Giving a lift of his hand, Viper directed his clansmen toward the distant traitors. He had commanded to take as many alive as possible. Not out of any sort of sympathy. Hell, he would willingly bind each of the vampires to the ground and leave them for the sun. But he understood the wisdom of making an example of Desmond and his clan. He wanted their executions so visible that no other chief would ever again be stupid enough to dare raise a hand toward the Anasso.
He waited until his men had the vampires wrestled to the ground and safely in the silver shackles he had brought before returning his attention to Styx.
There was only one vampire remaining.
Viper hesitated.
He should no doubt intervene.
Styx was out of his mind with fury, but eventually he would come back to his senses and he might very well feel regret at the carnage. The vampire had always been way too concerned with morals and ethics.
One glance at the bronzed face, however, halted any thought of stepping between the man and his enemy.
There was no mistaking that bleak, ruthless expression.
The vampire had released his battle lust. Perhaps for the first time in his entire existence.
Anyone stupid enough to step in Styx’s path was doomed to death.
Even Viper himself.
Inching close enough to take action should things start to go wrong, Viper allowed himself to simply enjoy the sight of Styx as he prowled forward, the sword moving in an intricate, beautiful dance.
All vampires were blessed with strength and power, but few could match Styx in either. And even fewer could claim his lethal skill with weapons.
He was a master doing his thing, and it was a pleasure to watch.
The terrified vampire managed to raise the crossbow he held in his hand and aim it in Styx’s direction. The effort was too little and far too late. With a large bound Styx was standing directly before him yanking the crossbow from his hands and crushing it with a low growl.
Stupidly the vampire did not fall to his knees and beg for mercy as he should have. Instead, he fumbled beneath his cloak for some hidden weapon.
A lethal smile touched Styx’s lips as he lifted his sword. There was a blur of movement, and the young vampire was suddenly standing without his head.
Viper grimaced.
Yow. Battle lust, indeed.
He stepped forward, intending to capture his friend’s attention when Styx tilted back his head to sniff the air. With a motion too swift to track, he whipped around to study the vampires who were neatly shackled and guarded by Viper’s clansmen.
A low growl made the hair on the back of Viper’s neck stir. Oh, shit.
—
Styx still smelled blood. And at the moment he had no real understanding of friend or foe. To him anything moving was fair game.
It was going to be up to Viper to somehow calm the ravaging beast.
Perfect. Just freaking perfect.
Slipping his sword into its sheath, Viper was careful to keep the dagger in his hand as he moved toward his friend. He didn’t want to hurt Styx, but he couldn’t allow him to kill his clansmen.
Muttering a curse, Viper forced himself forward. Once Styx started his charge there would be no stopping him.
Making a wide circle, Viper made sure that Styx had plenty of opportunity to see him before he began his approach. A wise man never approached a twitchy vampire from behind.
“Styx. My lord.” He held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “It’s over. The enemy has been defeated.”
The dark eyes flashed toward Viper, but there was no indication that he truly saw him.
At least not anything more than an irritating impediment to his goal.
“Desmond lives,” the towering vampire bit out in an awful voice.
“He is properly shackled,” Viper said slowly. “If he manages to survive his injuries he will be executed before the Committee and clan chiefs. He must be made a lesson to others.”
Styx hissed, his eyes still unfocused and glittering with death. “He will die by my hands.”
“Of course he will,” Viper soothed. “But only after he has been branded and condemned by our people.”
Without warning Styx shot out his hand to grab Viper by the front of his shirt and yanked him off his feet.
“Darcy,” Styx growled.
Viper resisted the urge to struggle against Styx’s grasp. He wasn’t hurting him… yet. He didn’t want to provoke his friend into violence.
Especially when he was in direct line for that violence.
“Darcy is not here, my friend,” he said firmly. “She is safe with Dante and Abby.”
“No.” Styx gave him a sharp shake. “She is in danger.”
Damn newly mated vampires, Viper silently cursed.
“My lord, you are not thinking clearly—”
His words were choked off as Styx gave him another shake. “The vampires whom I took under my protection are traitors.”
Viper gave a shocked hiss. “You are certain?”
“They sought my protection only to find my vulnera bility for their master. They found it in Darcy.”
“This was an attempted coup d’etat?”
“Yes.”
Viper cursed, furious that he had been so blind. He should have sensed there was something off about Desmond and his bumbling rampage through town. He should have taken the trouble to investigate what the clan chief was up to before putting his Anasso in danger.
“Bloody hell.”
The black eyes flashed. “They must be punished.”
“In time.” Reaching up, Viper grasped Styx’s wrist and, with a mighty tug, managed to break loose from his hold. “First we have to get back and warn Darcy.”
The bronzed features tightened with an agony so intense that Viper could physically feel his pain.
“They already have her,” he rasped. “They are bringing her here.”
Shit. Viper clasped his friend’s shoulder, praying for all their sakes that Darcy hadn’t been harmed.
He wasn’t sure he could halt the bloodbath if Styx went over the edge.
“If that’s true then we need to get ready to capture them,” he said. “But I think we had better contact Dante. The two vampires might have planned to take Darcy, but I doubt they would have found it an easy task.” He smiled wryly. “Your mate possesses many hidden talents.”
Styx slowly fell to his knees, his face buried in his hands.
“I at last understand.”
Viper knelt at his side, his arm around his shoulders. “You understand what?”
Styx lifted his head to regard Viper with haunted eyes. “I understand what you meant when you said you would sacrifice everything to keep your mate safe.”
“Yes.” Viper gave a slow nod. “You are well and truly mated, old friend. But there will be no sacrifices necessary on this night. Soon enough Darcy will be back in your arms, where she belongs.”
—
Darcy wasn’t at all surprised to awaken with a headache the size of Texas. Or a jaw so swollen it felt as if she had stuffed a grapefruit in her cheek. She wasn’t even surprised to discover she was in a strange room and chained to a bed.
In fact, it all seemed fairly par for the course.
How scary was that?
Swallowing a groan, she managed to force her heavy lids open and glanced cautiously about the room.
It was barely worth the effort.
There was nothing to see. Not unless you counted the faux wood paneling that was haphazardly nailed to the walls and puke-yellow carpeting that was growing a lovely crop of mold.
It was a narrow, grim room that looked exactly like any other room in a seedy hotel. She had lived in enough of them to recognize it by its stench.
No, not exactly like any other seedy hotel, she ac knowledged as she turned her head enough to see the heavy bars across the window. They were obviously a new addition that did nothing to lighten the morose ambiance.
&nbs
p; And ridiculously unnecessary considering she was chained and leashed like a raving lunatic.
Shifting on the hard mattress, Darcy glared down at the iron shackles that encircled her wrists. They were connected to heavy chains that were bolted to the floor. Chains that no doubt weighed as much as herself.
If her kidnappers thought she was the most dangerous creature to hit Chicago since Al Capone, or they needed her chained and helpless for a reason.
Crap.
She hoped it was the scary Al Capone option.
Nothing good could come from someone wanting a person chained and helpless.
Ignoring the lingering pain in her head, Darcy wriggled on the narrow mattress, using her feet to help push her self up the headboard to a seated position.
She was no closer to escape, but at least she didn’t feel quite so helpless.
Thank Cod since the door across the room was being thrust open to reveal a now familiar woman.
Her own beloved mother.
The rotten bitch.
Darcy was momentarily shocked by the force of her anger toward the woman who supposedly gave birth to her.
Granted their first meeting had hardly been the stuff of dreams. Not unless her dreams included being cold-cocked, kidnapped, and chained to a bed. But while she could reasonably expect a sense of betrayal and even disappointment, the sharp, tangible anger was definitely out of character.
Perhaps because Darcy could no longer cling to her childhood fantasy of a mother who was kind and gentle and loving.
A mother who had been forced to give her up. but still held a deep affection for her lost child.
The knowledge left an aching hole in her heart and made her long to lash out at the woman who had created it.
After closing the door, the woman casually strolled toward the bed. Darcy shivered as a strange prickle ran over her skin. It was a sensation she was beginning to associate with being in the presence of a Were.
As if something in her body recognized she was in the company of her own species.
Oh… poop.
Halting near the window, the woman folded her arms over her chest and allowed her gaze to take in the sight of Darcy.
She didn’t appear particularly impressed with her daughter. Not surprising. Darcy was well aware she looked like a grunge groupie. Her mother, on the other hand, was boasting an ivory pantsuit that looked like it came straight out of the fashion pages, and her hair had been elegantly braided and coiled at the nape of her neck.
She would have been stunningly beautiful if her expression hadn’t been cold enough to frost the air.
“So you are awake,” the woman commented in an offhand tone.
Darcy narrowed her gaze. “So it would seem.”
“I was beginning to fear that I had hit you too hard. It would be a shame to have killed you after we have at last found you again.”
The anger humming through Darcy’s body picked up steam.
That was what her dear, beloved mother had to say?
That she was glad she hadn’t killed her?
“Please, your concern is overwhelming,” Darcy gritted.
A mocking smile touched her mother’s perfect lips. “Would you rather that I kiss your boo-boo and make it better?”
“Considering you were the one to give me the boo-boo I think I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.”
Darcy shifted on the mattress, a surge of irritation rushing through her at the dull rattle of chains.
“Since I’m obviously to be a guest here, whether I want to be or not, I think you should at least introduce yourself.”
“But you already know, my dearest child.” The mocking smile widened. “Of course, I shall become quite violent if you dare to call me mother. I am Sophia.”
Sophia. Somehow it suited her, Darcy decided. Far more than mother ever would.
“It never occurred to me to call you mother,” she assured her companion. “Where am I?”
“Salvatore’s lair.” Sophia cast a disparaging glance around the room. “A pigsty, isn’t it?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“Perhaps you have.” Her mother tilted her head to one side as she studied Darcy’s fierce gaze. “You have a fragile look to you, but there is fire in your eyes. As is only fitting for your position. You will need a great deal of fire, my daughter. Weakness is not tolerated among the purebloods.”
“I’m assuming that good manners aren’t high on the list either.” Darcy glanced pointedly at the shackles. “When I used to fantasize about meeting my mother it didn’t include being attacked and chained to a bed.”
“It is not how I would have wished our first meeting to be, but it is entirely your own fault, you know.”
“My fault?”
Sophia lifted her hand to study her perfect manicure. “You should have listened to Salvatore when he first approached you. It would have saved us all a great deal of trouble.”
Darcy gave a short, disbelieving laugh. She was being blamed for being stalked, terrified, and now waking up chained to a bed?
That was going over the line.
“Forgive me, but I don’t make a habit of listening to strange men who stalk me through the streets of Chicago.”
“A pity. You managed to lead Salvatore around like a fool, which I must admit does have its amusing moments, but I don’t possess his patience. It’s time you are with your family.”
Family.
How many years had she longed for a family?
To be surrounded by her loved ones in a place she could truly call home?
She gave a sharp tug on the shackles. “Funny, I don’t feel much like the prodigal daughter. Maybe it’s the whole being chained to the bed thing.”
“You’ll have your fatted calf soon enough, my dear, but first you must prove you are willing to accept your position among the Weres,” Sophia drawled.
“I can hardly accept a position that I know nothing about.”
“Yes, it is unfortunate that you were not raised among your people.” Sophia heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Your ignorance of our ways is making this all far more difficult than it should be.”
Okay, that was it.
She was tired, her jaw ached, and the once burning desire to discover the truth of her past had turned into a sour ball of disappointment in the pit of her stomach.
“Unfortunate?” Her voice lowered to a furious growl. “It’s unfortunate that I was kidnapped as a baby and then tossed from one home to another before landing on the street? It’s unfortunate that I’ve spent thirty years feeling like a freak, always avoiding other people and wondering what the hell is wrong with me? It’s unfortunate that I learn I’m a… werewolf by a stranger? I’d say it’s a little more than unfortunate.”
Sophia rolled her eyes as she stepped toward the bed. “Oh, God, stop your sulking. Life is a bitch for all of us. The only thing that matters is that you’re back where you belong.” She stiffened in annoyance as Darcy abruptly laughed. “What is so amusing?”
Darcy gave a shake of her head as she struggled to contain her dark humor.
“I was just thinking of the old saying.”
“What old saying?”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
It took a moment before Sophia realized that Darcy was referring to her.
“Ah.” A sneering smile touched her lips. “Salvatore warned me that you would be hoping for June Cleaver.”
Well, what the heck was wrong with that?
Home-cooked dinners, being tucked into bed, a soft kiss on the cheek…
Darcy grimaced. “And instead I got Mommie Dearest”
Sophia shrugged her indifference. “I suppose that is true enough. You know, I am not really such a horrible person, but I will admit I have little interest in being a mother. It’s always seemed a very tedious job with few rewards.”
“What about the love of your children? Surely that’s worth something?”
“Not nearly
enough. Perhaps when you have been a breeder for a few centuries you will understand.”
Darcy gave a choked sound. She didn’t know what a breeder was, but it didn’t sound like a position she wanted to take on.
“A breeder?” she demanded warily.
“That’s what we are, you know,” Sophia drawled. “Female purebloods have one purpose among the pack, and that is to produce as many litters as physically possible.”
Darcy widened her eyes. “Sheesh, do you actually have… litters?”
“Puppies?” She gave a sharp laugh. “No, our children are born as humans. We call them litters because we usually carry more than one child at a time, and of course, they do possess the blood of wolves.”
Well, that was a quasi-relief. And it reminded Darcy of the one good thing left in this entire mess.
“Salvatore said that I have three sisters?”
“Yes.”
“Will I be allowed to meet them?”
“If we can manage to capture them.” The green eyes flashed with annoyance. “They are proving to be just as great a pain in the ass as you, my dear.”
Darcy was torn between relief that her poor sisters had managed to avoid her own fate, and a regret that she might never meet them.
Sisters seemed like a wonderful thing to possess.
“Are there any others?” she demanded. “I mean, did you have more than one… litter?”
There was a pause before Sophia shrugged. “I’ve been pregnant over a hundred times.”
“Good lord.”
“The pregnancies rarely last beyond the first few months. None survived to birth beyond you and your sisters.”
Something that might have been sorrow briefly flashed over the beautiful face before Sophia was slipping back behind her mask of sardonic indifference.
Darcy’s breath caught in unwelcome sympathy. Dang it. She didn’t want to consider how painful it might be for a woman to become pregnant over and over while always knowing that death waited just a breath away.
Or to ponder the thought that any woman would learn to protect her emotions from such disappointments. And perhaps even to become cynical over the passing centuries.
She didn’t want to sympathize with this woman who treated her as if she were an irritating piece of stray property that was necessary to her plans.
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