Blood Lust

by Alexandra Ivy

  Dismissing the child from her mind, Stella returned her attention to the clairvoyant. It was time she was given what she’d been promised.

  A weapon that would allow her to rule the world.

  Okay, maybe not the world, she conceded, her thoughts threatening to dissolve before she could hold on to them. But her own special corner.

  For now that would be enough.

  Before she could speak, however, there was a strange shimmer around the woman.

  Stella made a sound of shock as Myst seemed to swell larger and larger. Was this some freakish magic? She struggled to breathe as she watched the pretty young woman morph into a pale, formless creature who was staring at her with pure white eyes.

  “What the hell?” she breathed, stumbling backward. “What are you?”

  He, or at least she assumed it was a he, allowed his lips to twist into a smile that made her stomach clench with dread.

  “I know it’s tediously clichéd, but I truly am your worst nightmare,” he informed her.

  She agreed.

  He was a nightmare.

  A big, larvalike beast who was denying her the destiny that’d been promised.

  “Where’s my weapon?” she screeched, unable to accept that her glorious fate had been snatched away.

  He gave a sad shake of his head. “You are the weapon.”

  Frustration clutched her stomach, along with a sickening sensation of doom.

  “Don’t screw with me,” she snarled. “I was promised . . . promised . . .”

  Her words stumbled to a halt as her tongue swelled, making it almost impossible to speak.

  The creature stepped forward. “What were you promised, Stella?”

  She blinked, feeling a wetness coming from her eyes.

  It couldn’t be tears. She never cried. Never.

  Lifting her hand, she brushed her cheeks. They were wet. She pulled her hand away to discover the tips of her fingers coated in blood.

  “Greatness,” she mumbled, befuddled by the red staining her skin. A shrill warning was sounding in the back of her mind, but it was too difficult to think through the fog. “I was promised greatness.”

  “Greatness is earned, not stolen,” the freak said, as if she were a five-year-old in need of a lecture.

  “I stole nothing. I earned it.” She clenched her fists, desperately trying to ignore the escalating fever that scoured through her veins. Christ. She felt as if she was being burned alive. “All those years giving my body to disgusting men. Pretending I gave a damn about the crazy-ass Brotherhood. I deserve my fate.”

  The white eyes blazed as the male held out his hand, revealing the ball of churning energy he’d fooled her with before.

  “Fate is a fickle thing.” With a wave of his hand the ball disappeared. “Seen from one angle it can look like success, and seen by another it is failure.”

  Failure . . . failure . . . failure . . .

  The word whispered through her fuzzy mind.

  “There is no weapon, is there?” she spat out. She had to get to the door. If that little brat could get out, then so could she. Right?

  “I’ve told you, you’re the weapon,” the man murmured, something that might have been pity twisting his blob of a face as she struggled to take a step forward.

  She blinked away the blood, trying to force her shaky legs to carry her forward.

  “How could I be a weapon?”

  “Easily.” He shrugged. “You’re a high-blood who possesses an extraordinary gift.”

  “High-blood?” She gave a sharp laugh, her lips cracking as she came to an abrupt halt. “That’s not possible.”

  The creature waved aside her protest. “Believe whatever you want, Stella. But the truth is the truth. You’re a carrier who must be contained for your own safety as well as others’.”

  High-blood. She was a high-blood.

  She wanted to deny the claim. To call him a bald-faced liar. But there was more than just heat and pain that was sizzling through her body.

  There was . . . a magic that was threatening to destroy her.

  A wild laugh at the sheer irony erupted from her throat before it was changing to a hiss of pain as the flames beneath her skin became unbearable.

  “No.” She fell to her knees, the grinding agony becoming unbearable. “What are you doing to me?”

  The creature’s white gaze moved to study the huge boils erupting over the skin of her arms.

  “It seems your powers aren’t entirely stable.”

  “Make it stop.” She glared at the freak. Didn’t he realize that she was dying?

  “I can’t.”

  “Liar.” She coughed, not surprised when blood sprayed over the floor. “I swear I’ll be a good high-blood,” she muttered, willing to promise anything to stop the torment. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  She thought she heard him heave a faint sigh. “It’s too late.”

  “No.” Genuine fear thundered through her. All her plans, all her plotting, all her sacrifices . . . It had to be worth something, didn’t it? “Help me.”

  There was the rustle of robes as the man stepped backward. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  Stella groaned, the world slipping away as she realized she’d failed.

  “This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. . . .” she rasped. “I was supposed to win. . . .”

  * * *

  Unable to leave without her daughter, Myst pressed herself against the wall, peeking around the corner.

  Come on, come on, she silently urged, feeling as if each passing second was an eternity.

  At last she caught sight of the little girl stepping through the open doorway, a dimpled smile lighting her face as she ran down the hallway.

  “Mommy. Mommy.”

  Going to her knees, Myst held out her arms, her heart soaring with relief.

  “Oh, my baby,” she breathed, pulling her daughter tight against her as her tears fell unchecked down her cheeks.

  She’d never been so terrified in her life. Now pure joy was bursting through her. Was it any wonder she was having trouble controlling her emotions?

  Leaning back, Molly sent her mother a chiding frown. “I’m not a baby.”

  “No, you’re not,” Myst readily agreed, kissing the tip of her daughter’s nose. “You’re a very big, very brave girl.”

  Molly’s glorious smile dimmed, her lower lip quivering.

  “I didn’t like that mean lady.”

  Myst ran a worried gaze over her daughter. The Mave had sworn that she wasn’t infected, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have other injuries.

  “Did she hurt you?”

  “She squeezed my arm, but it didn’t hurt. Well . . .” Molly hunched a shoulder, knowing that she was always supposed to tell the truth. “It didn’t hurt much.”

  Myst forced a reassuring smile to her lips. “Don’t worry, sweetie. She’s never going to hurt you again.” She tenderly brushed a silvery curl from Molly’s cheek. “I swear.”

  Molly nodded, glancing over her shoulder. “I think she was sick.”

  Myst grimaced. Despite everything her daughter had endured, she still possessed that sweet, innocent belief in the goodness of others. Which meant that Myst couldn’t share her opinion of the bitch who’d tried to use a child as a bargaining chip.

  “Yeah, I think so too,” she murmured.

  “Will the healers take care of her?”

  “I’m not sure she can be helped,” Myst hedged, knowing her daughter’s tender heart would be worried.

  There was a short silence before Molly wrinkled her nose, thankfully turning her thoughts away from Stella and her ugly fate.

  “I knew that man wasn’t you, even though he had your face,” she said, her dimples returning.

  “Of course you did.” Myst kissed the top of the silvery curls, fiercely grateful her daughter hadn’t given the game away. “You’re a very clever little girl.”

  Molly reached up to touch Myst’s forehead.
“I knew because his brains were different,” she explained.

  Myst studied her daughter. A new talent?

  “What do you mean different?”

  “They are all scrambly,” Molly said, her brow wrinkled as she tried to explain. “They blink. One place and then another. As if he isn’t really here at all.”

  Hmm. “He is . . . unusual,” Myst admitted, feeling a small flare of unease. She didn’t know anything about Boggs, but she didn’t think he would be pleased to know that Molly could sense beneath his strange appearance. Best to keep the two of them apart. “We need to get away from here.”

  “Can we go home now?” Molly swiftly demanded.

  “Home,” Myst breathed.

  Molly pulled back, her big eyes filled with worry. “You’re staying this time, aren’t you.”

  “I-”

  “Yes, Molly, she’s staying this time,” a male voice interrupted.

  “Daddy,” Molly screeched, pulling away from Myst to hurtle into Bas’s waiting arms. With a smooth motion he had her lifted off her feet and snuggled in his arms. “Squeeze me tight,” Molly commanded.

  Bas’s expression was painfully vulnerable as he buried his face in Molly’s curls, his big body trembling as he pressed his daughter against his chest.

  “This tight?” he asked.

  Already recovered from her ordeal, Molly was swift to take advantage of her parents’ overwhelming relief. Arching back, she flashed her most persuasive smile.

  “Is Mommy staying with us?”

  The bronze gaze moved to where Myst had straightened to stand in the center of the hallway. A fierce, shockingly possessive smile curving his lips.

  “She is.”

  Elation exploded through Myst, even as she tried to pretend she wasn’t as eager as a stray dog to be invited to his home.

  “So sure?” she murmured.

  A sudden heat shimmered in the depths of his eyes as he allowed his gaze to slide down her body.

  “I’ll handcuff you to the bed if necessary.”

  Molly gave a sudden giggle. “Has Mommy been bad?”

  “I hope she intends to be very, very bad,” Bas said, smiling with wicked pleasure at the blush that stained her cheeks.

  “Bas,” she protested, even as she trembled with anticipation.

  “I’m hungry.” Molly broke into the sensual spell that Bas could so easily weave around Myst. “Can I have a donut?”

  “Come on.” Bas held out his hand in silent invitation, waiting for Myst to move forward and lay her fingers against his palm. “Let’s get our daughter a donut.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bas felt like an awkward teenager.

  Not a sensation he was particularly fond of, he silently acknowledged. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he watched as Myst drifted from the sunken living room with open beam ceilings and a stunning view of the nearby lake, into the large kitchen with stainless steel appliances that the real-estate agent had insisted were “absolute musts.”

  Bas hadn’t given a shit about appliances. All he wanted was a home that was comfortable for Myst, with large windows that offered plenty of sunshine for Molly, and isolated enough that he could easily protect them.

  Now he could only hope that Myst wanted the same thing.

  “Well?” he at last prompted.

  “Well what?” she asked, running her hand over the marble countertop.

  Bas scowled. Over the past week they’d been inseparable. They had five years to make up for, after all. And Myst had been just as eager as he had been to live as a family with Molly.

  But Bas had swiftly grown tired of their cramped apartment in Valhalla, not to mention the endless parade of visitors who assumed they could drop by whenever they wanted.

  He needed to be alone with Myst and Molly.

  At least for the next century or so.

  So he’d secretly set about finding the perfect place to live, assuming it would make a wonderful surprise for his soon-to-be wife. It had never occurred to him that she wouldn’t be equally pleased.

  “Do you like it?” he pressed, carefully studying her pale face.

  “Of course I like it.” Her smile didn’t reach the velvet-brown eyes. “It’s perfect.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Then why aren’t you leaping for joy?”

  She glanced out the window where the afternoon sunlight danced off the water in the lake. Farther away was nothing but trees that circled the property.

  “This is a big change from your elegant hotels,” she murmured. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  His scowl deepened, an unpleasant ball of fear lodging in the pit of his stomach. He was more than ready. But clearly Myst was having second thoughts.

  “The hotels were a symbol,” he said, his lips twisting as she blinked in confusion. “After my mother’s death I was obsessed with the need to make sure I was surrounded by enough wealth and power so I would never be vulnerable again. It was the only way I could feel in control of my life,” he explained, reaching to touch the tiny locket that once again hung around her neck. “But the hotels and even the hidden safe houses I created to protect my people were never a home,” he continued, holding her gaze. “Molly is my home. And now you.”

  “Oh.” A flush touched her cheeks, but still her expression remained wary. “What about the Mave?”

  Bas studied her with a flare of impatience. Surely she couldn’t think he had any interest in the Mave? Not after he’d devoted the past week to proving he was completely besotted with a silver-haired clairvoyant?

  “What about her?” he demanded.

  “Has she agreed to forgive your past?”

  Ah. Bas grinned. Lana had spent an entire afternoon lecturing him on the importance of following the laws of Valhalla and his duty to his fellow high-bloods. All of which went in one ear and out the other.

  He would lay down his life for his family, but he’d be damned if he would become a respectable member of society.

  “I doubt she intends to forgive me,” he admitted with a shrug. “But she has promised she won’t throw me into the nearest dungeon. At least not until I do something else to piss her off.”

  Myst nodded, her finger drawing absent patterns on the marble countertop.

  “And Wolfe?”

  “He’s tumbled madly in love with Molly,” Bas pointed out in offhand tones. “He’s willing to turn a blind eye for her sake.”

  Myst wrinkled her nose. “If she keeps going to Valhalla she’s going to be spoiled rotten.”

  That was the understatement of the century. Molly’s talent might be stirring latent powers, but her true magic was the ability to bring happiness to even the most hardened warrior.

  Hell, he’d seen Wolfe and the tattooed Sentinel, Fane, squashing their large bodies into tiny nursery chairs so they could share an afternoon “tea” with his daughter.

  “I shudder to think what would happen if we tried to forbid them from seeing her,” he murmured, prowling around the edge of the counter. “It’s quite likely we’d both end up in the dungeons.”

  Her lips twitched. “True.”

  Reaching out, he cupped her chin and tilted back her head to study her guarded expression. What the hell?

  “Myst.”

  She shivered beneath his light grip. “Yes?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know what you—”

  “Don’t,” he interrupted in stern tones. Enough was enough. He was getting to the bottom of her strange behavior. “If this isn’t your dream house, we’ll find another one. Hell, we can find a dozen and you can choose your favorite.”

  “No,” she breathed. “The house is truly perfect.”

  He leaned down, savoring the sweet scent of honeysuckle. “Then why do I sense you aren’t fully committed to making this our home?”

  She hesitated, almost as if considering a lie. Then, clearly realizing Bas would recognize any attempt to deceive him, she heaved a fai
nt sigh.

  “Because I’m afraid.”

  He sucked in a shocked breath. “Of me?”

  “No, of course not,” she denied, her expression horrified.

  Okay. She wasn’t afraid of him. Then what?

  “Talk to me, Myst,” he insisted.

  Without warning she stepped forward, laying her head on his chest as her arms wrapped around his waist.

  “I’ve never allowed myself to dream that I could have a real home with a real family,” she confessed in a low voice that was raw with emotion. “Now I fear this might be an illusion that will be snatched away.”

  Oh . . . hell.

  Relief and a fierce need to protect this fragile female thundered through him. He lashed his arms around her, holding her so tight he knew it would be difficult for her to breathe.

  “Trust me, I’m very, very real,” he assured her. “And there’s nothing on this earth that’s going to separate us again.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Nothing.”

  “You swear?”

  “I swear.” He pulled back far enough so she could see the sincerity etched on his face. “You can believe in me, Myst.”

  She gave a slow nod, her wariness fading as she accepted he was never letting her go.

  “Okay.”

  “Will you leap for joy now?” he demanded.

  A small, mysterious smile curved her lips. “Actually, women in my condition shouldn’t leap.”

  “Your condition?” His heart squeezed in instant alarm before he noticed the shimmer of absolute contentment in her dark eyes. She wasn’t worried. She was . . . delighted. “Are you pregnant?” he asked, barely daring to breathe as he waited for her slow nod.

  “I warned you the spell was faulty,” she murmured.

  Pure joy raced through him. Another baby. He felt dizzy with happiness.

  “Or more likely fate is just determined to make sure we have a dozen beautiful babies,” he said, firmly believing there was nothing wrong with the spell.

  Destiny had created Molly. Just as it had created the new child growing within his mate.

  “A dozen?” She gave a low chuckle, the last of her unease melting away. “Isn’t that a little ambitious?”

  His lips skimmed over her forehead. “I’m a mercenary.”