There was a swollen silence which Cyn broke. “Well... aren't you a bad ass.”
Reagan looked at the Singer, a tall woman with light blonde hair and not nearly enough meat on her bones and said, “I can be.”
Julia broke away from Jason and went to the new woman standing before them, her harsh face more striking than beautiful. Julia noted at once that her uncanny resemblance to Tony stopped at the eyes. They were remarkable, a pale unwavering gold, not whisky-colored, like her own but even in the moonlight, Julia could tell they were unique. Another thing that she had not inherited from Tony: an utter lack of guile. She stood before Julia, inquisitive... strong.
Fearless.
It's what they needed right now, Julia thought. A little less fear. Or what she needed.
“Okay... nice to meet ya... but,” Cyn looked at William and said, “I'm waiting for a nice girl vampire to come on the scene now.”
“As am I,” William answered.
If possible, things had just become more complicated than before. Jason didn't have the first clue how the sudden appearance of the Were's version of the Rare One would change things.
He did know that it was an unmitigated clusterfuck.
Story of his life.
CHAPTER TEN
Jacqueline
She paced in front of the divided light window. Four panes of wavy glass distorted the pastoral view that connected the mansion to the ground. It seemed to float, suspended like a colorful jewel from a bygone era. An era of which Jacqueline had been so much a part. She remembered when the mansion was constructed, it was only a half lifetime ago for her.
Jacqueline stewed in her own juices while two of the Combatant were within sight.
Her own son, a Deflector of worth, who easily topped all regions for his talent, stood at the end of the walk, his broad back to her. Jacqueline smiled, and had Jacqueline seen her own reflection she might have schooled it, for it utterly stole her beauty. Jacqueline was too vain by far to embrace expressions that made her look ugly to any degree.
Tony sat in the chair behind her and watched her watch Scott; so beautiful in her anger. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder and Tony very much liked what he saw in Jacqueline. A faceted mirror of himself. Unpredictable, unconcerned with conscious or ethics. If she wasn't such an untamed bitch, they'd be a match made in heaven.
“He hates you,” Tony stated in his easy and loathsome manner.
“Say something that I am unaware of, wolf,” she replied without turning.
“Use what you are against him,” he stated simply.
Anthony had finally said something interesting and she turned to face him, noting his languid ease in the deep and broad chair that stood in the corner of the small cottage they were imprisoned in.
Jacqueline was very bright and thought she understood his crude plan immediately. “Ah,” her eyes narrowed on him in appreciation, “perhaps I've underestimated you.”
His eyes met hers. “Well hell yes you have. You were too busy busting my chops to give me a chance to show you how versatile I can be.”
Jacqueline gave a lingering gaze over his large body, very like those of the Combatant, sprawling in the lightly floral damask chair. He looked so contrary; contained violence inside a dark husk of masculinity against all the delicate antiquity that Jacqueline smiled.
“What?” he asked, certain she was having a joke at his expense. Tony was nearly humorless unless it was someone else who suffered, then it was funny as hell.
“I was just thinking how odd it is to see you thus,” Jacqueline said, throwing her palm out at the contradiction he manifested in repose.
Tony scowled. “Whatever,” he tossed out, bouncing out of the chair and looming over her.
She craned her neck to look up at him and her expression conveyed her boredom with his methods. “I remain unimpressed, Anthony.” Her tone was droll, the heat in her eyes was not.
His eyes searched that careful mask, thinking about what lay beneath. “That's so hot,” he said, looking down at Jacqueline like a snake he wanted to pet but didn't dare.
“You will be useful, but mind me in this: keep your disgusting innuendos to yourself.” Her expression gave lie to her words.
Tony gave a slow smile then answered, “When it suits me.”
Jacqueline huffed and began to walk away, and with the quickness of the Were, his hand snaked out in a blur she couldn't see but felt as his hand closed around her upper arm. “I can make that son of yours give a shit.” His eyes, the brown of the iris nearly swallowing the pupil, were as serious as she'd seen them in their brief but volatile acquaintance.
Jacqueline did not pull away, instead she cocked her brow, allowing the bruising force of his grip to continue. “He is soulmate to the Rare One, his biological connection to me is not strong. My behavior, though for an end I would love, was not a path that he wished.”
“Yeah, you trying to do in the Rare One kinda pissed him off.” He smirked.
Jacqueline fought the impulse to struggle, instead she asked, “What do you propose, you vile excuse for a Were?” Her tone was mild, her eyes again- were not. They held the promise of many things in them.
Tony smiled, his instincts firing and leaned toward her as she rose on tiptoe to meet him. Though no one was around to hear them, he whispered inside her ear and she balanced against him, hand to chest.
Tony's grip tightened on her arm and a small sound of pain broke the seal of her lips. When he was finished she lowered herself down and his hand dropped from her.
They smiled at each other.
Like water, evil always sought its own level.
*
Reagan
Reagan thought Region One was in chaos, as were most of the other species of supernaturals in her opinion. And the Rare One, a slip of a female who looked like she couldn't lead her way out of a paper bag, was to be ruler.
The whole thing was shit. And of course, Reagan was aware that she was one of three destined to fix it. Reagan knew that a female from each group would bring the species together. And like a bunny out of a hat, Reagan waited for the vampire female to appear. Destiny was simply revelations choosing their timing. Assuring the survival of the Singers’ Rare One was certainly critical but tactically, it could be managed without that tri-mating talk she'd heard bandied about.
Males, she thought, giving an internal eye roll.
She stalked to the old house they used as the main headquarters as she kept pace with Slash. For a male Were he was normal-sized, most who were male stood in the six and a half feet range. But she was a rare female warrior and unlike the small Singer females and the one female Were of the their sister clan- Adrianna, Reagan stood at an even six foot. Tall for a female but short compared to the males. But not lesser, never that.
Reagan tolerated the lecture from the Were she'd fought alongside.
“You really could have given them some warning, rather than just springing out of the woods....”
“No. I am tired of hiding who and what I am.”
Slash stopped walking, the Victorian their only witness, though Slash could smell twenty Singers within shouting distance.
“I cannot fathom that David would have given his blessing to your timing.”
She had the presence of mind to look ashamed.
“You did not,” Slash said in his trademark emotionless voice. A clue to his anger.
Reagan nodded.
“Ah!” Slash spun on his heel and began to stride away.
There were few that Reagan regarded with respect but he was one. “Slash!” she yelled, “Wait!”
He turned on her with that blinding speed the Were possessed, jerking her tight, their noses brushing with the closeness, and she watched his eyes bleed to that deep green, an obvious nod to his Red heritage. “Do not defend coming here without making our Packmaster aware, endangering yourself on the way... dear Luna!” Slash said in a disgusted tone, giving her a small shove. “You could have been kille
d, captured or worse.”
Neither elaborated on the worse part. They were so very aware of the potential for harm against her.
Reagan hugged herself as if cold although it was a warm summer night. “I felt her.”
Some of Slash's anger was brought on by stress through worrying for the females he was tasked with guarding—and now the headstrong Reagan paused. “Whom?” Though he was afraid he knew who.
“The Singer.”
Slash caught her scent before she appeared and turned.
“It's just me,” the Rare One said with a small unassuming smile.
Slash nodded. The Singers were an odd faction of humanity, like sticking your toe in water to see if it was too hot; so the Singers stuck their collective toe in the pool of humanity, destined to never enter.
“I heard your greeting,” Reagan said blandly. Those piercing eyes stung Julia, moving over her—twice.
“What do you see?” Julia asked, her chin high.
“Someone else I have to defend.”
You don't owe me anything, Julia whispered through her mind.
“Don't pull that Singer crap on me,” Reagan said, her anger a flash in those liquid gold eyes. “Just because your existence calls to me, doesn't mean we have to be BFFs or something.”
Julia felt her face heat. But she wasn't going to be undone by the rejection, God knew, she'd had plenty.
“Where's your soulmate?” Reagan asked, changing the subject.
“He's guarding Jacqueline,” Julia returned neutrally, not rising to the bait.
Reagan smiled. “I could do so much to help this along if somebody would let me.”
Slash sighed, turning to Julia. “I'm sorry. Reagan doesn't think much of following orders.” Or tact, he added mentally.
Julia smiled. “We'll get along better than you think.”
Reagan shrugged noncommittally. “Whatever you say.”
Julia frowned. “You came to me. To this place. If me being alive was enough to bring you for some,” she palmed her chin and rolled her eyes toward the sky, thinking, “higher purpose... then don't take a turd on my head about it.”
Reagan strode to the smaller woman and Julia stood her ground while the Combatant leaked out of the forest, one being as close as the corner of the house.
“Stand down, boys,” Reagan said with a laugh then looked down at Julia. “You're spunkier than you look.”
Julia didn't miss a beat. “I'm a lot more than I appear.”
“That's a no-shitter,” Michael said, the screen door slapping the jamb as he came out onto the front porch.
Julia couldn't suppress her grin.
“Who is this?” Reagan demanded.
“My soulmate's brother.”
“Kind of a wise ass,” she noted but not like it mattered. It seemed very little moved Reagan.
“Yeah, it's a sib thing, sweetheart,” Jen said from behind him.
“How many siblings does Scott have?” Reagan asked thoughtfully, her eyes moving over the group, assessing. She'd followed protocol when arriving, introducing herself to the Region One leader, Marcus, first. But as far as his children went, she'd entirely missed them. That was okay, they seemed to largely be a pain in her ass.
Julia raised three fingers.
“Hmmm.” She turned away from the staring group. “Let's talk strategy.”
Julia couldn't keep the surprise off her face. “What strategy?”
“Delaying the inevitable.”
“Oh,” Julia answered. “You heard?”
Reagan nodded. “I have. And it's okay”
Julia's eyes narrowed. “Which part.”
“The part where you have to cozy up with three dudes to keep the magic.”
Julia sighed then laughed. “You remind me a little of Cyn.”
“Who?” Reagan asked.
“My friend...” Julia began to explain.
“The skinny blonde with a fat mouth?”
Julia nodded, controlling her expression; it was a fair description. Some of it must have leaked through because Reagan frowned. “I'm not a stick model.”
Julia looked at the strong warrior female who seemed to be a little older than herself. Every muscle showed but she was curved as a woman should be. Not slight, athletic.
“And... the mouth?” Julia asked in a light tone.
Slash made a sound low in his throat and Julia caught the look she gave him.
“It is your manner,” Slash qualified to soften that which wasn't.
“Hmmm,” Reagan sounded off and glared at them all.
Julia broke the long silence, “I think what we really need to think about is Tony's presence.”
The very lack of expression on her face spoke volumes to Julia and she was suddenly afraid.
“Anthony Daniel Laurent is not my father. He is the rapist of my mother. And but for the law of the moon, should be executed.”
“Why can't he be?” Julia asked, though she knew she was inciting rather than helping. She wasn't loving a violent solution but if the deed matched the consequence....
“Because of what I am.”
“What is that?” Julia asked, voice breathy.
“Moon Warrior,” Tony said from his shackles, his nostrils flaring at her scent. Then, “Female of my loins.”
It happened that fast. One minute, Reagan was beside Julia, the next: five crimson lines bloomed on Tony's chest where she struck him with her talons. No one had seen her move, Reagan's unnatural speed the apparent privilege of her station.
“Do not!” Slash roared.
Tony smiled at his daughter while he bled, the rain of her violence splattering the ground at his feet, he wallowed in his own pain, using it like food—as he did in battle.
“Like father, like daughter,” he whispered and she tipped her head back to the moon and howled her frustration.
“I but mark you,” Reagan said in the old language.
“Because you beg for my death does not mean you will see it,” Tony answered, returning the ancient words of his kind back to her, his typical modern vernacular bowing to the language of their kind.
Jacqueline stood slightly behind him and to his left. “This is your daughter?” she asked, taking in the imposing Were... female, yet hardened like a male fighter. Her eyes tagged his bleeding chest and she raised a casual brow in response. This appearance was most interesting, Jacqueline thought. Her love of chaos notwithstanding, having Tony's spawn here might complicate matters.
Tony nodded, his eyes never leaving Reagan's as he studied her. “I didn't know I'd left any mistakes behind.”
“I'm not a mistake...” Reagan said and hated the defensive tone in her voice.
“Sperm donor,” Adi said. “We'll add that to the list of shit head names we can call you.”
“It's crass, but it'll do,” Scott said, coming to stand beside Julia, looking between the two reunited Weres. It wasn't his fight. Julia's protection was all that mattered. These two could fight it out.
Tony gave a smile of fierce triumph. “None of you can kill me, now that my daughter has been revealed as the Moon Warrior.” He looked at all of them with cheerful disdain. While they'd been all politically correct, thinking about how to get rid of the bad doggy, his daughter had shown up and screwed their plans six ways to Sunday.
They fell silent under the doctrine that all must obey by ancient law. Laws that superseded the Book of Singers, Luna, and even the ancient law of Vampire. They could not deny his lineage.
The shackles were released from his ankles, his hands still bound and Tony, as pleased as a peacock unfurling its multi-colored tail like a graceful fan, posed and preened in front of eyes that landed on him like stones of hate. The wounds on his chests began to scab on their way to healing.
“Hate me all you want,” he said to those at large, but his gaze was all for Reagan. “But you can't kill me.”
“He speaks true,” Marcus added slowly from his position alongside his children, it was if
the words were torn from him.
Reagan got up close to him, her nose reached his chin and she stared into his eyes, giving him all kinds of unhealthy eye contact. “Who said your death was what I wanted?” she whispered.
Tony's eyes widened but she took only a half-step backward and came at him not as he would have expected; but in a way he would not.
DNA was a strange enterprise. They were more alike than either realized.
She behaved like the wolf she was and as Tony tried to cover his groin with a twist of his legs she smiled and it was a wolf in front of an exposed throat, seeing the vulnerability.
And taking it.
She ignored his crotch and jabbed her fingers into the tender underside of his Adam's apple and he gave a choking wretch, his bound hands trying in vain to save his throat. With a snapping hand, Reagan hit his face, the sliver of cheekbone exposed splitting like a ripe fruit under the blow. And like an expert dancer, she moved into his injured body when he thought she'd move away and stomped on the instep of his foot with her heel.
Tony howled and bent over, the chains clanking from his bound hands. Even Jacqueline, normally impervious to the suffering of others, gasped at the brutality of the beating.
Hissing, he balled his bound fists and landed them as one on her jaw as he came up for air in a sucking roar of rage.
“You seek to avenge your whore of a mother? Who begged me to take her...” He slapped Reagan's face with his hands still laced together with zip ties and Slash moved forward even as her eyes slid to his in a silent plea. A plea not to interfere, regardless the cost.
Which, moment by moment, became mightier than the last.
*
Reagan's claws sprung from the tips of her fingers and she gutted Tony even as he came for her. The powerful muscles of her forearms drove the force of the bone-like material of her talons into the deepest cavity of his body and he grunted as if he'd been punched.
“She is not a whore, but a survivor!” Reagan bellowed into his face as she twisted her claws inside him like so much scrambled egg and he shoved her with his hands tied in the way of a battering ram, effectively tearing himself up in the process as her talons were jerked out of his churned guts. Reagan staggered backward, gained her footing and with a swinging press of limb, steadied her left leg like an anchor and swung her right leg in a roundhouse kick that took him high in the head.
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