glowing, gold eyes. Shadows flittered over the angles of his face—chiseled jaw, sharp cheekbones, impossibly full lips. He was more heart-stopping than she remembered.

  Ariana couldn’t explain it, but with one drink of the gold swirling in his eyes, she knew there was more to Dante than could be answered by asking a single question. He was mysterious in the most intriguing way, with depths and layers a lifetime couldn’t unearth.

  Dante leaned down and paused, eyeing the curves and angles of her face with radiant awe.

  Sucking in a short breath, Ariana waited for his lips to come down on hers. Though his jaw pulsed hard and fast and his lips had a habit of straining white, Ariana knew they’d soften for her.

  Dante was a puzzle—both hard and soft, primal yet controlled.

  As his lips parted and Ariana’s blood stilled, the pounding sound of boots rained down the stairs. Dante severed their contact and spun Ariana behind him. She didn’t realize how much he’d warmed her body until a chilling draft swept beneath her robe.

  “I think they caught onto my scent. We need to get you out of here,” he growled. “Juan Carlos won’t be far behind them. Damn it, I wasted too much time.” He checked the hall again, as if he really had lost something. “How long have you been here?”

  She found it hard to recall anything before he’d swept her into his arms.

  Reality knocked her feet from under her. She wasn’t really here at all. This wasn’t really happening. Her physical self, her body, was with Echo . . . and he was dragging her God knew where.

  What would she do when her projection started to wear off? Where would she re-materialize? Would she still be in the forest? And what kind of danger would she be faced with?

  “Hey,” Dante said, turning to face her and shaking her arm, drawing her back to the present. “I asked you a question.”

  “Maybe a minute before you came into the room.”

  “I didn’t see you enter.”

  “No.”

  His face puzzled. “And I thought I was firing short of a full chamber.”

  The floor shook, and Dante’s woodsy scent was overpowered by the unmistakable odor of therians.

  Splaying an arm to his side, Dante guided Ariana behind him, then slid behind the open door. Two burly shifters passed the entry. The rapid pounding of their boots slowed to a hush.
>
  They’d caught wind of something. Of them.

  “They’re coming back to check rooms.” Dante craned his neck around. “Stay here.”

  “You can’t order me around like I’m—”

  He slipped around the door and into the hall before she could finish her protest. She didn’t want to stay behind the door, trapped in the chamber. If Dante wanted to call attention to himself and get staked by Juan Carlos’s guppies, so be it. Dying wasn’t on her agenda tonight.

  Debating her next move, Ariana peered into the crack between the door and the jamb. Dante was a whole lot of pissed-off vamp, crouching low, an expression of pure hate slathered across his face. He’d situated himself in the middle of the hall, his shoulders nearly brushing the sides.

  He stepped out of the aura of light coming from a wall sconce and into a shadow. Then he put two fingers to his lips and ferried a whistle like he was calling for Lassie.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Ariana pressed against the door, aching to steal a glimpse down the hall.

  “You two hungry?” Dante yelled, his voice booming through the chamber. Though Ariana couldn’t see a damn thing, Dante must’ve caught their attention. He hunched lower, ready to spring. His fangs dropped, two thick tusks of white, brushing his bottom lip. “Then come and get it.”

  He was calling them to him so that she could remain safely in the chamber. But Ariana wasn’t about to sit back and wait for Dante to get himself killed so they could come after her next. She scanned the room fast, determined to find another way out.

  No window. One door with a war being waged outside it.

  She was trapped.

  She smelled the therians before she saw them. Reeking of aggression and wet fur, the therians charged Dante fast, shifting as they clambered over the walls and floor. In a flash of speed, one shed its skin and shifted into a mangy, white wolf while the other shifted into some sort of monstrous black cat.

  Dante didn’t look fazed in the slightest.

  As the wolf leaped through the air and chomped at Dante’s neck, he swatted it away, looking more irritated than worried. It slammed against the wall with a thud and landed in a tangled heap of limbs and fur.

  The cat clawed up the wall and vaulted at Dante, nails and teeth aiming to tear into his flesh. Dante sailed a fist at the cat’s open jaw, dropping it straight to the hardwood. Momentarily stunned, as if it hadn’t expected Dante’s speed or strength, the cat shook out its fur and bound to its feet.

  Dante took a step back as the two shifters regained strength.

  What was he waiting for? Why did it look like he was enjoying the fight more than he was trying to finish it? As the two animals stalked forward, side by side, Dante smiled, his nails elongating to curved picks at his side.

  Ariana choked back a gasp. Vamps didn’t have nails that extended like fangs. It chilled the blood rushing through her.

  The thought that Dante was something entirely different flashed through her mind. Not therian. Not vamp. Something else. He looked like a vamp, with fangs and the enormous warrior-like stature. But he could teleport and had nails the size of ice picks.

  What was he besides, undeniably, the toughest fighter she’d ever laid eyes on?

  Ariana closed her eyes as a flicker of pre-projection sailed through her. As the crack of bone on bone rang through her ears, she couldn’t help but wince and peek at the damage in the hall.

  The scene before her had deteriorated quickly.

  Dante had the wolf in a headlock. Each time it snapped for Dante’s arm, he nailed it in the muzzle. It clawed. Dante sliced through its paw. It howled. Dante silenced the canine permanently by gouging a handful of his razor-sharp nails into its throat. Dante withdrew his bloody hand and stood upright. The wolf’s body flopped to the ground at his feet.

  The cat was on the ground twitching, the obvious victim of the cracking sound she’d heard. Ariana could barely see through the slit in the door, but its head was bashed in pretty bad.

  Standing eerily still over the therian carnage, Dante met Ariana’s gaze. The flat line of his lips pressed white. Why was he looking at her that way? With such heated intensity?

  “There will be more,” he said. His voice was calm. As if he hadn’t just taken down two beastly therians like it was a walk in Crimson Park. “We need to get you out of here. Come on.”

  Two minutes ago, Ariana wasn’t sure if she wanted to kick Dante in the groin or kiss him on his damn irresistible mouth. But things had changed. If his path led out of the black market and away from pissed-off therians, she was on board.

  Ariana peeked into the hall before stepping out completely.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Dante reassured her, extending his hand—the one that wasn’t soaked in feline blood.

  It was odd to think how much had changed in so little time, but Ariana actually believed him. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he could’ve tossed her into the hall. But he hadn’t. He’d tried to protect her.

  Even so . . .

  “I can handle myself,” she said, hiking up her robe. She stepped over the cat’s body without his help, but she didn’t make it far.

  A high-pitched wail erupted from the floor as jagged feline nails stabbed into Ariana’s right calf. Leg burning something fierce, Ariana screamed and fell forward. Dante spun and caught her before she hit the floor, but he couldn’t pull her free from the cat’s grip. It felt like she’d been ensnared in a bear trap. One serrated, rusty trap that could rip her leg clean off with the slightest movement.

  “Get down!”

  Two gunshots rang out.

  Dante buried Ariana’s head in his chest and used his body as a shield as radiant starbursts lit up the hall. And as the cat fell to the floor a second time, its nails slid out of her flesh.

  Tingly and numb from brain to bloodied leg, Ariana looked back. A vamp with flowing blonde hair and emerald eyes stood at the back of the hall, a pistol extended in his hand.

  “Leave you alone for a second,” he said, shoving the gun in his waistband, “and look what happens.”

  “Ruan, don’t flatter yourself. Another second and I would’ve taken care of business my way.”

  Dante lifted the cat’s face into his cold, steely grip and squeezed. The sound of its skull crunching was unlike anything Ariana had ever heard. A stomach-souring munching sound she didn’t want to ever hear again. When Ariana thought it was the most grotesque scene she’d ever witnessed, Dante ripped the cat’s head clean off and tossed it aside.

  Silver and decapitation were the only ways to kill a therian, but Ariana had never seen it happen firsthand. Knowing how they died and seeing it happen were two very different things.

  “Snap, crackle, pop, my man.” Ruan stalked to their side, staring at the cat’s busted face.

  “Well,” Dante said with a shrug. “I asked if they were hungry.”

  Chapter Six

  THEY DIDN’T HAVE much time. A minute. Two, tops.

  The shifters Juan Carlos sent down to the basement were scouts, not guards. Once they didn’t report back to his office, there’d be more therians thundering down on their heads.

  He needed to get Ariana out of here. Again. It occurred to Dante that this was the second time in two nights that he’d have to teleport her to safety out of the black market. Two too many for his taste. She should’ve stayed in the forest where he’d left her. And he should’ve stayed home and told Ruan to take a hike.

  But what burned Dante most was that he’d told Ariana he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. He didn’t have a clue why he’d said it. It’d slipped out. For some reason Dante couldn’t explain, Ariana seemed to bring out the protective side of him.

  Now, because she’d trusted his words—and really shouldn’t have—she was hurt.

  If Dante didn’t know better he’d think the pinching in
his gut was guilt.

  “Is your leg all right?” He stripped out of his coat and tossed it aside. Then ripped the sleeve off his shirt and tied it around Ariana’s calf to stop the bleeding.

  Her blood smelled sugary sweet. Like no scent he’d ever picked up before. Although Dante didn’t need blood to survive, he found certain varieties of the red ooze to be refreshing. With one whiff of the blood flowing through Ariana’s veins, Dante’s mouth watered.

  The cat diced her good. Looked like its nails stabbed right into the bone. Although vamps healed fast, they still experienced pain. And her wound was downright mangled.

  “It’ll be fine,” she said, scooting up to a sitting position. Her chestnut hair was twisted into a braid and draped over her shoulder, ratted and falling loose. The glimmer in her eyes had simmered from rich honey to doe brown. Her gaze reached through the space between them and shrank the skin over his bones. “I’ll be fine as soon as I get out of here.”

  She was either tough as nails or pretending to be. Either way, Dante knew a handful of males who couldn’t take a hit like that.

  “Why’d you come back?” Dante asked, checking the hall. “You should’ve stayed in your haven.”

  Ariana started to speak when Ruan kneeled beside her, smiling one of those perfect, illuminating smiles that made Dante want to throw up in his mouth.

  “I’m Ruan,” he said and stuck out his hand.

  Ariana eyed him skeptically but shook his hand anyway. “Ariana.”

  “We work together,” Dante said, hoping to clarify their situation as he put pressure on her wound.

  Ariana wouldn’t help unless she trusted them—he knew that much about her already. Bitter truth was, between Ruan and Dante, only one of them could be trusted through and through. The blood trickling from her leg proved stone from sour.

  “And hopefully you’ll be able to work with us, too,” Ruan said, leaving their side to check the chamber across the hall. “Thanks, by the way.”

  “I’ll . . .” Ariana’s gaze concentrated on Dante. “. . . what?”