The All Encompassing: Shifter MC Novel (Pureblood Predator MC Book 1)
Page 30
I close my eyes.
Please, O Night Wind, permit this waste to offer the cursed woman in your name.
“You return to the Americans and make peace for failing to prevent the slaughter of the Deputy Chief of the DEA, a fucking bean-counter from the World Bank, and…are there more?”
“Senator of the State of New Mexico,” the woman says.
“Yeah. Whatever. Him.”
“They should never have been there.”
“This…man you’ve sunk your claws in…isn’t the only one with strong urges. Our death matches are lucrative. And better, they expand our network of associates.”
“We’re close now, Carlos,” the woman whispers. “I sense it. Can’t you?”
“In this business, I find its dangerous to believe I’ve succeeded before I truly have. It weakens the nerve. Dulls the instincts.”
“My instincts are not dulled.”
“Maybe not. But you did fuck him. Was that your sharpest instinct? You disobeyed a direct command. Your job was to extract the Heart Eater. Not try and recruit him as an asset.”
The woman pauses right beside me. I scent her, feel her warmth radiating against my battered, naked body, remember what it was like to feed from her neck, to fuck her.
“I’ll return to the Americans. That won’t be a problem. What of him?” the woman asks.
“He remains with me. If the First Fallen demands his blood I’ll open him right here and bleed him into a bucket.”
“Seems a waste.”
“How so?”
The woman sighs. “He’s strong, Carlos. He’s only half himself and he has no idea what he is and still he’s strong. The Cartel could use him.”
“Speak.”
The woman drags her fingernail across my belly. I struggle to remain perfectly motionless. My mouth and throat sting from the poison smoke, and my cock is still raw from mating. It takes incredible will not to snatch her hand and pull her to me and drink deep of her black blood, but my wrists are bound in heavy chains and I know I need to hear what she says.
Tamara’s speaking to me as much as she’s speaking to this pig named Carlos.
“What do you want?” the woman asks.
“Me?” Carlos chuckles. “What I’ve always wanted. To rule.”
“You already do.”
“No. I want to rule like an emperor. Like the Aztecs of old. Peering down from my fucking pyramid as the faithful prostrate themselves.”
“Most would say you’re an emperor now.”
“Most are idiots. What am I emperor of? Cocaine? Cash? A few renegade soldiers pissed off at their government? Yes, these things matter. For now. But I want people to kneel. I want subjects. I want people to bow because of who I am, not because of what I have. Houses, helicopters, gold…these can be stripped away in a heartbeat. But the blood of emperors linked to the gods? Divine blood? Once decreed, this power is ageless. My blood will begin a new line of emperors, and this bloodline will live through generations. Blood outlasts gold and money and even the fear and power these things bring.”
“Carlos Collazo the cartel drug lord reborn as an emperor-god.”
“What do think’s going to happen, Tamara? After the First Fallen is reborn? The world plunged into bloody anarchy. Madness. Violence on a scale we’ve never seen. Whole cities in flames. Think of it! Mexico City burning. Roving bands of killers swarming the streets and villages. How long have we subjected ourselves to the rule of the pathetic Skins? To their governments and armies? How long have we stood in the shadows, hiding, waiting for the right moment to pounce on our natural prey? This is that moment. This is our moment. We are the Stricken no longer. We’re becoming the apex predators. Soon we’ll be strong enough to feed on the Pureblood. And when the world descends into chaos, those who are strong will step forth to lead. I will step forth to lead.”
“With the First Fallen’s blessing, of course,” the woman says, wary.
“If need be, yes.”
Tamara sucks in her breath. “And if not?”
“The First Fallen is strong. Many will flock to him. But many others will not. Don’t you see? New empires will be founded in every corner of the globe. New gods invented to bless these self-made emperors. The emperors will war with one another for territory. Subjects. Resources. The First Fallen cannot be everywhere at once. And who knows? Perhaps he’s not as formidable as the legends claim.”
“You’ve always been ambitious, Carlos,” the woman offering says, her voice sweet and seductive. “But this? Our power grows only because the Fallen draws near. He’s the ascendant alpha of the two original packs.”
“Oh yes,” the man named Carlos says. “Our primeval ancestors. Pardon me if I don’t give a fuck about ancient history.”
“That lineage reaches to the beginning of time. They became the Purebloods and Stricken. You’re fucking—”
“Mexico City will be my empire’s first city-state!” Carlos interrupts, slamming his fist into a table. “From here the Collazo Cartel rises against the cities to the north and south. From where I stand…empire.”
“How many soldiers does your cartel command?” Tamara says, her voice cold as ice.
“Now? Thirty thousand.”
“You’re going to need a hundred times that. And more than a few border-hopping helicopters. You’re going to need real firepower.”
“I know.”
“And the men you lead now? Why are they loyal to you?”
“Because I pay them. And they fear me.”
“Only fear matters.”
“Yes.”
The female offering pats me on my back. I bury a growl in my throat.
“That’s why you need Rodas alive,” she says, “regardless of what the First Fallen demands.”
“I can’t…I’m too weak to defy him now. He’ll destroy me. His people…our kind…they’re everywhere. In every office. In every military. Around the globe. They’re in my own organization, for fucking hell.” Carlos pauses, then says suspiciously, “Maybe even you. Who are you loyal to, rich little American girl?”
Tamara laughs. Her voice rises into a high-pitched imitation of a naive little girl. “Oh, I pledge my loyalty and love to you forever, my hero Carlos Collazo.”
“Shut the fuck up, Tamara. Show some respect. That fucking mouth of yours—”
“Then don’t ask idiotic questions. I’m loyal to nothing but myself, which means right now I’m loyal to a big paycheck.”
Carlos laughs. “Fucking Americans.”
“What if the First Fallen doesn’t Become?” Tamara says once Carlos’ laughter fades. “He needs three of his packmates at his side to do so. That’s why he’s so intent on finding Rodas.”
Carlos’ breath whistles through his teeth. “Then I deliver this stinking pendejo now, and gain his favor.”
“No, you fool. You keep him. If you hold Rodas you hold the key to the First Fallen’s Becoming. And more: an aspiring emperor needs powerful soldiers to lead his armies. Rodas’ animal runs strong, but his mind is weak. He will war for you, if you give him reason.”
“It’s too dangerous. Too soon. Betraying the First now could mean death. And if I do, and this…packmate Rodas rises and becomes strong…he may threaten my reign.”
“Then you must make the first move. You said it yourself. How many Stricken warlords and politicos and crime bosses and paramilitary generals are scheming against you as we speak? Planning to take Mexico City from the Collazo Cartel? Staking their claim as the new emperor in chaos?”
“All of them.”
“Yes. And this makes you afraid?”
“No. It makes me…cautious.”
“Bullshit. Call it what you want. It amounts to the same thing. You’ll have centuries to be cautious from atop your stone pyramid. Now is the time for risk.”
The lioness growls in Tamara’s throat. A predator queen. The sound makes me shift, ever so slightly, against my chains. The Night Stalker still prowls through my blood
. A gift from my Lord of Night. Perhaps he has not abandoned me completely. Perhaps there is hope—
Carlos says very slowly, “How do I gain this one’s loyalty?”
“That’s the easy part,” Tamara says. “You let him be what he is. A killer. What does every killer need?”
“Victims.”
“Yes. A kill list. Beginning with your enemies here in Mexico City. The longer the better.”
“Perhaps I should have married you.”
The woman laughs. “It’s too late now, Emperor Carlos Collazo. You were too cautious. You failed to stake your claim.”
***
I wake in silk sheets. Naked. Healed. In a large room lit by a single candle flickering in the corner. The walls lined with gold-framed paintings. The windows covered in thick red drapes. The furniture gleaming and gilded. A room created to display great wealth. The air reeks of scented smoke and slightly decayed flowers. The room, so different from my cell beneath the Cloud Temple, makes me oddly afraid.
I could lose myself here, among such miserable finery.
“Good morning, my smoking hot demon,” Tamara purrs.
I whirl, my fangs and claws springing out. She’s lying beside me, naked as well, her body covered in a white silk sheet so thin it’s transparent.
“You fucking whore,” I say, seizing Tamara’s throat and pulling her face inches from mine. “You betrayed me to your kind!”
Tamara’s eyes go grey-black as she thrashes and flails against my choking grip.
“You deceived me,” I whisper, twisting so I’m on my knees, my weight pressing the foul temptress’s head into the silk pillows. “Now I offer you…”
Tamara paws at my arms, swats at me.
Black blood speckles her lips.
Not long now. Not long and I free her to the Night Lord.
“Place me on the reed mat, O night lord, Wind Lord, Lord of Blood…” I pray as I press my forehead to the offering’s.
Her scent, heavy with terror, floods my nostrils.
Only a few more moments. The sacred freedom draws near.
“Do you seek release?” I whisper.
Tamara nods. Her eyes glaze over. Soon she’ll look at me with gratitude for the freedom I provide. But this time I won’t see her eyes when the Night Wind arrives to collect her. I have a special death planned for the temptress. The woman who drew me from devotion.
I have a gift from the Spotted Stalker who roams in my blood.
I kiss the offering once, slowly, on the forehead, then lean over her and open my jaws wide enough to stretch across the top of her head. My fangs dig into her skull, the lower fangs just above her eyes and the upper fangs near the back of her head.
A trickle of rich black blood runs down the offering’s face.
The woman offering freezes, paralyzed with terror.
The Spotted Stalker kills like this. Places his prey’s skull between his powerful jaws and bites down, his teeth crushing bone and piercing deep into brain, killing almost instantly.
This is my gift to the seductress. The agony of my fangs squeezing her skull until it cracks and buckles and bursts open like a melon, then my fangs slipping into her brain, then nothing but the wind whispering through the jungle canopy, calling her cat home.
The female squirms beneath me.
She misjudged me. I am not her bloodmate.
I will not bow to her or the one she works for.
She underestimated my devotion to the One I Am Slave To.
Overestimated her foul power over me.
A deadly mistake.
Tamara’s skull cracks.
Her hands graze my skin like helpless birds fluttering from their nest.
A little more now. Just a little more bite.
I hesitate, hold her beneath me, feel her blood-life leaking onto the silk sheets.
The woman who freed me from the cage.
The woman who nourished me with her black blood. The woman who fucked me.
Oh Lord of the Night Wind what is happening to me? What is this foul sensation in my heart? Why can’t I…why can’t I…
I am lost.
I open my jaws, release Tamara’s throat and shriek, “You deserve this death! The Night Lord demands I deliver the whore—”
But I won’t offer her. Won’t murder her. I can’t.
I am lost.
Tamara draws a long, tortured breath, swats at my chest, tries to buck me off but I hold her firm, then I raise my hand and smack her across the face and for an instant I’m certain I’ve killed her, and a rush of sharp guilt and loss and self-hatred slams into me, and I press my face into the offering’s soft shoulder as tears burn hot down my cheek.
Tamara takes another halting breath, then begins laughing.
I don’t understand.
“Your whore?” Tamara says, laughing and crying at once. “I’m your bloodmate, you fucking fool. You marked me, remember? I’m yours. So have me, killer. Take me. Let me feel—”
I slip down, grip her thighs, part her legs, marvel at the sight of her perfect pink cunt, then thrust my hard cock deep into her.
“Yes!” Tamara screams. “Take your mate. Fuck your mate raw, my killer. Fuck me and fill me. Please.”
This one, I think as she wraps her legs around me, this one is mine and mine alone.
The Night Lord can bleed whoever he desires.
Except this one.
I kiss Tamara’s ear, down her neck, run my lips across her hard nipples as I fuck her, feel her cunt tighten around me, feel this woman who saved me, feel this togetherness that I’ve never named or known, and a part of me realizes this is weakness, this need, and another part wants nothing more than to be like this, naked and close, with my bloodmate at my side for the rest of time.
Tamara lifts her hips to me, clenches my flexing ass and pulls me tight so my cock is planted as deep as it can go. She’s moaning, her eyes misted, her lips swollen and red and as I fuck her I watch her…she’s lovely, I think it’s the first time I’ve truly seen her beauty, her blond hair curling around her shoulders as she pleads and moans for me, her pale, smooth skin glimmering with sweat, and I realize how miserable my life has been until this moment, wrought of loneliness and despair I mistook for devotion and faith, and I know I would forsake him, my god, the One I Am Slave To, O Night Wind, O Wind Lord, O Lord of Blood.
I will forsake you if my bloodmate asks it of me.
And maybe I already have.
My come builds slower than it did in the penthouse, deeper, with an aching sting that radiates from my balls, through my hips and deep into my belly, and when I come I press my face to Tamara’s breasts and scream, begging her to love me, this stillborn, this waste, and after we finish we lie together, gasping, our blood hot and murky with sex, the scent of our mating strong in this prison-room of wealth.
“You can stop calling me that now,” Tamara says, stroking my thin black hair.
“What?”
“The offering. I offer myself to you, Rodas. Not to your Lord. Whoever the fuck he is.”
“And to no one else?” I ask, peering into her shining eyes.
“No.”
I think on this for a minute, then say, “I heard you. Talking to your Keeper. Carlos Collazo? You were engaged to be wed. I was awake when you spoke to him.”
“I know you were awake. Why do you think I spoke so candidly? Carlos is not my Keeper,” Tamara says, slipping out from under me, rolling on her side and propping her head up on her elbow. “I bow to no one.”
“You believe in nothing?”
“I believe in strength above all else. Weakness disgusts me.”
“Carlos is strong. I scented the animal in him. He bleeds black?”
“Yes. Carlos was strong in a world ruled by weak Skins. But now? Everything’s changed. Carlos Collazo is a street thug done good. He’s crass and crude and short-sighted. His kind come and go. Even now he has to throw money at his army to maintain their loyalty. If the drugs stop movin
g the money stops flowing and Carlos is dead. His reign is rooted in money. The least trustworthy of sources. He aspires to real power, but he’ll never attain it. Real power requires charisma. Class. Intelligence. You have to make your subjects believe kneeling to you is in their best interest, even when it clearly isn’t. Especially when it clearly isn’t.”
“This Carlos. He is a…Lord?”
Tamara sighs. “You’re powerful, Rodas, but you’re a fucking child. This world you’ve stumbled into…it’s not as simple as you might hope. There are no Lords here. No Keepers to deliver your daily offerings. You have to seek the offerings yourself. You have to become your own lord.”
“With your guidance.”
Tamara smiles, kisses my cheek, my neck, down across my chest, over my nipple.
“I heard you convince Carlos not to kill me.”
“Oh, he still intends to kill you. I convinced him not kill you now.”
“What does he want?”
“What everyone you meet wants. To use you.”
“Do you…want to use me?”
Tamara stops kissing me. Lifts her head. Stares into my eyes. Bites her lower lip. Gives me an expression I don’t recognize, halfway between anger and tenderness.
“Of course,” she says after studying me for a long while. “I’m like everyone else. You must remember this. Always.”
“How will you use me?”
“I will have you murder the Cartel’s enemies, like Carlos and I planned. I will have you labor to build an empire in Carlos’ name. Then I will have you murder him and take his place.”
“And after? When your enemies are all dead? You will murder me as well?”
Tamara pauses. “That was the plan, yes. Until a few minutes ago.”
“What changed?”
“I got another taste of that perfect cock.”
“What?”
Tamara bursts into mocking laughter. “Oh, nevermind. I’ll always have enemies, Rodas. Which means I’ll always have need of you.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Really?”
Tamara resumes kissing my chest. She moves lower, across my stomach, mumbling something I can’t hear. I lay my head back on the too-soft pillow and stare at the gilded gold ceiling. This wealth. This pleasure. They are both weaknesses. They are new, and so interesting.