by Talyn Scott
He tilted his head, his werewolf was an awesome force. “She,” he growled, his hands clenching around her, “is one of us.”
Sixten fought not to take her when the werewolf’s jaws closed around her delicate throat, lifting her in the way werewolves carried their females. Somehow, Sixten held back and followed them, protecting what was his, until they were miles away in the shadows of the night. He didn’t have to turn around to know the Beta was behind him, waiting. “I know you only did it for Blythe, but I owe you everything.”
Ignoring that, Bane asked, “Can you mist in the shape you’re in?”
Yes, because his hybrid body’s complexity was baffling in an impressive sort of way. “I’m good. We’re you offering to feed me?”
A Beta’s warning growl, and then, “Jayce sent a text. Faction meeting’s just out. Feed, Sixten. Then get with Sayer’s locale before someone outs our bait-n-switch. They’ll be plenty of witnesses for her arriving on Jayce’s property with Rock. That Dynasty Prince has to believe Blythe’s under Pack protection, and, by our right, we retrieved her from his asshat of a cousin and rogue Habalines. If any of yours finds out you killed that stupid fuck Marchii, and not a shapeshifter, you won’t live to see another day. So get going. Plan’s in the homestretch, stick with it.”
“Of all your Beasts here, seriously, none will out me? Even about my ability to shapeshift?”
“Not unless they want to die by the Beta’s bite. Besides, I think you know how much we cherish our females by now,” Bane rumbled, his voice commanding even in small talk. “No werewolf wants Blythe to hurt. That shit just comes from your vampire cronies.”
It sure had. But that thought didn’t stop Sixten from releasing the first real smile he’d had in ages. “I can’t believe I put my trust and my mate in the hands of a werewolf.” He started dissolving on a glittery spiral, flamboyant and unnecessary.
“Show off,” he heard the Beta mumble before he headed back to help clean up corpses, the sort of stuff wandering humans could not find in the morning.
An unexpected sound of struggling helicopter rotors stopped them dead in their tracks. Sixten solidified with a wash of horror on his face as the chopper lowered on one side, weighted by something considerable.
Bane took off in a dead run, growling, “What the fuck is that?”
Sixten inhaled sharply. That smell. If only Kash were here to scent it. Could it be? “A Lovec?” It’s nocturnal body in full Species form, and then some. “I think, shit, it’s a Donor hunter.”
He didn't remember bolting off the roof to hit the next; his body parallel to the Beta’s changing form, but they were half running – half misting, unable to lock on the chopper.
Three breaths in, one slow breath out.
The Beta glowing red now, its skin flared with its fury. Bane risking all for Sixten’s Blythe, and a risk it would be.
A solid mass of black absorbing moonlight, this creature single-handedly pulled down a helicopter. A human-blooded Donor would never see this thing coming in a million years. And if she did, she sure couldn’t fight it. With eyes of glazed onyx, thin yellow slits marked its vicious pupils, and they locked on his wife. “It’s not hunting her, Bane! It’s going for…. Blythe! Oh, God, it wants to kill her. Why? And I put her to sleep.”
They skidded down a tin roof, the last building beneath the dipping chopper. It’s engines just picked up, though its werewolf pilot pressed against the windshield, his head caved on two sides. Sixten spotted Rock reaching around the pilot, trying to take control with one hand, while the other punched the hunter repeatedly.
Sixten tried to distract it. “Mine! Step off what’s mine!” When it wouldn’t turn to face him, keeping his carefully honed tracker senses fixed on his mate, Sixten snapped. This isn’t happening again. His shifter slammed his skull, wanting complete control, and he gave up freely. “I will not lose her to you!” And he reformed into a tiger, growling fiercely, warning the creature off his mate. That he was coming for her.
Bane gripped Sixten’s left paw and spun him out as he jumped high, whirling his body against the Lovec. Sixten dug his claws into its leg, barely holding onto its ankle. The Lovec’s skin was slick and oily. Sixten slipped all over the place. Even so, it didn’t deter him, or stop him from tearing into its greasy side, biting flesh and bone.
“I want my youngling!” It snarled, swatting at Sixten, as though he were a nuisance. But that window of opportunity allowed Rock to slice through the Lovec’s throat with the precision of a rusty saw. Jagged flesh spewed all over the place while white blood sprayed out, coating them all.
Bane smashed the other side, peeling the metal back as though it were a tin can, and then shredding Blythe’s safety harnesses and jumping. That left Rock hitting the Lovec full force, all canines and claws, he toppled him forty feet to the ground.
“She’s mine to kill, a weakling!” It kicked away, rolling until it hit a patch of tree stumps. As it stood, it grew impossibly taller. “My child,” he screeched, pointing at Bane carrying Blythe in an all-out run, his body blurring red across the grove. “Give her to me! No more suffering for her!”
Sixten couldn’t believe his ears, but he didn’t stop. Though right before he took another leap, going for the hunter’s throat, Rock wrapped steely bands around his waist and reared back with an inconceivable strength.
The Lovec was getting away. Sixten reformed into his truer self. “What’s wrong with you?” The Marchii’s venom had weakened him considerably, and he struggled with the werewolf – a first for him.
“Wait…” he panted, still in a full bestial form, “for it.”
“Wait for…?”
Boom!
A flash of orange as the helicopter barreled to the ground. Blades still rotating, it clipped the hunter before whirling him over in a fiery torture device. “That’s gotta hurt,” quipped Sixten, relief in his voice. He easily pushed away from Rock’s arms, the werewolf then morphing into a smaller, human-like size.
Blythe still needed a ride. As this was an alleged werewolf raid, Sixten wasn’t supposed to be here. And since werewolves couldn’t mist humans, Blythe had to arrive at Jayce’s property in a legitimate fashion. He searched around, keeping Bane and Blythe in his sight, watching as the few remaining werewolves went back to clean up after their latest inconvenient scourge.
Rock flicked a casual glance at the carnage before focusing on the largest shed and an old pickup. “We’ve got some hotwiring to do.”
Chapter Eighteen
An Unconditional Love
“Go away!”
“Please, mojo láska, wake up.”
“I’m going to douse you in gasoline and find a blowtorch!”
“Although I’ve been known to indulge in the kinky, that’s pushing it.”
“Help me!”
“Wake up,” a smoldering voice warmed with love coaxed. “My shirt’s off and I know how much you enjoy these pecs of mine, so why miss out?”
Blythe blinked a few times and looked up. Familiar eyes stared down at her, pale green like frost coating evergreens. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
She cleared her throat, glancing around at their old bedroom on Captiva Island. At least, it was supposed to be their home when Sixten originally proposed. Everything seemed so vivid, so real. Blythe wondered if she had died, and this dream was actually her snippet of heaven. “I used to have nightmares about him.” She stretched underneath a vision of her one true love, surprised at how sore she was. She never felt pain during those nightmares of Gianni and wondered why this was happening in a dream with Sixten. “Now I have dreams about you.”
“A lot of women dream about me.” He shrugged, his broad shoulders bunching. “And I’m their father’s worst nightmares.” One arm circled the small of her back, bringing her against his chest. “Well, I used to be before you loved me.”
“I can’t think of a day that I haven’t loved you, even when I thought you betrayed me.”
“Of all the years I’ve lived, I count no days when you weren’t beside me, filling my heart.” He drew in another deep breath. I killed Rave,” he whispered, his drugging breath against her throat. “No one will ever betray you or cause you pain and live for bragging rights, not even my flesh and blood.”
She pushed the hair from her eyes, wondering why this didn’t feel like any other dream. Her heart was beating fast, skipping at random intervals with increasing pain shooting throughout her body. “I never have a doubt that you were my own personal slayer. You’re brave enough for the two of us.” She pressed her hands against his chest, drinking in his warm flesh through. So real, she thought, so very real. Usually, though, he was dressed in leathers or for a night out. Now, he was sporting only pale, low-riding jeans.
“I would never let anything take you away…well, scratch that, keep you.” He licked her ear, sucking on the lobe. “When it comes to you, I have so many things to work on, especially bettering your protection.”
“Sixten?”
“Yes, angel.”
“You…” She remembered leaving her gilded cage, barreling up a flight of stairs after that manacle was removed, and tearing through Florida orange groves as Gianni bellowed from behind. Running as he closed in on her, she would have never gotten away on her own. She gasped in shock. “You’re really here.”
“Well, we can argue that all day long.” He gave her an exaggerated wink. “Are any of us really here? In the metaphorical sense, the experts -”
She plastered her hand against his sinful mouth, shushing him. “This isn’t a dream.”
He twirled his tongue inside her palm, the sensation mimicking inside her womb. “It’s you,” her voice shook, her tears falling fast, streaming through her hair.
“It’s us,” he corrected after pulling her hand away and kissing each trembling fingertip.
With widening eyes, she sucked in a relieved breath. Blythe flattened her hands on the bed, pulling herself up to settle against the pillows when a sharp pain lanced her shin. The second she winced, Sixten dropped his smile, stopping her with tender hands.
“I know you’re injured,” he said, gently pulling the covers away. “That’s the only reason I’m not ravishing you, making love to my wife, and crushing you against me. I can’t wait to do those things and more, moja láska. Hold still.” Deft fingertips brushed over her naked skin, his hands so familiar with her body. He examined everything in vampiric speed before slowing and moving down her legs, setting his eyes to the left. “This one?” He nodded to her culprit pain, her throbbing shin. He pulled his phone from his pocket, sending a blindingly fast text.
“I must have…,” she whispered, parts of the night seeping in. Then she remembered the shapeshifters, overgrown reptiles circling her with greedy eyes and sharp talons. She had kicked at least one as well as her father, and by her pain level, her self-preservation - something Salk insisted she didn’t have – possibly resulted in a fractured leg. “I kicked a big dinosaur looking thing.”
He swung his hair from his eyes, the morning light hitting his platinum streaks. Those arched brows popped high in astonishment and maybe a touch of pride. “You kicked a shapeshifter?” He placed his phone on the nightstand, and then wrapped his long fingers around hers.
“I had to get away, get back to you,” she said on a sob.
“I’ve sat here, staring at you for hours, convincing myself that you were actually home in our bed. Fighting with myself not to wake you, angel, you look so tired.” He cringed a little, smiling self-depreciatingly. “Well, my friends are glad I stopped pacing in front of you and growling at them to keep away…for hours.”
He was enormously muscular, always powerful, but the power radiating from him was different from before. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, but Sixten had certainly changed. “I want you more than ever. How can that be possible?”
“Moja láska, true love is never stagnant,” he whispered, staring longingly at her lips, “but grows every day.”
“Gianni,” she started to explain what had transpired between them and Sixten flinched. “Never mind.”
“You want me to know….” His irises glittered, looking frighteningly vulnerable.
Now, she understood the shimmering as a trait of Habaline blood. Still, she appreciated every facet of her man – not putting fear into the equation. However, explaining what had happened after Gianni had taken her did frighten her. Blythe needed to confirm what Sixten already knew, give him honesty. And she had no idea how he would react. Blythe tried to swallow a knot that refused to go down. “I can’t…”
“We got knocked off course again, angel. We’ll deal with it. After you feed, and we heal you, I’ll give you a nice, long bath.”
The shame was mortifying, bone deep with feelings she could not begin to touch. What if this changed things between them? “You can’t wash it all away with a bath.”
“You’re absolutely right,” he said sadly, locking eyes with hers, “but I can with my love.”
“I don’t think you understand what he made me feel.”
“I’ll tell you what I do understand… that you could never love him. You love me. As far as your debased captor goes, you’re right; I don’t understand the complex bond between a Donor and her Dynasty Vampyr. I’m told it’s an unequalled joining, often unbreakable. However, I do know blood bonds between those of human descent and Species are an overpowering complexity drawing the two together no matter what the human truly wants.” He clenched his eyes before snapping them open. “That’s why younger generations abhor blood slaves, they want to feel what is not forced. What is genuine strokes their egos far better than blood-speak.”
“I’m frightened, Six, truly frightened.” How had Gianni changed her? How would she live without his blood? On top of that, if she lived out the rest of her life, how would Sixten accept what happened?
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I’m not going anywhere no matter what happened. Are you listening? I know what he wielded over you, the strength of a powerful immortal. Only a weakling would blame you for the selfish actions of a spoiled monarch. Don’t you think your male is stronger than that?” He tilted his head, listening to something outside. “I’m going nowhere,” he emphasized again, “not without you.”
She started to speak but he shushed her with his mouth. Brushing his lips over hers, he whispered, “Kash is here. We’ll talk about this later and only if you need to. I don’t have to know what happened unless you want me to.”
A rap at the door didn’t interrupt her response, she hadn’t one to give.
“Enter,” Sixten said without looking away from her, lifting the satiny sheets to cover her nudity. Even that simple gesture made her wince.
He shook his head, running an easy fingertip across her bottom lip. “I had no idea you were in so much pain or I would have called Dru sooner. I think you fractured your tibia. The other aches and pains look like mere bumps and bruises. We’ll try feeding you, patching you up with Species blood.”
“Mere bumps and bruises?” She raised a haughty brow.
“Merely painful bumps and bruises,” he amended with a hollow laugh before gesturing Kash over. “Where’s Dru?”
“He still can’t mist.” Kash’s eyes widened, before he looked at Sixten.
“I wish we were at Fort Myers Field from the get go, preventing Dru’s attack instead of wasting our time at Six Feet Under.”
“Six Feet Under wasn’t a bust.” He looked at Blythe again. “Rock said they wrangled seven, and, true to the werewolf’s promise, our females made out without a scratch.”
“Seven isn’t enough.”
“Wait. The doctor is hurt?” Blythe asked, recalling how Dru had always taken such great care with her, donating his own blood to keep her alive.
“Still hurt,” Sixten said, cocking his head at Kash. “Why?”
“Shifter loaded him with venom.” He lifted a shoulder, his leathers softly creaking.
“Why won’t he feed from Adam the same way I did?” Sixten’s brows knitted.
“Pride. He’ll heal up soon enough. I’m sure the Beta is feeding him alongside Maestru. Power fuels power.”
“Yeah, but not everyone deserves to brandish it.” Blythe realized she had forgotten her manners, meeting Kash’s lavender eyes, she added hastily, “It’s really good to see you again.” While rising, Sixten jostled the bed and her leg protested.
Kash took in her painful expression and shot Sixten a hard look, his eyes singed with displeasure. “She needs my blood.”
“Yours in particular?” She watched her husband – she refused to call him anything less – stiffen at the thought of her feeding from Kash.
“Your alternative is Oycher.”
“The one that reads my mind?” she asked, remembering the imposing vampire with long mahogany hair. His demeanor was nothing close to Kash’s, his sense of humanity seemed off kilter. “I don’t think so.”
He crossed his arms, widening his stance. “Every other Vojak is working a route, chasing down another lead…or dead end, as of late. Do you want to trust a civilian or a soldier you barely know? One look at her and any of them would be more than willing to sign on, but I tell you right now.” His lips parted, the tips of his fangs peeking. “That’s not gonna happen.”
A slow hiss left Sixten, reminding Blythe of a badly punctured raft slapping against rough ocean waves. “You make no calls in regards to my wife.”
“She needs blood,” he softened his voice, glancing at a blood soaked spot on the sheet, “and saliva in order to heal.” Since Sixten was a halfling, he couldn’t provide for her in that way, a nasty punch to his oversized ego. “It’s pointless arguing. I don’t think she wants to set a cast on her leg for a month or so. Nor do any of us want to risk her being treated at a human hospital,” he stated the obvious, though his tone was definitely clipped.
Blythe sensed the tension between them, but vampires were forever volatile so she didn’t give it a second thought. “Where’s, um,” she stopped, looking at his hands, “the bag?” Dru had given her transfusions through her veins, the doctor donating his own blood to heal her.
