by Scott, Talyn
“I want nothing from you!”
He pinned her to a tree with his torso and thighs, one arm wrapping around her and half the tree trunk. With a diabolical sneer, he said, “Your father-n-law, the Habaline King, waits for you now, and I’m going to deliver. So drink up! Can’t have him seeing you battered, he’ll have my head.”
The Commanding Vojak leader wasn’t here now. Gone. A diabolical vampire was in his stead, crushing her, his eyes soulless and hungry. When he moved, she could feel him hard against her, his sex aroused by his power over her. He made her sick. And with that revolting feeling, a realization washed over her. “You have played both sides all along, haven’t you? All the times the Habalines stayed a fraction ahead of your Vojaks. You were behind it, weren’t you? Hitting Oycher with that thing had nothing to do with him trying to feed from me. Your warrior brother was in your way, had polished off your Habaline partner in crime!”
His hand curled around her ribcage, slowly he began to move it down to her hip…caressing. Qudir put his lips against her lips, his mouth curving when he said, “All those times I couldn’t fuck you. I hated that Marchii, and your pretend brother. Hell, I hated Six most of all.” Sliding his tongue across her lower lip, he whispered, “You’re nice and knocked up now, timing’s perfect. The deed is signed, sealed and almost delivered.” His head moved incrementally, midnight eyes finding that glowing object hovering low over the beach. “Poison was going to keep you as his mate, you know? Live with you in the adjacent realm. Wasn’t going to let me have a go at you, not even once. That has changed.”
“You are spectacularly nuts, as crazy as Poison, and you curdle my blood,” she snarled, trying to raise an elbow between them to break his nose, but he had her effectively imprisoned.
His wrist met her mouth, the thickly rich blood rushing down her throat, and his opposite hand now cupped the back of her head. Forced to swallow, lights flashed through her head, not just her eyes this time. With the second swallow, a popping sensation resounded inside her skull, creaking as if a door were literally opening in her brain.
Memories flooded her mind.
Every gap filled.
“Do you see all the times you belonged to me?”
She certainly did, flashes of him taking her when Gianni left his compound, tying her up and licking every inch of skin on her body.
“Do you see all the times I had to hold back, so that bastard Marchii wouldn’t smell my sex on you?”
Qudir above her, thrashing her over the welts Gianni had made, screaming at her because he couldn’t bury his cock inside her heat, but he’d thrust it inside her mouth on many occasions, only pulling out before he climaxed.
When he dropped his hand, sealing his wound with his tongue, he said, “You belonged to me as much as you did the Marchii.”
“I belong to my mates,” she whispered in anguish, waiting for the nearly crippling pain to leave her head, wondering if it ever would. Images continued to play across her mind. Her father flying her away from Italy while in his Lovec form. A cold steel table supporting her body as hands examined her, some moving painfully, as many watched on. A promise that garnered collective gasps in a laboratory smelling of rot and death: ‘Oh yes, this female is quite compatible, promising, very promising, Master.’
As quickly as it came, the pain dissipated, snapping her to the present. Blythe reopened her eyes to find herself completely naked with Qudir’s body positioned over hers. With one of his hands coiled around her throat, and the other spreading her open between her thighs.
“I remember everything,” she hissed, sounding very much like a vampire.
“Of course you do,” he grinned, his fangs shining in the night. “I’m the one who took your memories from the beginning. I take them from all our females. Otherwise, how would we work them through the Dynasty after subjecting them to our labs?” His hand moved and then she heard his zipper come down. “Not that I’m without connections in the monarchy, but we cannot have our little Donors going off blabbing. Now, can we? Not when we need them to form blood bonds. But we can talk about that later.” His sick gaze dropped to her breasts. “At the present, we have something else to entertain us.”
A golden flash spiraled above them, and then shot into the air like an explosion. Warm air hit her skin, though nothing that resembled an island breeze. “No!” Qudir hissed, jumping up and pulling her with him. Sinking his fangs into her throat, he misted them a hundred or so yards up the coastline, the sand spiraling out beneath their feet as they reformed, and then he left her.
Whirling to make a run for it, she froze in her tracks. Something called her back, something tugged at her soul with such passion that she turned around to investigate. Due to a blazing intensity coming from a bizarre circling tunnel, Blythe could barely look ahead of her. And when she did, movement seemed to slow, as if the world had gone very still and nothing else… “Matters,” she whispered on a ragged breath. “Sixten!”
From the corner of her eye, she could see Qudir pulling him away from the tunnel, his arms going up in golden flames. Sixten’s entire front melting in a grotesque display of flesh and bones, he fought against Qudir’s hold. Her heels dug into the sand, her arm shielding her eyes, as she ran forward. Granules of sand kicking up behind her, hitting her naked body with such force, she knew she was moving at inhuman speed. A blue flame burned past her and her head whipped around to find Rock barreling into Sixten and Qudir, breaking them apart.
You will stop where you are.
Rock’s command thundered through her head, causing her to flinch before her legs stopped moving. “Please! Qudir is a traitor! He worked with Poison, took my memories. Tried to rape me just now!” His growl reverberated through her body, and it was nothing less of ferocious.
Think of our baby and do not distract me, my female!
Rock, in full transformation, jumped Qudir’s back, hurtling the bastard end over end. It was all she could do not to wail, her feet stiff against the sand, her body unwilling to listen to any of her own commands. “Sixten!” Her husband landed on the sand, his body doused but still devoured by fire. What untouched skin she saw was pasty. She didn’t even know if he was breathing, but he managed to say something to Rock before he went deadly still. And by Rock’s changing stance, his werewolf was then fueled with a determined purpose.
Qudir head butted him, the crush of bone on bone meeting her ears. Blythe stared on, couldn’t seem to look away. Rock spat out blood as his clawed hand flew straight in the center of Qudir’s chest, burying his fist, leaving an open hole as he tore away the flesh. She remembered when Sixten made that move on Gianni, reaching inside and pulling out the Dynasty Vampyr’s heart while centered in the orange grove, but Rock held no heart in his hand. What he left behind, however, was a flaming blue illumination in line with the color emitting from his werewolf.
Power.
Pure unbridled power.
And Qudir staggered from the force of it, from Rock’s will.
Her heart racing, Blythe watched a blinding golden light open before Rock tossed Qudir’s body through the strange tunnel. Even as his battered body hurdled through, his hands moving at air, his legs kicking out from his body, Qudir’s face held the look of disbelief, even betrayal. At that, Blythe felt her lips curve into a smile, though tears slid over her lips.
Maestru came out of nowhere, kneeling beside Sixten, tearing at his own throat with his claws and forcing her husband to feed. She still couldn’t move, since Rock hadn’t released her. But she was far too serene to be angry, the world revolving around her in utter stillness. No sounds, no real movements…Rock was screaming at her, his mouth opening and closing as he bounded towards her, but she couldn’t hear him.
Screaming at her?
A fiery plume shot straight up from the bizarre tunnel and flames rose to the sky. Rock covered her, cradling her body as he moved her steadily and swiftly away from the carnage. “Sixten!” Her mouth moved, but she didn’t hear the syllables form
. Over Rock’s shoulder, she watched Maestru open his hands, channeling seawater into the form of a geyser and aiming it toward the incredible fire. “Is he alive?” she asked, her voice finally forming.
“He’s going to make it,” he spoke evenly. “Maestru will attend him.”
“I think they killed Bane,” she sobbed brokenly.
“I just left him,” his voice dropped an octave, in a lulling cadence. “Bane’s gonna be fine, too. Trust me to take care of things. Drop your head and rest. Do it for the baby.”
The scene grew smaller and smaller, her eyes becoming heavy-lidded. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t put me to sleep,” she grumbled at her werewolf male, the one who just accomplished something incredible, though she wasn’t exactly sure what that entailed other than saving Sixten.
“It’s over,” he whispered as he ran through the marsh. “Maestru’s got this.”
Just like that, the flames left the beach, and so did Blythe.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fort Myers
Two Weeks Later
“I can’t believe this,” Dakota whispered, taking in her father’s wrecked store. They’d spent half the day sitting vigil at her father’s hospital bedside, and now she faced this mess. The plus side? She was walking and talking. “Save the roof still intact, a hurricane would have done less damage.”
Rock and Ryan released collective breaths, evidently, both deciding their words wouldn’t help their friend right now. Rock knew humans had to take their bandages off slowly, living in bitter pain awhile before they moved on to greener pastures. That’s what Dakota needed right now. And he’d be damned if he was going to stand in front of her mortal way of thinking. She would heal by her human processes. Nevertheless, he hated it, and if she were to ask for his help or even his opinion, he wouldn’t hold anything back. He hadn’t held back when Dakota called Blythe this morning, after finally coming out of her coma. Dakota was freaked out, finding herself housed in a mausoleum, and wanted help in getting home. At Blythe’s insistence, he drove Sixten’s car to Maestru’s house, absconding with a horrified Dakota while the Master was at work. The whole thing went down like a bank robbery with him driving the getaway car, complete with a harried vampire housekeeper chasing them all the way to the drive. He sincerely hoped that Maestru wouldn’t behead his servant when he arrived home, after finding Dakota had left his care slash gilded cage. But he couldn’t worry about that now. Ryan, on the other hand, appeared nervous, staring over his shoulder at the smallest of sounds, gritting his teeth so hard that Rock thought his friend's fangs would fly out of his mouth at any second.
Running a palm over a large piece of sheetrock bolted to the front bay window, she said, “When mom took off, my first real job was trimming our store windows for the Christmas Season. Snow didn’t fall, but Christmas was Christmas to me, you know? Sure, it was hot as hell around here. Tourists loaded every beach, searing their skin in coconut oil.” Her hand arched up, her index finger pointed inside the window as if she could see through the plywood. “But I refused to put glue-formed sandcastles and those tacky, painted sea dollars next to a miniature Santa riding a jet-ski while hauling Mrs. Claus in her red bikini.” She drew in a shaky breath. “No, not me, I’m a Florida Cracker through and through. And with teenage rebellion, I always insisted that this place wasn’t a tourist trap.” She took in another breath, this one deeper. “But it was a tourist trap…always. And Dad wouldn’t have had it any other way. He loved talking to all the people from all over the world who came through here.”
That was good to know, Rock hoped Dakota was as open-minded as her father was. Since Maestru hadn’t wiped her memory, she carried all her memories, especially the ones from the night she was attacked. She knew that he had saved her, yet, as far as she knew, Rock was another vampire. No faction could out one of their members and live to tell about it. Worse, if a member of one faction revealed a member of another faction, that supernatural died for his transgression. Brutally. So Ryan hadn’t spilled the beans about werewolves.
Ryan had the key in the new lock, turning. Sure, neither needed it to gain entry, only Dakota did, and she required an aspect of security. So that’s what Ryan gave her, before he said, “Let’s see what needs to be handled inside, okay?”
With a shake of her blonde head, Dakota followed behind him. Two seconds later, she drew in a gasping breath. “This place is gone…just destroyed.” Ryan draped an arm over her shoulders. When she stiffened, he pulled away with a muttered sorry.
Rock hadn’t been inside this place in a while. However, he remembered the nostalgia it once held of simple things from decades ago. Stepping over shattered, crystal knick-knacks, he followed the whitewashed, maple shelves lining forest green walls, all trimmed with tobacco-brown crown molding.
Rock knew that Ryan rented this particular building to Dakota’s father for years, was part of his Six Feet Under block of restored, industrial brownstones he’d invested in when he left his youngling status. Without a doubt, for the past year or so, Ryan had allowed the rent to slide when the Sox’s spring training arena left downtown Fort Myers and relocated by the largest commercial Airport. After the new facility opened, most downtown stores had quickly faltered. For a mortal, Dakota’s father was business savvy, but he wasn’t immune or prepared for such a drastic and sudden change. If it weren’t for Ryan’s leniency, Dakota’s dad would have lost his shirt, considering his inventory consisted mainly of baseball souvenirs. Ones he could no longer move, especially now.
Another gasp left her, this one sharp as a razor’s edge. “Is that…blood?”
“Yeah,” Ryan whispered, not elaborating.
An exaggerated, antique register stood atop a shattered display case. Glass was everywhere. Trinkets sprinkled about, and the surrounding wood now stained rust in random places. She walked around, standing behind the golden register standing wider than her fragile shoulders. She started to touch the nickel-sized keys, hesitating. “This was in our family for generations.” At her sudden recoil, Rock stepped behind her, following her line of vision. On those keys dripped blood, lots of it. Strangely, it had congealed, not dried. But it was shifter, definitely shifter blood.
Habaline blood was hard to clean. Its alien properties clung, as if it could survive death, even though its bodily host remained long dead. Rock knew this particular blood belonged to Sixten’s brother, Rave, since Sixten had killed him here. Inhaling, Rock drew in all parties with his breath. Vojaks were here, possibly one other shifter, and Maestru. Oh, Maestru had been here quite a lot, and very recently.
“We can clean it up, Dakota.”
“How stupid of me,” she said on a humorless laugh. “I’m thinking of all this superficial shit while my father remains in critical care, recovering from a stroke. Or maybe not recovering since the doctors can’t figure out why he’s not waking up!” She slammed her fist on the counter, a shard of glass immediately embedding into her hand. Ryan turned away, a slow hiss leaving his body. Her head snapped up. No doubt, Ryan was fighting within himself. How could he not? Fear and fresh blood wafted before him, kicking in the inborn predator that made his very fabric.
“He’s not going to hurt you, Dakota,” Rock murmured softly, walking her to the back and flipping on the bathroom light. For her sake not his, since he could see exceptionally well in total darkness. “Think about it. Has he ever bitten you?”
“Not that I know of,” she said.
“I have never bitten you,” Ryan said from the tiny corridor separating the storefront from the back, a steel edge to his voice. “Dakota, do you remember anything about your mother’s family?”
“Why?”
Rock would take that as a serious no. Smartly, Ryan didn’t press the issue, muttering ‘nothing important’. “I’ve got the shard out, but this needs a stitch or four, sweetheart.” Rock said, redirecting her thoughts. “Unless…”
“Unless?” she asked.
“Well,” he explained carefully, “since
you now understand what Ryan is, you could ask him to seal it up for you.” Pressing harder with the last of the paper towels, he continued, “He has special enzymes in his mouth, healing ones, which would enable you to avoid the emergency room or a clinic.”
“Special enzymes, huh?” She stared at his reflection in the mirror, her eyes zeroing in on the very tips of his canines. Although they had not lowered by any means, she immediately spotted the difference. “How did I miss this, for years? And why are you shifting the responsibility to Ryan? Just like my body, my blood isn’t good enough for you, either?”
“I’m not what Ryan is,” he said quietly, knowing he couldn’t avoid this conversation any longer. Dakota fooled herself for years, thinking she was in love with him. Never once had he led her on or returned the sentiment, but that didn’t change the course of her actions, nor her heart. “Ryan…if she doesn’t want you to help her, I think you should wait outside while Dakota and I clear the air.”
When Dakota opened her mouth, Ryan cut her off, “Actually, I’m leaving. If you must know, short of her dying, I can’t help her anyway. Besides Dru, there’s only one vampire in our Coven who can give me permission to touch her blood, but I'd rather not ask him.” With that, he misted away.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Rock replied, “He would have to sip some of your blood during the healing process, while working the enzymes through your flesh.” Fear flashed behind her eyes, but he went on, “Apparently, he’s not allowed to, for whatever reasons, so end of story.” Rock’s shoulders bunched. Maestru had placed a heavy hand on Dakota’s life, including ownership.
“Whatever,” she said defensively, pulling away from him and placing pressure on her hand. “Say whatever you need to, get it over with.” Glancing up, her expression relaxed when she fixated on the ceiling. High above, a milk glass pendant light glowed with curved sides etched in a traditional floral pattern. He would place a hefty wager that it came from her mother’s house. “Say what you need to,” she repeated, “so I can have this hand seen about by a human.”