Hearts Unleashed: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by C. D. Gorri

  Great, I probably offended him again—not exactly a good strategy for convincing him to speed up our journey. But if he knew about science, maybe he was capable of appreciating why getting to Black Rock was so important.

  “You’re an alpha,” I said. “A leader, yes? Good leaders take care of their people when they get sick.”

  “Not always,” Soren said, drawing my gaze. “Sometimes it’s best for the sick to die. Not everyone is worth saving.”

  My blood heated. “It’s worth trying,” I shot back.

  He leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs in front of him. “This norm you seek to save, they’re some kind of official? Someone important?”

  No one they would find important, considering the governor’s wife was a woman. To them, she was good for mounting and…whatever else ferals did with their mates.

  I shook my head. “No, but that doesn’t—”

  “They don’t have your skills or training?”

  “No.” What was he getting at? I glanced at Rurik, who watched us with an inscrutable expression.

  “And you would try to save this person anyway, even knowing there’s a decent chance you’ll die before you get to Black Rock?”

  A decent chance. Did he have to put it so bluntly?

  Then again, I couldn’t afford to be naive.

  I lifted my chin. “Yes. It’s what I signed up for when I became a surgeon. There aren’t a lot of us. I took an oath to heal whenever and wherever I can. I won’t break it just because the wherever part is inconvenient or dangerous.”

  “Then you would make a poor alpha,” Soren said with a shrug. “As a doctor, you could save many lives if you remained behind your walls. Yet you put yourself in danger on the chance you might save one life of minimal significance. That’s not leadership. It’s a waste of resources.”

  His words dropped around me like stones, and they were somehow worse for being delivered in such a clinical way. He reclined before the fire, casually playing God as if everything was basic black and white.

  In as steady a voice as I could manage, I said, “You’re right. I would be a bad alpha, given that I consider all human beings significant. No one’s life is worth more than anyone else’s.” As I said the last, my final conversation with Michael came hurtling back. Hadn’t he made the same argument as Soren when we stood on the battlements? My fiancé, who prided himself on carrying scholarship and reason into the twenty-second century, thought like a feral.

  Soren made a scoffing sound. “Spoken like a norm. Pure hypocrisy.”

  I frowned. “What’s hypocritical about treating everyone equally?”

  He sat up, his blue eyes sparking with anger. “You think your governors value shifter lives? They’ve been trying to kill us for nearly a century.”

  Was he serious? “We defend ourselves when we’re attacked,” I said hotly. “We’re vulnerable every time we set foot outside the walls.”

  Cain spoke in a low rumble. “You’re vulnerable because you suppress the shift.”

  His voice—a dark scrape of sound that seemed to curl through the air like smoke—stopped me in my tracks. His eyes gleamed, the leaping fire reflected in the silvery depths. His big body was relaxed and still, but it was a waiting stillness. Like a coiled snake ready to strike at the right opportunity.

  I became aware of the broken vial between my fingers and the lingering burn of serum in my throat.

  I had to clear it to reply, and I picked my words carefully, knowing the conversation had wandered onto dangerous ground. “Not everyone wants to fight for dominance or be forced to take a mate. Some of us want to have choices in life.”

  He smiled—revealing a set of sharp-looking fangs—but there was no humor in his eyes. “Nature already chose for all of us, and she chose Lykos-D.” His gaze dipped to the vial in my hand. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but your power to choose is limited to how many of those vials you can stuff in your pockets.” He tilted his head—a wolf-like gesture that lifted the hair on my nape. His voice dropped too low to be completely human, and he added, “Assuming no one takes them from you.”

  My throat went dry. His threat was unmistakable. The fire sparked and popped, but I couldn’t look away. I was rooted to the ground, caught up in the menace that swirled off Cain and wrapped around me like tentacles. Without serum, my body would stop suppressing the Lykos-D virus that sat patiently inside every cell in my body—trillions of microscopic bombs planted the moment I was conceived. They waited for the right moment to explode, biding their time until the serum ran out or I missed too many doses.

  Or someone prevented me from taking them.

  And if that happened, I would cease to be “invisible.” I would become feral, my skin splitting and my bones shifting until another creature emerged.

  Not everyone finished their first shift. Sometimes, Lykos-D killed its host. Other times, the virus raged so thoroughly, no amount of serum would reverse it. If that happened to me, the great iron gate would shut against me forever. I would be stuck in the Alterlands.

  Cain spoke into the malaise of fear that gripped me, his voice cinching it even tighter. “You should run back to your city, female. Your precious serum can’t hide what you are.”

  “Doctor,” Rurik said.

  The spell broke.

  Cain swung toward him. “What?”

  Rurik rose to his feet, his muscled body gilded by firelight. He addressed Cain but he kept his gaze on me. “She’s a doctor, and no one is taking her serum.”

  Speechless, I could only stare. Was he defending me?

  “I’ll get you to your patient,” he said. “You have my vow.”

  My voice emerged as a rasp. “Thank you.”

  He gave me a short nod and stepped over the fire, his long strides ensuring the flame didn’t touch him. As he reached the cave’s entrance, he spoke without looking back. “We’ll stand guard through the night. Cain take the first shift.”

  Cain shot me a dark look. I braced myself for an insult—or worse—but he merely got to his feet and stalked away, moving with the soundless, fluid grace that seemed common to all ferals.

  When I turned back to the fire, Soren watched me with a mix of amusement and curiosity in his eyes.

  “I’m impressed,” he said. “Few people have the guts to banter with Cain.”

  I frowned. I wasn’t sure I had the guts, either. “What’s his problem, anyway? Does he hate women or just norms in general?”

  “It’s probably more accurate to say he hates one woman and all norms. The female he wanted ran off with a male from the cities. Don’t take his vitriol personally. He would have disliked any norm Rurik brought beyond the walls.”

  Wait, Cain loved a woman who mated a norm? Not that norms mated. When ferals entered into an intimate bond, they bit and scratched, marking each other like animals. No wonder Cain’s woman ran. If a man like that pursued me, I’d try to escape, too.

  “Does he know where she is?” I asked.

  Soren’s expression turned sober. “He knows.”

  “Will he try to take her back?” In my mind’s eye, I imagined Cain scaling a stone wall, his eyes burning like liquid metal.

  “Cain doesn’t tell anyone his plans. But you should always assume he has one.”

  A shiver swept down my spine. Wherever that woman was, I hoped her city had high walls.

  Soren studied the fire, all traces of friendliness gone from his face. Was he thinking of his own missing mate? Michael didn’t know much about the mate bond, other than it was strong and, in most cases, lifelong. But did it come with love? Or was it merely about sex and domination?

  Whatever it was, it was clearly powerful enough to drive Cain and Soren to reclaim their lost mates.

  Was that why Rurik didn’t want one? Or maybe he just didn’t want me. He had no problem resisting my scent, even with my essence mixed with Michael’s and my lingering arousal from that brief kiss on the wall.

  And his rejection
was a good thing. A fortunate thing. Because being bound to Rurik would be even worse than mating someone like Cain.

  Thank goodness he didn’t want me. The best thing I could do was ignore him as much as possible. He would get me to Black Rock, I’d treat my patient, and then he would escort me home.

  And I never had to see him again.

  Soren stood and caught my eye across the fire.

  “I’d get some sleep if I were you, Doctor. Whatever tomorrow brings, it’s bound to be interesting.”

  Chapter Five

  As far as sleeping accommodations went, the cave left much to be desired. After Cain left, Soren kicked dirt over the fire, plunging me into darkness. He left without another word, his footsteps seeming to head toward the back of the cave.

  So much for saying goodnight. I didn’t exactly expect him to read me a bedtime story, but a little direction would have been nice. Without it, I had to settle for curling up next to the cooling embers with the pack for my pillow.

  The ache in my head blossomed to a full-blown migraine that made pressure build behind my eyes and waves of nausea roil my stomach. Goosebumps rose on my skin even as I felt clammy and hot. It couldn’t be the serum. The side effects never lingered this long.

  It was probably a combination of dehydration and exhaustion. The water from the canteen hadn’t been enough, but I was hardly in a position to go find more. Besides, I wasn’t sure I could keep it down. The best thing to do was get as comfortable as possible and hope to fall asleep.

  Unfortunately, the hard ground and lumpy pack weren’t doing it for me. After what felt like an hour of twisting and turning, I gave up and flopped onto my back. As I stared into the blackness, my thoughts turned to Rurik.

  What made him stand up for me around the fire? And not just once, but twice.

  First he backed Cain down from threatening me, then he sent him out of the cave—almost as if he wanted me to feel safe.

  Didn’t he? What other possible explanation could there be for his actions? He took my side against one of his own. At least I assumed Cain answered to him. Cain and Soren felt like alphas to me, but I didn’t have the ability to sense subtle differences in dominance like ferals could. Michael said a feral could walk into a room full of their own kind and immediately know where everyone fell in the hierarchy. And alphas were always on top.

  That made them somewhat rare. All ferals were more or less dominant, and those who weren’t usually didn’t live long. With so many controlling personalities willing to fight each other for position, a feral had to be extraordinarily dominant to force others to do their bidding. What were the chances of three alphas working together without killing each other?

  It was impossible. If such a thing happened, Michael would have written about it. The Alliance of Cities paid him to study feral behavior, and he took his research seriously. He never talked about it, but I knew he had aspirations of being governor one day. St. Louis was the biggest city in the Plains, and he was ambitious. He’d made a name for himself with his research. If he said alphas ruled alone, I believed him.

  Which meant Rurik had all the traits of the most dominant ferals. Controlling. Possessive. Short-tempered. Domineering.

  Not the sort of people who admitted fault.

  Yet he stopped calling me “female.” And, in his own way, he told the others to acknowledge my profession. Could it be he actually saw me as a thinking, feeling person rather than a feeble-minded female ready to roll over for any passing male?

  Of course, my behavior at the pool gave him plenty of reason to think I’d take whatever he offered.

  At the thought, my mouth tingled as it had when he pressed me against the pillar. In the dark, I touched the spot where he brushed his thumb back and forth. He’d towered over me, making me feel small and almost delicate—not something that happened very often. At almost six feet tall, I was used to looking men in the eye. Michael always complained when I wore heels, since it made us the same height.

  That wouldn’t be a problem with Rurik. He was easily the tallest man I’d ever seen, and he filled out every inch with solid muscle. At the pool, his T-shirt had stretched so tight over his chest it seemed ready to tear. His physique screamed violence, yet he’d traced my lip with featherlight softness. And as much as I hated to admit it, there was something compelling about an otherwise brutal man showing tenderness. Unfortunately, he’d followed it with his insulting declaration.

  My blood heated. What rankled the most was how confident he was when he said it, as if he took it for granted he could command a response from me as easily as he commanded my obedience.

  I rubbed my fingertips over my lips, tracing the path he’d taken. He was a man of opposites, almost as if there were two Ruriks.

  Which was the real one?

  As if I conjured him, his voice rumbled in the darkness. “You should sleep, Doctor Bradley.”

  I jerked my head toward the sound. My eyes must have adjusted to the dark, because I could just make out his silhouette. He leaned against the cave’s entrance with his back to me, as if he stared into the night.

  “How did you know I was awake?” I asked.

  He turned his head enough to speak over his shoulder. “Your heart rate.”

  God, how good was his hearing? Could he tell I’d been thinking about him? About his body?

  Could he read my thoughts?

  As soon as the idea popped into my head, I dismissed it. Of course he couldn’t. His senses were superior, though. It would be a mistake to forget that.

  I waited for him to say something else, but he stayed quiet, his body limned in the weak moonlight gathered around the cave’s opening. Although his posture was relaxed, there was an aura of watchfulness about him—an alertness I couldn’t quite put my finger on. As a child, I had a habit of sleeping with my back to a wall. I knew it couldn’t protect me, but something about that solid presence made me feel safe.

  Rurik was like that wall. He was just a lone figure in the yawning mouth of the cave, but he was big and solid. Anything seeking entry would have to go through him first.

  You have my vow, he’d told me. Coming from anyone else, such old-fashioned words would border on quaint, even silly. When Rurik spoke them, it was clear he meant what he said. He may not have signed a contract, but he wouldn’t break his word.

  I sat up. Immediately, pain flared in my temples, and I stifled a gasp.

  Rurik turned his head again, his profile outlined in silver. “Are you unwell?” There was a beat of silence, and he added in gruff tones, “If you need to relieve yourself, there’s a spot outside the cave.”

  My cheeks heated. “It’s not that. I mean, I don’t have to go.” I sucked in a breath. “I’m fine.”

  He gave a soft grunt and faced forward.

  Nice talk. I watched him warily as I rubbed at my temples. He might be able to hear subtle changes in my heart rate, but as far as I knew he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head. The pressure in my skull increased, and my stomach did a slow, lazy roll. Saliva pooled in my mouth. I swallowed a few times and took shallow breaths. Vomiting was not an option. I had to keep the serum down.

  Suddenly, Rurik swiveled around.

  Shit.

  I had his full attention now. His face was in shadow, but I sensed his frown.

  “You have nothing to fear from Cain,” he said.

  Cain? For a moment, confusion swirled. Then I understood. I shook my head—and instantly regretted it. Pain flared, and the protein bars threatened to come up. A dizzy wave swept me. Quickly, I put my head between my knees. Cold sweat broke out all over my body. I wrapped my arms around my knees and hung on for dear life, willing my head to stop spinning. My hair flopped forward, the limp ends trailing in the dirt.

  A firm hand pressed against the back of my neck, forcing my head down even more. “You need to increase the blood flow to your heart,” Rurik said above me.

  Even with my stomach threatening to revolt, I managed to mutter, “
I know that.” Did he think I was sitting this way for fun? Maybe if I puked on him, he’d zap me with another command and knock me senseless. I could pass out in peace, where I wouldn’t have to worry about snarling ferals or overbearing alphas.

  He crouched beside me, and then a second hand touched my head. Gentle fingers pulled my hair away from my face. My eyes went wide as he gathered the tangled mass in one hand and held it at my nape. Cool air drifted across my neck, and I suppressed a shiver.

  As suddenly as it came, the dizziness and nausea passed. I lifted my head.

  Rurik was a muscled boulder at my side, his golden eyes glowing faintly in his rugged face. His fingers threaded through my hair, and his forearm rested across my shoulders. Sitting this close, I could see the lines in his forehead and the spiky lengths of his eyelashes. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as he breathed, the dark T-shirt impossibly tight over his pecs. One hard, male nipple pressed against the fabric. Thanks to his naked entrance during dinner, I knew exactly what that nipple looked like.

  I swallowed.

  He dipped his head, capturing my gaze. His stare was as penetrating as ever, but it wasn’t the cold, aggressive expression he displayed when he barked out orders. His features were softer, and his jaw had lost some of its hard edge.

  His stubble was darker around his chin.

  Out of nowhere, I found myself wondering what it would feel like to brush my palm across it.

  He tugged ever so slightly at my hair, tipping my head the merest inch. The golden eyes roved over my face.

  “You’re pale,” he said.

  “I’m fine.”

  Some of the sternness returned to his eyes. “You should have told me you were sick.”

  “I’m not.”

  His nostrils flared. “Lie.” His hand in my hair tightened. “You should never lie to me. I’ll always know.”

  I should have been frightened. A feral alpha held me by the hair, a sheen of anger in his eyes. Instead, curiosity pushed past any sense of danger, making me ask, “How can you tell?”

  A tiny frown pinched his brow. He released me but stayed in a crouch. We stared at each other in near darkness, the only sound the occasional crackle of dying embers at our backs.