by Lynn Hagen
Rick didn’t know this man. There was no bond between them. Yet it had hurt on a level that infuriated him. O’Hanlon wanted him dead and Rick was mourning the loss of not knowing his biological father.
What kind of an idiot was he? Why in the hell did he wish things were different so he could get to know the man? It was a thought that shouldn’t have entered his mind. But Rick knew that O’Hanlon was going to die on the pure fact that he had made Rick feel the profound loss.
“Rick?” Dorian asked from behind him. “Talk to me, please.”
Rick spun, pulling Dorian into his arms and burying his face in his mate’s hair. “It hurts, Dorian. It shouldn’t, but it does.”
“Of course it hurts,” Dorian replied as he wrapped his arms around Rick’s waist. “The man who fathered you has betrayed you. I know how much family means to you.”
“I’m a fucking idiot.”
“No.” Dorian soothed his hands over Rick’s back. “You are someone who has the capacity to love. There is nothing wrong with that. Unfortunately your caring is being given to the wrong man. It’s his loss, Rick. He is the one who has missed out on knowing what a damn good man you turned into.”
Rick gripped his mate tighter. “I want him dead, gatito.” And that was the honest truth. Rick never wanted anyone dead as much as he wanted O’Hanlon to die a slow and painful death. The man didn’t deserve to breathe. He was killing an entire species just to get rid of the proof that he had slept with a werewolf.
O’Hanlon was evil incarnate and Rick planned on wiping the man from existence, not the other way around.
“You and me both.” Dorian leaned back, his Peruvian-brown eyes fierce. “What did he say?”
“That he was coming after me.”
Rick could feel the rage encase Dorian and he loved the fact that his mate was angry for him. “Let him come. I would love to watch you end his fucking life.”
Rick kissed Dorian’s cheek. “So violent.”
“When it comes to you, you’re damn skippy. I may have my moments of going a little nutty, but there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Rick. Nothing. If someone has a problem with you, then they have a problem with me. In this until the end, remember?”
That Rick did.
“Now let’s go blow up these goddamn labs and head to Washington. You kill O’Hanlon while I give the president a piece of my mind.”
Rick wasn’t sure how Dorian had the magic touch every time he became enraged, but he found himself smiling like a loon. “Just make sure I’m there to hear it.”
“Right.” Dorian winked at him. “But until then, let’s go find out what in the hell Omar is.”
Rick shivered. He wasn’t sure what had been done to Omar, but he would really love to unkill Formente to get some answers.
Unfortunately, the detention center was nothing more than smoldering ashes, all records destroyed. As they approached the truck, Rick saw Salvador shaking his head.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” The vampire turned toward them. “He is a jackal, and a deer. How can that be?”
“They experimented on him for close to a year,” Dorian said. “There is no telling what was injected into his blood.”
Salvador’s black eyes shimmered with a darkness that made Rick want to take a step back, but he remained where he was. If it had been Dorian, Rick knew he would be just as livid.
“I fear he will remain a changeling with many breeds dwelling inside of him.”
“You could always look at this in a positive light,” Rick said. “He has choices now.”
The ancient vampire soured his face as he turned back toward the truck. Rick shrugged. “I tried to cheer him up.”
The hairs on the back of Rick’s neck stood on end just as Salvador’s coven converged on the truck, their eyes turning toward the northeast. Rick didn’t like the feeling settling inside of him. He had had the same feeling when Salvador had appeared, but not the same. It didn’t make sense to Rick, but it almost felt as if the four horsemen of the apocalypse were descending upon them.
“Get into the truck,” Salvador said in an ominous tone. “What is coming our way is nothing to trifle with.”
“What is it?” Dorian asked.
Salvador looked off into the distance, and the unsure look settled like a rock in Rick’s stomach.
“I do not know, pequeno guerreiro.”
“Good to know the ancient one is clueless,” Sasha said sarcastically, but Rick could hear the undertone of worry in the alpha’s voice.
Yeah, he wasn’t looking forward to greeting their guests either.
Rick growled when Kraven appeared on the road about a quarter mile away. The Mãos da Morte were with him, and twelve more men Rick couldn’t identify. “I thought you only had twelve creepy men,” he said to Salvador.
“I am not sure who those men are,” Salvador replied. “But I can feel their birth. They are newly created.” Salvador cocked his head and the move reminded Rick of a bird. “I can scent my blood in them, but something does not smell right. How has Kraven used my Mãos da Morte against me? That should not be possible.”
“Fucking great,” Rick murmured. “More boogeymen.”
“But far worse,” Salvador added.
Kraven walked about ten paces and then stopped. “It is a pleasure seeing you once again, Salvador Santos Almeida. It has been too long.”
Rick didn’t like the way Kraven was greeting Salvador. The vampire was too damn sure of himself.
“Something I need to know?” Rick asked Salvador.
“Kraven came to me, striking a deal to have control of my Mãos da Morte. I granted his request to take possession of them for two hundred years, but in return I required one thousand years of servitude. I thought Kraven would back out of the deal, the demand too heavy, but he did not.”
“And his time is up,” Rick surmised.
“Indeed it is.”
“So what in the hell did he do?” Rick asked, glancing at the twelve men who didn’t resemble Salvador’s boogeymen.
“It seems he created his own Mãos da Morte using the blood of one of my own.”
“Oh, hell,” Miguel said from behind them. “We are so fucking screwed.”
Kraven held his arms wide. “You disrespect me by refusing me a proper greeting, Salvador?”
Salvador spit on the ground. “You are a turned vampire, not born of our flesh. You deserve no reverence or accolade. You are the very dirt I walk upon, an abomination.”
Kraven’s face mottled with anger. “We’ll see about that once my Soul Reapers are finished with you.”
Soul Reapers, really? That term didn’t make Rick feel at ease. As a matter of fact, he wanted to grab his group and get the hell out of there, but damn if he was going to let Kraven run him away.
He was an alpha. Whether the creatures with Kraven defeated Rick or not, he was standing tall and proud next to Salvador and his coven.
Fuck that piece of shit and his little minions.
“You dare use my very own creations to breed your abominations!” Salvador said in rage. Before Rick could blink, Salvador sliced his arm through the air, and then the Mãos da Morte fell the ground, burning into a bright, consuming light before nothing was left of them but smoldering ashes.
Rick gaped at Salvador.
“I will kill my very own to ensure they are never used in such a manner again.”
He heard Salvador, but Rick felt the man’s pain. He hadn’t wanted to destroy the creatures. They had been feared because of what Kraven had used them for over the years, but he was willing to bet Salvador had wielded them differently.
That still didn’t mean he wasn’t glad as hell that they were gone.
Kraven’s eyes widened and then lowered to tiny slits. “I still have my Soul Reapers.” He waved a hand at Rick and the others, and then the things came flying at them. Kraven disappeared as Rick shifted into his werewolf form.
He knew they were in deep shit because
Salvador didn’t own the Soul Reapers.
Kraven did, and the bastard had just vanished.
Chapter Nineteen
Salvador tried to push into the Soul Reapers’ minds, but found nothing but a dark evil residing inside all twelve of them. It was like nothing he had ever encountered before. There was absolutely nothing there, a void, an absence of intelligence and spirit.
In that moment Salvador knew they had to be destroyed. But as he wielded his mind like a weapon, any pain he threw their way was felt in his very own body.
Kraven had not only used Mãos da Morte blood to create these abominations, but he had also used a chant to reverberate anything Salvador attempted against these creatures to fall back on him. He staggered, holding his chest as he glanced at Enrique. “I cannot kill them if I do not wish to fall myself. Kraven has bound their lives to mine.”
“Then step aside,” Enrique said with confidence. “My men and yours will deal with them.”
“You cannot kill them.”
The werewolf alpha glared at Salvador. “You sure as fuck know how to tie someone’s hands.”
“It was not I who tied your hands, Enrique.”
“I swear, if I ever get my hands on Kraven, I’m going to torture the bastard.” Enrique moved forward, his group and Salvador’s coven moving as well. Salvador reached out and grabbed Omar, pulling him back.
“You are not well, meu destino. You must not fight.”
Omar was still in his jackal form, with hooves and a fluffy tail. Salvador was still shocked as hell, but he knew he would take Omar any way the man came. Omar was his and Salvador would keep the man even if Omar turned into a two-headed penguin.
Which he prayed like hell never happened.
Omar gave a low growl, but didn’t move any further.
Although he knew Omar was a warrior at heart, the man was first and foremost Salvador’s mate. “Thank you, little warrior. I know your heart is brave, but one must know when to back away.” Salvador wished like hell he could destroy the men advancing toward the group, but the pain would not only render him unconscious, it would kill him.
He had to find a way to reverse what Kraven had done. Salvador had underestimated the man, but he would not do so in the future. Holding tight to Omar, he watched as the battle began. The Soul Reapers were not as skilled fighters as the Mãos da Morte, but they weren’t easily defeated. Salvador gripped Omar tighter as he endured the pain of every strike against the Soul Reapers. He felt it when one of them was cut. He felt it when one of them was bitten. His insides felt as if hot molten lava were bubbling and spilling over into his gut, but Salvador refused to crumble under the agony.
Omar licked at his face, but Salvador found no relief in his mate’s comforting gestures. Not when he was being attacked by an entire coven and Rebellion group. He knew his coven were worthy opponents and felt the blows every single time.
But what surprised him was how well Enrique and his group fought. Salvador dropped to the ground when it felt as if his knee were shattering. “Don’t use fucking guns!” he shouted at Benito.
“My bad,” Benito called out as he holstered his gun and began to use claws and teeth. Salvador wasn’t sure if that option was any better. Not when he felt every slice, every bite. But he fought to get past the agonizing torture and used his mind to create high winds and blinding dust clouds.
Neither the Rebellion group nor his coven faltered, but the Soul Reapers seemed a bit disoriented. They were newly created, lacking the skills to tune out the chaos of outside factors. They began to blindly swing at the air, slicing into nothingness.
The Rebellion group and coven used this to their advantage. Salvador knew because he felt the sting of the blow, bites, cuts, claws, and hard punches. He was on the ground writhing in pain, praying he survived the battle.
Omar had shifted and placed Salvador’s head in his lap. “What can I do?” the smaller man asked desperately.
“Pray for me,” Salvador said as he panted, trying to pull air into his lungs as his gut felt every blow, knocking the air right back out of him.
Using the self-preservation all living beings possessed, Salvador used the last of his dwindling powers to not only transport the Rebellion group and his coven out of there, but the vehicles as well.
As they appeared on a road close to the labs, Salvador lost consciousness.
Omar watched as each coven member took turns feeding Salvador from their wrist. He was beginning to see the difference between a turned vampire and a muerto desde el útero. It seemed the born vampires had honor and loyalty, whereas the turned ones cared for no one but themselves.
He still didn’t like all these men feeding his mate. But Omar knew he didn’t have enough blood in him to give the ancient vampire what he needed in order to be whole again. He glanced around the empty outlet store Rick had found for them to hide in. They were currently sitting in the sporting goods aisle, Salvador lying on a camping cot.
His mate looked so damn pale that it frightened Omar. He might have always thought he would mate a werewolf, but since meeting Freedman, and then Salvador, Omar could see it was his parents and unfortunate circumstances that had made him feel hatred toward anyone not changeling.
“He’ll be fine,” Freedman reassured him as he sat on a portable camping chair next to Omar. “His coven is taking real good care of him.”
“But it should be us taking care of him,” Omar said in a sour tone that sounded a little bratty. He didn’t mean to sound that way, but Omar hated feeling helpless. It was something he had felt too many times in his life, and the emotions weren’t welcome.
Freedman sat back and crossed his ankles. “Unless you want him to drain us both, there isn’t a better option. Can’t say I like it either, but if it helps Salvador, we’ll endure it.”
Omar crossed his legs under his butt, gripping the cloth handles. “Why do they look at him that way?”
Freedman shrugged. “Maybe because he is their leader. I don’t think they have anything lasciviousness in mind. They are just trying to make sure he pulls through.”
There was an underlying current in Freedman’s tone and Omar could tell the man was just as worried as he was. He rested his chin in his hands, watching and waiting to see Salvador’s eyes open. From what the coven had told him, Salvador was feeding on instinct. He wasn’t truly awake.
Omar wanted him awake.
Freedman reached over and brushed his fingers on Omar’s hand. “He’ll be fine, baby.”
He wished he was that confident, but Omar had never seen Salvador so damn pale before. The man had bronzed skin that looked as if the sun had worshipped Salvador. Which he knew wasn’t true, but the pigmentation was dark and beautiful.
“Can I ask you something?”
Freedman’s eyes became guarded, and Omar could scent unease. “Depends.”
“Why do you protect your heart against your mates?”
Omar could practically see the man’s shields slam into place. The force around Freedman was almost tangible. His mate just sat there staring at Omar with deep, penetrating eyes. But Omar had a feeling Freedman was somewhere inside his own head. There was sadness to the man as he blinked and then shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“It does when you have two mates who would never do anything to harm you and only want you to love us. We’re not lovers, the three of us, we’re mates. You can’t hold back. I don’t want our relationship to be based on good sex and nothing more.” And it was good sex, but Omar was speaking the truth. “I grew up in a house where my parents were determined to raise a poster boy for well-bred genes. They pushed me to excel at my academics, pressured me into attending all the social functions.” Omar sighed.
“I vowed that when I found my mate, things would be different. I wouldn’t care what background he came from just as long as we loved each other. I hated those parties. I was totally lost and socially awkward. I may be book smart, but that hasn’t helped me one bit in this war.”
&nb
sp; “But you helped figure out what was wrong with Ian,” Freedman pointed out.
“They would have eventually figured it out, Freedman. Don’t you get it? My parents were so busy building their status and making sure they had the perfect son that they left Omar behind. I was lonely as hell until I met my mates. I don’t want the kind of relationship with either of you that my parents had. I want you to know that I love you. I want to show you as well.”
Omar had never given a speech that long in his life. Not about his feelings. He just hoped Freedman considered his words. They were going to be together for a very long time. He didn’t want to be with Freedman and not have the man’s heart.
“We get along outside of sex,” Freedman said.
Omar looked at the man as if he were daft. “No, not really. Look, just think about what I said. I’m not asking you to profess your love right this second. All I’m asking is that you consider your mates.”
His mate slid further down in his chair. His look was pensive. “When I was in my early twenties, I met a guy named Anthony. We were good together, and I fell in love with him. I knew in my heart we would spend the rest of our lives together. Back then I was away on a lot of missions. Anthony told me he understood and whenever I came home, the man was nothing but…well, you know. About two years after we moved in together, I came home to find Anthony standing by his car, all his belongings packed and gone from the house. He told me he needed someone full time.”
Omar could feel the hurt coming from the memory Freedman was sharing with him. He wanted to reach out and comfort the man, but stayed where he was. His mate looked as if he were having a hard enough time telling his story.
“There was never any sign that Anthony was unhappy. He never said a word. He just walked away from our relationship as if it meant nothing to him.” Freedman turned toward Omar, his blue eyes filled with pain. “If I open up my heart again, and I lose one of you, I won’t survive. I barely survived the first time. It took me weeks, months, years to get past Anthony. If I lost one of you, I know I would lose my sanity.”
