Crimson Ties

by V L Moon

  “Enough, Tobias. You are and always have been our son,” Jorn growled. “Do not challenge me again, pup. You are not so old that I won’t take you over my knee and tan that God damned insubordinate hide.” Jorn reached out and clasped his shoulder.

  “Gay, straight, pink, blue or black, I don’t give a fuck what or who you are. To me, you are Tobias Chamberlain, my only son and the heir to this pack.” He gave Tobias a little shake. “Now stop the drama; gay you might be, but a queen you ain’t. Now, we have a few hours until we fly home, I suggest you go find your mate and burn off some of that energy before I take you up on the challenge you just threw my way. I dare say he’ll need to feed, and you’ll need it too. . Take my word on it. If you love him, strengthen your bond before you leave.”

  Jorn leaned in and pressed his lips to Tobias’s forehead. “Goodnight, my son.” Gob smacked, Tobias stood and stared as his father closed the bedroom door. Numb from the shock of not only his own bravado, but his father’s outspoken opinion of him, Tobias exited the room. He walked the halls of his vampire mate’s enclave lost to his own thoughts and in desperate need to find and feed his male. Something about the way Jorn spoke worried Tobias. Did his Alpha father know something Tobias was unaware of? Or, was his resonating order to find Roman Jorn’s idea of fatherly advice?

  Not that it mattered. Ever since meeting Roman, Tobias had the overwhelming compulsion to mark and mate, bite and saturates himself in the essence of his vampire’s scent. The musky, heady aroma drove Tobias wild, and just the memory of its allure was enough to bring on the threat of change. Something he couldn’t allow, not within an enclave of blood hungry vamps.

  A shiver ran through Tobias, making his balls ache and the tip of his cock weep. His father was right. The need to feed Roman, feel the slow penetration of the male’s fangs sinking into his throat and the flow of his blood being dragged into that warm, comely mouth superseded everything else. A low groan rose in his chest and rumbled up and out of his throat as a mournful howl. The wolf in him bayed, called for the attention and touch of its mate. The beast’s need rose, as did the swelling within Tobias’s pants. Picking up his pace, Tobias headed for the far end of the enclave where Roman’s own security solemnly stepped aside to let him pass.

  When he entered Roman’s quarters, Tobias knew the male had yet to return. But, Roman’s scent soaked the room. Tobias wanted to roll in it, cover every square inch of his skin in its sensual allure. Making quick work of his clothes, Tobias dove naked into the bed and rolled around the huge four-poster. He yanked and tugged at the heavy quilted throw until he wiggled his way between the crisp clean sheets. With a frustrated groan, he pressed the long, hot, swell of his painful erection hard against the side of the bed where Roman slept. Roman wasn’t there, Tobias would sure as hell let the vampire know he’d been thinking of him while he was away.

  Closing his eyes and bringing one hand up to grab at the headboard, Tobias sucked two fingers of his other hand into his mouth, covering the length of both of them in saliva before running them down the seam of his ass. He moaned as his fingers played over the sweet patch right behind his ball sack and teased around the tightly clenched flesh of his hole. His ass reared up, and his fingers penetrated. Tobias gasped and finger-fucked his own ass, jutting his fingers in and out as he lowered to grind his hips against Roman’s bed.

  Sinuously, he rubbed his cock over the sheets, covering them in the sweet beaded drops of pre-come that leaked from his slit. Over and over, Tobias filled himself, spreading his ass wide while thoughts of his male ran rampant through his mind. When their connection slipped into place, Tobias moaned. He knew Roman could feel him, smell the wild musk of his wolf’s amorous mood.

  Hungrily, he humped Roman’s bed, wishing it was the vampire’s ass he was filling, spreading it wide with his fat swollen girth. Tobias panted as Roman’s ghostly whisper floated over the flesh of his neck and licked along the vein that so yearned for his bite. Tobias thrashed on the bed. His golden mane of shaggy blonde hair slicked with sweat as he writhed beneath the feel of Roman’s spectral touch. Ghostly fingers gripped his cock and rubbed over the thickly ridged veins. It dragged down the soft skin before stroking up and over the tip and rubbing over the dripping slit.

  Fuck it felt good. The cool ethereal grip against the heat of his wolf had Tobias arching up to meet each touch. Every inch of his skin prickled with the energy surging between them. Tobias thrust into invisible hands, hands that knew how to bring him and milk him dry. Grunts of exertion echoed in the room. Tobias strained, the veins on his neck pulsing and his spine bending as he let loose and howled through the impact of his orgasm. Protruding claws tore through Romans sheets, shredding the Egyptian cotton as ribbons of hot milky fluid covered Tobias and welled within the lower ridges of his muscular abdomen.

  Spent and panting, Tobias rolled across the bed, covering what was left of his male’s sheets in the pungent aroma of his ministrations and leaving something of himself behind. He knew his scent would drive Roman crazy, and the vampire wouldn’t rest until he fed from Tobias.

  “Come get me, big boy,” he said into the empty room. “I’ll be waiting.” He smirked as he quickly showered and redressed before leaving the room. He could well imagine the thunderous look on Roman’s devilishly handsome face when his scent hit him and Tobias was nowhere in sight. Just the thought of how they affected each other so strongly made Tobias’s blood run hot. He wanted Roman in his bed, in his life, all the time.

  There wasn’t a second when the vampire wasn’t on his mind. Things needed to change. They couldn’t carry on the way they were. Wolves needed their mate close, and Roman being on a completely different continent most of the time wasn’t good for Tobias or his wolf. He’d heard the stories of how wolves pined when separated and passed it off as neediness, until Roman.

  However hard he tried to pull off his usual carefree attitude, he just couldn’t do it anymore. Roman was under his skin and a vital part of Tobias and his wolf. Every minute spent apart caused his heart to ache, which was when his wolf needed to escape. The beast in him couldn’t handle the degree of pain caused by their separation. So, he’d change, run and hunt and let the intermingled thoughts of his pack help assuage the agony he felt when needing his mate.

  The longer they spent apart, the deeper the pain seemed to penetrate his heart. It left Tobias feeling ripped apart. And, therein lay Tobias’s answer to his father’s earlier words. Every time he needed Roman, desired to mate, hunt or have the vampire take his blood, their bond deepened. What if the separation from a living mate caused more harm than good?

  Wolf mates separated by death never fared well, but what of living mates separated as they were? They came from two very different races. Could Tobias live with the ache that tore through him and threatened to consume his wolf? Or, would their forced separation eventually break their bond along with Tobias’s heart? What if Roman didn’t realize the exceptional rarity of how unique their relationship was? Tobias was already suffering. He didn’t feed as well, or sleep with the pack. Instead, he chose to sleep alone in the bed he shared with Roman on the occasions when the Elder vampire found time to escape. He wasn’t sure how vampires fared, but from what he’d seen of Malachi when he’d found out Lorenza was missing, it wasn’t very good.

  A tremor of fear ran through Tobias. He didn’t want to think about how losing Roman would literally tear him apart. As much as Malachi tried to hide behind his stoic features, Tobias hadn’t missed the look of utter grief that shadowed his eyes. He didn’t want that for Roman or himself. Something had to give between them before the distance separating them caused irrevocable harm to them both.

  Shoulders hunched, Tobias whined for his mate. Whatever it was that caused Darklon to snatch Roman away, had better have been nothing less than a national emergency. Otherwise, he might see fit to let the wolf in him free. There might not be much meat left on Darklon’s old bones but Tobias was sure in his affirmation that the miserable old f
ool definitely wouldn’t be missed.

  ~*~*~*~

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ~*~*~*~

  Grad Rijeka, Croatia

  Hunger dragged him unceremoniously from the grasp of the Sole Dormire. Frantically, he clutched at the peace of sleep’s oblivion, but the cramping in his stomach refused to relent. Whispers started even before he was fully conscious, like bees buzzing in a field of flowers. The drone echoed in every corner of his mind. He moaned and clutched his head in shaking hands.

  As the sun set over Kvarner Bay and Grad Rijeka, Darklon De Sangue wrestled his inner demons for control of his own thoughts. Greed warred with pride while lust battled against envy. His need for power and adulation clamored against his intense hatred of Malachi Denali. But, it was lust that roared the loudest.

  Vischeral.

  His every waking thought was consumed by the male he’d lost. Three hundred years passed in the blink of an eye for one of his age, but the time didn’t lessen the craving that ate at his heart and mind. The perfect male, strong of body and mind, beautiful to behold and he’d been Darklon’s for too short a time.

  A snarl of rage escaped his tightly pursed lips. Denali had taken him and still hid him. Darklon would never believe otherwise despite the vampire king’s protests to the contrary. Darklon’s animosity for the male surged higher and hotter with every dusk that settled over the Earth. The arrogant bastard would pay and pay dearly for his interference.

  The vision of Lorenza hanging bloody and emaciated in Vischeral’s former basement eased the snarl into a purr of satisfaction. The process had already started. Soon, very soon, Denali would replace his whore and Darklon’s revenge would be complete.

  A jolt of hunger throbbed in his fangs, interrupting the incessant buzzing. He grimaced when the muscles of his stomach echoed the spasm. At his hips, his engorged cock bounced with the pounding of his heart. A want that was never satisfied ripped him apart.

  “Vischeral,” he moaned. “I need you.” Movement at his side yanked him out of the haze of his dream state and into the harsh reality of what he called life. His gaze snapped sideways. The sight of midnight black hair and sun kissed bronze shoulders stole his breath. When he finally managed to inhale, the scent was wrong. The brutal death of instantaneous hope incited his fury. One handed, Darklon grasped the male by the back of the neck and tossed him from the bed. He landed in a sprawled heap of naked flesh.

  Terror twisted the hunger from his innards. How had he allowed someone close to him when he was most vulnerable? Such a slip could cost him his life. With limbs quacking from shock, he barely managed to calm the tremor in his voice. “Identify yourself.” The demand dropped with acidic authority into the sparsely furnished room.

  Inside, Darklon trembled in horror. He didn’t remember the male, had no clue how or why the male was in his safe house, much less in his bedroom. The fact they were both stark naked soured his stomach. Had he been unfaithful to his Vischeral? So many years alone, feeding from the nasty humans to stay alive, but only when the hunger nearly cleaved him in two. Had the madness robbed him of his vow? Would he go to his male tainted?

  He rose from the bed; his fury finally overriding the fear. His nakedness gave him a moment of pause, but he refused to cover himself. He was a fucking Elder and despite a millennium of life, his body remained rock hard and toned. Only the slight graying at his temples gave any indication of his great age. He strolled almost casually across the bare floorboards to loom over the stranger who rested on his side.

  “How quickly you forget, vampire. And, here I thought our union meant something,” the male responded in a sleepy drawl. He stretched sensuously before effortlessly shoving up from the floor. A sardonic smile played across lush lips. Eyes lighter than a summer sky sparkled in the dim light. Unconcerned by his unclothed state, the male stretched again, putting his magnificent body on display. Darklon’s cock responded as his blood heated. The reaction troubled him.

  “Should I say that I am Vischeral? He is the one you kept calling last night.” The taunting words infuriated Darklon even more. The male had no right to utter Vischeral’s name. He bit back his ire as a troubling question tormented him. How had he been so lax? The stranger knew his darkest secret, his desperate need for one male. He knew Darklon’s safe place, and he’d broken Darklon’s vow to remain pure for his lover.

  Darklon repudiated any responsibility for the act. The male had to be a demon, a plant by Denali to discredit him. Sweat broke out on his brow. But how would Denali know where to find him? Had Roman betrayed him? The whispers in his mind grew louder; their censure eroding his confidence. Paranoia snapped the tether to rationality.

  He lunged for the man and blinked in surprise when he was brought up hard by the bedroom wall. He twisted to stare up at the male who hovered near the vaulted ceiling. Wings! He had fucking wings. He’d copulated with a Nephilim. Hysteria gurgled in his throat. He’d betrayed Vischeral with a fucking half-breed.

  “Tut, tut, vampire. Grumpiness is not an attractive virtue.” The male landed on the far side of the room. Amusement colored his deep voice. When his hand fell to stroke the rock hard cock jutting from his hips, Darklon’s hunger burned his throat. With sickening clarity, he realized he craved the male’s blood. Even if he didn’t remember taking from the Nephilim, his body did.

  The male continued to stroke himself slowly. “We had quite the good time last night, my dark lover. I planned to feed you and entertain you a bit before I must report to my Queen, but not while you have murder in your eyes.”

  Darklon scoured his memory. When the hell had he met up with the Nephilim? He remembered the signing of the treaty, the clash with Malachi, Roman’s visit to the villa in the mountains, and then his stay with Lorenza. Dark lust spiraled through his veins at the memories; the first vicious strikes of the whip and the open defiance in her eyes, the sweet scent of spilled blood, the delicious thrill of her pain. He’d been flying high, drunk on success. And then, nothing but a black well of emptiness until he’d awakened. The lapse in his memory fed his insecurity. He needed Vischeral, the strength of the male’s mind to make him whole again. The whispers were getting louder, beckoning him into madness.

  The male across the way shifted. He was a threat that had to be eliminated. The voices chanted for blood and death. He and his psychosis agreed. “Forgive me, il mio amante. I am not used to waking with someone in my bed.” Darklon relaxed his posture and allowed a smile to soften his harsh features. Languidly, he dropped his gaze to the Nephilim’s hips and licked his lips. “Come back to bed and let me make it up to you.”

  The male wavered, his gaze flicking to the rumpled sheets and back to Darklon. In the end, he shook his head. “I think not, vampire. Your hunger is practically crawling over your skin, and I have no wish to die this night.”

  “You wound me,” Darklon said and paused expectantly.

  “Finley,” the Nephilim gave a mock bow. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Lord De Sangue, though I must say the introduction last night was quite memorable.”

  A predatory smile curved Darklon’s mouth. “So you say. I’m afraid the Sole Dormire has wiped the memories from my mind. Care to refresh them?” He bit back a cry of triumph when Finley’s lust won out over his common sense.

  Long strides brought the male across the room. A lean, nicely muscled body pressed into him. Soft lips scorched the skin of his throat. His hunger bloomed and he struck, his fangs sinking deep into the male’s vein. Power surged over his tongue. He moaned in pleasure, unable to swallow fast enough to satisfy his thirst. Blood leaked down his chin to stain his chest.

  When he finally lifted his head, the Nephilim hung heavy in his arms. The warmth of his flesh cooled quickly, and Darklon dropped him without a second thought. The male was dead before he hit the floor, drained of blood and life. Stepping over him, Darklon moved to the closet and dressed quickly, leaving the crimson liquid to dry on his skin. Thirty minutes after he’d awa
kened, he ported out of Croatia and took form in the mountains of Italy.

  The crisp air of early December kissed his exposed cheeks as he strode toward the villa holding his prize. Precipitation scented the air. Clouds obscured the night sky, obliterating the stars. Dead grass and dried leaves crackled under his boots.

  The blood he’d just taken chilled in his veins when he glanced up to see the door stood ajar. Panic clutched at his throat. He covered the remaining distance in a blur. A howl of fury shook the walls when he found the door at the bottom of the stairs hanging on its hinges. Vischeral’s face stared at him from a hundred locations, but the female was gone. The chains dangled uselessly from the ceiling. Even the stench of fear had evaporated.

  “Roman,” he growled the name. The younger vampire had deceived him. After all he’d done to get the whelp appointed to the Council, the bastard betrayed him to the King. His eyes locked on the midnight depths of the picture across the way. He blinked, and swore the lips moved.

  “Punish him.” The deep baritone sounded in his head. An unholy light flared to life in Darklon’s eyes. He crossed the room, hips rolling like a seasoned street walker. Lust, awakened by the Nephilim, zinged through his system. His lips met the lush ones of the oil painting, and he pressed his erection into the solid wall, imagining it to be Vischeral’s hard male body.

  “I will do as you bid, lover,” he cooed to the image of his male. “He will regret his disloyalty.” With a final caress of Bourne’s image, he pushed away from the stone. He ignored the rock hard appendage jutting against his zipper as he closed his eyes and ported to the South American enclave.