by Rhea, Lani
V stepped close to Darin. Coolness rippled off her body, surrounding him in a hypothermic blanket. Baldy’s hands tightened around his wrist to the point of breaking. With his sight fuzzy and arms barricaded, Darin couldn’t do a damn thing.
“What do you want? Money?” he asked in a raspy voice, panting, trying to catch a breath. “Take my wallet. It’s in my back pocket.” He gagged on bitter bile.
V threw her head back with laughter. When her laugh ceased, an icy chill spilled over his body. “We are not here to rob you, human.”
She cupped her hand around his neck, squeezing enough to make his blood pump harder. Baldy released Darin to her control. She raised him off the ground, and his feet dangled.
In the distance, the blare of a horn and the splashing of tires on the wet streets outside the parking garage triggered his fight or flight instinct. If he could get his shit together and get away, help lay nearby.
“What the hell are you going to do?” He choked.
She smiled. “Nothing that won’t hurt you. Your heartbeat is strong. I like that.” V leaned closer to him, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled. The toes of his shoes scrabbled against the ground as he tried to find support.
Her pink tongue darted from between her red lips and glided over his cheek, leaving a wet streak. He cringed.
“I wonder how you would taste with a bigger bite. Don’t you, Zeke?”
Darin’s heart pounded faster with the word taste. She had bit his lip while they danced. Vampires weren’t supposed to be real. He brought both of his hands up, grasped V’s delicate wrists and twisted. With surprise widening her eyes, her grip loosened for a second, only to clench tighter. As she clucked her tongue, she shook her head at him in a gesture that told him to not try that move again.
“We are not to mess with the captives. You’ve played long enough.” The growling rattle came from Baldy.
V lowered Darin. He straightened, then went limp, closing his eyes.
“Just one suck? Another drop? He tasted so good on the dance floor.”
“This is not on my head. It’s your ass that’ll be tanked if you get caught. Hurry up.”
She smiled a wicked grin, sliding her fingers around the backside of Darin’s neck as his head lolled. She stepped closer, licking her lips. Sharp points rested on her bottom lip, indenting the skin. An overwhelming scent of sweetness filled his nostrils.
As he drifted between the lands of awake and asleep, everything seemed to blend into one event. V’s icy fingers on his neck, pressure against his jugular and the sharp pinch against his skin followed by a sucking sensation.
On the verge of collapsing, he barely heard Zeke snarl as he pushed V away, “You’ve had enough. Back off.”
Without effort, he picked up Darin and tossed him over his shoulder like a rag doll. As he strode away with Darin dangling, he heard V protest, “I’m not done yet.”
“Yes, you are.”
Darin caught a glimpse of the female vampire. She glared at Zeke as a chilling smile danced on her lips. Darin didn’t like that smile; it made him think of what it might feel like to be a zebra before being pounced on by a lion.
“I only wanted a small taste. He’s so handsome.”
Her voice, once seductive and charming, churned his gut. This would be the last time he ever went to a bar and left with a woman. That was, if he made it out of this alive…
Her voice and their footsteps were the last thing he heard before buzzing filled his ears and darkness clouded his mind.
9
Ryant paced in the rain outside the vine-covered gates of Kris’s house. No satisfaction came from the news of missing people in the state of Louisiana. He recruited too, but not en masse. The numbers staggered to a new level. Soon the surrounding states would have infestations with creatures not made by his hands that, no doubt, would cause hellacious trouble. And evil grew larger by the second.
Fucking Soulscapes.
His hands balled into fists. He wanted to stop this. If the Throne members hadn’t refused assistance, he wouldn’t be the one doing whatever necessary to stop them. If he could locate the demons’ damned nest he’d prove they spawned at an alarming rate, and the Throne members would be force to engage.
His cell rang. “Hello?”
“We’re still searching, sir,” Sparky said.
“Have you visited all known locations?” He raked a hand through his hair.
“I’ve checked her office twice. I’ve followed her scent to Alligator Alley. I have no idea where she could be.”
“Well, keep searching.” Ryant gritted his teeth and punched the End button.
He drew his hands to his mouth and inhaled a sharp breath. His steps quickened. Fear slashed his insides. He had to know where Kris was. Now that she was back in his life, he wouldn’t let her slip from his grip. He’d already let her go more times than he should have.
When the sun settled in the west, an unkind urgency stirred from her energy link, waking him from his slumber. Her panic soared, then disappeared. He hadn’t been able to pick up on her ever since. There were no signs of her. He’d sent the Truces out on a search party while he waited at her home.
A couple of miles away, car tires rolled over pavement speeding in his direction. He stood still in the vines and dissolved into the darkness. A few moments passed before headlights beamed over the hill, shining toward the gates. The car slowed and waited for the gateway to open.
Her battered, gray car drove through and the gate closed. His blood rushed through him as he squinted through the rain. A sweaty, strange glow, as if agony gripped her, covered Kris’s face. Even as he noticed that, relief swept over him. She was home. Safe. For now.
From the distance, Ryant studied her movements as he materialized and watched her stop the car in front of her home. She jumped out and stripped out of her clothes. Her arms elongated. Joints popped, bending in severe angles. Tanned skin darkened as hair formed over her body, fluffing out in a brassy color. Her nose stretched into a snout. Transformation complete, Kris shook her wolf body then threw her head back and howled at the full Louisiana moon. At top speed, she entered the forest on the north side of the property.
Awe filled him. In all their time together, he’d never seen her morph into her wolf. Even the night she had attacked him in her wolf form, he hadn’t witnessed her change.
Slipping into a thin mist, Ryant slithered through the bars, watching her until she disappeared fully into the thicket. He reappeared in solid form and strolled toward the home to wait for her return.
He would give anything to have her. To be her one and only lover. The yearning he always had when he was anywhere near the sphere of her was strong. Throne prophecy or not, they were meant to be together.
Hours passed. Before sunrise, the rain turned to a drizzle. A noise broke from the thicket. In the far north, lightning struck, crackling in the air. The rainstorm was almost spent. He heard her paws thud, squishing the wet earth as she gained ground along the hills. A deep rumble filled the air as she came into sight. Her wolf form was enormous, four feet tall and almost as wide. Thick auburn hair stood in spikes on her neck in a straight line, running to her tail tip.
His chest rose and fell with each of her growls. He watched and waited. She would be dangerous if he approached too fast. This wouldn’t be easy. What was he thinking?
Placing one paw slowly in front of the other, she neared. Her snout hung low to the ground. The wolf’s sapphire eyes squinted, twinkling in the moonlight as her upper lip curled, showing sharp canines. Growling deepened when she saw him.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Kris.” He relaxed his fists, placing both hands away from his body, palms outward, to show he meant no harm.
He walked backward, away from the house, out into the open field on the west side of the property. The sun would rise at any moment. With no room to discuss their differences, he needed her to understand the coming danger.
“We need to talk.”
&
nbsp; She charged, leaping into the air. As he caught her, they tumbled to the ground with a heavy thud. Her razor-sharp teeth scraped against his arm. At least, she’d missed his heart. She raged at him as if she wanted to tear him limb from limb. He shoved her across the lawn at least twenty feet. He could have done worse, but didn’t want to harm her.
She slid backward on her paws, stopped and stared.
“Don’t do this, Kris.”
Gods, why wouldn’t she give up? Wind gusted from the southwest. Water sloshed on the rocky shoreline. The ground trembled beneath his feet, the first warning sign the sun neared.
He had to hurry.
Her front paws dug into the ground. The blasted female would pounce. Ryant crouched, ready for whatever she’d do. “I need you to go with me.”
She snorted.
“Please, Kris.”
If she didn’t listen, he’d be forced to take her—keep her safe. He knew it would piss her off. But what choice did he have? He needed her to understand the Soulscape danger.
She launched through the air, her mouth wide. Ryant withdrew the wolf bane from his pocket, catching her by the throat. He slid his hand down over her heart. Over time, he’d come to learn the gift of the lavender flowers. She jerked as the blooms worked their power. Her strength dissipated, and she passed out.
With her in his arms, he fell to his knees. Her human form emerged until she was huddled in his embrace. Naked, her tanned skin glistened with the last bits of moonbeams. He stroked her long, dark, coiling hair, dragging the ends across the wet grass. She lay lifeless, so fragile and sweet in her sleep. His Kris.
With tender fingertips, he smoothed the worry from her brows. He cradled her in his arms, next to his undead heart swelling with love. As the sun rose, he dissolved. A brand new day. The initiation of new recruits. A day that would piss her off.
10
Kris awoke in her darkened bedroom. Fog crept under the door, filling the room to the ceiling. Curious, she edged from the bed to inspect, walking on tiptoes across the floor. As she opened the door, the living room extended to the length of half a football field. At the far, far end, a cloaked figure stood.
“Mom?” She dragged in a deep breath. “Mom, is that you?”
The walls behind the figure took on a life of their own, contracting and expanding. The form stayed still. The black cloak flowed, swaying around the figure’s legs, despite the non-existent breeze.
As she stepped out of the bedroom, Kris hesitated. Cool mist floating above the floor crept up her body. Something was wrong. Confused, she wrapped her arms around her abdomen and squeezed tight.
The hooded figure turned. The most unholy of things appeared—pale green eyes shot through the darkness. Its pasty chin jutted, stretching several inches, showing a blackened, hollowed mouth. It reached for her.
Her breath caught, seized into a ball of air within her chest. An echoing scream left the creature, engulfing the room in a high pitch screech, turning deeper. Kris covered her ears and trembled as a new fear took over her. It wanted her. She stepped back into the protection of her bedroom and slammed the door.
A man screamed. She jerked from the nightmare. Chanting grew louder as she drifted in and out of consciousness. As she half lifted herself, her arms gave out and she collapsed onto fluffy softness. She ran her palms over the surface, her eyebrows furrowed.
Whose bed did she lie in?
Her gaze swept around the room. Pictures of old-world design hung on the walls. Italian wool rugs blanketed a few places on the stone floor. The scent of leather and cloves dominated the air. One wall contained books, and in the corner, a desk with a computer.
Kris grabbed her head as she sat up too fast. Now she remembered one reason she held the wolf prisoner. The next day always mirrored a night filled with alcohol and kickboxing without the fun. Dryness settled in her mouth like cotton and a slimy residue coated her tongue. She craved water.
She sifted through the events leading to her current situation. Ryant. She remembered him at her house, a confrontation, then wolf bane. After she’d passed out, nothing. Bloody bastard. What a cheap-ass trick to bring her down like that.
Hums echoed throughout the cobbled room. With the heels of her palms pressed hard into her temples, she scooted forward to the bed’s edge. After she forced herself to stand, her feet connected to the cool floor. She took a step and stumbled then froze to gain her balance.
She glanced at the dresser across the room. A woman in sexy lingerie stared back in the mirror. Almost afraid to look, she lowered her gaze. Her stomach lurched. Had Ryant dressed her in this ridiculous get-up? She would have never chosen the ebony, spaghetti-strapped nightie even if her last breath depended on it.
Limping to the dresser for a closer inspection, she stared. The hem of the material hit above mid-thigh. With a half-held breath, she lifted the hem. Relief swept over her. Thank the gods she wore underwear. She glided a hand over silky coolness toward her hip and lifted the material higher. A purple, almost black, bruise shone bright on her skin. Turning to inspect her backside, she saw another bruise. Damn it. She’d known she’d have bruises. As for her burn, someone had doctored it.
First, get out of this flimsy thing and into some real clothes. Then she’d find a way out of wherever the hell she was. Her sight settled on a plate of eggs benedict, toast and ham. She ignored the offering. Other serious matters were at stake. Next to the platter were sterile cloths and medical tape. She peeled off the blood-soaked bandage, replacing the dressing with a new one. When finished, she searched the dresser, only to uncover men’s clothes. Annoyed, she surveyed the room and spied an armoire carved from Italian wood.
A man yelped. Her gaze darted left to right as she hobbled to the armoire as fast as her body allowed. As she passed the door, a piece of paper fluttered, the edges stuck between the wood.
Slipping out the note, she read, Kris, I’m sorry I had to bring you to my home. I had some clothes delivered. I hope you find them appealing. She crumpled the paper and tossed it to the floor. Now she knew where she was. Ryant’s lair.
The clothes inside swayed with the gust of air as she opened the armoire door. Only cocktail dresses came in sight. Hell no. What did he think she would do, dance and have drinks after hanky-panky? Still, she didn’t see anything else so she rummaged through the dresses. Stuffed between a few toward the back of the armoire, she found black leather pants. Bingo. Maybe her luck raised a smidge on the luck-o-meter. Now, time to find a shirt.
She disregarded a couple of pants, coming up empty on the shirt hunt. Maybe the dresses... Only one looked promising enough. Kris snagged the sparkled blue halter off the hanger.
A few satisfying tears later, she’d made a shirt, well, a halter top. Score one for her. Now footwear. She glanced at the armoire again. The only shoes in the bottom were spiked high heels. Her body should be able to handle heels right now. No choice. She couldn’t run around barefooted.
With careful movements, she slipped on the clothes and looked into the mirror. Her breasts pushed the makeshift halter higher than she intended, baring her midriff. She sucked in an aggravated breath. The attire would have to work. With no other option, she wasn’t about to wear a frilly dress to kick Ryant’s ass.
Hymns and another scream captured her attention.
Damn it, enough. She flung on the shoes and went to the door and yanked it open. Flaming torches lit a long, dark hallway. A dungeon?
She crept into the darkness. After a few feet, she stopped at an intersection. Straight or left? More wails echoed from the left. She spun toward the pitiful cries, following the ever growing chants. The audible waves propelled her down the hall as unease swarmed within her belly.
After several yards the path sloped downward. Pressure crackled in her ears as she went deeper into the abyss. Moisture from the damp air coated her skin. Up ahead, a light glowed bright, filling the mouth of a corridor. She neared an underground lobby of some sort. The worshiping grew louder, beck
oning her forward.
She eased along the wet wall, slipped into a narrow cavity and went for her weapon. It wasn’t there. Shit. She forgot she’d stripped off her clothes the night before to run as a wolf. Leaving the alcove, she moved forward and went around a corner then stopped as shock reverberated through her.
Several stories of stoned archways, like the one she stood in, circled the room. Flaming torches lit the outer ring of balconies while fire licked the rock columns. The place resembled an underground coliseum, where gladiators of ancient Rome fought to the death and where Christian martyrs met their gruesome fates torn apart by lions.
Below, a sand floor stretched out like a bleak ring of death. Crimson-robed vampires circled the edges. Some human males, wearing the same crimson robes, lay on the ground while three men, naked, were on their knees before the creatures. Kris crouched low and sidled to the balcony ledge for a better view.
Eerie hums filled the room. Chanting, in a language she didn’t understand, grew louder. The crowd hushed. Silence hung heavy over the arena thick as fog. A hooded vamp glided to one of the naked men. He stepped near the bare knees of the dark-headed men and tilted his head back. The vamp’s deep voice boomed, “The Brotherhood welcomes you.”
Quick as a striking snake, he sank his fangs into the man’s neck, above the collarbone. The human screamed and thrashed. Kris cringed. This cannot be happening.
As he lifted his head, the vampire bit his own wrist and held the fresh cut over the wailing man’s shoulder, dripping blood into the wound. He grasped his victim’s chin and bent back the man’s head as a stream of blood drained from his wrist. The vampire groaned, a rumbling sound filled with ecstasy. Thick, blackish liquid flowed deep into the dark-haired man’s wide open mouth. He sputtered and gasped as he cried out.
She swallowed disgust down a dry throat, forcing back the nausea.