by Lynn Hagen
“Take the coven to the mountains. The military is growing restless where our species is concerned.” It was Kraven’s voice.
“Are you going to join us?” Salvador could tell by the pitch that it was a younger vampire, one not as old as his master.
“Soon, Remee. I have other matters to attend to first. Enrique Marcelo has gone unpunished for his offenses long enough. It is about time I taught him a lesson. If he thinks he can get away with killing my vampires and not pay a price, he is sadly mistaken.”
Salvador felt the red-hot anger inside of him flare at Kraven’s words. He knew exactly what the vampire was going to do.
And that was exactly what he had come here to America to deal with. It had been two hundred years since he and Kraven had struck their bargain.
The vampire’s time was up.
The Mãos da Morte were no longer Kraven’s to control after Friday night. The vampire had four more days and then Salvador would close their deal.
But until then…
“Tell me, Dorian. Do you know of a man named Enrique Mar—”
“He’s my mate,” Dorian said quickly, his eyes rounding as he glanced up at Salvador and then snapped his eyes back down. “Why are you asking? How do you know about him?”
Salvador hadn’t planned on interfering with anything that was going on in America until the allotted time was up. But for the first time in a very long time, Salvador found someone who fascinated him. This small human had backbone. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.
Any other time Salvador would have drained anyone who dared speak to him the way Dorian had, but there was just something about this man. Salvador…liked him. “Show me where he is.”
“Not until you tell me what you want with him. I’m not going to lead you to my mate if you plan on doing him any harm.”
Salvador studied the human. “I could kill you for not cooperating.”
“I would gladly die to protect him,” Dorian said without hesitation.
“I could read your mind and get what I want.” The man was definitely intriguing. Normally, whenever Salvador issued a death threat, men wet themselves. Dorian just stood there glaring at Salvador’s chest with a clenched jaw and an expression of murder.
“You could try. But I don’t think you’ll be able to find my mate if all I think about is Vegas and strip clubs—male of course.”
Salvador had never met anyone like this human. “You truly do not fear me?”
“Oh, I fear you all right. But I love my mate more. Torture me all you want. I’m not leading you to him.” Dorian became rigid, as if bracing himself for the worst. It had been a very long time since Salvador had met anyone with this sort of inner strength and determination. It was refreshing. Most who encountered him fell on their faces to please Salvador, fearing what he would do.
Not Dorian.
“Are all American’s as stubborn as you, pequeno guerreiro?”
Dorian shrugged his shoulders. “Hell if I know. I’ve met some pretty brave men along the way. But I’ve also met some cowards. I guess it all depends on what part of town you’re in.”
Salvador had no idea what the human was talking about. He turned on his heel, heading toward the entrance. “Come.”
“I’m not your damn dog. If you don’t stop using your mind tricks on me, I’m going to bite you.”
Salvador stilled, turning to face the human. “Threaten me again and I’ll be the one biting.”
Dorian fell silent, but his expression said he wasn’t going to sit back and take whatever Salvador threw his way. As amusing as the man was, Salvador grew tired of the witty repartee. He dove into the man’s mind and searched for what he needed.
In his search for Enrique, Salvador found himself pausing on the image of Dorian and three werewolves battling his beloved Mãos da Morte. Salvador hissed when he saw the human using a gun.
Not that his creatures could be killed with such a manner, but to see them harmed infuriated him. He had created the dozen vampires with his very breath. They belonged to him, not Kraven. To see them used this way only solidified his resolve.
Come Friday, Kraven’s time was up.
Salvador had sent his servant to spy on what was happening in America. The Shadow had reported to him that a changeling named Enrique Marcelo had defied the odds and was beating his government in a war against nonhumans. This piqued Salvador’s curiosity. He wanted to meet the changeling who could not only defy a large government and stay alive, but who had also escaped Salvador’s Mãos da Morte.
Thus far, he had never heard of anyone surviving his creations’ visit.
Now that he had seen Dorian’s memories, Salvador was determined to find Enrique. But this damn human was true to his word and only thought about half-naked men dancing around.
“Show me what I want to see,” he commanded.
“No,” Dorian said like a stubborn child. “Not until you tell me what you want with him.”
Salvador walked from the building, standing out in the open as he glanced around the city streets. The voices whispering through the club cleared from his mind as he inhaled the night air. Even though he was an ancient vampire, Salvador’s powers weren’t unlimited. He excelled in some aspects, while he was denied access to others.
Like the ability to sense where Enrique was. If he probed deeper into Dorian’s human mind, he just might cause irreversible damage. Normally, that concern would have never entered his mind.
But again, he liked Dorian. He wasn’t sure why the human intrigued him the way he did, though. “I want to meet the man who was able to thwart my Mãos da Morte,” he said, knowing Dorian had exited the club behind him. He had felt the man’s discomfort ever since they walked through the doors and could feel Dorian’s relief at being outside.
“Dude, we did not thwart them,” Dorian replied. “Kraven just sent them to find out where we were. Although I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
Salvador smiled to himself. Dorian was nobody’s fool. “I give you my word, pequeno guerreiro. I mean your mate no harm.”
“No disrespect, old one, but I don’t know you. So your word means diddly-squat to me.” Dorian reached up and began to rub his hands down his arms. Salvador could feel the anxiety coming from the human.
“You are feeling anxious being away from your mate. There is no need when I can return you to him,” Salvador said, making sure he held promise in his tone.
Dorian’s eyes glowed with savage inner fire. “I would rather suffer through the fires of hell than lead you to him.”
This man was impossible! Salvador spun, pulling Dorian close as he bared his fangs. “Tell me where Enrique is or I will drain you dry.”
“Fuck. You.”
Intrigued or not, Salvador was going to drain this obstinate little human. He pulled Dorian closer, ready to sink into the man’s jugular when the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Salvador glanced around, trying to find the source.
“Breed Hunters,” Dorian whispered.
“What are Breed Hunters?” Salvador asked as he released Dorian.
“Humans who want anything nonhuman dead.”
Salvador knew that was the stark truth. He could feel the anger and fear in Dorian’s voice. The Breed Hunters terrified the human. Salvador spotted a group of about twenty men heading their way.
The odds were not in his favor. He was still weak from his travels and hungry. Dining on each and every Breed Hunter would have been his first course of action, but in his declining state, Salvador couldn’t chance being killed.
But luck was on his side. As Dorian glanced at the advancing men, his mind opened and Salvador saw where Enrique and Dorian had last been together. Grabbing the human, Salvador flew at lightning speed. He was so fast, humans thought he actually disappeared.
But the journey took its toll. Salvador collapsed as he released Dorian. He needed to feed.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dorian asked.
“I
need to replenish my body.”
The human’s expression turned to disgust. “Don’t even think about snacking on me. It’s bad enough my brother is a recovering fang addict. I’ll kill you before you turn me into one.”
“I am one of the muerto desde el útero. You will not become addicted to my bite.” The Shadow had reported to him that the humans referred to the vampire’s bite as an addiction. Sadly, it was true.
Turned vampires were cursed creatures since entering this realm. There was no such thing as becoming addicted to a bite when they lived on the other side of the veil. But that was a long time ago and a memory best left alone. Salvador had grown used to living in this realm—even if he didn’t like being here. This side of the veil was a cold and bleak place, holding no magic or wonder.
“I don’t see Rick,” Dorian commented as he glanced around. “He left.” The human’s voice was filled with such sorrow that Salvador could feel the emotion enveloping him. He didn’t need that right now. Not when he was so damn thirsty and tired that he was considering draining Dorian.
The human pulled out his cell phone, turning his back on Salvador. Glancing around, Salvador noticed that the area looked like a war zone. There were dead changelings lying about. But a dead meal was not something Salvador could use to regenerate himself.
He needed warm blood and a beating heart.
His head snapped to the side when he heard a groan. It seemed not all the fallen men were dead. With his last remaining strength, Salvador pushed to his feet and staggered over to the wounded changeling.
Desperation had him walking toward the man. Vampires—whether turned or born of his species—did not like changeling blood. It wasn’t as sweet as humans’ blood. But Salvador had no choice. If he didn’t feed very soon, he would fall into a cationic state which would leave him vulnerable.
Since the Shadow was not at his side, Salvador would be left to whoever wanted to harm him…and that was probably Dorian at the moment.
Dropping to his knees, Salvador yanked the changeling’s head to the side. The man was going to die whether Salvador drained him or not. His wounds were extensive.
“Don’t you dare touch me!” The man’s voice was weak, but Salvador could tell the changeling had wanted to shout his protest.
“Oh, I promise you this will hurt.” Salvador could see the man’s fading memories, and the changeling had been an evil being. The dark and heinous images damn near scorched Salvador’s hand. “I promise to inflict just as much pain as you have on your victims.”
The changeling gurgled as Salvador sank his fangs into the man’s throat.
“God, can’t I take you anywhere?” Dorian asked as he walked over to Salvador. “How can you drink blood from a dead guy?”
He could feel the revulsion coming from the human, but Salvador ignored the man. He had to replenish his body. The changeling’s blood was bitter on his tongue, but Salvador forced his mind to concentrate on the healing inside his body, not his taste buds.
As he finished the man off, he could feel the last of the changeling’s life bleeding away. It was too quick of a death in his opinion. This man deserved to be tortured for the crimes he had committed.
Pulling his fangs free, Salvador stood. He wasn’t one hundred percent, but the blood would sustain him for a little while longer.
“Rick gave me his location. Can you find him with that because I don’t know the area he is in.”
Salvador licked the remaining blood from his bottom lip. “You have fought not to give me your mate’s location. Why are you so eager now?”
Dorian raked his eyes over Salvador. “Because I can tell you’re weak. I’m hoping like hell Rick beats your ass when we get there.”
Even in his weakened state Salvador Santos Almeida was a worthy opponent. He highly doubted the werewolf alpha would best him. “Then let’s go meet Enrique Marcelo.” Grabbing Dorian, Salvador used precious energy to take them to the location the human had given him.
As soon as he released Dorian, Salvador stilled.
He could scent changelings all around him. The men standing in front of him growled in his direction, taking menacing steps toward him. But it was the human standing there with a sack over his shoulder who captured Salvador’s attention.
He was looking into the eyes of a man he had searched for his entire existence.
Chapter Four
Omar Reed gave a low groan as he cracked his eyes open to a blinding light.
“You’re awake,” Dr. Formente said as he approached the table Omar was strapped down to. Once again he found himself naked and cold and lying in a room that wasn’t his own. Omar wondered if the nightmare would ever end. The metal table was always cold whenever he was brought into the lab. It had been so long since Omar was warm that he could barely remember the sensation.
“Today we are going to start a different series of injections.” The doctor walked over to the stark white counter, grabbing the first needle from a row of them. Omar fought against his restraints, even though he knew it was futile.
“Get the hell away from me!”
The doctor turned. “Now, now. There is no need to become hostile, Mr. Reed. This series will not hurt like the last set.” His mouth took on an unpleasant twist. The words were so matter-of-fact that Omar wondered if the man had a conscience.
Feeling more than a little feral, Omar gave a low growl. “Let me inject you and see if you are so fucking calm about it.”
Dr. Formente patted Omar’s shoulder and smiled benignly, as if dealing with a temperamental child. But Omar could see the truth in the man’s eyes. He hated Omar to the core of his rotten soul. “But I’m not the animal.” Quiet, quiet words.
“I beg to differ,” Omar replied, trying his best to hide the tremor in his voice. “I may be able to change into a werewolf, but you are the true monster.”
“That I am,” the doctor agreed as he injected Omar. At first Omar didn’t feel a thing, and then his body became rigid as his back painfully bowed. His jaw clenched as the agony tore through him. The man had lied. But had Omar expected anything less? He shouldn’t have. He knew Dr. Formente was a sadistic son of a bitch.
Omar lay there panting, fighting the wave of nausea as the room began to spin. He could feel saliva pooling in his mouth and knew he was about to throw up. His body felt as if a thousand tiny razors were slicing him open simultaneously as he fought not to pass out.
But maybe passing out would be a better option at the moment.
“Oh, come now. It isn’t that bad,” Dr. Formente said in a condescending tone. “Man up. Or should I say, animal up.” The man laughed at his own joke as he went to the counter for the second injection needle. Omar wanted to die. The pain was so horrific that he wondered how he managed to stay conscious.
“Hopefully this time we got the formula correct.”
Omar watched in detached horror as the doctor turned and headed back toward him. Dr. Formente had been using Omar as a guinea pig for nearly a year now. He wasn’t even sure what he was any longer. He was a well-educated werewolf changeling who had known what and who he was. However, since being forced to the detention center, Omar had been injected with so many things that he was surprised he wasn’t insane by now.
But the one thing Dr. Formente, or his guards, couldn’t do was break Omar. They had tried over the course of his time here. His guards were twisted fucks who took pleasure in hearing changelings scream.
At first, Omar had refused to give them that pleasure. But over the course of time, Omar screamed.
Every prisoner in here eventually screamed.
All Omar wanted to do was go home. His parents were as cold as the table he was lying on, but at least they never tortured him. No, Omar didn’t want to go home. In truth, he wanted to go back to Rick’s group. Even though he had been knocked down to juvenile status for trying to handle a dangerous situation on his own, Omar would gladly be a juvenile for the rest of his life if he could just get out of here.
Thinking of Rick’s group only made Omar think of Freedman. Images of the man floated in Omar’s mind. He wasn’t sure why he continued to think about the human. Dr. Formente and the guards had sealed Omar’s hatred of humans in a solid wall of despair.
But when times became unbearable, like now, Omar reached for the memories of the short time he and Freedman had spent together. Their time together hadn’t been long. Omar had spent most of it keeping quiet. So why did he draw on the memory of a man with pretty light-blue eyes and dark-brown hair, broad shoulders and a lean, strong body? Freedman even visited Omar in his dreams. He couldn’t understand why he yearned to be with the human. That wasn’t who Omar was. From a young age he knew he was going to mate another werewolf. It was a given for him.
Until he met the human soldier who had stolen Omar’s thoughts and occupied a space inside of him reserved for—
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Formente asked.
He knew the man wasn’t asking out of concern. He wanted to know how the drug was affecting Omar. “Release me and I’ll show you.” His claws slid from their hidden sheaths and he could feel his eyes begin to glow.
Dr. Formente smiled as he held up the needle. “How about I give you another shot instead?” Before Omar could reply, he felt the prick of the injection. This time all he could do was whimper. His body became heavy to the point Omar couldn’t lift a finger.
He knew what the doctor was after. Dr. Formente had told Omar what the experiments were for. The cruel man wanted to kill his lycanthropy. Omar prayed like hell he didn’t develop a third eye and grow scales from all the injections he had been given since being here.
“Just lie still while I get my work done and I’ll have your guard take you back to your cell.” The man leaned closer, the air filling with the acrid scent of hatred. “As you know, Mr. Reed, those who aren’t human are the enemy…and the enemy is shown no mercy.” Dr. Formente left Omar to suffer in silence as he walked over to his desk and took a seat.
When his eyelids grew heavy, Omar fought not to let the tears slide down his face. It would only make his guard giddy to see him giving in to despair.
