by Gaja J. Kos
He frowned. He might not be able to wait for Lara to finish her meal before feeding himself after all. He’d need at least a small taste to soothe the unpleasant sensation to savor the rest later.
As he flicked on the bathroom light, he noticed his reflection in the mirror was paler than usual. He looked to be right in the middle of that age group when humans have to worry about taking better care of themselves for fear of their bodies going soft, their skin saggy. Early forties for brokers certainly weren't among the kindest of years, and Damir began to believe that the same rule might apply to vampires. Even if their aging process was much, much different.
He dropped the shirt into the wash bin, the bathroom spinning wildly around him as he stretched back up. He grabbed onto the cabinet with a steel grip, steadying himself. It helped, but only a little.
Once he was sure he wouldn't topple over if he let go, he headed back out into the hallway, making his way towards the stairs. He remembered the lightheadedness and the weak sensation in his limbs that occurred if he failed to feed enough, but this was excessive.
The dizziness used to strike when he went more than three days between feeds; however, that had been back in the times when one couldn’t just go outside and purchase blood when he so wished. And since he had been without a steady partner for decades before he met Lara, he hadn’t wished to obtain the nourishment by forcing someone to donate it. It had always felt wrong to him—the blood somehow tainted if not given freely. So he endured the hunger.
But even during those dry spells, his body had never felt this faint.
Slowly, he progressed down the steps. He tried calling out to Lara, but the tight fist that had clenched inside his body prevented him from releasing even the smallest of sounds. Keeping his grip locked on the railing, he concentrated on pushing his legs farther, one step at a time.
The short flight of stairs seemed to go on forever. About halfway down, he started to doubt in his ability to actually reach the kitchen. He came to a stop, and the world around him swam again, pulling his legs from underneath him. His fingers unclenched in a violent loss of strength, and he found himself rolling down, each edge of the wooden stairs sending a jolt of pain as it pressed into his body.
But nothing could compare to the crushing agony that rummaged within him.
The tight, iron fist clenched its phantom fingers harder, squeezing his insides with a death grip. He finally came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, his body lying in an unnatural heap on the ground.
His wife shouted, but couldn't make out the words.
A membrane of soft black color crept on the edge of his vision. He could see Lara’s silhouette running towards him, her eyes wide with panic.
And then darkness came, coating Damir in a gentle caress, diminishing the pain with its loving embrace.
Chapter 2
“You sonovabitch,” Rose breathed, her words cutting through the wide space as she spun around to evade a downwards stroke.
The sharp edges of the blade shimmered in the rays of sun that pierced through the windows—a reminder of the late morning that had begun to show outside. It had still been dark when the fight began.
She moved away, sensing just how close the sword had come to slashing across her stomach. He was fast, almost too fast, and if it weren’t for the vibrant energy the bond of The Dark Ones had brought and was now augmenting her responses to an even higher level, Rose wouldn’t have been able to maneuver her body away in time. The lean figure moved with lethal grace, already preparing for the next strike. Rose ducked, her leg extended as she made a circular motion and swept her opponent’s feet from underneath him.
The bastard even dived gracefully. Rose threw herself onto his body, straddling him, and sank her claws into the floor as she pinned his hands over his head.
“I seriously need to consider replacing the parquet in this room,” the dark-haired figure sighed, his velvet voice rolling down Rose’s skin. “Could you, at least once, try not leaving your little stiletto nail marks in it?”
Rose flashed him a wide grin, bringing her canine teeth all the way down to his face. “Tough chance, sweetheart.”
“Oh well...” Veles said in mock surrender before he jerked the lower part of his body upward, the inhuman strength throwing Rose over his head.
She barely had time to unhook her claws from the parquet before she landed with a heavy thud on her back. Pain soared through her, a thousand swear words exploding in her mind.
The god was upon her before she could even register his movement, pinning her down in a similar manner like the one she had used on him. The sonovabitch. Only Veles was much, much stronger, and Rose knew there was no way to wiggle her way out from under his grip. And snarling at his face wouldn’t help either.
“Remind me to never go up against you in a real fight.” Rose scowled, yet a part of her was satisfied.
She had managed to parry with him for longer than ever before. The first few times had been almost embarrassingly short, the situation made even worse as she noticed Veles’s smug grin echoing her exact thoughts. But although she understood she still had absolutely zero chance of winning in a one-on-one fight against the lord of the underworld, today’s exercise was progress, and Rose was determined to draw some satisfaction from it.
“Well, I don’t know... The visual of you up against me, wolfie, just might make me lie down on my back to see what will follow.” The god smiled at her, his perfectly white, elongated canines catching the sunlight.
“Argh, you’re such an ass,” Rose groaned, but kidnapped his lips into a kiss the next second.
She felt the sharp edges of his fangs graze her delicate skin, coaxing an involuntary moan to spill from her lips. The taste of his olive-scented power was intoxicating, tightening things low in Rose’s body.
She tried to pivot his weight, get herself on top, but the god’s body wouldn’t even budge.
“Now, now, Rosalind, you’ll need to try harder...” Veles said, his breath caressing her lips as if he were trying to cloud her mind.
She shot him a frown, her gaze fixed firmly on the perfect lines of his face. “Bite me, old man.”
A deep, male chuckle escaped the god, vibrating down her body until she felt the urge to press her thighs closer together. “If that’s what you wanted, you should have just said so.”
She released a vine of golden energy, pushing it outwards until it brushed against Veles’s own blend of power. The god ground his muscular body against her, the pressure of his demand clear through the thin fabric of his black pants.
“Now you really do leave me no choice, srček.” He smiled at her, tracing his lips down her neck until the heat of his breath rested just above her elevated pulse.
He pressed harder against her, small shivers rippling down his honed torso, not unlike the ones Rose was experiencing herself. A small gasp left her lips as he let go of the grip he had on her arm and found her breast instead, cupping it with a gentle caress. Slowly, as if sensing her body’s responses, Veles began increasing the pressure. Rose writhed underneath him, arching her back.
The braid she had pulled her hair into before they began to parry kept any stray strands away, offering the god an unobstructed line of her neck. A groan filled with primal craving tore from his lips before the tips of his teeth pierced through the thin layer of skin.
Rose felt his mouth working at her neck, the sucking motion building a burning sensation in the vee between her thighs that threatened to spill out of her in an exuberant explosion. Veles lifted his head, his olive gaze pinning her to the ground as he devoured her body’s reactions.
She felt the titillating, warm rush of Veles’s energy encircle her before the cold of a winter morning brushed against her newly naked skin.
“Koliada! Some of us are fond of our clothes, you know...”
“I will give you more.”
The god’s words were otherworldly whispers as his eyes trailed Rose’s exposed form, drinking in all
her perfectly toned muscles and the curves that spoke of ancient femininity.
“That’s not what I mea—”Her words were cut off in mid sentence as Veles pressed his mouth onto hers, parting her lips with his tongue.
He secured her arms over her head with a one-handed hold, tracing her body with the other. Silent whispers of pleasure escaped her as he ran his fingers down her side, brushing against the fullness of her breast before continuing along the path that would lead them—lead him—lower.
His fingertips halted on the inward curve of her waist, teasing, untilshe almost growled at him in frustration, and urged the god to keep going.
Arrogant satisfaction played across his sharp features, the subtle fullness of his lips letting her know just how much he enjoyed his little power play.
If that’s how you want it, fine. Rose smiled at the inhuman beauty of the god that was stretched over her body, the sensation of being overpowered making her glad she was already pantyless. But she wouldn’t give in so easily.
She wrapped his painstakingly sculptured form with her energy. He groaned with eager anticipation, his hand reaching between her thighs.
DING—DING—DING.
“Fuck,” Rose exhaled, her voice still husky. “Damn them all to Chernobog.”
She turned her face towards the window ledge where the intruding phone lay, fighting the urge to crush it into pieces.
She had to see who it was.
Slowly, she called back the energy she had wrapped around Veles and tucked it safely under the surface of her skin. Despite knowing she had to get up, she was unable to keep a small noise of protest from leaving her lips when Veles lifted his hand from between her thighs, and rolled casually to the side.
She stalked over to the window, but not without sneaking a glance over her shoulder; she saw the appreciation gleaming in Veles’s eyes as he observed her naked form that was now dipped in the yellow gold rays of sun. She wanted nothing more than to experience just what that appreciation could do—transferred to the flesh. But as tempting as it was, she let the thought die.
Finally, she reached the window, the intruding phone beginning to beep for a second time when she unlocked it, cutting off the sound like an executioner swinging his axe.
She scrolled through the text, her eyebrows knitting closer together with every line she read. “I just may have to take you up on that offer for a new outfit,” she said as she turned back to Veles, her words barely concealing the strain that lay underneath them.
“Bad news?” the god asked, gracefully standing up and walking over to pull her naked form into an embrace.
She placed her hand on the hard build of his chest, wrapping her arms around him until her palms found the slight swell of his buttocks. “More like bad need for crowd control.”
“Don’t humans have jobs in that exact department?” Veles sneered, his voice so strongly lined with discontent that Rose could almost taste it.
He had worked her hard on the training floor since the crack of dawn. And she knew with absolute certainty that he had been eagerly looking forward to push her body even harder once the claws were retracted—or maybe even with the claws, just much less clothing clinging to her skin.
Although Rose shared the god’s sentiment, she shook her head. “Not for supernaturals, they don’t.”
She was more than tempted to let The Keepers handle any public outbursts related to supernatural beings since they stuck their noses into everything so fervently, but the pack had to be careful. Despite their efforts, the knowledge of their ascension to The Dark Ones had spread throughout the community, and although there had been no signs of hostility towards them so far, they didn’t want to risk getting on anyone’s bad side. And if being in the sups’ and immortals’ good graces included security jobs, so be it.
“A quick shower, clothes, and then you’ll transport me?” Rose raised her head, her eyes trailing the god’s features, making her premature departure even more disheartening.
“My method of transportation doesn’t come without a price, Rosalind.” He fixed her with a hard stare, the olive embers in his eyes beginning to spark up.
“You’re not taking a shower with me,” she groaned into his chest. “You know I won’t be able to leave if you do.”
“Have a nice trek to Ljubljana, then,” Veles said, with more arrogance than she thought possible could accumulate on his chiseled face. He truly knew how to live up to the whole lord-of-the-underworld expectations.
His residence, the one where she had first made his acquaintance, and the one in which they spent a large portion of their time together due to the mouthwatering armory lying in the basement—not to mention the vast training room they were in now—was located in the Carpathian mountains. Right on the border between the Czech Republic and Slovakia.
Veles knew she couldn’t decline his offer.
“Fine,” she hissed, but ardently took the god’s hand, pulling him behind her as she headed towards the door.
Mora resembled more a chaotic cube of panicked voices than the popular bar set on the edge of Ljubljana’s old town. Jens and Jürgen stood by the blood-red wooden entrance, staring at the frenzied mass of vamps bristling inside the bar with disbelief painted bluntly across their rugged, handsome faces.
The usually calm, collected beings were acting like Armageddon was upon them. Or Black Friday sales. Either was appropriate, given the chiming, raging state of the vamps.
“Is this for real?” Rose sighed, coming to stand between the two blond, muscular weres.
She had figured the situation was bad if the pack had to interfere, yet she hadn’t expected to find hysterical vampires to be the cause of it. And they truly were hysterical. Widened eyes, contorted mouths, and loud, high-pitched voices. Not to mention the pounding heartbeats that made it hard for Rose to hear her own thoughts.
Much like her, Jürgen seemed unable to peel his eyes away from the darkly painted interior of Mora. “I think the phrase to vamp it up just got a completely new meaning,” he said, raising a single eyebrow.
Jens crossed his arms across his chest, the swell of his muscles stretching the fabric of his black long-sleeved tee that was visible underneath the almost trademark leather jacket. Unzipped, of course.
The visual gave off a distinct bouncer vibe, the dangerous, appealing kind.
“Looking good.” Rose couldn’t help but grin at him, eying the pronounced pectorals. “You just might end up with more willing candidates to carry out than you’d think.”
A low chuckle erupted from Jürgen’s direction, despite the werewolf giving his absolute best to keep his gaze locked on the crowd inside the bar. The collar of his heavy leather jacket, similar to his twin’s, although more bombardier and less biker, was brought up to his jawline, the warm lining shielding him from the icy weather. Even with the werewolves’ love for cold, standing idly in it for long periods of time wasn’t something their human forms were built for. And since the twins were clearly stuck on bouncer duty, they would need another layer of protection apart from their skin.
“At times like this, I wish we could just fucking let our fur out,” Jürgen muttered under his breath.
“But then Jens wouldn’t get to carry out all those naughty, troublemaking vamps, securing their heated bodies in his arms,” Rose replied in a completely serious tone, making it much harder for Jürgen not to burst out with laughter.
She winked at the were and flashed a small smile in his brother’s direction. The vampires were clearly severely upset about something, and seeing the three of them in a cheerful mood wouldn’t exactly send the right impression. Someone who didn’t live with the “approach everything with a bit of humor” motto the pack swore by could easily take the small release of tension as an offense.
“What’s got them so rattled, anyway?” Rose finally asked, her eyes searching through the crowd inside Mora, scanning the fear and hysteria on their faces.
“Murdered vamps,” the twins replied in u
nison.
Chapter 3
Zarja was in the middle of exchanging some heavy words in the back room office with Mora’s owner. They were loud enough for Rose to almost hear their complete conversation despite the ruckus happening inside the bar. Only the sometimes hushed responses the nervous owner spat out seemed to have gotten lost in the sea of voices.
Through the crack in the door, Rose could see just how much the werewolf was pissed at the plump vamp—a mousey character who would fall into a late-forties category if he had been human. From afar, the situation looked ridiculous—a middle-aged man, his brow coated in sweat out of fear of a twenty-eight-year-old stunning woman, wrapped in a camel coat that complimented her wavy, shoulder-length hair.
But Rose knew just how scary Zarja could be when she chose so.
The owner clearly hadn’t done a damn thing to try and calm his patrons down before their fears and outrage escalated into full-blown panic. To make it all worse, he hadn’t even been the one to alert the weres to the troubled vamps, bringing the situation to their attention. If an acquaintance of Evelin’s hadn’t walked by and saw the brewing shitstorm, who knew just how far things would have escalated.
Even this was bad enough.
“That’s a bullshit excuse, Lado,” Zarja growled, thick anger saturating her words. “You should have locked the doors and called us immediately, not let more people join in the fucking frenzied meeting.”
“B-but they needed to talk,” the vamp stammered. Judging by the feverish twiddling of his fingers, Lado’s nerves were clearly failing him. And rightfully so.
Besides, Rose could smell the terror in the sickeningly sweet, potent smell of his sweat quite vividly from this distance. Mora’s owner was getting what he deserved.
Zarja snarled at him, a perfect display of teeth and a murderous glimmer that rolled across her hazel eyes. Werewolf intimidation tactics at their best. Rose couldn’t see the details of Zarja’s performance since her view was obstructed by an ugly desk that shouldn’t have survived the socialist times; but she was certain the lethal sharpness of extended claws accompanied the sound.