Sanibel Virgin

by Talyn Scott

  “Do I look like I give a fuck what humans can detect?”

  When Bane’s hand tightened, Jude moved next to them. “With all due respect, Beta, as a Tracker I would like to know how that’s possible. The victim’s scent is distinct when compared to a pureblood human.”

  “Because she’s too diluted,” Mason offered as Bane composed himself and dropped his hand. “Point in fact, she has no fangs.” He wanted nothing more than to knock his big brother headfirst into the reeking dumpster. If they were by themselves, he would have without a second thought. Instead, Mason fisted his hands at his sides, batting away his rage second by second, which was a feat in itself considering he’d been torn away from his female the moment of her discovery. “Even though most immortals can smell her genetics, the victim can go unnoticed under any human examination, including blood tests.”

  Jude raised a skeptical brow and gestured towards the victim. “Be that as it may, Doctor, how do you think Fort Myers’ finest will react to the Druid-blessed stake protruding from her chest?”

  Bane’s lip curled. “Better yet, how do you suppose humans will react when the local news gets wind of this?”

  Mason looked at Jude, then stared hard at Bane. All present knew they could remove every trace of the murder weapon before they left the crime scene to the human police, and Pack could still investigate. “If we take her, the victim’s family won’t have any closure.”

  Bane’s eyes closed briefly in obvious regret, but when he opened his mouth his buzzing phone cut off his reply. “I have to take this.”

  When Bane walked down the alleyway separating First and Second Street, Jude intervened, “I understand your empathy for the humans, that you work with them daily, but for once, stop thinking like a healer.”

  “There’s no off switch,” Mason snapped, “or I would be working as a Territorial Beta, the same as my many brothers.”

  “Right now, you’re here as a medical investigator, nothing more.”

  “As a medical investigator?” Since recently finishing his residency, Mason lived to heal and heal alone. Considering Beta blood rushed his veins, death unnaturally disconcerted Mason, which was one of the reasons he stayed away from practicing in the emergency room and in the field of human geriatrics. As evidenced before him, with this young female extinguished in the prime of her life, a human – even a mixed blood - more or less lived a butterfly’s life span. So, yeah, he considered the human circle of life not the glorious acceptance and celebration of life and death most made it out to be. “You know I wasn’t trained in forensics. I can offer nothing beyond the reminder that we have uninvited vampires in our city.”

  “So we start blaming them this night or wait till the morrow?”

  Mason threw up his hands. “Do you recall how vampire rogues set off one explosion after the other inside our miasma protected compound?”

  “Rogue, not Coven,” Jude countered in a grim voice. “We will no’ play the blame game in lieu of a proper investigation.”

  “Tell me the leeches had nothing to do with this, Jude, and I’ll believe you - the male who has never lied to me.”

  “Then believe me when I say we need your instincts tonight. Whenever a female is lost, no matter what her genetic makeup, we must extend our claws in unison. In this, there’s no Tracker, doctor, Alpha, or Beta. We are werewolves, plain and simple, and it’s up to us to hunt an immortal slayer. Us, do you understand?”

  Of course, Mason understood. Still… “But her family - ”

  “May never have the closure you insist upon, but this travesty will no’ go unpunished. By. Us.” Jude placed his hands on Mason’s shoulders and turned him to face the body, once more. “We will avenge this girl’s death as an honor tribute to her family. Now tell me, how will the humans do the same? All of us know they’ll only get themselves killed for trying.”

  He nodded and pulled out his penlight, illuminating the murder weapon before trailing the light along her blood-soaked chest and neck. “Right off, we’re at a major disadvantage. My first concern over trailing the killer is that you’re a Tracker with unfathomable skills, yet you’ve detected no scent other than that of the victim.”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah? And how would you manage that?” Mason’s eyes lifted and met the mouth of the alleyway, noticing incoming vampires. From above, a couple of pebbles hit the pavement. Mason’s head shot up, his eyes locking onto four Pack males hunched on the rooftop, guarding the scene. By their evident tension, they sensed the vampires, too.

  Jude leaned against the wall, his right knee bending, his foot flattening against the brick. “Whoever the killer is, he or she is not human.”

  Obviously, Jude based his assumptions on the weapon du jour. “Yes, the weapon is Druid-blessed. Though, through the ages, humans have been known to own Druid relics.”

  “The murder weapon notwithstanding,” Jude elaborated, “I’ve tracked and captured thousands of nefarious, blood-thirsty creatures before your mother ever birthed you.” He shook his head. “No immortal slayer escapes me. Not. One. And I’m saying an immortal slayer is at work here.”

  Mason watched him peel off the wall and walk a few yards, the Tracker moving his head this way and that while trying to pickup on any inhuman scent. With the horrendous amount of blood flowing out of the victim, Mason could detect nothing, nor could his werewolf, even following the process of scent elimination. According to the Scottish Pack, however, naught had ever escaped Jude Faden.

  Coming from royal blood, Mason understood how consistent perfection was a hard act to live up to. Since no one expected Jude to screw up - much the same way Pack expected perfection from Betas or humans often raised a doctor to a god-like status – Mason empathized with Jude’s unrelenting pressures of Pack.

  Gesturing toward Second Street, Jude said, “I’ll track downtown again, see if I missed anything.”

  “Have you ever missed anything?”

  “Nay, but the day I consider myself infallible is the day I should go to ground.”

  At last Bane came back, nodding at Jude in passing. Mason said, “Tell me you phoned Dru.”

  Bane gave Mason a knowing glare. “Tell me you didn’t phone the ME.”

  “Why would I go against direct orders?”

  “Oh, do I hear the pitter-patter of cooperation?” Bane tweaked Mason’s nose, earning Bane a sharp elbow to his right kidney.

  With a low oath, Bane rubbed his side before placing his hands on Mason’s shoulders and addressing their earlier conflict. “One day you’ll be as old as I am. Hopefully, age won’t make you a cynic.” He shrugged. “But you never know because immortal ennui is a hard thing to fight.”

  “Oh, please, when did you ever fight ennui?”

  “I fought it every damn day of my life until I met Renee.”

  Mason was in no mood for a heart-to-heart. “Land this, Bane. My mate is waiting.” Or so he hoped. If not, he would release his werewolf and hunt her.

  “And I’m sorry the celebration was put on hold.” Bane’s hands tightened on Mason’s shoulders affectionately, which was an improvement over the earlier trachea clamping. “So I’ll nutshell it. When immortals live among weaker species, some situations demand ethical variances.” He dropped his hands and pointed to the victim. “Welcome to your first gray area.”

  “Second gray area,” Commander Syon said right as he misted in next to the victim. His vampire’s irises swallowed the whites of his eyes, the spilled blood lulling his inner vampire to surface and to feed.

  Bane demanded, “Explain.”

  “A civilian’s Youngling spotted a hand rising above a Sanibel Island dune.” In the way of vampires, he glided to the female’s body without toeing the blood. “Just so happens it was attached to a dead male.”

  “Murdered?” Mason asked as the vampire studied the victim’s throat.

  “Yes.”

  “Mason,” Bane said as he lifted his phone and shot out a quick text, “Why i
s your werewolf picking this moment to rise?”

  “Syon proposed my mate go under his personal protection.”

  Syon looked confused. “Your mate?”

  “Kalen Young,” Mason replied through clenched teeth. “Found out tonight.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Mason expected the sarcasm. “You will stay away from her, revoking your offer of protection.”

  Syon lifted his eyes to Mason. “Like you, I don’t want to see anything happen to Kalen.”

  Bane glanced between them. “What’s the story here?”

  Mason didn’t want to discuss Kalen searching for her half breed father who’d disappeared years ago. “It’s nothing,” he told Bane, though his eyes stayed on Syon, hoping the leech bastard would keep his yap shut.

  Syon agreed, “Time’s better spent concentrating on these murders. The victim discovered on Sanibel Island is a mixed blood male similar in age to this female. Except he’s not of vampires, but part werewolf.”

  Mason asked, “Was he protected by Pack, marked in any way?” If the werewolf mixed-blood belonged to any female, the loss would prove unbearable for his mate. Werewolves rarely survived the death of their mates, most usually finding life thereafter worthless. From Mason’s observation, vampires trudged on even after losing their Brides, though they visibly wore their pain.

  “Not that we can see.” Syon checked his watch. “I ordered my Elite to transfer the victim’s remains to the Joint Faction Facility.”

  Bane asked, “Comparisons?”

  “Same MO… The style of execution and weapon used are virtually identical.” Syon hovered around the victim, displacing three inches of air between his booted feet and the cobblestones below him. “Sanibel’s victim still wore a pricey watch. His wallet carried an available fifty bucks along with a wide assortment of credit cards.”

  “Our transport will arrive within ten minutes.” Bane started vaporizing into air. “I’m headed to the Joint Faction Facility. I want to check the male victim for markings.”

  Syon waved Mason on. “I’ll stay until transport arrives.”

  Mason couldn’t step away just yet, his eyes lingering over the stake. He shifted on his feet, pulling from his memories. “I saw a similar stake when I was a child, well before my Youngling years.”

  “Where?”

  “Ireland,” Mason said, picturing it in his head. “The stake was be-spelled, rendering it capable of killing almost any vampire, no matter the vampire’s powers or advanced age.”

  Syon’s head snapped up. “Go on.”

  “The stake carried an inscription.”

  The commander stilled, his body still hovering inches above the blood-soaked cobblestones. “I’ve never heard of this. What was the inscription, the killing spell?”

  Mason sensed Jude misting over the water, the Tracker’s molecules circling the city once more. “More precisely, the inscription contained a fraction of the spell. A simplification, I was told. Although the complete spell backs the weapon, therefore, fortifying the kill.”

  “I loathe Druids.”

  Mason couldn’t blame him. “Fortunate for your species, each spell kills only one vampire.”

  Syon produced a white cloth and eased the stake from the victim’s chest. “But can the Druid,” he asked as the stake slipped free with a sickening suction, “re-spell the same weapon?”

  Mason noticed human foot-traffic increasing right as a Pack owned van pulled to the curb. “If memory serves, it’s possible for the same Druid to recast the spell, or even create a new spell on a used weapon.”

  “I long for the glory years when Druids were hunted like wild game, their heads trophies above mantels.”

  Mason ignored that sentiment, continuing, “I heard the whole process is still tricky. Even though the weapons can be re-spelled, the same Druid who first blessed the weapon is required to perform any additional spells.”

  “Tricky, indeed,” Syon agreed as he wiped enough blood from the stake to reveal three words etched in Gaelic.

  Mason leaned over the body, reading, as four Pack males marched through the alleyway to transport the victim. All eyes were on Mason as a chill pushed its way through his body, but he kept his voice level when he translated the Gaelic to those gathered. “Save the innocent.”

  Chapter Seven

  Kalen inched backwards on the deck, just a fraction of a step. Archer’s blue flares locked onto her. Apart from the mammoth size of him, he looked like a movie star — golden hair, pretty-boy face, stern jaw with just the right cleft in his chin. That is, if you could discount his deadly edge.

  “Don’t do it,” he warned, his teeth flashing white in the darkness.

  “Don’t what? I… my bags are in the trunk of my car.”

  “I’ll go get them for you.” He tugged at his shirt, looking overheated. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

  Kalen took another fraction of a step and gripped the top of the staircase banister with her sweaty palm. She couldn’t understand this fire building within her, considering Mason had brought her to the most climatic orgasm of her life. Clearly, there was something to this mate thing because her body had severed ties with her mind. While lowering her foot on the first step down, Archer rumbled a warning growl, his deep baritone brushing her skin like a personal touch.

  “Werewolf heat is growing in you now. I can sense the change. Go inside, please, and try to relax while I get your bags.” He walked across the deck in the human way, taking slow measure steps as though she were a frightened animal.

  When she had started to run from Mason and Jude, Kalen had managed to get control of the urge. In fact, she’d really enjoyed the beginnings of her conversation with Jude, even discovering an immediate attraction to him. After all, what single woman in her right mind could turn him away?

  Even so, after Alpha Jordan had rolled in with his power leash secured to a roaring Archer, and then commanded Jude and Mason to fix whatever immortal chaos awaited them, Kalen’s mind started mixing the past with the present again. And if she had to see her mother’s lifeless eyes staring at her one more time tonight, she’d probably lose the part of her mind that was left.

  So, now, heading to The Blue Pelican sounded like a less riskier choice. What were the odds that vampires would really come back and bother her at a Pack owned property? Then, she could meet up with Archer tomorrow to visit Jenny and they could discuss whatever they needed to discuss on the way to the Joint Faction Facility. She shook her head, unable to process what kind of conversation that would be. She glanced at the side door, then back to him, wondering what to say. So she came up with something quick and stupid. “I forgot some things, thought I’d drive to the store.”

  He stepped closer, rubbing his whiskered jaw in thought. “Only store open on the island this late is the convenience store. I’ll take you to The Blue Pelican. One of our Pack members will open the interior shops for me. I’ll buy you anything you need or want.”

  Kalen took another step, then another, moving halfway down the wooden staircase. “Oh, I don’t want anyone to open a store for … uh,” she stumbled and he raised his eyebrows expectantly, clearly waiting to see what she’d come up with because both of them knew she was lying. This made her feel like a child, which made her mad, so she blurted out, “Tampons.”

  Archer took another step, placing both of his mighty hands on either side of the bannister. “Tampons?”

  “Yeah, I’m feeling cramps,” she snapped. Kalen didn’t have to explain anything to him! But anytime she grew angry, her mouth would shoot off in six different directions, and tonight was no different. “I need the biggest, fucking box of tampons this side of Tampa!”

  “You do?”

  “Sure do, sized super plus-plus-plus-extra-plus.” She descended three more steps. “They come in a glossy black box with a skull and cross bones on the front, and a warning label saying all men better beware of the bitch that uses this product.”

  He nodded thoughtfully
, descending two more steps. “And you need those black label tampons right now?” Dragging his fingers down the bannister, he stopped when his fingertips touched hers.

  “Yes.” She jerked her hand away when carnal fire shot up her arm. “Right this very minute.”

  “Or do you really need them twenty-three,” Archer stopped, shook his head as if to clear it, inhaled and exhaled, and then moved his mouth as though he were sampling wine, “no make that twenty-two days from now.”

  Embarrassed, scared, horny, and furious, she bolted to the car and dug her keys from her pocket. “I need to get out of here,” she mumbled as she pressed the fob and reached for the handle.

  His hand shot out over her head, sealing the door against the car and keeping it closed. Sudden tears filled Kalen’s eyes when she turned around and faced him. “Please, I know only a fraction of the things you can do to keep me here, and they would obviously work because I have no powers of my own. But I’m asking nicely for you to back off and let me leave.” Kalen never cried pretty, so she imagined Archer was getting an eyeful of snot. “I will talk to you tomorrow about this… this mating business. I swear it.”

  Archer searched her face, his eyes softening. “You just met me, Kalen. I don't expect you to swear anything, and you don’t owe me a discussion on our mating any time soon. As far as using my powers go; my strength belongs to you now. I will protect you, would tear the world apart if anything were to happen to you, but I will never disrespect you by lording what I’m capable of over you.”

  “Then why is your hand on the car door?” she pointed out.

  “Instinct.”

  “Can you rein it in a little?”

  “Actually, I was kind of proud of myself until you started crying.”

  “I’ll stop crying,” Kalen negotiated, nudging his arm with her shoulder, “if you drop the hand.”

  “But to be honest,” he kept talking as if she hadn’t spoken, “Ail and I busted up a couple of vamps tonight on your behalf. So I don’t think it would be advisable for you to drive off without my protection, do you?”