by Maya Daniels
I lose my train of thought when he lifts the glass higher than necessary, filling my mouth with more blood than I can swallow. It trickles down the sides of my face, and I tilt my chin up with tightly pressed lips pushing the cup away before chocking on the large gulp and almost coughing out a lung. My chest burns while I curl up on my side, hacking, my arms wrapping around my middle.
“She should be fully awake now.” The male’s voice sounds breathy, like he’s been running a marathon.
“Francesca, can you hear me?” Fenrir pushes the hair off my face, his large palm settling on my back and rubbing it gently. “You don’t have to speak, just open your eyes.”
“There are easier ways to kill me, you know,” I rasp, still choking with my eyes pressed tightly shut.
“Yes, we almost figured that out.” The Fae chuckles weakly, the relief in his voice pulling my eyelids open.
His hand stops the small circles he is petting on my back when my gaze locks on his. I see the blood drain from his face through blurry, stinging eyes—probably from the coughing fit I’m trying to keep at bay. Confused, I move my face to see who else is in the room, but my cheek sticks to the drenched fabric of the sheet under my head, making it more difficult. Finally, I’m able to turn, and the moment I lock eyes with a male sitting on a chair next to the bed, he howls something and jumps away from me, toppling over the falling chair.
“Fates, help us.” Crab walking away from the bed I’m curled on, he lifts one hand, making some sort of signs in the air. “What have you done?”
“If you don’t stop whatever it is you’re doing, I’m going to drain you dry.” My throat feels raw like I’ve been chewing on shards, and I frown at the male.
“Breathe, Francesca. Close your eyes and deep breaths,” Fenrir butts in, pulling my focus away from the weirdo still waving his hand in my face.
“You were just begging me to open them.” Hissing at him through clenched teeth, I’m reminded again of how he pales when I look at him. “Shit. It’s my eyes, isn’t it? They are …” Closing them tight, I breathe through my nose.
Damn snake eyes. Well, dragon eyes, now that I know what creature is mixed in my DNA. I never heard of it before I stupidly went to the Academy. I still know next to nothing about it, either, only that I scare the shit out of everyone—like I didn’t do that before my eyes started going all freaky … Just one more thing that makes Francesca Drake an abomination.
When clothing ruffles and the air changes around me, I lift my lids slightly, seeing Fenrir stand up. In one step, he is in front of the male still sitting on the floor, yanking him up by the hand that is making those weird signs. He mumbles something intangible under his breath, and with a shocked look painting his face, he looks up at the Fae. The same second his eyes glaze over and a slack smile lifts the corners of his lips. I fully open my eyes, watching them both. Fenrir whispers something I can’t hear from the rushing of blood through my veins, and the male turns around, leaving the room with a soft click of the door closing behind him.
“I thought vamps were the only ones that could screw with your mind.” Lifting on my elbows, I squint at the Fae.
“I’ve learned a trick or two throughout the years.” He gives me a lopsided smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Through the centuries, you mean?”
“Or that.” With a slight nod, he turns to face me fully. “How do you feel?”
Searching inside myself, I consider his question. “I don’t feel like I’m about to burst into flames if that’s what you’re asking.” My mouth twists in a grimace, and I pluck the wet shirt gingerly on my chest between two fingers. “At least I’m alive, right?”
“There was never a danger to your life per se.” He dismisses my questioning look with a wave of his hand, his long fingers flicking the air. “There was a danger to your life as you know it. The hunters use potions that change who we are inside.”
Swinging my legs to the side, I sit up on the edge of the bed, forgetting all about the discomfort of my sweaty clothes or the wet hair plastered to my head and face. My breathing speeds up, uneasiness gnawing a hole in my stomach. The feeling of my body going numb and shutting down returns with a vengeance, reminding me how powerless it feels to be unable to fight it. I thought it was killing me.
I guess that makes me wrong.
“What does that mean?” Fenrir starts pacing at my question, his long legs doing a three-step walk back and forth in front of me.
“We think …” A long graceful finger is shoved in my face. “We don’t know for sure, so don’t go jumping to conclusions. This is all a speculation so far.” He waits for my nod before blowing out a harsh breath out. “They either have a mighty mage on their side with magic as ancient as the one the board has, or …”
I wait while he frowns at his moving feet, glaring at them as if they hold all the knowledge he wants as hostage. With the mention of old magic, I look within, hoping to feel the monster inside me stir, but it doesn’t. Since my legs can’t hold me up, it manages to somehow retreat and hide from me. Trying to be rid of it for so long now, I never think I will actually miss feeling it.
Fenrir sucks in a lungful of air, pulling me from my head. “Or, they are using the blood from one of the old gods.” He whirls on me so fast I find myself sprawled across the bed. “And before you say it, I know how insane that sounds. It’s unheard off, preposterous even.”
“Fenrir …” I sit up again.
“No one in their right mind will go anywhere near to draw blood from one of the old ones. I know it; Zoltan knows it.” His arms are now waving around angrily, chopping through the air. “Even a moronic creature would know it, just by survival instinct alone.”
“Fenrir!” shouting his name stops his meltdown into insanity. “I get it, okay? Calm down.” I go for a placating smile, but by the look on his face, I probably look constipated. “No one in their right mind would go near them. Got it. So, what type of a mage can pull shit like this? And you still haven’t told me what exactly it does, this potion.”
“It turns any supernatural feral.” He clenches his jaw tightly, and I can hear his teeth grinding. “If it’s not caught and pushed out of the bloodstream in time, it can turn any of us into a beast—a monster. I’ve seen it happen too many times.”
My heart stops, my stomach dropping to my feet. Snapping my head to the side, I claw at my shirt, ripping the sleeve at the seams and tossing it away from me. A tingling in my skull warns me that it’s not natural to react like this after the fact, but I can’t stop my nails scraping at the skin where the cut used to be. Red welts form where I keep scratching at it until a chilly, calloused hand grips them, stopping me from making myself bleed. I look up at Zoltan’s handsome face.
I didn’t feel or hear him coming.
“We can’t be sure it’s all out.” My words come in a rush, all the breath exiting my lungs at once. Fenrir sticks his head over the vampire’s shoulder, watching me with too-wide eyes.
Not taking his eyes off me, Zoltan lifts my hand to his mouth. One of his nails transforms into a black, sharp talon that pierces my wrist. Still watching me, his soft lips press on my skin, and I feel the pull all the way to my lower belly when he takes a mouthful of my blood. A low groan deep in his throat lifts the short hairs on my neck. His look is so intimidating and terrifying that my heartbeat picks up a notch, hammering my ribcage.
His tongue licks a small circle there, pebbling my skin, his pupils shrinking and dilating a few times while I hold my breath. The air is charged with something so intense it almost makes me want to crawl under his skin and never get out from under. My fists clench to stop me from moving.
Fenrir clears his throat uncomfortably.
“Your blood is your own.” Zoltan’s deep voice sends a tremor through me, and I shiver.
“Good to know.” I clear my throat twice before I’m able to reply, and I tug gently on my arm, silently asking him to release me. “You didn’t answer my second ques
tion.” I glance at the Fae over Zoltan’s shoulder.
“Right,” Fenrir straightens, tugging on the bottom of his shirt that somehow ended up untucked from his pants. I frown at it. “It must be a powerful mage, a very old one at that.”
“How old?” Something nags at me in the back of my mind, getting more slippery the harder I try to grasp it. “Soren old, or you old?”
“Me old would do the trick, I suppose.” His eyebrows pull low over his eyes.
“So, we are talking about ancient fucks here, huh?” My attempt to lighten the situation goes down the drain when he glares at me. “You don’t have a sense of humor, Fae. Otherwise, I’m hilarious.”
Jerking back, I scowl at Zoltan when he sniffs in my direction. “I’m sweaty, I know. I nearly went feral on you two, remember? No need to be rude.”
“You fed her your blood.” Ignoring me, Zoltan whirls on Fenrir like he carries the wrath of God in his soul.
“I had to bleed her while the mage worked. I saved her life.” Lifting his chin in defiance, the Fae stares down his nose at the slightly taller vampire. It’s impressive to watch, really. Then his words hit me.
“You did what?” Screeching, I jump off the bed. The fucker didn’t just say he was bleeding me while I was unconscious.
Something stirs in my chest, and the thought of the magic inside me waking up sniffles my anger for a moment. I press the palm of my hand between my breasts, willing it to show me it’s still there. Somewhere along the way, the feeling that I need it as much as I need air cemented itself in my head.
“Astara is missing.”
Zoltan drops the mother of all bombs, and I plop back on the bed.
14
“She was right behind me when we chased them through the city,” Zoltan growls through his teeth. “She separated from me for just a block and never showed up after that.”
“This is not the first time she’s fought hunters. She knows better than to get herself trapped.” Fenrir sounds like he is trying to convince himself, not Zoltan.
“I don’t understand why we are still talking?” My fists keep clenching and unclenching on my thighs. “Let’s go find her.”
“I’m sure she would love knowing that you care about her enough to go looking, but I think we should just wait.” Folding his arms over his chest, Zoltan sighs, leaning back on the wall. “This is not the first time she has gone off on her own when it comes to them.”
“You didn’t sound very excited about her disappearing in the middle of a chase when you told us.” Frustration eats at me when he just stares at me blankly. “I was here when you said it. Astara is missing.” Mimicking his deep voice, I manage to get him to glower at me harder.
“We wait.” There is finality in his words, making them sound like an order, and anger rears its head inside me. Fenrir nods sharply like an excellent little soldier.
“You’re not the boss of me.” Internally, I flinch at how stupid that sounds, but I’ll be damned if I let them see it. Zoltan’s eyebrows climb all the way to his hairline.
“You are not going anywhere near the hunters, Ms. Drake.” His low words are like stroked coals starting a fire inside me. I’m back to Ms. Drake now, too. “You are too weak after being injured.”
“How dare you, you motherfucker.” Snarling, I can feel my eyes shifting when every detail of his face becomes crystal clear, including the veins under his skin. “If you told me what I could be facing, I wouldn’t have been in a position to get injured.”
The trademark smirk returns to his face.
It’s panty melting to be sure, and it makes my knees weak even now, but I’m too pissed off to let it destruct me. His face is so intense, I can feel cold sweat beading on my upper lip. The magic makes a pathetic attempt at stirring up, but it evaporates as fast as it comes. Poor Fenrir looks like he wants to crawl into a tiny hole and hide. At least he keeps his mouth shut.
“And what would you have done differently if you were told?” This Zoltan reminds me of the asshole I first met, arrogant and just a plain old jerk.
“Not saved your ass when they wanted to skewer you, for starters.” Gloating at his glower, I cross my own arms. “I would’ve paid closer attention to their weapons instead of everything else.”
“You should always pay the most attention to the weapons, regardless of how harmless you think they are.” Pushing off the wall, he looms over me, trying to intimidate me. “That should tell you that you’re not as ready to fight them as you think you are.”
“I will not sit here while Astara is out there somewhere.” Deep down, I know he may have a good point, but I will not be able to live with myself if the only friend I have gets hurt while I cower and hide.
“You need to feed.” The comment startles me from everything else I wanted to say. “Fenrir, leave.”
“Right.” The Fae spins on his heel like he’s planning to do just that.
“Don’t you dare, Fae.” I feel the nails biting into the skin of my palms.
It’s almost comical to see the imposing royal dart his gaze from the vampire to me with a look of panic on his face. I can see the war he fights inside, wanting to do what Zoltan asked and not wanting to piss me off. I watch him from the corner of my eye, not looking away from the damn Daywalker.
“Fenrir.” Zoltan’s gaze turns smoldering, a knowing smile tilting the corners of his mouth up, showing just a hint of his fangs under it.
The word is punctuated with a blast of power that burns my skin. The punch of it is so sudden it leaves me gasping for air before I’m able to stop myself. With just one look, he has me in a puddle, and I hate it as much as I’m starting to get addicted to the feeling it gives me.
“What in the worlds is going on?’ The door opens and Leo pokes his head inside, looking around until his gaze lands on me. His eyes turn into dinner plates.
“This is not happening,” Fenrir snaps, bolting for the door and shouldering the shifter out along with him. “They can either fuck or kill each other, I couldn’t care less. Karma will be a bitch …” his voice trails off when the door slams, closing me in a small space with the vampire.
Small space with a bed.
Panic makes me lightheaded and heat pools between my thighs. To make matters worse, Zoltan’s nostrils flare. Swallowing thickly, my lips barely move when I call after the Fae. “Coward …”
“You need to feed.” My tongue runs over my teeth at those words. My gums are throbbing.
“I need to shower; I fed already.”
“You can feed as you shower.” He takes one step closer, the smile growing on his face.
“Umm, no.” My breaths are short and too fast, but fuck it. As long as I can talk, I’ll try my best to talk my way out of this. “I had enough blood. I need a shower … only a shower.” Damn it, but I don’t even believe my own words.
I take a few steps back, not watching where I’m going. Earlier, with all the craziness entering my life with potions and humans alike, I noticed a door there, so I’m guessing it’s the bathroom. Whatever it is, I don’t care. It is a door. One I can put between me and those blue eyes that want to claim my soul.
A muscle dances on Zoltan’s jaw, and his lips press in a thin line when I mention feeding from Fenrir. Well, I fed from a glass, but the vampire doesn’t know that. And the fact that it pisses him off makes me all giddy inside, like an idiot with a death wish. What can I say? I’m lucky I’m tough to kill because with logic like mine, I should’ve been dead many times by now. My head tilts, eyeing the vampire. Maybe he is not wrong for keeping me away from the hunters. Not that I’ll admit that to him.
“Go shower.” He growls, holding himself stiff as a board. “You’ll have to feed from me after unless you want me to rip Fenrir’s head off. I can smell his blood in you from here.”
“Maybe you should stop sniffing me.” I lift a finger up to punctuate my statement and almost run to the bathroom when he growls with an embarrassing squeak. “Asshole!” I lean my forehead on
the now-closed door between us when I yell the insult.
He chuckles.
“You really are an asshole.” Shaking my head and murmuring under my breath, I blow out a sigh.
He is a tempting destruction as far as destructions go, but I can’t let my attraction to him stand in my way. I thought the kidnappings and killings in Sienna were terrible. If I put all the pieces together from everything I’ve been told, and if it’s all correct, someone is trying to bring the hunters across the portal—the same killers that use potions on their blades to make us feral and not remember who we are. The shiver that crawls up my spine is so strong I shake my arms aggressively to ward it off.
“I can hear the wheels turning in your head from all the way out here.” Zoltan’s voice carries over the door like there is nothing between us. “Shower, then we can talk it over. Whatever it is that’s bothering you.”
“Will you kill it?” Pushing off the door, I peel my shirt with disgust. “I need clothes, these have to be burned or something.” The stench of sweat, blood, and a sweet clawing odor of the potion burn my nostrils when I bring the shirt to my face.
“Will I kill what?” Zoltan focuses on the things that interest him first, typical male. “There are clothes left for you here. I see them at the end of the bed.”
“Whatever bothers me, will you get rid of it for me?” Fighting to keep the smile off my face, I kick off the boots and slide the pants down my hips.
“I get a feeling that’s a trick question.”
“No one ever accused you of being a dumb bloodsucker.” A chuckle escapes me. “Get rid of yourself from the room, will ya? It’ll stop bothering me.”
“You know that you’re not funny, right?” I can hear the smile in his voice contradicting his words.
Fiddling with the taps, I hiss when scolding hot water almost blisters the skin on my hand. The sound of the rushing spray from the showerhead muffles Zoltan’s words until I pull my head out of the glass shower.
