Nightshade's Bite (Blood Wars)

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Nightshade's Bite (Blood Wars) Page 8

by Zoe Forward


  Had his quest for revenge been about a subconscious desire to die? He hadn’t thought of it from this angle. He’d never seriously considered suicide, but dying in battle had honor. Death offered solace, the only way to escape the past.

  Yet, lying here next to her, wracked by emotions he hadn’t experienced in centuries, and sporting an unrelenting hard-on for a vampire, he found that living held far more appeal. He wanted to know what happened tomorrow. What more might he feel? Was this sex drive only for her or would he now be more interested in others of his own kind?

  In reality, wherever life took him, it wouldn’t include her. Everything between them was impossible. A surprising part of him was…what was this emotion? Sadness?

  One bite and she’d die. His blood had been used many times by vampires to kill each other. Michael’s brother, who’d been executed centuries ago, back when they’d been enslaved to the Vragi family, lured a vampire to her death by seducing her. Apparently, she had been unable to resist biting during sex. His brother let it be known it’d been intentional to kill her, but something hadn’t been right about the story. Killing her should’ve allowed him to escape, but he hadn’t taken his chance. He thought his brother stayed because of him, because Michael had been bolted to a wall. Had he misinterpreted everything?

  His brother had been caught. Too easily, he admitted his crime. The vampiress’s father executed him the following day. Not once did he fight death, which made no sense for a warrior as strong, if not stronger, than him.

  Maybe…the mental realignment going on inside his head based on the new perspective Kiera provided hurt. Perhaps, long ago, his brother found something meaningful with the vampire…the enemy. Something forbidden. Yet, like him now, he’d become trapped in the wreckage of impossibility and had chosen death.

  Michael would never die over feelings for a vampire.

  Chapter Seven

  “Viktor will be here in a few minutes,” Finn announced as Kiera strode in for first evening meal. The eight o’clock sit-down tended to be a formality rather than an actual food event—a drink, perhaps, or an organizational conversation to kick off the day, but nothing in depth.

  “Viktor? As in DiFalco? How did he find me here? Everyone thinks I spend winters at the house in Mykonos. We have the decoy there who looks like me.”

  “He phoned minutes ago. No mention of why he’s coming or how he knew you’re here. I wonder if he figured out Elise is Kiera and he’s pissed.” Finn began typing furiously on his phone. “Got to get the kids evac-ed. If the Foundry discovered we’ve got a wolf and two wolf mixes downstairs—”

  “Don’t panic. There’s no reason to suspect he knows I run the League or that the Elise persona has been compromised.”

  Finn fidgeted. “He wants to taste Elise. Has he been close enough to you as Kiera to know you smell the same?”

  “I never intended for him to be close to me as Kiera. He has no reason to be.” She’d almost forgotten he knew her as Elise in her shock at his impending arrival.

  She nibbled a nail. “I’ll wear perfume that will offend his nose.”

  “This is dangerous, Kiera. You should leave. Don’t be here when he arrives. Even if his visit isn’t about Nightshade, vampires never forget the smell of blood they want to taste. I’m not sure perfume will do it.”

  “I’ll stay far enough away from him. Secure the downstairs. Tell Michael to keep his ass down there. Aerosolize the house to remove all wolf odors.” She glanced at her outfit. “You think I should change?”

  “You can’t wear anything that reminds him of Elise. Perhaps don’t wear a dress? He wants to romance Elise, but he hates Kiera.”

  “Hate is too strong for how he feels toward me. It’s more disdain and, perhaps, jealousy over my wealth,” Kiera tossed over her shoulder as she stalked toward the exit. That’s why I hid my fortune where no vampire can find it and appropriate it in the name of taxes.

  “You think it’s okay if I’m present when he’s here in shifter form?”

  She paused and turned back to face him. “Why? Are you worried? Vampires never detect you as anything other than a wolfhound.”

  “True. He’s not perceptive enough to figure it out, anyway. If he goes for you, I want to be there. I’ll kill him. I promise.”

  She reached out to squeeze his arm when he neared her. “I know you will. We’re both ten times faster than him and any vampire he would bring as protection. Go secure the downstairs.”

  Once she reached her room, she tore through her wardrobe, not really examining her options. Whatever brought Viktor here would likely be bad. Perhaps, he found out his long-neglected mate was a Nightshade League ally, and he’d tortured her for information.

  Kiera might spew bullshit to bolster Finn’s confidence, but she’d never underestimate Viktor. Although, she did have 100 percent confidence even the vampire king wouldn’t recognize Finn as a shifter when he was in his hound form. None had, ever since she’d known Finn.

  Not a dress… She pulled on her riding breeches with tall brown boots and a loose white shirt then spritzed herself with the strongest anti-detection perfume in her bathroom. The stuff reeked like a synthetic flowery air freshener.

  She hurried toward the foyer, the click of her booted heels on the polished marble ringing out in the hall. Time to pull out every bit of haughty and over-privileged attitude she’d learned over the years.

  The front door opened as she descended the main stairs toward the entryway. “Viktor, what a surprise. Come in. I was about to sit for a drink.” She pasted on a smile meant to charm.

  “This area of France is intolerable,” he said with heavily Italian-accented disgust. “It rains all the time, and over eighty percent of the humans are infected.” He removed his wet outer coat and handed it to one of the five guards that accompanied him.

  Shit. She hadn’t realized it was raining. Maybe he wouldn’t probe further on why she wore riding clothes.

  “We need to talk,” he ordered. “I have a short time before I depart.”

  “Of course. Shall we sit?” She led him into the formal parlor and settled across from him, as far away as she dared. “May I offer you a drink?”

  He flashed a smile. Not a kind or appreciative smile, but one of a predator. “That would be nice.”

  She waved at a vampire waiting in the wings who jumped forward to fill a goblet for both her and Victor with blood. “What brings you to Calais this time of the year?”

  In wolfhound form, Finn drew near and settled at her heels. She petted his head.

  Viktor’s dark, dead eyes settled on her, speculative. Red flags shot up. “How have you been, Kiera?”

  “I keep busy with my business.” She toasted him before sipping her glass of blood.

  “What business?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

  “My winery.” When he continued to look confused, she said, “I’ve got to do something to assuage the boredom. We’ve produced a top-ranked Bordeaux the last five years. It’s coming out too acidic in my opinion this year, but my winemaking director says it’s almost right. Keeps me occupied.”

  “Yes, well, that’s something.” He massaged the back of his neck.

  “We haven’t spoken in decades. What brings you here?”

  He uncrossed his legs and sipped the blood he’d been offered. “Do you head the Nightshade League?”

  She slowly set down her glass. Practice enabled her to slow her pulse and maintain regular breaths. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s not me. Based on rumors, it sounds like whoever does is a pain in your ass. I’m curious. Why do you think it’s me?”

  A vein popped out in his neck. “Your sister, the one who was killed, slept with a wolf, and her daughter, the half blood, married the werewolf king. That’s a lot of entrenched connections to them. It might make you want to help them.”

  “I haven’t sp
oken to my niece since she was in her teens.” She waved her hand dismissively. “This whole business of warring is so tedious. I’d rather make wine and enjoy visitors, like your cousin, Andrew.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Lord knows he’s genius in bed. He gossiped about that Nightshade business when he was here the other day. It was the first I’d ever heard of it. Haven’t we already done this war thing? Is this your attempt to finish where your father failed?” Viktor’s father had been the vampire king during the war in the 1800s.

  A slight slackening of his jaw was a screaming yes.

  She gave a half shrug. “Then do whatever you need to do to feel successful. A discussion of war is a dreary philosophical debate that doesn’t interest me. We attended school together, your father and I.” Victor would despise her pointing out she was at least a century older than he was. And older than all but one of the six Foundry members.

  “War needn’t be your concern.”

  “That’s a relief. Yet you’re here, accusing me of…well, I’m not exactly sure what the Nightshade business is about. Do they hunt and kill wolves? Anyway, you’re here which means you want something to be my concern.”

  “You’re a wolf sympathizer, Kiera.” He sat back and rocked his head to the side, waiting for her to squirm under his scrutiny. Classic interrogation tactic.

  “I don’t pity them or feel particularly sympathetic to them. I’m old and couldn’t care less about violence that pits two already endangered species against each other. You want something from me that has to do with werewolves, though, don’t you?” Her turn to give him a curious head tilt. “Interesting.”

  He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the chair’s arm. “You’re going to get something for me. Something from the wolves.”

  “Am I?” Her stomach cramped.

  His brow creased. “The wolves found a cure for the Risoluzione virus.”

  This was news to her. She shut her gaping mouth. “They found a cure to the pestilence?”

  “They cured a few wolves we knew were dying. Those were wolves we purposefully infected and then released. We hoped they’d spread the virus to others, but they’re fine.”

  Viktor hadn’t yet dropped the bomb, the reason why he thought he had the power to demand something from her. “Why do you want the cure?”

  “You’re going to get it for me, no questions asked.” His smug smile meant the blackmail he was about to throw down would be fierce. He extracted his cell phone from the inside of his suit pocket and placed a video call. “We caught a vampire smuggling a werewolf into Europe.”

  As he rotated the phone, the image came into focus.

  Oh shit.

  A voice on the other side of the call said, “Carol, look who’s on the phone for you. It’s your sister.”

  Carol’s shoulder-length brown hair was plastered around her face as if she’d been sweating. Blood stained the front of her shirt. She slurred out in a drugged voice, “Don’t give ’em anything. Fuck ’em.”

  No one messed with her baby sister. The hand she’d rested on Finn at the start of the call dug into his shoulder, but he didn’t complain.

  A nail across Viktor’s jugular to weaken him then decapitation sounded like what he deserved. In an instant, he’d be dead. Finn could easily take out the others vamps he brought.

  The fallout?

  Bad.

  It’d bring the battle to her doorstep and flush everything she had in play with the Nightshade League down the toilet.

  Viktor said, “We caught her abetting the enemy, which means I have full authority to execute her. Bring me the cure, and I’ll release her to you. If you fail, I’ll kill her.” A thin smile turned his lips upward. He knew he had her.

  “I’m not buddy-buddy with any werewolves who will hand over a highly coveted bit of technology like this.”

  “Wasn’t your niece raised by Carol? The niece who married their king?” His face screwed up with disdain. “I think you can get it for me.”

  “I haven’t spoken to her in ages.”

  Without preamble, he stood. “I don’t care how you get the cure. Steal it, buy it, blackmail for it…whatever. If you don’t deliver it by the gala at my house next week, then I’ll have her killed.”

  The wolfhound lunged, barking loudly. Spittle sprayed all over its hairy muzzle and the carpet. Kiera grabbed the collar to hold him back.

  Viktor glanced dismissively at the dog.

  Finn vibrated in her strong hold on his collar.

  “What assurances do I have you won’t kill her before then?” she asked.

  “I’ll keep her alive for now. If she tries to escape, though…” He shrugged. “That’s out of my hands.”

  With stiff politeness, she said, “I’ll consider my options and see you next weekend.”

  “I’ll show myself out.”

  The moment he and his entourage exited, and the door clicked behind him, she released Finn and rubbed her forehead. “Finn…shit.”

  The wolfhound transformed to human form. “I knew Carol shouldn’t have tried to bring that family over from the states. The mission was too last minute and not well planned. She’s so stubborn when she decides to do things like this.”

  “We have to figure out where they have her. We have to get her back before she tries to escape.” She cleared her throat. “Clothes, Finn. You’re naked.”

  He glanced down and shrugged. “I don’t want you at the gala as Elise. And you’re sure as hell not going as Kiera. This isn’t some garden variety soiree with a bunch of pansies in frilly shirts and penguin suits where we can set up a couple of surveillance devices and wait in the bushes. The most aristocratic vampires of the world and their war admirals will be in attendance. It’s not only about the party. This is the pre-party before the Foundry meeting. It’s an excuse to catch you as Kiera with the cure and spin it to force the Foundry to consider executing you.”

  She focused her magic to poof forth a terrycloth robe from his closet upstairs and handed it over. Finn didn’t flinch at her use of magic. “I need to know what Viktor is going to do with a cure.”

  “I’ll reach out to some contacts.” He shrugged on the blue robe. “Get that werewolf out of here before someone else drops by or you decide to give a wolf a try.” He stalked off.

  Oh, she’d considered sampling the wolf.

  All freaking night while she had her head on his incredible chest, she’d fantasized. Whoever said muscles didn’t matter lied.

  One little shift last night—that’s all she would’ve had to do—just one turn of her body to have her hands on his abs, slipping lower until she had him in her hands. But she didn’t. One bite into him, which would be unavoidable for her if she pushed them, and she’d die. Her sister, Arie, who’d loved Blay, had the gift of superhuman self-control and could avoid it. Kiera did not and could not.

  Besides, the sexy-as-fuck werewolf might not want her enough to ignore his hatred of her kind. And there was nothing she could do about that. But suffer.

  Chapter Eight

  “This could get dicey,” she warned as she maneuvered the motorcycle around a car.

  Hurtling through night traffic on her motorcycle, Kiera’s body hummed in full alert. Navigating traffic? No problem. Michael’s firm thighs pressed against hers? Distracting.

  Ten more miles until they reached the quarter-mile tunnel where they’d do a fast stop. He’d get off, and another would get on in his place. He’d wait in the tunnel’s maintenance room until one of Blay’s people arrived to pick him up, which should be within ten minutes.

  Their problem? The tail they’d picked up right outside the gates of her estate. Viktor must’ve left someone to watch her. They wouldn’t know she rode with Michael since they got on the bike and helmeted up in the garage.

  Michael held on to the side of the bike, refusing to hold on to
her, even though doing so might get him more in sync with the bike’s movements. She’d asked him twice. Hell, she wanted him to wrap his huge hands around her waist. The heat coming off him pushed her with the illogical need to touch him for as long as possible. In a few minutes, they’d probably never see each other again, or if they did, they’d be surrounded by others of their own kind.

  She whipped them around a taxi. The driver honked. She executed a perfect turn onto a one-way street. His helmet banged against hers, which whiplashed her neck. He’d leaned to the right, against the turn, not with her.

  “Line up with me, so I can keep it balanced,” she said through the intercom in the helmet.

  “I’m good.”

  “No one is going to judge you for getting close to me. Put your chest on my spine. We’re about to turn again. I don’t want to spin out.”

  “If anyone sees me crotch-kissing you on a motorcycle—”

  “Just shut up and crotch-kiss me. You know you want to.” She wiggled her ass against him as she slowed for a red light. A bit of magic and the signal changed faster than normal to green, at least quickly enough she didn’t need to slow down too much. The moment they crossed the intersection, she willed the light back to red to slow their pursuers.

  “Fuck.” He tensed against her when she accelerated, and a hiss of air came through the intercom. His arms wrapped her, and his heat warmed her back where his chest pressed against her.

  “Better.” She bit on her bottom lip to keep from groaning. So not the distraction she needed, even though she’d asked for it. Focus on these turns.

  “Fast turn right ahead.” She accelerated and whipped them around the sharp curve.

  He shifted behind her after the road straightened. “This is insane.”

 

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