Captiva Craving

by Talyn Scott

  There was no point in waiting around to find out. She’d nearly reached the third building when that sound whistled overhead again. “Sweet blooded, Donor,” a booming voice called out, “delicious on my tongue.”

  “Oh, God,” she whimpered, still running. They’re herding me.

  A dark tree stood ahead, closer than the next out building. Blythe ducked behind it, drawing in a quick breath, listening as it called out to her again.

  “Blood sweet as any fruit glistening on my tongue, will you come to me?”

  Not hardly.

  “Blythe!” Gianni bellowed, this time, sounding frantic. “Run!”

  Run from him? That didn’t sound right. Instead of running, she plastered herself against the tree, wrapping one arm around its scaly trunk.

  It’s scaly trunk?

  “Shifters, Blythe!” Gianni pleaded desperately, his words punctuated by guttural gasps as though he were deflecting blows. “The Habalines, umph, are after you!” A long hiss. “Run! Go!”

  Tears ran down her cheeks, though she didn’t remember crying. The tree shifted against her and she staggered forward. Daring a glance up, she watched its long gray neck crane. And in what felt like slow motion, a reptilian face loomed down at her.

  “Gianni!”

  Alerting the others to her location was not her best move, but she’d never faced a lizard bigger than a house before. Blythe thought, not for the first time in her life, was that her death was imminent - like within seconds.

  The overblown reptile continued twisting around, landing a clawed foot next to her bare ones. Its sour snort scorched her, and she had trouble catching her breath, not to mention getting her feet to work after it roared so loudly her ears rung. Another answered its call, bellowing through the grove, that sense of herding coming back on her tenfold.

  A man screamed before a ghastly crunch sounded, causing her to shiver. Terrified, she walked backwards, tripping up on long pipes, catching her foot underneath one before landing on the ground. It had not struck her yet, possibly waiting for the others first. Maybe there was a pecking order, Blythe theorized, but she refused to be a slow meal for any of them. Long-term suffering did not become her. And sitting stationary transformed her into a meal.

  Another whirling sound flew overhead, a resounding thump followed. A smaller reptile joined their freaky party, this one as frightening as its comrade. “Please,” she begged for her life, picking up a small, useless pipe to fend them off. Lifting off the ground, she said, “I don’t want to die this way.”

  Both cocked their heads before morphing into glittering spirals, spinning so quickly she fell back on the scattered pipes again. When she looked over her shoulder, avoiding their overwhelming glare, she thought she saw foliage shake a mere half dozen feet away.

  A shadow with golden eyes stared back.

  Gianni was still alive, waiting for the moment to pounce the shifters, rescuing her in order to recapture her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Killing For Honor

  Turning to the manmade valley, Blythe ran blindly, plunging into a deep ravine. In the darkness, she saw nothing as she stumbled and fell, her body mashing into wet leaves and orange pulp. As she moved down, she stumbled to her feet, but it was short lived when she fell again. A steep incline rolled beneath her, granting her momentum. Her battered body tumbled helplessly, spinning over more pipes and bits of broken concrete, spearing and bruising her giving flesh.

  A pang hit her chest when her ribs rammed into a flat structure. Risking a glance up, she realized she’d hit the main out building where the pickup was located. She wiped the wet dirt from her mouth, her arm sliding against her face. The scent of copper filled her nose, but she refused to panic.

  I will not give up.

  Pushing up on all fours before righting herself, she looked up the hill, staring on in fascinated horror as Gianni fought off not two, but three Habalines. A stark realization reminded her that he could have easily misted away, avoiding them without any bloodshed by his inherent vampiric travel.

  But he hadn’t….because of his love for her.

  She negotiated the pipes, cursing to herself as a sharp pain speared that already bruised shin. More tears burned her eyes when she forced it to carry her weight. Better to have some walking pain than being eaten alive…or slowly drained, so she refused to hobble. Making great strides toward the truck, she wasn’t stupid enough to think anyone left their keys in the ignition, or even under the mat. But maybe she could find a tire iron or a large wrench in the truck bed and break the building’s window. Would it be an impossible dream to find a set of keys inside while she searched for a phone to call the one creature who could save her from a nightmare come to life?

  Maybe.

  But sometimes the impossible was possible.

  “Oh, Sixten,” she whispered, her body battered and bloodied. “Please find me.”

  Out of nowhere, the next attack came fiercely, slamming her from the right though she landed without any additional pain. A charging tiger toppled her with shocking strength, its powerful paws caging her in. It stared down at her, watching as she gasped in shocked horror. It yawned languidly, opening its wide jaws displaying a raspy tongue and rows of perfectly curved daggers. When a bloodied Gianni neared them, snarling from behind, the tiger dipped its head to pierce her throat.

  “No!” Gianni, in full Species form, jumped its back, piercing the tiger’s throat with be-clawed hands.

  With a roll of its bestial shoulders, the tiger flicked him off.

  She held up her arm, much the way she did with Salk, and scooted back. “N-nice shifter,” she gulped. A wave a fury flashed behind his eyes, a rough tongue licked her arm, tasting the blood. “Please.” After scooting another inch, it placed a ginormous paw on her chest, stopping her without crushing her. And with a slow turn, it zeroed in on Gianni. A deafening roar left its mighty chest just as Gianni struck for the second time. Blythe couldn’t fathom him taking this thing on.

  “You and your wayward shifters damage my personal hunter,” he snarled at the tiger. “Your true form, coward, face me!”

  Violent tremors overcame the shifter from Gianni digging into his side with fangs and claws. It spun - all fur and teeth - catching him in the shoulder. Still, Gianni moved quickly, bringing his fangs to Blythe’s throat in order to mist her away.

  In a blink, the tiger disappeared in a glittering mist and Sixten solidified. Flaxen hair fell over his forehead, the moonlight picking up those familiar platinum strands. His chest oozed opaque blood common to vampires, and she wanted his fangs at her throat, him feeding from her in order to heal. “Sixten!” Blythe called out as Gianni gasped in recognition.

  He remained over her, hovering above her throat with dripping fangs and astonishment filling his golden eyes. “You will never take her from me!”

  In a voice that would make the devil pee his pants, Sixten replied, “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to mess with a creature like me.”

  Gianni’s dark head snapped up, his lips peeling back from his fangs. “Bow to your Marchii, Vojak.”

  One step forward. “Take your hands off my wife.”

  His royal eyes flared with indignation, his hand lifting up to wave his sputtering guards away from Sixten. Obviously confident with his skills in taking him on solo, Gianni spoke evenly, “I enjoyed your wife, as you call her, writhing underneath me while feeding from her perfect nipples”

  “So she was writhing under you, or over you, or beside you while knee-deep in pleasure.” Sixten shrugged, hooking a thumb in his waistband. “I’ve been around the immortal block a time or two, Marchii. By using your blood bond to your advantage, she succumbed. I don’t agree with those tactics, but I get it. Blythe loves me, and only me. Lack of chemistry can be a bitch. You were desperate.” He drew out that word, the one any vampire never wanted to hear, much less one from a royal house. “Feelings unrequited cause madness in our kind. And they are,” he stopped, standing completely s
till while his power surged on, “unrequited.”

  Gianni bent down and his fangs grazed the side of her neck. That flagrant show of ownership induced a laugh from Sixten that even Blythe wanted to run from. “And you called me a coward?” Sixten’s eyes transfixed on his every movement; he warned, “Step off. Don’t even think about piercing my Bride and running from this.”

  Blythe knew Gianni’s body, his movements; he was going to mist her anyway. However, males were still men. Thinking quickly, she threw down a gauntlet any self-respecting male wouldn’t back away from. “You know I want him.” He tried not to flinch, but she felt his pain. “Any human male would fight for me, for my honor.” She stunned herself, her voice clearly resonant. “Why not you? No more hiding, no more underground life for me, and no shame, you win me fair and square, Gianni, or I’ll never learn to respect you.” She would never respect him and they both knew it, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to turn away in front of everyone.

  “Gladly, pet, I will honor you in this.” He stood slowly, rising regally.

  When Sixten opened his mouth, multitudes of growls clashing with a thousand hisses drown out his response. Blythe couldn’t believe her eyes, and, apparently, neither could Gianni. All around the grove, werewolves suddenly surrounded them, an ambush. The vampires, worn from battling off shifters, reached for their bloodied weapons a fraction too late. They circled, closing in as though they were a pride of ravenous lions zeroing in on the last gazelle – that would be Gianni. A vast force for the twenty or so guards to reckon with, their eyes widened in disbelief. Blythe felt something beneath her skin, that odd calling, and it wasn’t a hunter chasing her. No, she looked up, baring her face to the moon, amazed to feel the energy, a celestial pull. When she brought her chin downward, she braved another peak at them, the werewolves. Their glowing eyes stayed low, half-lidded, enraged over Gianni’s protective stance.

  I would move if I were you.

  She shook her head, furious at herself. All the times she pushed them away, refusing the Beta’s requests, and his Pack members came anyway. Her mouth hit the ground when the largest stepped forward, pointing a clawed finger straight at Gianni.

  Three breaths in and then one slow exhale.

  Frightening, very frightening.

  “You took our Pack’s female, vampire,” Bane graveled in a distorted voice she hardly understood; his opposite hand fisting at his massive thigh. “I take your life as reparation.”

  “You’ll take nothing, be gone!”

  A sudden pounding drummed the ground, rolling under her body. One minute he was in front of her, and the next, Blythe was in Bane’s mouth, carried as though she were a baby kitten. His large palm curled around her waist to secure her as they jumped from pipes and then trees before ending up on the flat roof of the very building she tried for in the first place. Tarzan couldn’t have accomplished it any better, and she hadn’t even closed her eyes in fear. By the power radiating from him, she knew Bane would never drop her or allow another to take her back.

  “But what about Sixten?” She asked and Bane ignored her, his skin glowing as brightly as his eyes, signaling for another to take his place. “R-Rock?” Yeah, definitely Rock, like the rest, he was shirtless, and she recognized his ink.

  Bane leapt from the roof, spinning feet over his head to join the mounting melee. The werewolves were fighting without weapons. Flesh smacked flesh. Most blocked vampires’ blows from serious broadswords by utilizing simple pewter-looking wrist cuffs. Low grunts matched every clang. Copper tanginess mingled with citrus, permeating the night air so profoundly, it worked her gag reflex. “I’ll never drink orange juice again.”

  Shouts erupted in unheard languages, and her mouth opened and closed with each body that fell. Thankfully, they were all vampires, Gianni’s guards. The wolves moved in time with the vampires’ eerie gliding dance. Often, they blurred out, her vision too human to track them. If she weren’t so frightened for Sixten, she would have found it all shockingly fascinating to watch as a bystander. “Where did the shifters go?”

  “Only three remained,” Rock gritted out, his voice morphed with his Beast. “Took off when we arrived.”

  She would have too.

  A hundred prayers went to the sky when Blythe lost sight of her man. Like a brainless idiot, she stepped forward, nearing the edge of the roof. Rock growled low and she jumped, but he caught her easily. A two-worded command followed, “Stay, female.” His large body faced the action as he shoved her behind him with decisive hands. A werewolf body shield, hugely muscled, she doubted anything could touch Rock.

  “Oh, there, he’s there,” she pointed out from underneath his bulging arm, gasping at the sight of Sixten dripping with blood. Gianni wasn’t any better.

  Gianni jumped him, throwing away his blade and viciously tearing at Sixten’s back with alarming fangs.

  Sixten aimed high, nailing him with a throat punch. “It’s about time you dropped the sword, chick.” Slam. “I pick hand-to-hand with prison rules any day.” He punctuated with a killer head butt strong enough to send a royal pansy ass packing, but Gianni kept coming back for more.

  “I will teach you to respect your betters.”

  In Sixten’s long life, no one ever accomplished that. With a low spin, Sixten caught one of Gianni’s legs between his ankles, effortlessly bringing him down while delivering the universal jerk-off sign. “You can’t.” Kick. “Teach.” A fine uppercut Rave taught him before his first bar fight fit in perfectly, breaking Gianni’s nose. “Something.” Two taps to that nose to seal the deal. “That must be earned,” he finished with an elbow to the bastard’s trachea, irritating that earlier throat punch.

  Gianni rolled, righted himself but then stumbled back, gasping for breath, his hands clawing at his chest. “W-what have you done? What’s happening?”

  Sixten’s eyes narrowed, his palm filled with Gianni’s black heart, a trick not many could accomplish with a Dynasty Vampyr, and, apparently, his shifter enjoyed this particular stunt enormously. “If I kill you, she won’t care in the way you want her to.” He squeezed it. “But if you kill me?”

  “Bastard.” Unable to stand until his heart regenerated, he searched for Blythe, eyes zoning in on her right away. “You need me in order to live,” he bellowed, his voice resounding over the sounds of battle, “not this hybrid freak, Blythe.”

  “Pleading with the female while in a territorial battle? The mighty are weak. Of course, I already knew that considering you forced a bond on Blythe to keep her forever bound.” Sixten pushed the still-beating heart to his mouth, taking a bite, drinking whatever he could in the same way he had with poison. Dynasty Vampyrs’ fangs were universally toxic to all beings, except for Donors. Since Gianni’s first bite, when Sixten was in tiger form, he had sensed venom rolling through his body at an alarming rate, and he wondered if he would live. “I could have delivered a killing blow from the beginning, in my shifter form.” He’d wanted to negotiate for her future feedings, to force the Marchii’s hand regarding Blythe.

  “Coward.”

  “So you keep saying, but I’m not the one on the ground.” Sixten knelt down, gesturing around. “Your men are lost. Weakness begets weakness. You as their leader shortened their lives considerably. As for me, anyone, and that includes you, willing to take my female away will remember this.” He brought his hands wide, speaking in his native vampiric tongue, “All this death is on your soul, ancient fool.”

  In a blurring movement, a dagger came up, slicing Sixten through the chest, splitting him wide. The Dynasty Vampyr still enabled without his heart, crouching in front of him and readying for the deathblow.

  “No,” Blythe screamed while Rock held her back. “I hate you! No matter what I said, I’ll hate you forever, Gianni!”

  With a pained smile, he said, “In death, pet, you will come to me, and it will be soon.”

  A snarling Sixten jumped a fraction too late, unable to catch Gianni before he sliced his throat to his spin
e. That move, coupled with his missing heart, took him out permanently. “Fuck!” Sixten roared, staring at the carnage before him. “What a fucking idiot!”

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe…wasn’t going to work. He shook it off the best he could, calming his emerging shifter, and turned to stare up at his beloved wife. The rhythmic thumping of their helicopter neared for a landing. Jumping to the outbuilding’s roof, Sixten wrapped his arms around Blythe, touching her after what felt as though an eternity.

  “You’re a mess,” he whispered, tenderly kissing the slope of her nose, his hands trembling as he grazed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Her pupils were tightening and dilating at an inhuman rate, not normal for her.

  A frustrated sound left the back of Blythe’s throat. “I’m a mess?”

  “Yeah.” Another kiss against her temple, even with Gianni’s scent all over her, she still smelled like the only home Sixten ever knew. And he took great pride in the claiming mark on her throat, one he put there.

  “I hate to tell you this, Six, ‘cause, I know you have that ego thing working.” Her lashes fluttered lazily, her vision obviously tunneling. “But I can see your ribs, and it’s sick.”

  He laughed so hard, so free, and then immediately winced in pain. “Yep,” he agreed, glancing down. “Ribs are amok.” An unmarked, not to mention illegal, chopper landed in a neat clearing. Sixten forced a considerable amount of endorphins through his fangs, lubricating them well for his wife’s special sleeping potion. “Don’t you know heroes can’t be pretty all the time? But I understand your confusion, since I’m always the exception to any rule.” She mumbled something incoherent right before he bit her. Thankfully, she was too exhausted to climax from his bite. Immediately, Blythe settled into a deep, healing sleep before he handed her back over to Rock. “With your life, Beast, protect her.”