Captiva Capitulation (Six Feet Under Vampire Werewolf Menage Series Book Three)

by Scott, Talyn

  “Ah, and you,” he said on a slow exhale, groaning, “come behind me…there you go. Reach under…grab my balls. Rub your breasts on my back when you do.” His eyes burned, his irises bleeding into the whites. With three deep breaths, he held back his Species. If he fed quickly enough, he could somewhat control his aggression with them. “Dig in with your nails, yes, much harder though.”

  “But… I’ll draw blood.”

  Slice me open. “Will you?” He dropped a quick kiss on her vodka-flavored lips. “Try to find out while I’m busy with your friend.” Because the women wouldn’t be getting one another off, they would be eager for what he wanted to do to them. “Then, you two will have the pleasure of your lives.” As much as their confines allowed.

  When he was nearly jacked up over six indulgent hands roving his body, all trailed by three insistent mouths. He struck hard and fast, sinking his fangs into the first of the pretties. Sadly, though she was b positive - one of his favs, she wasn’t what he really had a taste for.

  But the one on her knees, yeah, she was amazing, sucking his head and rolling her teeth over the tip at precise intervals. And when nameless number two pressed three dainty fingers underneath his sack, her smallest one finding his ass, he released his first load of the night in hot, demanding spurts. Since a climax naturally kicked up a Master’s endorphins, his dinner maxed out against him, screaming until her voice became a ragged plea. Her rush of pleasure dripped over his skilled fingers.

  Always, a fang fuck from an experienced vampire was far better than sex between humans, yet he would still lift them against the wall and have at it. But he wanted more blood to quench his inner savage, so he could take it easier on them. Humans had a tendency to break. If he were at Six Feet Under, he would have had Ryan clear out VIP, tie them up, and languidly service them in a way that was clearly his own.

  After slowly releasing his bite, she panted against him as he sealed her puncture wounds. The one on her knees cleaned him up nicely.

  “Switch,” he ordered, sucking on his middle finger. “So good, sweetheart.” Two things he could drink without irritating his body, and he’d just had both. He continued licking her orgasm from his fingers before lifting her redheaded friend against the wall with his opposite hand. “Breathtaking,” he whispered against her breasts right when he ripped her thong away. “Umm, doll, I love freckles.” She wrapped those needy thighs around his waist, her arousal scent wafting under his nose. “We’re going to lick the ceiling, sweetheart, you ready?” A rhetorical question since she was soaked. An inch in and a tight shiver ran across his shoulders.

  Vojaks were on the roof, their blood hammering through their powerful veins, pumping high for a kill. Abruptly, his moment for pleasure was lost.

  Maestru turned his head, smelling Grim, a Vojak youngling, on the other side of the door. Maestru frowned. Specifically, he’d told Qudir that younglings weren’t supposed to be here. It was full moon and werewolves were waiting in the wings, not a good combo with hormone-ridden, Vojak younglings. Many wars started over less.

  In a flash, he pinned the redhead’s throat, taking and giving without thrusting. She pulsated right away, drenching his freshly aching cock lodged between her thighs. Reluctantly, he put his sex away with his free hand, drinking only a half pint from freckles before clearing her memory of him. Finally, he yanked the third against his mouth and fed quickly, wiping all thoughts of him from her. Turning around, he directed a precise stare at the lovely, plush one. “Your guy doesn’t know what he has,” he whispered under his breath, appreciating her extra curves. “A warning, I might find you again one night.” With her blood now singing in his veins, he could whenever he so desired.

  With a wave of his hand, the door opened and Grim handed him a long leather coat, filled to maximum capacity. “Make sure,” he warned, flinging the varsity jacket at the youngling and lifting a lofty brow.

  “I’ll take care of them,” Grim replied in deference and veered around his Master. A satisfied smile flitted across his face as he enclosed himself with the trio.

  Shrugging on his borrowed duster, Maestru found his way outside and then misted high above on the rooftop. With an unnatural wind, the long leather flapped around his ankles, though heavily loaded with weapons he usually didn’t need. Since the Coven Master preferred fangs and claws during any hand-to-hand.

  He cocked his head, listening…sensing. “Nothing?”

  “Not yet, but my instincts are nagging me,” Qudir spoke softly, standing back to back with Oycher. Now covered with long coats, each Vojak had weapons drawn, holding a modified Stavz in one hand and a ring sword in the other. Oycher gripped his ring sword so tightly that his blood drizzled across the ancient blade.

  They weren’t this worked up over Lovci or missing mixed bloods. “Gut telling you it’s Habalines?”

  “Something like that,” Qudir murmured.

  If anything were to turn up now, Maestru knew his Vojaks wouldn’t play by the rules. They wouldn’t turn any rogue Habalines in to Jayce Jordan for his so-called rehabilitation. Habalines exposed their turf, the Vojaks Sanctuary, comprising them in a way no other creatures had in centuries. No matter what agreement Sixten had made with the North American Werewolf Pack, Maestru’s Vojaks were going for the kill – blood for blood. He wanted the very same thing. This night, more than forty Vojaks stood tightly coiled over the city and Captiva Island, restlessly waiting for shifters to break balls with them.

  “If Sixten were here, he could sense them before we could smell them.”

  “He’s on his way,” Qudir whispered. “I phoned him and Kash.” His shoulders shifting as he moved incrementally, keeping Oycher at his back. Rarely had they fought this way, yet their enemies had forced them to. When a creature could change into something large and powerful enough to toss a city bus, vampires could still fight it with ease. However, when that same creature could slither between them in the form of a snake or a rodent, then they had another set of trouble going on. “I was surprised that he was working,” said the Commander, “stepping away from Blythe so soon after her rescue.”

  “He’s obligated to us,” Maestru replied, recalling how the Vojaks risked their lives to orchestrate duping the prince of their race. “Even so, I would have given Sixten more time to pay his debt, if only for his past service to the Vojaks.” He shrugged, glancing over at the college. “Blythe needs to regain her bearings.” Maestru wasn’t known for his leniency, collecting all debts due to him mercilessly. Hence, an explanation was in order, no matter how unnatural if felt leaving his lips, “An unsettled mate ensures a distracted warrior. Our Vojaks cannot afford any more distractions. Ambassador or not, Sixten is a warrior by blood, and we need him.”

  “Oh, she’s still a distraction all right.” Oycher moved his head, not in a human way, following a scratching sound coming from the next roof. “When I last guarded Blythe, Ryan spelled her with Druid tattoos. The ink,” he stressed, since everyone knew she was marked with blood instead, “was set and I still wanted her for dinner. For some reason, the werewolves think this Druid crap will help her.” He stilled, his eyes glowing orange. “Ask me what I think.”

  Qudir narrowed his midnight gaze, focusing at length on Tamiami Trail. “The same thing that I do, the spells may not hide her from Lovci. But hopefully, she’ll live long enough until Sixten figures out something else to do for her.”

  “She’s fine to look at and everything, but I’m glad she’s not my Bride,” Oycher murmured. “I couldn’t deal with that shit on a regular basis.”

  “Yeah, but Sixten’s crazy enough to handle it all, and then some.”

  “Movement across from Fort Myers Field,” Maestru interrupted, following Qudir’s line of vision towards the small airport nestled a good five miles away.

  “I caught it.” Qudir nodded, punching out a text while misting. “I have a feeling we’ll need soldiers.” Oycher and Maestru followed him.

  Sixty seconds later, they reformed behind Spook
y’s Halloween Superstore.

  “Movement was from the inside, reflecting off the glass window. I’m sure of it.” Maestru pointed toward the front. “Didn’t Kash check this place out, when Blythe’s brother worked here?” His lip curled into a disgruntled sneer when he read the sign. Plastic fangs and trash-bag cowls irritated him, made him long to feed as they did in the old days.

  “Yeah, interesting how it’s shut down,” Qudir replied, putting his weapons away while stepping up to the back entrance. Waving a hand over the locks, he gaped with the tumblers held firm. “What the hell?”

  Oycher stepped aside, gesturing for his Master to give it a shot. “If the Commander can’t open it, I’m wasting my time trying.”

  Maestru sensed alien metals, but the spells were those from an olden Vampyr. “I smell Lovci here.” In particular, a hunter he scented at the small airport, Fort Myers Field, when they had gained a bead on Blythe’s earlier disappearance. “Did Kash report this?”

  “No, Master. Nothing in his report noted hunters. Then again, most of us can’t detect them the way you can. So…yeah, the scent may have been here from the beginning.”

  Maestru inclined his head. “It’s strong, but not enough to indicate a Lovec is still present.”

  “Something is still here,” Oycher walked over a broken curb, inhaling sharply after Maestru worked the locks with his magic and opened the door.

  Maestru couldn’t dismiss an internal itch traveling under his skin, the second time this night, though he couldn’t place any other scent to correspond with it. “The freaks are close.” He weaved wards across the display windows and the only two doors in plain view. No one would get in behind them or get out without their acquiescence, other than Vojaks. “Let loose, children.” He dropped his guard, releasing his Species. Qudir and Oycher followed his lead.

  A black haze converted Maestru’s vision, sharpening his sight, his eyes scorching as his irises spread across the whites. Claws stretched from his human-like hands. Jeans tightened around his thighs, his muscles thickening with every step. Seams tore across his broadening shoulders, unable to accommodate his expanding body. “Shit,” he complained on a whisper, wishing he had dressed to fight. “This t shirt is choking me.” With a single claw, he tore its center.

  After removing the watch that was threatening to snap off his wrist and burying it inside his pocket, he unsnapped the top button on his jeans to give his cock room to breathe. His entire body transformed with his Species, and the increasing size of his dick never failed to amaze him.

  Only his Bride had taken him in his natural form.

  So long ago, it had been. In fact, it was centuries ago, and that particular ache had changed into a gnawing numbness his body refused to shed.

  Swiftly, they glided in the way of vampires, dispersing air beneath their boots and passing down lengthy aisles lined with Halloween garb that threw political correctness back to the Stone Age.

  Oycher nodded when Qudir pointed to a display of assorted nursing costumes, the naughty kind, hanging from an aluminum display screwed into the sheetrock. Maestru spread his arms wide, pushing out his senses as his Vojaks tore the metal caging from the wall. White lacy fabric and plastic hangers scattered in all directions, revealing a hidden door.

  “I smell blood,” was all Maestru noticed, for now.

  “We’re on target,” Oycher whispered with a greedy smile, kicking aside the fallen mess.

  Maestru glided forward, working a highly complicated, computerized lock at lightning speed. If he didn’t get inside soon, whoever was on the other side would be long gone before he reached them. And he had every intention of reaching them. “It’s a retina reader,” he snarled, ducking the red laser. “Not in the mood to go blind today.”

  “They’re scattering like rats,” Oycher hissed, his ear pressed to the door, eyes casting a furious, orange glare.

  “Blow it wide,” Maestru directed Qudir.

  “Are you sure?” Qudir dared to argue.

  “You are questioning me? Obey! I’ll cast a miasma outside, and, hopefully, the human authorities will miss our noise makers.”

  “Best laid plans,” Qudir agreed reluctantly while installing a doughy adhesive across the doorjamb and working wires in blurring speed. “Move!”

  Spinning head over boots, Maestru landed in the furthest corner, pulling his two Vojaks with him.

  Qudir pressed his thumb against a fang, his primal need to hunt stoking his vampire. “Three, two, one.”

  Maestru spun his arms wide, throwing out exactly what his father taught him, only much better. Pushing out a wide bubble, he encased the God forsaken store and anything he felt underground. “So many of them,” he complained. Unfortunately, he couldn’t catch those escaping and still keep up the miasma.

  Oycher and Qudir wasted no time entering the hidden room presently shrouded in a cloud of grey dust and floating particles. Maestru blinked ash away from his eyes, holding his broad spell up until he sensed the last rumbling shudder had settled.

  Pulling himself back together, he followed along quickly, gliding through the hidden doorway with be-clawed hands held at chest level. The horror that met his eyes stopped him cold. Two words escaped his mouth, the only thing Maestru could coherently string together when faced with this much of the unthinkable. “Fucking monsters.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I thought I had roamed hell’s bowels before,” Sixten said, grimacing.

  “You stand corrected,” Kash muttered, trailing him.

  “You know, Qudir, maybe you should mention these nastier situations before you call. Like a heads up.” Sixten sauntered into the demolished lab. “Then I’ll kick off my favorite boots and replace them with the old ones I wear for gardening.”

  Qudir didn’t glance Sixten’s way. “You don’t do yard work.”

  “Still…common gentilities have escaped you lately.” With every step he took, blood squelched beneath his feet, making a God awful suctioning.

  Kash pushed a fingertip in his sensitive ear, swiveling it. “Nails on a chalkboard.”

  In front of them, blood dripped in slow, large drops onto a metal pan anchored to a gurney. Above, a youthful female with raven hair dangled from the ceiling by chains, her armpits cleanly sliced.

  “Where’s the rest coming from?” Sixten asked, since the human’s blood was contained.

  “It’s anyone’s guess,” Oycher answered, reaching up for the girl. “There are parts of parts around here, but not enough to allow for this much drainage. The bastards scattered below.”

  “She’s gone,” Maestru said, dismissing Oycher’s attempt at her retrieval. “Her soul just left.”

  Sixten glanced up, staring in fascination as a soft glow pushed through the ceiling. On the heels of that fascination, he grew numb, knowing if they’d managed to enter merely five minutes earlier…she might have lived. That could have been his Blythe. He fought not to reach for his phone again. The best thing he could do for her was to give her time with Rock to complete their mating, turning her immortal and releasing her from Gianni’s hold. She still didn’t know Gianni may be alive, which he hoped wasn’t the case, and Rock agreed not to tell her. For now.

  Kash shook his head, as if following Sixten’s thoughts, pulling his gaze from the ceiling. “Come on, Oycher,” he cautioned, “I know that look, man. You don’t have time to raise and care for an Undead. Fight the urge. Leave her soul in peace.”

  Oycher nodded, his beads rattling in his mahogany hair. “She’s just a human, though, not that anyone deserves this, but what did she do to warrant their attention?”

  “At one point, she lived. That’s what she did to warrant their attention. She existed.” Sixten started with the files, reading his native language, the Habaline tongue. He wondered why they always had paper backups around instead of relying solely on computers.

  “We barely sleep. We are lucky to find time to feed, to have lives. We’ve pushed off all domestic issues for our soldiers
to handle, which, might I remind you all, they’re not trained for, and still we’re not doing enough,” Kash grumbled, going to the back of the lab and examining the alarm system. “They just cut everything. How can they afford to leave lab after lab and never come back? Are their resources indeed limitless?” He fingered the wires, a few sparked with that strange electricity Habalines harnessed. Turning to Qudir, he inquired, “What was your time between arrival and entry, Commander?”

  Qudir shrugged, moving in front of a high-resolution screen dancing with DNA chains. “Three minutes tops. Reminding you all, except Sixten, they have higher intelligence. Ask all the questions you want, be dumfounded as usual, they’ll always outsmart us.”

  “Taking that into consideration, they destroyed and aborted all of this,” Kash replied, holding out his hands, “in less than three minutes. Tops.”

  “You’re seeing the same thing I’m seeing, Kash,” Qudir met him with a level look. “Why don’t you dig into that alarm system, reconnect some shit, maybe then something will lead us to their main system or at least an adjacent lab.”

  In his peripheral vision, Sixten saw Qudir move to the next workstation. Then Maestru took his place, examining the cycling DNA chains. Sixten offered an opinion based on gut instinct and frightening intelligence, “They’re on a loop you know, fakes or the techs jammed their system. My bets are on fakes. No one’s DNA is that squirrelly.” Sixten caught Maestru’s flinch; the barest of movements, but it happened. That was the Coven Master’s only response, so Sixten snagged the next file, regrettably he couldn’t read it. Blood saturated every word, column and graph.

  Qudir moved next to him, picking up various limbs strewn across a stainless steel worktable. All belonged to females, though Sixten didn’t think they amounted to the blood that covered the floor. He shook his head, going through the next stack of papers, wordlessly opening and closing his mouth a few times. No matter how hard he tried, his superior mind refused to place this level of cold destruction. Taking into consideration that over the years, he had seen it all in varying shades of madness, yet he could not place this.