Roman let out a long cry, echoing through the night, and then—with a sharp bark—“Enough. My turn.”
His gaze blazing, he shoved me back onto the ground, a cruel smile playing across his lips. He was hungry. My drinking from him had spurred on his desire, and he came at me, fangs bared, cock rigid and hard. I let the need to please my sire take over—it was a new feeling for me, and that I could actually enjoy the desire to please was both astounding and heady.
There was a power in submission that I had never before understood. Camille understood it—we had talked at length about the need to balance strength to the outside world with vulnerability in the one place it was safe to express it. But with my background, with the torture and degradation Dredge had put me through, I never thought I would ever be able to open the door to that side of myself. And yet . . . here I was, hungry to please Roman, aching and willing to obey his commands.
He loomed over me, cupping my chin in his hands. As if reading my mind, he whispered, “You know that I will never abuse my place in your life. You know this, don’t you? It’s important to me that you understand I will never betray you.”
I nodded. “I know how you feel about me, and I know you understand why I can’t return the same feelings. But we have something together that is powerful and untouchable. Something I share with no one else. Feed on me, Roman. Drink from me. Take me deep into your darkness.”
His lips touched my throat and as smooth as silk, his fangs pierced my vein, driving deep. I let out a throaty cry as the weight of his body pressed against me. He lapped at my throat, and in a tidal wave of hunger and desire, I shifted—spreading my legs so that he could drive his cock deep inside me, plunging into the core of my sex haze.
He was thick, and hard, and as he shifted, angling so that he slid in to the hilt, the motion sent a ripple through my entire body. He began to pump against me, and I rose to meet him, encouraging him to ride me hard. He freed one hand, bringing it down to caress my clit, circling it—demanding that I not ignore his presence. He filled me full, and the smell of him was everywhere—heady and musky and overwhelming. He was my world at this moment—inside me, touching me, drinking from my blood—Roman was the only reality and everything else faded into white noise.
And still he drank deep, the blood flowing from my body into his mouth in slow, exquisite droplets. His tongue lapped in a rhythmic motion, the sound of it grazing my skin became my only focus—and then the haze became a dance, a swirling mist of sensuality that flowed around us like a cloud of tendrils, and every inch of my body felt caressed by the motions carrying me into the depths of the night. All my scars—all of the marks that Dredge had claimed me with—faded in my mind. They would always adorn my body but now they were merely war wounds, scars of survival rather than of subjugation. Nerissa had helped me reclaim my soul from Dredge’s torture, and Roman had helped me reclaim my ability to revel in my power.
With one last cry, I let go, coming hard, as Roman met my lips—my blood on his tongue—and kissed me deep under the early-summer moon.
Chapter 4
By the time we reached Training Room Two, forty vampires were waiting for me, all clad in Roman’s signature black turtlenecks, black jeans, and black sunglasses. They were standing at attention, hands clasped behind their backs, legs slightly spread, staring straight ahead as we walked into the room. Both Roman and I had taken some time to freshen up after our tryst in the woods, and we looked entirely presentable.
I glanced over at Roman. “I thought you said twenty.”
“The attack on the apartment complex changed my mind. I’m giving you double. We’re facing threats from both outside this world and inside, so we might as well put more manpower on the streets.” He moved to the front of the room, motioning for me to join him. As I did, he saluted the contingent and they came to full attention, saluting him back. In unison and with precise form, they reminded me of robots.
Two words echoed as a single voice from forty throats. “Lord Roman!”
Roman nodded. “Stand down.”
They returned to their former position, but this time a little more relaxed.
“I’m appointing my consort, Menolly, in charge of you. Soldiers, you will obey her commands as if they came from me. She has full authority in this mission, and you will neither question her methods or her choices nor disobey her. Any man or woman who refuses to carry out her orders will be staked. We are at war, and you are my warriors. I expect you to behave the part. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Sir!” They came to quick attention again, saluting both of us.
It was odd to see vampires working in unison. Mostly we were solitary creatures. But with the reemergence of Blood Wyne into the public eye—at least as far as the undead brigade was concerned—the Earthside vamps were falling into a far more regimented nature. Like the Supe Community, the Vampire Nation was truly becoming a reality.
I took my place in front as Roman backed away. “I appreciate your cooperation. As you know, my sisters and I work for the Otherworld Intelligence Agency. Normally, what I’m about to tell you would remain under wraps, but a situation has risen that we need help with. Before I go into detail, I want to make this clear: Under no circumstances are you to discuss what I’m about to tell you with anyone. That is an order. This mission calls for diplomacy and stealth, and unless you are given permission, this is top-secret status. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am!” echoed through the room.
“Break the rule and you will be staked,” Roman interjected.
I wanted to hop on a stool and have them circle around me, but I knew that wouldn’t command the respect I needed to earn. So I straightened my shoulders, wiped expression from my face, and stood as formally as I could.
“Seattle is facing an incursion of goblins and various creatures from Otherworld. They are troops sent from an army over there, an army that is doing its best to raze the land and destroy everyone who will not knuckle under to them.”
I paused, then decided—in for a penny, in for a pound. “Telazhar—a necromancer—is in charge of this army. He is leading it on behalf of Shadow Wing, Demon Lord of the Subterranean Realms. Shadow Wing is planning to invade Earthside and Otherworld and turn both into his private little playground. My sisters and I have been fighting against him for a long time now, but the tide is turning against us. We’ve reached a tipping point in the war. Either he gains an upper hand and we pray for a miracle, or we manage to drive him back. These incursions are paving the way to help him gain that advantage.”
I paused. There were no changes of expression or shifting, though the energy changed in the room. The temperature felt like it was dropping, though I was pretty sure it was just their mood as they realized what I was saying.
“Telazhar is trying to infiltrate Earthside from Otherworld. This is where you come in. We need you to patrol the streets, to keep an eye out for incursions of goblins and their ilk. They will most likely be coming through rogue portals. You are to notify us of any troops you find, then keep them penned away from any bystanders until we can get there. You are free to destroy any goblins, bone-walkers, or other creatures of that sort. But we want numbers. We’re keeping track of how many come through, so we need an accurate count. Do you understand?”
A rousing “Yes, ma’am!” rang through the room.
“As I said, you will most likely find rogue portals in the areas where these attacks take place. We need to know their location and we need you to guard them until we can get our forces there to seal them off. So far, the attacks have been coming solely at night, so go out there expecting to find action. This is not a drill, and there have been two to three attacks a night for weeks now.”
Roman cleared his throat. “Any and all attacks will be reported to three places: Arleth Mendez of the Seattle Vampire Nexus, Menolly and her sisters, and Chase Johnson at the Faerie-Human Crime Sce
ne Investigation Unit. All phone numbers are in the handout you have been given. Program them into your cell phones before you leave this room.” He glanced at me. “Anything else they should know?”
I thought for a moment. “We want to maintain absolutely no collateral damage if at all possible. If a hostage situation arises, contact us before you make a move. Try to minimize property damage. Let’s handle this in a way that the hate groups can’t bitch about, should they discover what’s going on.”
“Speaking of the Fellowship of the Earthborn Brethren . . . keep your eye out for human terrorists as well. The home boys are out to play rough, and they don’t give a flying fuck if they take out innocent human lives along with the vamps and Supes they are targeting.” Roman’s voice was gruff. “If you happen to catch sight of a hate group in participation of a crime, you are not authorized to kill them. I repeat: You are only authorized to use force if your lives depend on it.”
One of the vamps raised his hand. “What do we do in that situation?”
“The proper procedure is to contain them until such time that you can turn them over to the FH-CSI. We want no martyrs rising out of this.”
And with that, we dismissed them, and the vampires moved into the streets under the cover of night.
I turned to Roman. “I should get home now. This is one hell of a situation. We’re all having a hard time dealing with it. And after today . . . I’m afraid I’m beginning to lose some of my hope.”
“I have feelers out on the missing and presumed dead. We’ll see what we can find out. But I’m pretty sure nobody on that list was away on vacation. Let’s just hope some were caught at friends’ houses and had to sleep there through the day instead of returning to their apartments.” He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. “Go now, my love. I am going to talk to Mother, and I’ll be back in a night or so. Give Nerissa my best.”
And with that, he turned away and headed back to his office. I gathered my coat and checked out at the front desk. It was close to eleven thirty and I had a lot to do.
* * *
I had no sooner started my Mustang when my cell phone rang. A glance at the Caller ID told me it was Derrick, the bartender in charge of the Wayfarer. The bar had first been my cover when I came over from Otherworld, and now I owned it outright. I punched the speaker.
“Go ahead.”
Derrick was a brusque man—werebadger, really—and he was never offended with my lack of chitchat. “Boss, you need to get down here now. We have a situation.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I hated it when people pussyfooted around.
“We’ve got a group of the Earthborn Brethren in here stirring up trouble. I’ve asked them to leave, but they have a few bikers from the Freedom’s Angels with them and I’m afraid things are at a standoff right now.” Derrick was whispering, so I knew that it had to be bad.
“I’m on my way. Hold them at bay as long as you can and please, please don’t let them tear up the joint. But if it looks like they’re going to start tossing things or people around, clear the place—that’s top priority. People’s safety. Capiche?”
“Capiche, boss.” He hung up and I gunned the engine and headed toward the bar. Along the way, I put in a call to Delilah. “I just talked to Derrick. Big bad going down at the bar. Hate group there, looking for trouble. Can you and the guys meet me there?”
“Camille and Smoky left for the Dragon Reaches, but the rest of us will be there as soon as we can.” The line went dead and I focused on driving.
By the time I reached the Wayfarer, I could see that there was, indeed, a problem. Outside the bar, a large group of people were picketing. They were dressed in long, navy robes, hoods pulled over their faces, and they were carrying signs that ranged from mild insults to inciting hate crimes.
FAGGOT VAMPS DIE.
NO SUPE RIGHTS!
GO HOME, FAE FUCKERS!
THE ONLY GOOD VAMP IS A DEAD VAMP!
BLOODSUCKERS, ROT IN HELL!
I screeched into a parking spot that contained several motorcycles I recognized as belonging to the the Freedom’s Angels, knocking them over like a stack of dominoes with my car. Smiling grimly, I leaped out of the car and headed toward the door. Two of the picketers tried to stop me and I bared my fangs, my eyes turning crimson with bloodlust. I hissed at them, deciding to let them know just who they were dealing with. Reaching out, I placed a hand on each of their shoulders and shoved as hard as I could. The two men let out shouts as they went flying back, knocking down several of their buddies as they slammed into the brick wall of my bar.
“You really want to make trouble in my bar, boys?” I headed for the door as the rest of them backed away from me. “That’s right, let Mama through or you’re going to fucking wish to hell you’d stayed home watching reruns of What Not to Wear. Because, dudes, you have some serious fashion faux pas going on.” As I finished my little speech, I slammed through the door, almost knocking it off the hinges.
As I entered the bar, I took in the situation with a single glance. Derrick was standing in front of the bar, holding one of the two sawed-off shotguns we kept behind the counter. Digger—a vampire and one of my bartenders—was standing on the bar behind him, holding the other shotgun. Around the room, the customers were backed up into the booths and corners, while a group of about fifteen of the Brethren and FAs had spread out, some of them carrying crowbars and baseball bats. The bikers were dressed in leathers, the Brethren in their hoodie robes.
I moved to stand between Derrick and the front of the group. “Whatcha doing, boys? You might want to put down those batons of yours before somebody—and by somebody, I am referring to you—gets hurt. And by hurt, I am referring to being beaten to a bloody pulp.”
The leader of the group, or at least he seemed to be the leader, stepped forward a half step. I hissed, showing him my fangs, and he retreated again. “We don’t want your kind in our city.”
“Seems like you don’t want my kind anywhere, do you now?” I sneered at him. “Seems to me that you are going to be a long time hoping for days long gone. Get with the program, boys—the world is more diverse than you will ever hope to understand and either you change and accept it, or you’re going to end up drop-kicked to some desert island.”
“Cunt. You’re an abomination. A demon. You have no feelings, no conscience. Be gone in the name of the Almighty!” He thrust out a cross made of wood.
I stared at it, then at him. “Nobody calls me that in my own bar.” With a deliberate nonchalance, I reached out and grabbed the cross out of his hands, stared at it, shrugged, and tossed it back to Digger, who caught it and stuck it in his pocket. “Sorry, but that’s going to do as much good as a feather. And it’s an insult to those of your belief who have more foresight than you do.”
“There is only one true race—and it’s the human race.”
I had to give it to him, he had more guts—or, most likely, stupidity—than most.
“Fine, you want to play, boy? I’m game; when I go for blood, trust me, I get it. I gave you a chance to leave my bar without incident. I’m going to give you one last opportunity to turn around and head for the door with your cronies.” I was usually less in-your-face with pathetic, desperate men, but after the destruction of the DarkTower Gardens, I wasn’t feeling charitable.
He wavered, and for a moment, I thought he was going to turn around and head out, but then one of his buddies murmured something and it seemed to spur him on. He leaped forward at me, and I caught him by the wrist, squeezing till the bones broke with an audible crack. I might as well have let loose the hordes, because that was all it took for the brawl to break. At that moment, Shade, Roz, Morio, and Delilah entered the bar and immediately moved in on the freaks.
“Subdue only, unless they make a move to kill you!” I raised my voice so it echoed through the room. And we were into it. I had to hold
myself back. I was so used to going for broke with the enemy that fighting to restrain and not to kill was a challenge.
Morio had just shifted into his youkai form—an eight-foot-tall fox demon that would send terror into any sane human—when three prowl cars pulled up and several officers raced in. I recognized them as being from the FH-CSI and mentally sent a huge hug to Chase. Within ten minutes, the cops had rounded up ten men and two women between the gang in the bar and the picketers outside. A number of them had scrammed when the law arrived. Yugi—second in command to Chase, and a Swedish empath—was in charge. He waved me over.
“You want to press charges?” He glanced around and I followed his gaze. There had been some damage, but thankfully it was superficial.
“Yes. I do. They threatened my bar patrons and my staff, and me, and damaged my bar. Anything you can throw at them, Yugi.” What I wanted to do was to pound them into the ground, but now that the cops had them out in a wagon—they’d had to bring in a bigger vehicle to transport them all—it wouldn’t be good form to drag them out and rub their faces into the concrete.
“A couple of the guys out there are pretty beat up. They said you did it.”
“I did. They were harassing me and I was afraid one of them might have a stake.” I was lying, but then again, when I thought about it, the possibility had been all too real.
As if reading my mind, Yugi jerked his head toward the wagon of prisoners. “We found five stakes on them, two guns with silver bullets, and a variety of switchblades. We also found one flare gun and two Tasers, several pairs of silver handcuffs, and two pairs of iron handcuffs.”
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