Mr. Vrana (A Soulmark Series Book 4)

by Rebecca Main

  “Your conversation went well?” he asks.

  The street lights from outside cast a soft glow upon him. His blue and silver eyes seem far darker than I know them to be from my position across the room. The sharp line of Jakob’s jaw relaxes as I close the door behind me, my eyes never stray from him.

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “Any plans of a grand escape I should be aware of?”

  I spare Jakob a minor scowl as I prowl toward him. “You know I wouldn’t leave you now,” I say, placing my hands on his chest as I stand before him. Jakob returns my scowl.

  “Do I?”

  The poignant question is quick to earn my ire.

  “How could you ask me that? I already told you, Jakob. They found me.”

  Jakob catches my hands as I begin to yank them away from his chest, but he pulls me forward. His expression is the epitome of chagrin. “Forgive me. The thought that you might be convinced to go and leave me again is… unbearable.”

  My anger dissipates with his confession. But only a touch. “That doesn’t mean you get to be an ass,” I hiss, successfully stealing back my hands.

  “I said I was sorry,” he grumbles, following me as I go over to one of the built-in bookshelves.

  “You said, ‘forgive me,’” I correct, showing him a flash of my annoyance over my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his own aggravation carving its way into his tone. His arms slip around me from behind me, holding me captive against his firm chest. “Forgive me,” he whispers along the modest exposure of skin my sweater allots along my neck.

  His cool breath breezes over my skin and stirs the resting embers inside me to a flame. I lean back into his embrace, my eyes drifting closed as he nuzzles the area.

  “I suppose I can find it in my heart to accept your apology and forgive you,” I say lightly, my tone edging toward harder notes as I continue. “But I won’t stand for these types of accusations any longer. I don’t deserve them. And another thing.” I turn around, my neck craning back to look him in the eyes. “I want you to be civil with my family. And I want to be able to see them and talk to them whenever I wish.”

  Jakob’s eyes harden. “And will this ‘civility’ go both ways? You forget, dear heart, before we had the pleasure of meeting, I watched your family quite closely. They aren’t ones I trust to keep their tempers in check.”

  “I can handle my brothers,” I assure him, sliding my hands up his chest and around his neck. “As well as you.”

  A devilish smirk transforms Jakob’s entire face. With an effortless tug, my feet are lifted from the floor and my body pressed flush against his. Our faces are only inches apart.

  “Then by all means,” Jakob purrs, threads of hungry red sweeping into his vision. “Handle me.”

  My legs hike upward and wind around his waist, seating me higher so that I look down upon him. There is an intensity to his gaze that lingers across me as it travels over my body. It is dark and primitive beneath his glacial stare, and inescapably male.

  I shiver at the thought, letting my fingers find roots in his hair.

  “As you wish,” I murmur, tilting my head down so my lips might press against his. Jakob meets me eagerly. Our lips dance together as if tasting each other for the first time.

  I struggle to disengage Jakob from his jacket and button-down, my hands stumbling over the simple task. When I finish, I slide my hands over his torso. His skin is cool and hard and smooth beneath my wandering fingers.

  I refamiliarize myself with his body slowly, admiring each muscle and his lean hips. As I continue my exploration of the solid panels of his chest and shoulders, I wonder how I could have ever thought him cold.

  He is like a statue beneath my tentative touch, but the pulsing life of the soulmark betrays his indecent intentions. My lips and tongue travel down his neck. He tastes vaguely of salt and the memory of his blood springs to mind. Rich and velvety. Every inch of this man is magnificent, fierce, and vital. His strength and love for his family has gracefully bore time’s test.

  He moves us to the bed, each step triggering a flexion in the muscles wrapped around him.

  “Don’t forget,” I murmur, as he sets us down, “I’m in charge.”

  “For tonight,” he counters, silencing me with a kiss that leaves me breathless.

  Jakob trades places with me at a languid pace, making sure my sweater and bra find their place near his own clothing. I feel a shudder pass through his frame when I brush my nails along the waistband of his trousers. They loiter at his hips, and I briefly glance at the expression on his face.

  He looks back at me with fervent hunger. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen before. They are akin to a hurricane with their center swirling with dark promises.

  Jakob grips my wandering hand and places it over his straining length. On reflex, I grasp him more tightly than I plan.

  A low groan escapes his throat, and a thrill ignites within me. Jakob’s throws back his head. His throat bobs and his eyes close in abandon. I trace the length of him, making short work of his belt and trousers after. Then I discard my own in a flurry of need, and I reseat myself above him.

  His hardness rides the line of my wet heat, and I moan with pleasure. Unable to resist, I sink down onto his cock without preamble, my fingers digging into his torso to leave their mark.

  Inch by torturous inch, I take him in at my leisure.

  Jakob does not seem to mind. His hands grip my thighs like a man lost at sea, and he groans deeply, as if he’s been yearning for this for centuries. My heart catches in my throat, and as I bear down on him the last perilous inch, I watch his face contort with something close to agony.

  “Still happy to have me handle things?” I ask as I bend over him, my lips hovering just above his own.

  Jakob offers me a brief grin, head tilting just enough to graze my lips as he answers. “Minx.”

  A sharp slap across my bottom follows his accusation, and I ride up his length in surprise. We both moan our approval. And then I am moving against him. Slow and careful at first, I allow my body to attune to his hard member. Jakob resists rising to meet me, allowing me to have my control. His hands grasp the bedsheets in exulted torment, and I watch the way he writhes beneath my rocking hips.

  This holding back… this quiet control he exudes to the world around us, devoid of passion and emotion is not what I want between us in bed. I want more. I want all of him. Unrestrained and wild and mine.

  I rake my nails down his chest in a sharp reprimand and earn myself a venomous hiss when small beads of blood erupt sporadically along the puckered skin. I take my time licking each up, working Jakob up into a frenzy with my unhurried movements. I catch his fierce gaze, filled with crimson and so much more….

  I don’t protest when he flips us back around and takes his place above me. His arms tremble with barely-there control, braced on either side of my head. The hungry look in his eye drives needles of heat through my body and a wave of need that seems insatiable. He slides his hand down under me and raises my body against his hips.

  I cry out, my head tossing to the side as he buries himself so deeply inside of me I know not where I end, and he begins.

  What a glorious feeling.

  Each hard movement drives a moan from my lips, and Jakob lowers himself to capture my mouth in a masterful kiss. Never slowing or stilling his demanding pace, until I can only cling to him.

  The end comes hard and fast for both of us. Like ice, I shatter. Beneath his sweat-slicked body, I quake, feeling the remnants of his own pleasure rippling through his body. He collapses above me, and it is a most pleasant weight.

  For several minutes, we stay like this, entangled in one another until Jakob drags us onto our sides. His hand smooths back the damp strands of hair clinging to my front, his stormy eyes searching my copper ones.

  “It seems I cannot help myself,” he murmurs, pulling my wrist—my soulmark�
��to his lips and delivering a soft, quick kiss. I gasp in delight, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment as bits of electric pleasure bring goose bumps to my skin.

  “We all have our vices,” I say, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I suppose I’ll forgive you this one time on one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “Tonight my brothers and pack mates will have dinner with us.” Jakob’s face falls to an expression of pure horror.

  “Anything but that.”

  I smile benevolently at him and make sure my voice is pure sugary sweetness. “No going back now, dear heart. Besides, I have some news to share. With all of you.”

  Epilogue

  The Vrana family home is host to a beautiful dining hall, rich in pale blue satin, pearls, and gold accents. It stays true to the airy theme found throughout the home with the wood stained a lovely golden pecan to tie it all together. One could consider the large room inviting, but its current occupants spoil the atmosphere with their hostile manner.

  Eight in total, the sides are clearly drawn. The alphas take each end of the table, their seconds placed directly to their right. The center seats host the unrequited lover and her heart’s desire, and rounding off the final corners sit the middle pairs’ newest interests.

  Thinly veiled disdain wears a mask of civility on each occupant, but not all masks fit. Disaster is inevitable but does not strike until the dessert course.

  “Is the vanilla custard not to your liking, Calliope?” Ruby asks, her mask perfectly in place. “I was certain when deciding the menu a more traditional choice would suit your tastes.”

  Calliope does a poor job of hiding her glare behind her glass of water. Her accusatory gaze shifts from the razor-sharp eyes of Ruby to her former comrade. Nova keeps her crimson gaze upon the untouched blood truffle in front of her. She does not wear the same mask as the others, preferring instead to set her regard upon the meals placed before her.

  “It’s fine,” Calliope answers, setting the water down with a rough touch.

  “Personally, I find vanilla to be a bit boring.” Ruby flutters her lashes, taking a small bite of her blood truffle with the delicate silver spoon everyone possesses for the dessert course. Keenan places a hand on his soulmark’s thigh.

  “I disagree. The vanilla bean might be simple, but in its modest consistency it reflects its steadfast dependability.”

  The table’s occupants swivel their gaze to Keenan. His game plan closely mirrors that of Nova’s, but the young vampyré is quick to note his silence is far more appreciated by Calliope than her own. His choice to speak is also appreciated, Nova notes as she catches Calliope flash a brilliant smile Keenan’s way.

  “Want a taste of dependability?” Keenan teases with eyes only for Calliope. The woman with glowing soft taupe skin nods and allows the large and muscular man to feed her a small spoonful.

  Ruby’s mask cracks at the gesture, and the Inuit vampyré withdraws even more. Her posture sinks back into her solid pine dining chair as if by sheer force of will she might become invisible. Jakob’s steely gaze rests upon the pair’s public display of affection without warmth.

  “Poor taste seems to run in your pack, Irina. However did it skip you?” The three wolves and human snarl at the insult, hushed only by Irina’s exasperated sigh.

  “Jakob! Oh, everyone, calm yourselves,” Irina commands with a certain strain to her voice. “Remember, we’re all adults here—”

  “Some far past our prime,” Ryatt mutters.

  “And we can all behave as such,” Irina finishes, shooting the other side of the table a meaningful glare. Calliope scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest, shooting the hybrid a look of open disrespect. “Yes, I even consider you an adult Calliope, even though you are acting like a child,” Irina continues.

  Keenan growls at the affront, and this time it is Xander who calls the wolf to heel. Calliope ignores the warning and plows on. “Maybe if your new ‘family’ learned appropriate table manners, I wouldn’t feel the need to defend myself.”

  “Maybe if you didn’t flaunt your new relationship so vulgarly, I wouldn’t have to dress you down,” Ruby says with deadly precision.

  Calliope’s full lips part to form an O, while her eyes grow wide and a flush begins to spot her high-cheekbones. “I wasn’t flaunting….”

  Her words trail off as she takes in Nova’s posture. Her hair hides most of her face, and her shoulders are hunched forward. Nova's arms slip to lock around her middle, curling further in on herself and Calliope goes silent. Regret paints her features.

  “I didn’t—”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Ruby cuts in, her words sharp. “Self-absorbed—”

  Before a fight can erupt between the two, Nova finds her voice. “Stop. All right? Both of you just… shut up.” The two women fall silent, as does the rest of the table. Nova's vehemence strikes a chord in all of them. “Tonight has nothing to do with soulmarks. Right, Irina?”

  Irina clears her throat, setting her spoon down next to the small dessert plate. Her copper eyes study the table’s occupants a moment longer than necessary, driving them all to straighten in their seats.

  “You are correct, Nova.”

  “Is it about the blade?” she follows up eagerly.

  Irina’s confidence wanes. Her sculpted black brows pinching together as she shakes her head. “No.”

  “We’ve already reached a deal regarding Vogart’s blade, Nova. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already,” Vrana chastises. A shine of something malevolent pierces through his regard, making the youngest vampyré duck her head once more.

  “I haven’t,” she mutters.

  Calliope opens her mouth to speak, but Ruby chimes in before she can deliver her retort. “Vampyrés,” she whispers. “We never forget.”

  “What deal is he talking about, Nova?” Keenan asks when his soulmark looks to him in dismay.

  “It’s none of your concern,” Jakob drawls. He picks up his blut champagner and takes a prolonged sip. The crystal of the glass glitters beneath the dim lighting, casting a web of light briefly over the table.

  “Seeing how the blade doesn’t belong to you,” Xander says, “but to the Wardens of Starlight, of which two members sit at this table, I’d say the information is pertinent to share.”

  Jakob smiles, slow and patronizing. “Nova is no longer a Warden of Starlight, and if I’m correct, neither is your Calliope. The blade is mine, as well as the amethyst ring. You’d do well not to waste your precious mortal time worrying about such objects, as I have no intention of giving either up.”

  Xander growls and leans across the table, his eyes slipping to gold. “We’ve stolen from you once already,” he says smoothly. “Oh wait, that’s right, we’ve stolen from you twice, haven’t we? A third time is well within our means.”

  Jakob’s hand slaps the table as he juts forward as well.

  “Civility!” Irina shouts. “Both of you—honestly! I didn’t bring everyone together to speak about the blade or the ring.”

  “Then what, pray tell, dear heart, did you wish to speak about?”

  Irina tosses her shining black hair over her shoulder. “Me.”

  “Of course,” Ryatt quips, refilling his glass of champagne sans blood. “It’s good to know not everything has changed about you, sister,” he teases. Irina smiles back with a tad too much fang.

  “What I’m about to share with you cannot leave this room. I’m trusting all of you to keep what I’m about to say a secret… if anyone was to find out, my life and another could be at risk. Furthermore, the whole of the lycan race could find themselves in jeopardy.”

  This captures the room’s attention. Even the chandelier’s light seem to dim further in anticipation.

  “Go on then,” Ryatt encourages. The siblings' eyes meet across the table.

  “The lycan curse no longer holds me back.”

  As a collective, those with a pulse suck in a s
harp breath, while the undead fixate their unease upon Irina. The questions come hurtling at Irina a beat later, but she keeps her head high under their interrogation.

  “You can shift at will?” Xander asks above the others. Irina nods. “You’ve tried?”

  “Of course I have. Multiple times in fact,” Irina answers haughtily. “Do you need a demonstration, brother?” Xander shakes his head, his gaze turning thoughtful and a touch disturbed. Ryatt, on the other hand, cannot hide his interest.

  “I would love a demonstration,” Ryatt says.

  Irina sighs, but the sound is far from one of displeasure. She exudes a simmering eagerness as she sweeps from the table with her new hybrid grace.

  “I’ll be just a moment.”

  Irina departs the room, moving to the cover of the next room to undress away from prying eyes. Though the occupants of the dining room can’t see Irina’s transformation, they can hear it.

  The soft almost nonexistent pooling of fabric as it hits the ground.

  The grinding of bones as they grow.

  The succinct pops as everything shifts into its rightful place.

  Irina lets out a snort, or rather, the wolf does as it gives a shake that travels from head to tail. Her claws tap-tap-tap against the floor as she makes her proud return. Her molten eyes prowl the room before she does a lap. The lycans in the room stare in wonder and awe, though their shock quickly turns to admiration. The Vrana patriarch sports the latter.

  Irina trots from the room, earning a rare smirk from Nova. When she returns it is the alpha who dares to speak first.

  “Is the only way to break the curse is to become a hybrid?”

  Irina hesitates to answer, her own thoughts drawing a frown to her face. “As a matter of fact, no. I don’t think it is. I had a short but interesting chat with the Blancs recently. I have a feeling they know something about the curse nobody else does.”