by Talyn Scott
After ending the call, Dru picked up on a plea for help or maybe a growl. He met Bane’s eyes. Before they could react, they saw one of the two werewolf guards fly through the air as if thrown. Dru jumped behind a concrete pillar with as much discretion as he could muster and then misted to the scene. The werewolf’s throat had been ripped out, but Dru did not have a prayer in saving him if he could not get to him. Aliens were everywhere, one picking him as his personal punching back. After a rough landing, a larger Habaline lifted him one-handed and hurled Dru backward against a concrete half wall, which divided a small hangar from an unused runway.
Dru released the Species. His bones sharpened underneath his skin. His whisky-colored irises bled through the whites. Fangs draped his lower lip, deigning to tear into any available flesh. He held up a freshly clawed hand for protection while getting his bearings. A rib punctured his lung, and his right femur was now shattered. Teeth savagely bit into the flesh of his arm, the creature sucking what blood it could before aiming for his throat. Then the Habaline straddled him, its superior strength overpowering a battle-weakened Dru. He was gasping, unable to catch his breath while forced ruthlessly against the concrete.
They met eyes.
“Stop hunting us.”
“You’re…the one…dripping with…my blood,” Dru hissed through clenched teeth, listening to the sounds of Bane fighting off countless creatures yards away. His Beta long released in battle.
“Ah,” he said knowingly, still pinning Dru, “you are the doctor who treats all immortals indiscriminately.”
“True,” Dru answered on a sharper gasp, willing his body to knit more quickly, but the damage was extensive, “though… when placed… in this position, I drastically rethink… my public servitude.” Alien eyes glittered before flaring with the Species. Even though he was part vampire, this Habaline was not the other they scented moments ago.
“Doctor, though you treat those who hunt us, I suffer you to live.” Adam enunciated every syllable, “If only for you to treat my newly formed faction this night.”
“I’ll… bleed out before the hour… is up.”
“Furthermore,” He continued without regards to Dru’s statement, “upon your faction’s acquiescence, we agree to leave you and yours in peace.” He inclined his head towards Bane, the creature’s long hair blowing around their faces. Dru refused to follow with his eyes. He knew Bane was over there fighting for his life. The Beta’s blood called out to him through the life essence Bane shared with Dru.
“You’re… blaming us for… cleaning up your mess.” A dark shadow passed behind the Habaline. Dru continued as though he had not noticed. “Taking… females…you show yourselves before…the humans.”
“Agree to my terms or die,” Adam demanded, opening his mouth wide, protracting his needlelike fangs to deliver Dru’s deathblow.
“I…have no…authority to agree…for my Coven.”
“Oh, but I have,” Maestru hissed, wrapping his forearm around the Habaline’s throat. Pulling him off Dru, Maestru thrust a Stavz to his neck, his finger hovering over the trigger. “Don’t ever put your hands on one of my children again.”
Winds formed by a bizarre power kicked up all around. Out of nowhere, blurred symbols dotted the air, their ancient markings etched in steamy wisps as they danced in calculated patterns. A slow vibration shook the ground right before a sweltering wind gusted under his Master’s long, leather duster. As it billowed out, Maestru’s ebony strands blew back from his shoulders, displaying his striking face under the moonlight. His obsidian-colored eyes appeared tortured. However, Dru sensed he owned these otherworldly powers; felt them in his Species bones. And with ease, Maestru had called them to contain an alien creature of immense authority, and that kind of power was horrifyingly amazing.
Upon a stronger wind, they disappeared into fine, black dust. Followed by a vacuum of sorts, its air pocket sucked any power trails left in their wake. Then, a deafening silence ensued, as though the whole thing never happened. And Dru sure wished it hadn’t. “I’m a… mess,” he said wearily, understanding others needed his medical expertise, and he was helpless to aid them. Before he could call out for Bane, dark pinpricks dotted his vision, connecting to one another until he could no longer see. From there, his mind drifted somewhere far away and pain free.
Chapter Nine
A Monster’s Dance
Sixten stared down at the Species female dancing with him, her nipples pressing into his chest with calculated precision. Six Feet Under was wall-to-wall, packed tightly with vampires and werewolves. The exterior line was snaking around the block, and Ryan had added three bouncers to the entrance. Yet on this dangerous night, the club held no humans. They forced the humans to remain outside for a reason. Power drew power, especially where Habalines were concerned, and all hopes were on capturing a decent number of them tonight without more bloodshed. At least, their efforts would ease the hunting on the streets of Fort Myers.
More importantly for Sixten, he would smell Blythe’s scent on any who had been around her. The Vojaks remained helpless pulling information out of those they had already imprisoned, so Sixten was counting on a new lot he would personally interrogate. They just needed to catch them first. Over the years, Sixten had perfected selective torture techniques he reserved for special occasions, such as this. And after their unfortunate encounter with Poison, a creature who claimed to know where his Blythe was, he was more than ready to pull out his old bag of tricks and go at it.
Poison will die soon…and painfully.
Sheila, his bait, pressed herself against him again, her arousal scent drifting from underneath her red skirt, floating to his nose. How he wished he was not part Habaline, needed to draw the others out instead of hiding in the sidelines readying to ambush. But that wasn’t the case. And if Sheila recognized the fact he wasn’t growing hard for her, she pretended ignorance.
“I’ve missed you,” she purred, dragging her foot up his calf on a slow stroke.
Missed him? If they had ever fucked, she certainly wasn’t memorable. Then again, all memories paled before Blythe. “Seriously, if you pick my favorite trousers with your heels,” he whispered, thrusting a hand in her hair and whipping her head back, “I will hurt you.” Everyone could mistake his rough handling of her for passion, but not Sheila.
“I will give you whatever you want,” she still tried, her fangs glistening under colored lights pulsating behind artificial fog.
“I’m sure you want to,” he murmured, grazing her cheek with his sharp fangs – a strong warning from a male vampire. “Females always want to give me what they think I want. I’m sexy as hell, and I practice uncivilized fucking. However, you are here for only one reason, and it’s not to ride my joy bus.” A wash of power heated the air, extraordinary creatures circling the club. “Unless you hunger for an insane Habaline mixed blood capturing you, do not deviate from your earlier instructions.” His dangerous smile, promising the edge of a rusty blade, pebbled her flawless skin with gooseflesh. Although she wanted him, she still feared him. Sixten had never witnessed goose bumps on a vampire, but he could be creepy, even to himself. “No improvising, naughty Sheila.”
“You are a Habaline mixed blood,” she purred seductively, yet the muscles in her throat work nervously. “I remember what is different about you. How you made me feel like no other.” Referring to how his dick was not the same as other Species, she dared to cup his package after his pointed warning. Then, she had the nerve to pout when it stayed flaccid.
“If you weren’t trained for battle, I would take you into the alleyway, tie you up with silver, and sit on you until one of my freed brethren spotted you,” he whispered in his most charming voice. “Then watch as they had at you, and believe me, they don’t know when to quit. We’ve already found several females ravaged to death.” Although she flinched, Sheila kept her hand on his balls, squeezing. “So I’ll have to settle for this.” In vampiric speed, he brought her hand away and snapped her
middle finger.
“That was uncalled for,” she hissed, shaking out her hand with discretion. “Who breaks a lady’s finger?”
“Sheila, you are no lady.” He rolled his ice-green eyes at her ridiculous scowl. Mercifully, he’d given Sheila the equivalent of a human paper cut, and he knew she would heal in a few minutes without feeding. “Spread your legs for anyone else. Now, be a good female, and smile for your hungry audience. Three mixed bloods just arrived, and one is heading this way to cut in.”
“I hate you.”
“Maybe, but I can smell that you still want me,” he laughed coldly, running his hand down her back. Not in a lover’s caress, though it certainly looked like it. Through his palm, Sixten pushed a static power out in a way that warned Sheila he would do more. She needed to stay on the task. A serious matter, such as this, could get them all killed if one immortal refused to pay close attention. A risk he and his fellow Vojaks were not willing to take. As far as her touching him, no one would touch him in that way, apart from Blythe. In their world, vampires were possessive, protecting their territory at all costs. Mates were the pinnacle of their territories, and he would remain faithful to his wife in every way. “If you want me to save you,” he said on the deadliest of whispers, “do your best, darling.”
Having reached them, the freed Habaline kept his eyes on Sixten, undoubtedly thinking he was recently freed, too. “You are well adjusted,” his voice was strong, almost melodic.
“Not really,” Sixten answered truthfully. If the freed only knew how crazy Sixten truly was, and what he fought back every second Blythe was away from him, he would be wise to make a run for it. As time passed with its dream-like quality, Sixten tamped down what incivility he could in order to get information to save Blythe. Still, he felt himself uncoiling, and that monster he turned into mere hours ago before feeding off Poison, continued its insidious emerging. “I just know how to hide my wild side.” Before the freed could ask, he offered up Sheila, “She’s all yours, wet and soft and willing.”
“You give her willingly?” The freed did not hide his astonishment. Sixten noticed that a human male heavily scented his clothes. Obviously, he had stolen them, and it was Sixten’s sincerest hopes the owner of said clothes still lived or, at least, died painlessly.
“She’s not my type,” Sixten said, winking deliberately while easing away. “I prefer a masculine hand, a male’s fangs and such.”
“Oh,” was all the freed said, before layering himself on Sheila.
Obviously, he had never danced before, so he swayed and roughly nipped at her throat, before placing his open mouth over her pulse and sucking eagerly. This creature’s intentions of tearing it up on the dance floor took on a completely new meaning. In so many ways, Sixten felt pity for him, and since he was a selfish bastard, that was saying a lot.
He could hear Sheila’s heart kick up like a trapped bird. Trained or not, if she panicked, she would warn the other freed who were now circling to enter the club. Sixten discretely caught Kash’s attention, wondering if he sensed the others nearing from outside. Tonight, Kash did not bother hiding his clearly inhuman eyes with darkened glasses. His warrior body stood draped by a couple of Species females, but his lavender peepers stayed fixed on the freed. His chin lifted in an arrogance only warriors held, creatures who felt comfortable in the authority they wielded and their ability to bring down another living immortal with their inborn skill.
Rock joined him, running a slow hand down the arm of the nearest female, nuzzling her nape. Normally, Rock wouldn’t get near Kash and another female, but this was a signal meant for Sixten to join them, so he did. When he reached them, he nodded at the dog, hating Rock ten-fold for all the times he got between Blythe and he. Temporarily, he had to shelve the hate. “And?”
“Just received a mental directive from my Beta,” he murmured, casting low bands of miasma so the others couldn’t hear. “Oycher tried to reach you.”
Simultaneously, Sixten and Kash pulled out their phones. “Dead.”
“Mine, too,” Kash said.
At Rock’s raised brow, Sixten snapped, “They were charged, but certain creatures suck the energy out of a room. Phantoms and…,” he trailed off, nodding to the alien dancing with Shelia. “So give us some credit, Beast, we’ve been around for centuries without these devices and still made off just dandy.”
Rock ignored his attitude. “Serious hit on Fort Myers Field from shifters.”
“The small airport off 41?” Sixten asked.
“That’s the place. I’ll take over the club from here.” He wrapped his wandering hand around the Species female, fixing his eyes back on the Habaline. Another joined the two dancing. “Bane said Dru Holt is down, as well as some of ours.”
Kash urged the other female toward Rock. Even though he was as attractive as any male Species, she clearly did not want to be in the arms of a werewolf. Sixten could not blame her. Thoughts, such as those, would keep her protected. “I trust him,” Kash said with a tick in his jaw. Although she was not his mate, his vampiric instincts were to keep any female away from a Beast at all costs. Sixten did not share those instincts unless the situation involved his Blythe, then it was anyone’s guess what his shifter side would do.
They made their way to the side door, easing out into the narrow alleyway. Sixten glanced around, checking the area before they misted away. “I don’t scent any wandering humans, do you?”
The wind rustled Kash’s coppery spikes, blowing them away from his face. “Nah.” His eyes hit INKS. It remained closed for the night. “Ryan had that dick Sven shut down his spa, right?”
“Yep,” Sixten answered, remembering how Blythe worked in all these places, hoping to catch any lingering scent of hers, but it was not happening. “The others can handle what’s circling.”
“Let’s go.” Kash dissolved and Sixten followed him.
Everything below receded as they drifted over the city, spreading their physical forms across the way. The stars were not shining, but the moon stood bright. His mind always emptied when in this state, his slow motion button tapped on his inner remote. An extraordinary experience he never tired of, though he had traveled this way all his life, countless times since his childhood.
A place where he could study the fragments of the world around him, bits here, places there.
Wormholes there.
He nearly froze over the river, his bodily molecules swarming around him. Kash whirled around him in a warm gust, urging him on, reminding Sixten they had no time to dally.
But I’m not dallying.
No, no, he was discovering.
Qudir’s earlier words struck him hard: “You’re like a key, Six,” the commander had said, “a freaking key opening their hidden lair.”
What if I am?
He had no time to think about it now.
They reached the airport, misting in behind the largest hangar. A soft gasp left Kash’s mouth. When Sixten turned to look, a Stavz was pushed against his cheek. They’d definitely misted in the wrong spot.
“Hello, Vojak,” its voice greeted him pleasantly, though the Stavz gave Sixten other ideas.
“Ambassador,” Sixten corrected just to be snarky. His eyes flicked down to the cold metal pressed against his skin. Three days of painful regeneration was not on the menu. He glanced back up where the Habaline smiled like a pirate over newfound booty. Sixten had invented that look and didn’t like it used back on him.
The Habaline blinked in confusion, but kept the weapon where it was. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He may have fucked Sheila and not remembered it, but he definitely would have remembered this guy. He was a strangely blooded mixture Sixten didn’t have time to sort out. “I didn’t expect to see you anywhere,” Sixten said. “Clearly, you have my attention.”
“Your father…” a gasp left his throat, far louder than he had heard from Kash. His eyes glittered like the scorching dessert as he sank to his knees, opening his mouth bef
ore dropping the Stavz. He died before he could finish.
Bane was on the other side, wiping the blood off a Habaline blade. “What was he jabbering about?” He cocked a dark brow, his eyes flipping between his kill and Sixten.
“Jabbering about?” Sixten was not going to let that one fly. His secrets were his own. “You could have let him have at me before you took his life.” Or waited until he delivered a pertinent message.
“I welcomed you to the family.”
“Right,” he laughed mirthlessly, “one happy family.” Minus Blythe. Kash stood up, walking toward them, though he was missing a large chunk of his throat. “You gonna bleed out?”
“No. A couple of surface cuts.” He shrugged, flicking a glance toward Bane. The Beta was already walking away.
“I don’t owe you,” Sixten called out. He could have taken the Habaline, but needed to hear his message first. Bane had actually screwed him over. Problem was, the Beta was trying to do right by him.
“I know.” He kept moving toward Oycher. All battles had ceased and those walking were gathering the wounded.
“I get it, though.” Although he would never trust Bane, Sixten was going to get this over with for Blythe’s sake. “Your protectiveness as a male over your familial female…I get it.” He lowered his voice, the syllables strangling him on the way out, “Someday, if I’m lucky, Blythe might have my daughter.”
Bane stopped, but he didn’t turn around. So Sixten continued, “I wouldn’t want her to mate someone like me, either.”
The Beta’s hands fisted a couple of times before he said, “Neither would I.”
Oycher signaled Sixten and Kash. “Head to the Sanctuary. Maestru has a live one.”
Without another word, Kash and Sixten misted over to Captiva Island.
Bane knelt down next to Dru, and Oycher followed him. Blood smeared his long hair, yet a wide smile split his face. His orange eyes danced when he praised, “You did good, Doc.”
