by Elle Jasper
I stare at Gabriel, and he lifts one brow. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. At this point I’ll believe anything. Freaky little Victorian Lily equals no eye contact. Besides. Anyone who bears the name Little Lily Johnson? Shudder.
Now we’re all gathered in the dojo. A large, spread-out room the size of at least four bedchambers with windows lining the wall and facing the courtyard. Outside it’s gray, dreary, and bleak. It looks cold. Fortunately, I don’t feel temperature the way I used to, so I’m rarely either hot or cold. The floor is covered with a dark gray padded mat, pretty much like the one in the Duprés dojo. Along one wall there’s a wooden stand containing a myriad of swords. Big ones. Sharp ones.
Silver ones.
“We’re going to break off into groups,” Jake says. He looks at Gabriel, then at Darius, who’s just entered the dojo. “But before we start with the blades,” he scans us all with an inspective gaze, “we’re going to see what other skills we all have combined.”
“You want us to show off our tricks?” Victorian asks sarcastically.
“We’re all going to show off our tricks,” Jake replies. “Two at a time. Let’s start with . . .” He studies each of us. “The wolves.”
Without a word, all of us except Gabriel back against the wall as Lucian and Ginger take the center of the room. Lucian looks at Gabriel. “Human or lupine?” he asks.
I find that very interesting.
“One at a time,” Gabriel instructs, his face expressionless. In his hands is a pair of long, wooden training sticks, probably four feet in length. He tosses one to Ginger and she catches it. “Ms. Slater first. Human.”
Ginger, wearing a pair of navy blue training pants with double white stripes up the sides and a gray V-neck T-shirt tightens her grip on the stick and moves toward Gabriel. Her face is drawn, intense, and she is concentrating heavily. Her focus is solely on Gabriel. Eyes frozen to his. Without hesitation, she moves in.
Ginger Slater is all of five feet, three inches. Maybe 115 pounds soaking wet, with all of her clothes on. She looks like a porcelain doll; her features are so sweet, skin blemish free. Even her voice is soft. Confident, yet soft. She reminds me of the sweet-spoken female cop in that old comedy Police Academy. Seemingly so . . . innocent. Possibly even a pushover. Easy to overtake, especially by a big man—or a big otherbeing, without a doubt. Gabriel is both and he towers over her, by more than a foot, and outweighs her by God knows what.
She moves like lightning.
It proves to be one of many advantages.
Showing no fear and a face lined with determination, Ginger strikes Gabriel first. Their training sticks collide with repetitive, echoing clacking as they pose offense and defense. I study Gabriel’s movements hard, watching everything closely. I’m having a difficult time deciding whether he’s working to keep Ginger’s stick from knocking him in the head or if he’s simply toying with her. As usual, his features are stoic and stony.
Ginger’s expression is . . . mean. I can’t think of another adjective for it. She looks mean as Hell. But even mean can’t fend off a six-foot-three-inch, two-hundred-plus-pound immortal from charging you and throwing you against the wall. I continue to watch her. Ginger’s hands grip the stick tightly, and the little muscles in her biceps tighten with each strike she makes on Gabriel. She reflects each of his strikes, too. I glance at Lucian, and a satisfied smile pulls at his lips. He looks at me and nods proudly.
“Lupine,” Gabriel simply says.
My eyes are glued to Ginger, because even with all the extraordinary things I’ve seen in the past several months with vampires, I’m anxious to see another otherbeing. My mind now logically accepts things like vampires, werewolves, immortals, humans with tendencies. I know them to exist. Yet there’s a morbid part of me that has to see it in action first. Wants to see it. My insides tighten with anticipation.
The fighting stick drops from Ginger’s hands. Before it even hits the mat, it’s happened. Her human form blurs, movement shifts like a breeze wisping through a gauze curtain, and she drops to all fours. When my vision focuses, she is a reddish-colored wolf. She launches at Gabriel, paws to chest, jaws wide open and angled over his throat, and has him pinned to the mat in mere seconds.
“Damn,” Noah says, admiration clearly in his voice. “That is sick, my friends.”
“Oui,” agrees Eli. Whenever he slips into French, I know he’s in deep with whatever he’s concentrating on. Our gazes meet, and he grins at me. I return it. Ginger will be a total asset to the team.
Gabriel’s expression remains remarkably unreadable. “Well done,” he says, looking Ginger the wolf directly in the eye. She sort of bows her scruffy head and backs off of him. Turning her head toward Lucian, he smiles and nods toward the doorway. Ginger takes off at a trot.
“Where’s she going?” Noah asks.
Lucian glances over at Noah. “Do you see that pile of clothes on the mat?”
We all glance down. Damn. Even I hadn’t noticed. Sure enough, there lay the Nikes, navy blue training pants, and Ginger’s T-shirt. Along with a bra and undies.
Lucian smiles. “She’s modest.” He walks over and scoops them up. “Be right back.” He jogs out of the dojo.
Gabriel is up now and scanning the room. “Quite an advantage, those two,” he says, his gaze landing on Jake’s. “She could have snapped my head off with those jaws.”
Jake looks at Gabriel and grins. “I know.”
In my head, I’m wondering why, if they have so much vampire power and wolf power, WUP needs my help. The vampires can read minds, and so can the immortals. They can all fight like insane ultimate fighters, and the wolves can bite off heads. Why do they need me?
“Because,” Darius says, reading my mind and pinning me with a pointed look. “You are more than just a fighting human, Riley. Your mind control alone is a challenge any otherbeing will have difficulty warding off.”
“Victorian has it,” I say, glancing at Vic.
“Not to your extent,” Eli adds. “We all saw what you did to his brother, Valerian. Don’t forget that.”
I glance at Jake. His chiseled jaw tightens as he returns my stare. “We did,” he answers. “Invaluable.”
Oh, great. My mind powers of coercion make me a high commodity in the otherbeing world. Fantastic. Always knew I’d be good for something.
At least five chuckles fill the dojo. Freaking mind readers.
Don’t be silly. You’re good for many, many things to me, soon-to-be Mrs. Dupré.
I shoot a glance at Eli, who is merely staring at me. One dark brow rises.
I fight a smile and shake my head.
Just then, Ginger and Lucian step back into the dojo, and the sparring continues.
I soon see that Gabriel was, in fact, holding back a little with Ginger. I knew it. Although I do think she could’ve probably rendered him headless if they weren’t on the same team. But when Gabriel and Lucian spar, it’s a little more intense. They spar in human form for only a few moments—long enough for us all to see Lucian not only can handle his own, but also watch our backs. Then he morphs into his wolf form and, man, it’s . . . breathtaking to watch. Midnight black, he lunges straight at Gabriel, and Gabriel hurls him across the dojo. All the way across it. My mouth drops open. Literally. I feel a finger at my jaw as Eli gently forces my mouth shut.
Noah and Darius spar. Darius, shirtless and a six-pack you could thump a penny off of, amazes me almost as much as Noah does. Both fight in martial arts form, both equally strong. Only Noah can jump. Abnormally high. Moves fast as lightning. Something extremely sexy about a man who can kick so high, his legs are nearly split in half, like scissors.
Noah throws me a grin. Darius takes him out. Flat-out. On-his-back, on-the-mat out.
Next, Victorian and Jake go at it. Both are vampires, and both are exquisite fighters. Jake is a lot older than Vic, though, and his experience shows. Each throws the other across the dojo, and each leaps high into the rafters above. And des
pite Victorian’s looks—he is almost painfully beautiful, in a polished, aristocratic way—he can morph into one freaky-ass, scary vamp. And there’s not a single bone in his bloodless body that is scared of anything or anyone. Neither morph, though, but rather keep to hand-to-hand combat. Both are pretty intriguing, to say the least.
Sydney and Gabriel take the center floor next, and Gabriel shows Syd no mercy. I mean zero. He charges her relentlessly, and without flinching or shying away—not even once—Sydney charges back. She, like Ginger, is petite and blond, and while not as innocent-looking as Ginger, she does move with a certain grace that is pretty interesting to watch. She lacks the sweetness Ginger still has, too. Like me. Syd is rough around the edges, yet cultured. Classy.
And she can kick some immortal ass, if I ever saw it.
Gabriel grabs Sydney, her back to his front, and has a choke hold around her neck. I swear, I blink, and when I focus, big-ass Gabriel is flying over Sydney’s narrow little shoulders. Gabriel lands on the mat with such force, I feel the floor shudder beneath my feet.
The look on Sydney’s face as she looks down at her mentor is one of smugness. Pride. Serious accomplishment.
Totally priceless.
Next up, Eli and Darius. Now, I’m completely biased when I say Eligius Dupré is a vision of beauty when he is in the heat of battle. Well, maybe not. He’s the sexiest otherbeing alive, and of that I’m 100 percent positive. But he’s a machine when he fights. And he’s totally terrifying when he morphs. He and Darius are apt opponents, and they spar for several moments before either is struck. With my eyes I follow Eli’s movements, watch his muscles tighten when he moves, and once I focus on his face, I’m lost. Such fierce intensity, vigorous determination. He makes sort of a . . . I don’t know, a growling face. Teeth bared, brows drawn. He looks vicious.
“Riley,” Jake says, calling a halt to Eli and Darius. The WUP leader smiles at me, and it’s not a pleasant, welcoming, friendly smile. Rather, it’s one of . . . anticipation. “You’re with me, girl.”
Eli walks by me, leans down, and kisses my cheek, and at the same time slaps me on the ass. “Go get ’em, Neo,” he whispers.
I grin. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” I answer. He’s referring to my Matrix-like fighting skills, no doubt. I have to admit, my new powers are freeing. It’s hilarious to think I’ve traded my thigh-high leather spiked boots, fishnet hose, and plaid miniskirt for Lycra and Nikes. But I have.
Eli grins, and I continue on to the center of the mat. Jake is waiting. He wears a T-shirt and black training pants and is barefoot. His long black hair is pulled back. With his green-eyed gaze, he studies me as I move. Follows my every step. I take in everything about him; weigh him as an opponent in as little time as necessary. I profile him, so to speak. I focus solely on Jake. I block out everything, everyone in the room, and channel all of my thoughts, my senses on just him. The room blurs. Only Jake is crystal-clear in my vision. Everything he does, voluntarily, involuntarily, is magnified. He blinks once, and I hear his lashes brush his cheek. Jake’s body relaxes. His muscles flex at his jaw. His nostrils flare as I draw closer to him. Head slightly lowers. Fingers flex. Then his body leans ever so slightly toward me and goes rigid.
Just as he lunges, I leap upward and over him, landing soundly and in a crouching position behind him. Jake whips around and meets my gaze.
“Nice,” he says, his voice low, even. “Verra nice—”
I dive toward him and have my legs wrapped around his neck, and we’re falling to the mat before he finishes his sentence. We both hit with a thud. Jake’s trapped in my leg lock.
Eli lets out a whistle. I know it’s Eli because, well, I know his whistle. I don’t spare him a glance, though, because despite my little victory over Jake, I don’t trust him for a second.
I’m on my back in less than a second. Jake is straddling me, my arms pinned above my head. Just that fast, it happens. The room tilts; my vision blurs even as I stare up into his face. A smile touches Jake’s lips, and I know he knows exactly what he’s doing. My new gift. The one I can’t quite control yet.
I am Jake . . .
The night is verra dark, and cast in an insipid flush by a thumbnail moon. Shadows extend in awkward lengths along the barren road. It’s damn cold outside, and the stark moors are no barrier for the harsh Highland winds. His horse stamps against the gales, mayhap anxious to reach a nice barn filled with hay. Even through the thick, coarse wool of breeches and a heavy coat, the chill seeps deep, through each bloody layer, far into his bones. He canna recall the last time he was warm. Verra likely ’tis when he last lay next to his wife. Elizabeth’s image comes to mind, her long midnight hair trailin’ over skin so pure and white it nearly glows. Her eyes, large and green, are filled wi’ love for him and their three bairns. ’Tis the image that keeps him goin’. Keeps him warm enough.
He’s no’ far from home—mayhap a league, just over the next hillock. Jake nudges his mount onward, and they pick up speed. At once he sees a red-orange hue plumin’ in a flickering cloud. Far in the distance, in the direction of his home. On the next gust of wind, the acrid scent of smoke reaches his nostrils. His insides freeze and his heart leaps. They’ve no neighbors. Jesus Christ. It has tae be their home.
Jake sinks his knees into his horse’s sides and tears across the moors. Fear clasps his insides. Closer, closer, they grow, and ’tis only when they’re no more than a score of minutes away that he’s swept off his horse.
Only then does he hear them.
They’re all around. They’re above.
Stunned only for a moment, Jake pushes hard to his feet. His heart pounds against his ribs, and it’s then the screams reach his ears. These . . . men—there are five in all—they stand round him, circling. He breaks hard and tries tae run past them, toward his family, his burning house. One grabs his shoulder and flings him harshly tae the ground. The air whooshes from his lungs. He’s lying on his back when the one who flung him walks toward him, placing a booted foot upon his chest. Young, smaller than Jake, and with the palest of skin, his gaze holds and locks.
“They’re already dead,” he says bluntly.
“Nay!” Jake forces the words out of his mouth. He tries to shove the foot off his chest, but he can’t budge it.
The man laughs. “No need to try heroics. It won’t work for you”—he glances off toward Jake’s home—“or for them.”
Jake growls. “You killed them!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. Still, he can’t move. Grief and anger choke his words. “Why?” He thrashes about, trying tae remove the man’s foot. “I’ve got tae get them!” Jake yells.
“Oh yes,” another, in the shadow, says. “He’ll be quite an addition.”
“Aye,” yet another agrees. “His size alone makes him worthy.”
All at once, the men disappear, save the one pinning him to the ground, and a cacophony of beating wings fills the night air. Jake canna tell if ’tis the wind or if they’re flyin’. They canna be flyin’. They’re just men. . . .
“Ah, good man, we’re much, much more than mere men,” the one holding him captive says. “As are you.”
Frozen in place by the man’s single foot, Jake stares with hatred into his emotionless dark eyes. There is no way he can possibly know what Jake is. No one does. Not even his beloved wife. Centuries ago Jake was sworn to secrecy. The rest were slain. He’s the only one left. “I am going to kill you,” Jake says, his voice eerily calm.
With one slender hand, the young man leans down, grasps Jake by the throat, and removes his foot and lifts him straight off the ground. “I know what you are,” he says, his voice even. “Because ’twas I who slaughtered your brethren. You’re immortal.” A slow smile stretches across his face. “And now you’ll become one of us.”
In less time than it takes Jake tae blink, the man transforms. No longer a man. Sharp teeth drop from his gums into long, pointed shards; his lips pull back into an exaggerated grimace. His jaw extends. And his e
yes are now merlot red. Jake knows what he is. His brethren hunted them long ago.
Vampires.
Tightening his grip around Jake’s neck, Jake gasps for air. His limbs are paralyzed and he canna even strike out to defend himself. And in his next breath this monster has ripped open Jake’s shirt and exposed his chest. He sinks those sharp fangs straight into Jake’s heart. Intense pain rips through his body, and blackness begins to suffocate him. Jake allows it.
The last things Jake hears are their voices. Their laughter. But he doesna understand what they’re saying. In his recent memory he retrieves the sound of his children, his wife, screaming. They’re dead. He knows he’ll never see them again. A pain much worse than the physical one his body is experiencing takes over. Fills his mouth, his eyes, his soul, with an acrid blackness. And then he remembers no more. . . .
“Riley?”
My blurry vision clears and I stare up into the modern-day face of Jake Andorra. I understand him a little better now. My arms are above my head, pinned by his extraordinary strength. He is smiling, proud that he’s pinned me so efficiently. Rendered me helpless.
So he thinks.
I’ll go easy on him. Sort of. I mean, he says he knows what I’m capable of, yet he shows no fear. Mocks me, even, with that silly grin. Dares me with that eye twinkle.
My stare fixes on Jake, and I concentrate on what I want his body to do. I tell Jake what to do. With my mind. Like before, everything around us goes silent. Turns hazy. Only Jake is in focus. I stare, concentrate, targeting his mind. It’s like being in a dark, winding tunnel. He’s at one end. I’m at the other.
Balls, seize like you’re being squeezed between a pair of vise grips. Breath, catch in throat. Eyes, widen. Pain, take over until I say stop.
Jake releases me, grabs his crotch. His breath catches and a little squeak emerges. His eyes widen, and he rolls right off of me. Groaning in pain. Clutching his ’nads.
I bask in the glory for only a second or two.
Pain, stop.
Immediate relief eases the lines of pain on Jake’s face. His body relaxes. A stare of intense curiosity and admiration fills his eyes. “That,” he says, pushing up and standing to face me, “was impressive. Dirty, but impressive.”
