by Talyn Scott
Right before he made it to the porch, one more violent gust threatened to knock Sage’s legs from beneath him. He curled over her, pressing forward, her green eyes shining up at him.
Then Elissa blew Sage a kiss, mouthing I love you, and misted out of his arms.
‘No!’ he screamed, grasping at air. Her molecules scattered into the bands of the hurricane, never to solidify again.
‘Elissa!’
Edik whipped around, a wash of horror painting his face as he roared. ‘No!’
Chapter 10
Crushing a pillow to her chest, Scarlett breathed in a scent that could only be classified as unequivocally male. She lifted the pillow higher, taking another good whiff. “Yum…”
Stretching, she started working the usual kinks from her neck, except they weren’t there. “Awesome mattress,” she muttered, feeling for her phone on the nightstand. When she opened her eyes and flicked to her home screen, a soft gasp escaped before she called out, “Roman!”
She sat up too quickly, her head spinning so much she nearly fell off the bed. “Roman!”
A single knock and then the door opened, revealing a sharp dressed man in his late twenties, carrying a tray of pastries and small sandwiches. “Roman was called into an emergency meeting at the office, and your brother was also called away from the continent.”
“Bestra’s not coming?”
“I’m not sure he’ll make it home before you leave.” He set the tray on a side table that faced a picture window. “I am Motka, Roman and Bestra’s business partner.” He tilted his head in a slight bow. “Perhaps I can help you?”
Scarlett’s hands trembled when she lifted the phone. “It’s Tuesday.”
“Yes.”
“I arrived on Sunday.”
“Well,” he said, straightening his shirt cuffs and not meeting her eyes, “you understand there is a time difference — ”
“Sunday!” Looking around hastily for her bag, she quickly grabbed the bathrobe he offered. “By Russia’s calendar, I arrived on Sunday.” She put the thing on, cinching it around her waist. “This makes no sense! How did I lose this much time?”
Still not meeting her eyes, Motka hiked his shoulders a bit. “Jet lag can do that to anyone.”
“Jet lag?” Now that sounded familiar, but… “No, I’ve never missed a day from jet lag or illness.” She cupped her forehead with the palm of her hand. No fever, either.
Her mind reeled back to the last conversation she’d had with Roman. An image floated across of him telling her that he was in love with her, had always been in love with her. Then it all went from a vibrator to a bedpost, to Roman’s tattooed cock.
Her hand slid from her forehead to her mouth, when memories of Roman taking her surfaced. She backed away from Motka, facing the bed so he wouldn’t see her flush. But her stomach suddenly howled so loudly that embarrassment shocked her out of her weird meltdown.
Motka pointed out, “Sounds like you’re hungry.”
“Hungry and confused.”
“Eat up.” A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “There’s a carafe of coffee. I suggest you drink the whole damn thing. Maybe you’ll stay awake for a while afterwards.”
Interesting, but she’d further discuss her missing time with Roman, not this stranger straining his tailored business suit. “When exactly will Roman come home?”
“Within the hour, but I’ll be in his study working.” His smile slipped. “You’re not alone here, so call if you need anything.”
She nodded as he closed the door behind him. “I’m not alone, huh?” Walking to the tray, she lifted one of her favorite pastries with poppy seed filling and took a bite. Roman had remembered everything Scarlett enjoyed. Even the simple fact that she took her coffee black, as evidenced by the lack of cream and sugar. She poured a full cup and took a sip.
“No!”
Scarlett whirled at the sound, spilling scalding coffee on her chest. “Shit!” She snatched a napkin, dabbling at her skin. “Ow.”
“No!” Another horrifying scream echoed down the hallway. “Elissa!”
When Scarlett opened the door, it took no more than two seconds before another gut-wrenching bellow pierced her ears.
“Definitely this way,” she muttered, sprinting to the right. If Roman was this ill, trying to hide behind some emergency meeting, she would throttle him. “Roman, I’m coming!”
“Lycanthrope,” Sage rasped, the T-shirt and lounge pants Roman had changed him into were already soaked through. “A female lycanthrope.”
His fangs throbbed over her delectable scent of sex on summer nights. He licked his lips, catching the tip of his tongue on his right fang. “Come to… me.”
How obedient! The female suddenly entered his room, a soft gasp leaving her throat. “You are not Roman. But you look familiar.”
“His…cousin,” Sage managed. He tried to open his eyes, but his damn lids refused to work.
He clamped his mouth shut, willing his fangs under control. Thank everything Holy that Flynn Ruyter wasn’t sitting beside him right now. The male was always going off half-cocked anyway, and Roman’s new domestic setup would’ve set off his merciless Beta Beast. Of course, Sage couldn’t discount the urge to chest-thump around this female himself.
“Cousin?” her voice caressed his skin, burning him anew. “By your accent, and the fact that I’ve never met you, you must be from Roman’s mother’s side. I don’t know much about them.” Her heartbeat slowed down, her body relaxing as though suddenly finding Sage harmless.
This was her second mistake.
The first one? She’d stepped foot inside this room.
“Yes… from his mother’s side. And you’re Bestra’s sister.”
She stepped closer. “You know Bestra?”
“He’s one of my best friends.” And also a fellow mercenary.
“Then you have great taste in friends.”
“Yes.”
She shifted on her feet. “I should get Motka for you.”
Managing a squint, Sage spotted a delicate hand reaching toward him, her gorgeous veins running underneath her skin called him to taste. “No need for… Motka.” When had he shown up?
She came closer, still.
Then his soul shifted, right along with the world as he knew it. And although he was in unimaginable pain, he couldn’t stop his body from the sudden shivering that threatened to rupture organs just about healed. Then it spread past his aching cock to setup shop in his legs.
“Here’s a blanket.” She covered him, her hands pressing over his chest, her touch causing his heartbeat to gallop away. “Thank God I waited in line for my flu shot. You look miserable.”
“Yes.” Molten lava seared his veins, reawakening further internal wounds already healed from the Stavz. Yet his body seemed stronger with every new pain.
“Can I do anything for you?”
Yes, touch me again, he begged silently.
“I really have to apologize to Motka. I must be jet lagged, as he said.” She stepped away, running a faucet in the attached bathroom. “Cause I could swear you’re getting bigger right before my eyes.” Reentering the bedroom, he heart skittered a few beats, her feet slowing at the floor. “What the…”
Though she was blurry to his watering eyes, he managed to follow her line of vision and spotted his Vojak’s shadow looming on the wall, growing by size and power.
His claws protracted, his fangs threatening again to do the same, as Sage’s body begged for a taste of her.
“That green light,” she asked, turning in a circle while staring at the ceiling, “where’s it coming from?”
The glow of his irises igniting, Sage’s inner Vojak strengthened his eyesight to a level he’d not once experienced. It illuminated the female’s creamy oval face, the smooth lines of her cheekbones, and softened the strong curve of a telltale jawbone only found in werewolf lineage. Her upturned nose he wanted to kiss. Her eyes of werewolf blue were perfection. And that
tawny hair falling around her shoulders like a mane… Messy as it was, as though she had not yet run a brush through it, he thought this female was beyond beautiful, beyond sexy, beyond anyone.
Beyond any worth imaginable.
There was only one reason his body was reacting in this way.
“Probably something reflecting…from outside,” Sage managed to say. He closed his eyes, hating to take his sight away from her for even a moment, but she’d dropped her curious stare from the ceiling and nearly caught his eyes in the act of being a vampire. “I… saw it… yesterday.”
“Huh.” She stepped closer to the bed, her breath even an intoxicating aroma. “I know your shivering, but I thought it might help if I put this cool cloth on your forehead.”
“Thanks.” It wouldn’t. Roman had already tried that. But anything to get her closer was a step in the right direction.
“I hope my vaccine holds up to whatever strain you have.” The cloth met his face, her soft fingertips gently adjusting it to just above his eyebrows. “Sorry, that was rude of me. It’s just… you look worse than the typical flu, like you’re in a lot of pain.”
“I can… handle it.” Every scent for the span of a mile left him, and all he could scent was her. Thankfully, though, he sensed that his irises had cooled down. “What is your…name?” What shall I call you besides mine? he mused through another horrific rush of pain.
Her hands left his face, and Sage wanted them right back on him. “Scarlett Rudavin.”
“My Nevesta,” he hissed, bunching the covers with his fists and reopening his eyes. He wanted to bite his Bride, mark the ever-loving hell out of her, everywhere on her body. So all other males would know she was now off limits. Having Motka in the house, a Dynasty Vampyr of extraordinary prestige and power, didn’t bode well for Sage’s Vojak. And through the agony of his body’s regeneration, Sage could not think past this need…
To mark her.
To pin her.
Yes, those marking instincts Oycher had told Sage about were startlingly potent. Still, he couldn’t yet kiss her! For she had no idea who he really was. What new agony was this? That he couldn't even brush his lips against those of his Bride, his sweet Scarlett.
“No, my name isn’t Nevesta, it’s Scarlett.”
Oh, she was his Nevesta through and through. She’d discover that little fact real soon. “Scarlett,” he repeated, enjoying the sound of her name on his tongue.
“What’s yours?”
“Sage Noskov.”
“Your mother must have been proud of those green eyes to name you Sage, but I don’t think they look so much like the color of sage. It’s such a dry green color. And yours are extraordinarily…” She stopped a minute, the scent of her sudden embarrassment spreading through the room, and even that speared his cock like Cupid’s arrow. “I guess I just insulted you. Or maybe I insulted your mother. I didn’t mean to — ”
“No offense… taken.”
Another roll of pain hit him. He gritted his teeth, popping his jaw in the process of holding back his Vojak.
Look out Scarlett.
“Oh, that looked like a bad one.” Scarlett readjusted the cloth on his head, teasing him with her veined wrist. “Can I get you an aspirin or something for the pain? Maybe a cup of tea,” she suggested, moving away from him and searching the room. “I don’t see your tray here. Did you eat earlier?”
So he’d heard Roman’s conversation right, Scarlett didn’t know he was vampire, which meant she didn’t know about her lycanthrope lineage.
“No… food, Nevesta.” He heard the blanket tear, his clawed fingers no match for the fabric. But what did he expect, when those same clawed fingers could decapitate a werewolf in one swipe? But claws he could hide. His fangs now overriding his common sense and sliding down his chin? Not so much.
“Oh, my…”
“Don’t… run from me.” They dug into his chin, causing a trickle of blood.
“Motka!”
Like an old-fashioned camera going off, his eyes flashed and instantly lit up the room.
A strangled gasp left her. “Motka!”
“Don’t call… him in here.” Sage’s cock, a thundering rocket thrusting forward in the sissy lounge pants Roman had given him, tented the thin blanket. “I will… end up killing him.” A crimson haze veiled his vision, right as a blast of semen shot from his erection.
“Motka!” Her eyes peel wide. “Don’t come in here!”
“Don’t… run.” Before he knew what was happening, Sage’s Vojak took over.
His body, already broadened by finding his true Bride, slipped from the bed. And even though he stumbled in the way of a freshly Undead, he was still far stronger than this whip of a female. And caught her before she ran past the threshold.
He was in front of the door, when she crashed into him. Her nose smacked into his sternum.
“Ow!” she rubbed at it, her eyes expecting to find the door jam or even the door. But surprise was an understatement when Scarlett realized she’d run straight into Sage.
“How did you get over here?” Her eyes turned to saucers, tiny flakes of cerulean blue — werewolf blue, dotting her irises with horrified fury.
Damn, her anger even turned him on!
“Relax,” Sage whispered, his fangs scraping his bottom lip. His vision remained red, but his Vojak only wanted to mark her, to keep Bestra away from her. Hurting her was not an option. In fact, he would kill anyone who even thought of hurting her.
“When men say relax, it usually means women should do exactly the opposite.” She reached for the doorknob but was taken aback to find his be-clawed hand already there.
To her credit, Scarlett threw back her shoulders and jutted her chin like a true werewolf female. “What are you?”
“Yours, I am yours.” He didn’t know how long his legs would hold up, but he knew that his Vojak would not allow Scarlett to leave the room without marking her. “You are mine.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re so freaking huge. Or your eyes… those fangs and claws.” Her voice quivered, but she kept the same defensive stance, even spacing her feet to give her better fighting leverage.
“If you calm down, you’ll see that we’re not that different.”
Then her eyes dropped to his tented pants. She stepped back, pointing at his cock. “What is that?”
He’d never had this sort of reaction to his sex. Most women had found it beyond pleasing, had begged him for more. “Come here.” He reached out his free hand, still keeping the other on the door because Motka was picking the lock with his vampiric mind. And Sage couldn’t have the Vampyr in the room. Or this whole damn thing would end badly for Motka. “Now, Scarlett.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
She tripped over a chair backing away, then accidentally knocked his leather coat on the floor. Several of his throwing blades spun out, one nicking her forearm, which propelled a new scent into the room. This one drove his Vojak nearly bug-fuck crazy.
“Blood… so sweet, I want you.” Forgetting all about Motka, he lunged forward to take his Bride, make her his for all eternity. “And beneath your scent of fear and confusion is lust. Your wet pussy is calling to me. Because you want me just as badly.”
“Get away from me!” She kicked out while rolling sideways, but he caught her easily. “Stop!”
A moan left him. Her body beneath his was worth waiting for, though by vampire standards he hadn’t waited that long. He pressed a gentle kiss to the base of her throat, right where he was about to mark her. “All I want is just a little bite.”
She screamed until his fangs shook.
His hand cupped her face as he looked into her round, blue pools. “The bite won’t hurt much.” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his claws, which seemed to drive her insane. Which way, good or bad? He couldn’t tell for all her screaming.
“I will never hurt you.” Leaning forward and grazing her mouth with his fangs, he vowed, “I o
nly need to mark you and then I’ll set you free.” But she wouldn’t get that far afterwards.
“M-mark me?”
With her right hand, she was fooling around with something. Probably one of his daggers, Sage figured. But she could stab him a hundred times. So long as he got his mark on her, he didn’t care.
“Sage,” Motka warned from behind him, his presence unwelcome near Sage’s Bride. “Get in the bed. You are delirious.”
“Leave me… with my Bride, Motka.”
“I can’t do that!”
Sage lifted his head, looking over his shoulder and baring his fangs in territorial challenge. “Then you understand the consequences.”
Then a hot, searing pain slammed him in the temple.
“So tired of everyone… using my weapons,” Sage mumbled as his toppled sideways, “against me.”
Chapter 11
“What did you do?” Motka stepped forward, rolling Sage away from Scarlett.
“I hit him with this stun gun.” She held up the odd looking box with a trembling hand. No matter that Sage came at her with nearly three hundred pounds of muscle, Scarlett couldn’t believe she was forced to slam someone into unconsciousness.
When he spotted what was in her hand, Motka went pale. “Did he hurt you?”
A flush warmed her. “No.”
“So he only scared you?”
Pointing to Sage as she stood, Scarlett asked, “Why wouldn’t I be afraid? What exactly is he?”
“He’s ill, that’s all.” He gave her a thorough once-over, gently removing the stun gun from her grip. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he hefted Sage and tried to drag him to the bed.
But Sage cried out, stopping Motka. “Get me a pillow. I’ll have to leave him on the floor.”
She tossed him two.
“I’m not in the medical field, mind you. But I’ve never heard of any illness that involves fangs and claws. Unless we’re talking rabies. And he’s no animal.” Then she took in Motka’s slumped shoulders, his defeated expression. “Or is he?”
“You’re very tired, Scarlett.” He stood and cupped her elbow, pulling her closer to him.