Broken Pieces

by Deja Black

  A group of young men and women who had overcome being cast away by the family who was supposed to protect them were just who he needed to convince the poor little birds flittering on the streets of the Derby City to take a chance on someplace warm and safe. Now, he just needed to be able to give that to them.

  He’d spoken to so many tonight that the names and the faces that owned them blurred, merging into a menagerie of colors and shapes. He’d have to make himself remember them, of course, but he kept getting distracted.

  Not surprised, only one face stayed in the forefront of his brain making him wish for more walks through the park and moonlit nights filled with passionate whispers. Remi Devereaux.

  So, it was with thoughts of Remi that he drifted from person to person, answering questions or meanings and reasons. Commenting on lighting and the soul behind the eyes. He shared in earnestness how purchases and donations would do wonders to improve the suffering of many.

  Yes, his uncle robbed him of waking up next to his man, but he’d remedy that. He had plans for that tapestry of masculinity that couldn’t be wrapped up in a few hours. No, it could take days, years. But, his charity was at the forefront in the here and now. He needed to focus on that.

  He felt the change in the atmosphere like sparks in the air. Something alive and deadly waiting to strike the unwary. Years of drumming in the necessity for awareness, of recognizing the possibility of an ambush, shivered down his spine as he sought the source of his unrest.

  Turning, he watched as she moved toward him. Clad in gold and white, she closed in. The smile on her face was full as she neared him, and she wasn’t alone. The men around her were taller, bigger than but not as dangerous as the venomous creature they surrounded. Her hair was long, and the color was so pitch dark a person could be swallowed in its depths.

  The noise of the gallery fell away as the leader of his father’s coven stood before him.

  “Peter, it is lovely to finally meet you. You would not believe how difficult it was to acquire this face-to-face moment. One would think your very existence was hidden from those who only want to become closer, to know you.” Her tone was one of regret. “But now, here we are, family as it were.”

  “To whom do I owe the pleasure?” Peter asked.

  “Alonya, acting Korolova of the Romanoff coven.” Her pale skin glimmered as she spoke. “And, it is indeed a pleasure, youngling.”

  At twenty-five, Peter did not consider himself a youngling.

  “I am hardly a youngling, Alonya.” The flare in her eyes blazed briefly, the distinct absence of the title she falsely wore like a slap against her need for respect.

  She was exquisite, features more Asian than Slavic. The gold dress she wore wrapped her frame, a plunging V splicing the swell of her breasts, another split at the apex of her slim thighs. Her ivory colored nail cut a wicked arc in the air as she spun toward one of her nelapsi pointing.

  “Bring him forward,” she hissed angrily. Turning back to face Peter, her smile was obscene in its hatred. However, as twisted her own grimace was, the men who surrounded her betrayed nothing.

  Two of the bulkier men—blond arctic giants—parted while another, even taller, pushed a body, bent and desolate toward him. Around his neck, a strip of leather dangled which Alonya quickly snatched up, her eyes completely on Peter.

  There was a scent then. Fear. Mixed with the open wounds that would surely decorate the human’s neck, Peter stepped back and away from the male bearing Alonya’s marks.

  The human was dressed well, wearing a suit that almost made up for the lack of fat on his bones and the stark look of dread frozen on his face. It made him a sexy little twink rather than a drained food bank to who knew how many nelapsi.

  Peter’s heart went out to him. He recognized property, had seen a few of the pets that traveled with vampires who visited the compound. These visitors were quickly warned against returning and shown the door by his uncle and a phalanx of wolves.

  Jeremiah Tolliver did not allow the use of humans as slaves or chattel to be played with at the whim of creatures considered stronger than them. His own son was human, Sarai Tolliver’s offspring. Humans were equals to be protected, not enslaved as this poor thing was at the end of Alonya’s leash.

  “Come, pet.” The words were a purr as she tightened the leash around his neck. Peter flicked a look around. Thankfully, the patrons didn’t seem to notice the nightmare occurring in this area of the gallery. They were hidden, it would seem, and he intended to make sure it stayed that way.

  He watched as the pale young male was pulled closer, neck displayed invitingly. “Have a drink?” Alonya said, her voice crawling up Peter’s spine. She offered a tease that in the past he would have simply ignored, but right now? Right now, an answering hum was in his veins—a thirst begging to be quenched by the life that was offered before him.

  The creatures stirring within. His nelapsi awakening, taking notice. The last taste he savored was from Caleb, and that felt like eons ago. This appetizer was enough to drink, maybe not be filled, but still enough to stay the need. Before he realized it, he’d moved closer, his gums tender from extended fangs.

  The wolf, the other part of his soul, stood as an observer. It wasn’t interested in drinking. The wolf wanted fucking, and the body of this waif wouldn’t do to serve its needs. It was Remi it wanted, so when Peter came within dangerous range of Alonya’s creature, it growled its warning.

  It was enough to pull back the daggers in his gums, but not enough to stop Peter from running his hand along the quaking creature. Slivers of light ran out and over his hands as he traced the cold skin.

  “I’ve brought you a present. Don’t be afraid to take what you need.” Releasing the leash, she pushed the wilted flower toward him. The human fell against him, his breath hard against Peter’s neck. Quickly, Peter circled his arms around him, held him close, and breathed in the scent of fresh blood that wafted under his nose like the prelude to a favored meal.

  “You seem to like the vermin. But, you can’t help that, can you? Bred with a wild dog and all.” Alonya looked him over, her eyes frosty with disdain. “My apologies, I sampled him myself first.”

  She licked at her index finger then rubbed it against her thumb. “He was good but not quite good enough.” Peter breathed the human in, noted the scent of blood mixed with sex. Barely taking in air, and the rush of his heart erratic, he barely heard the weak murmur at his ear.

  “Please.” It was soft, frightened, and enough to startle him out of his stupor. The fiery heat riding him, as the ripe smell of bloodlust battled his control, fell to a haze he contained.

  He sensed, rather than heard, his Second closing in with his men. They walked toward them, eyes focused and hard as they approached their Korol.

  “Korol?” Caleb questioned.

  “Second,” Peter responded.

  Peter opened his arms and passed the weak creature to his wolf. “Be careful with him.”

  “Yes, sir. Arin.” Caleb called out, and a smaller wolf strode forward, arms open to receive the human. “Find a car for him. Get him to the compound quickly.” The opening closed again as another wolf took Arin’s place.

  Alonya tutted. “Oh, he’s not that far gone, boy.” Her smile was pitying. “Well, not completely anyway. Use him if you want, sample him for yourself. He will prove delightful to your weak palate.” Alonya’s smile grew, but the warmth never touched her eyes.

  “Humans are not food,” Peter growled.

  “My, the mutt has teeth, does he?”

  The bitch kept playing with him. First, arriving on the night of his gallery opening—the event he’d planned for months. Bringing a human blood slave with her. Taunting him. The wolf in him awakened fully at the challenge, the rage replacing the heat.

  Neither creature welcomed the threat to his position as leader. The struggle and the inability to harness the control he needed wavered in the face of his enemy. The bound and b
leeding human, wrapped in sex and fear, the spicy scent of his blood still lingering in the air, played havoc with his nelapsi.

  And now this bitch was calling him a dog, pushing him, testing him. He was mentally spinning, twisting, just trying to hold it together. The lights in the room dimmed then sparked.

  “Peter, they are whatever I want them to be. After all, we are at the top of the food chain. Humans? They are the prey, to be used however and whenever we want. That scrap of flesh you are trying so diligently to save? I have discarded so many like him, bled them, and fed the leftovers to my men. And to hear them plead for their lives? It’s sweet music and thoroughly enjoyed.” Alonya prowled closer but raised her eyes noticeably when Calix pressed forward, Duncan standing parallel. Caleb stood to the left and slightly behind his Korol out of respect, prepared to battle, if necessary.

  To stand in front implied weakness, and if Caleb read the turmoil distressing Peter, it didn’t mean Alonya could. Peter wouldn’t fail his people, wouldn’t make them look foolish before this creature, but he was at a breaking point. At this rate, his uncle’s warnings of losing control would come to pass. Now wasn’t the time, but he recognized the stirring beneath his skin, felt the heat of electricity as it coursed through his body.

  Alonya stepped back, and her men pantomimed her movement. “I can’t wait to hear your symphony, Peter. To hear you beg and plead, to take your face, a face so like your father’s, and peel it away from your body. To watch your father’s men destroy you, have you kneel at my feet, and to drink you in. It’s time for you to come home and be my little bitch.”

  Arching a brow, she all but hissed at his people. “I am not afraid of your dogs, lubya, love. Mine have bigger teeth. Come, let’s leave this place.” A silken scarf appeared and was draped over her shoulders. “Forget taking the trash home. Enjoy the snack. Resisting is such a waste.” She spun on her heels, moving across the floor like a dancer in motion, fluid and graceful. Her men in her wake as she walked away.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Caleb asked.

  “The acting Korolova,” Peter growled. “I need a towel or something. Quickly, please.” A swath of cloth was found, and he wiped furiously at the blood dotting his palm—his own claws had torn the flesh.

  He’d almost lost it. He comforted himself with the word, almost, but it wasn’t enough. He had to do something and soon because his creatures weren’t settled. No, their energy was pacing, angered, and unsatisfied. His skin itchy and the muscles twisting beneath. The creatures were in agreement, though.

  They both wanted blood, perhaps for opposing reasons, but they both wanted it. The nelapsi wanted his thirst satisfied. The wolf wanted to rip Alonya’s heart out, and Peter couldn’t blame him. He turned his palm and saw the racing lines of energy chasing themselves over his skin. He drew in air as the power rose within.

  When he lifted his head, there was a resounding applause throughout the gallery.

  “That was wonderful,” someone said. “A fine example of family working to get along. The frustrations. Art in a most authentic form, completely original.”

  Another voice shouted, “Genius. Genius.”

  “Oh, wow, Peter. That was amazing,” Marina said as she sauntered forward, leaving the wowed audience behind her. Feigning surprise, she stepped determinedly over to Caleb. “Witnessing such passion has left me with a need for an outlet. Thoughts?”

  Caleb shook his head. “Woman.”

  Trembling, Peter called to Caleb. Immediately, Caleb moved to Peter. “I need to leave,” Peter whispered gruffly.

  Caleb nodded quickly, then said, “Marina. Not tonight.”

  “Oh, okay,” Marina said, alarmed. “Peter, I’ll take care of this okay.”

  At Peter’s sharp nod, she marched over to the audience, pointing toward photos in yet unseen areas, moving the crowd away from Peter.

  Fighting off the rage and the hunger, his wolf angered by the challenge and the nelapsi fighting his control, he allowed the support Caleb offered as the trembling worsening.

  As they exited, a few art enthusiasts watched them go, their faces glowing with awe over what they thought was some sort of role play. There were others who seemed confused and unsure.

  Hands patted Caleb and Peter’s shoulders as they moved by until bodies positioned themselves between those hands and Peter’s writhing frame.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Peter was at Jeremiah Tolliver’s compound. His mind was fevered, shivers wracking him as Caleb all but carried him in. Caleb’s gasps of pain were loud as his skin suffered the brunt of Peter’s blasts of energy. It was all over the place, his body twisting and writhing in pain, the light seeking and returning empty.

  Inside his head was dark and twisted. He thirsted violently, the need to fill himself with the spicy tang of fresh blood palpable.

  The human. No, not the human. His mate.

  His wolf paced back and forth wanting to fight, to tear apart, and avenge. Peter, the vessel, could no longer contain them. He was pulled back and forth, a yo-yo in his own mind. He needed balance.

  And when his feverish mind thought of balance, of the barometer to his soul, he saw Remi. Saw him ready to take him and to be taken. Peter wanted... No, he needed his mate. Now.

  He shook so hard his teeth hurt. It was stretching him, too immense for his taut skin. He was filled, overwhelmed. He was massive, his arms, his legs growing, stretching out before him as he trembled further. Torn apart. Rage and need. Possession and hunger.

  Mate. Remi.

  He heard the words rumbled forth in a voice so unlike his own say, “Mate. My mate.” Between the stabbing pains, as he expanded further and further, the torment was unbearable. He screamed for Remi, shouted for his mate.

  * * * *

  Kristoff entered the room and took in the sight of his nephew—pain and regret in his eyes. Jeremiah stood next to him, his hand at Kristoff’s back, supporting him. Neither spoke for a moment, just watched as the creature grew, its chest expansive and fur covered. It spoke, but the words were more groans and grunts than anything intelligible.

  Kristoff looked back to his Alpha, calming when his eyes found Jeremiah’s. Turning back, he said to Caleb. “Bring the mate as my nephew has requested.”

  “Is that wise? Look at him.” Caleb’s eyes were wild as he watched the beast before him. There were still burns on Caleb’s skin from the lightning storm surrounding Peter. Peter’s eyes darted around as he raged, looking for his mate and not finding him. “He’s broken.”

  Kristoff’s patience was wearing thin as he spoke to Peter’s Second, “And, his mate can fix him. Find him.”

  “But a human will not be strong enough, ready enough to deal with the monster he will see. How will he even see the man beneath this?”

  “How do you know?” Kristoff asked quietly while he watched Peter. Peter stood now, fists at his sides. His breathing was harsh, his face enraged. He all but glowed with the blaze surrounding him. “There is something about Remi telling him differently. And, right now, what matters is getting Remi here. He is needed. His blood will assuage Peter’s nelapsi half, and his submission will calm his wolf. He must be found now, or the monster before us will have to be put down.” His heart bled into his words.

  When Caleb moved to say more, Jeremiah spoke. “That is all, Caleb Waneek. You will do as your Alpha needs and as his uncle commands. His uncle is dominant here, Peter your Korol. The only reason your throat has not been ripped out is that we so will it. You serve. Your arm, his law.”

  “Even when he is not in his right mind?”

  “It is his heart that knows what he needs.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Remi could have steak, a salad. Use that recipe Deborah offered as a way to reconnect. She knew the way to his heart was a recipe from home. She’d called, her Dr. Who ringtone dancing across the room, and he’d answered.

  Neither mentioned their last conversation. They just
talked. She was missing Cas who would be in Wales for a few days. Work sometimes took his brother-in-law away monthly, but he always came home. Remi wouldn’t be surprised if when Cas returned they wouldn’t be on to baby number three.

  The laughter replacing her lonely tone was welcoming to hear. Apparently, twins, especially three-year-old twins, took the mind off the trivial. And, getting crayon off the walls in the kitchen was a task that helped her do it.

  “Of all the colors, black?” Deborah huffed.

  “Why not, little sis? Black is beautiful.”

  “Yes, but just not all over the lemony saffron of my walls. I just had those walls painted, Remi!”

  “Hey, well, the joys of parenthood—”

  “Can sometimes be fleeting, but I love them. Wouldn’t trade my dynamic duo for the world!” He practically saw the glow of happiness in those words.

  They were quiet for a moment. Then, both tired of the elephant in the room, they spoke at once.

  “Debbie, I’m—”

  “Remi, I’m—”

  They sighed, then Deborah spoke. “Are you sure, honey?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. More certain about this than anything else in my life right now.” He thought of soft laughter in the moonlight, of lying next to someone who made his heart swell with hope, with home. Peter made his pulse race, gave him what he’d needed for so long now.

  And, if gay was what that was, he was all in.

  “Well, then. No matter what, I love you. I’ll always love you, will always be there for you. You’re my brother.” Remi was quiet, allowed her words to wash over him, heal the little fissures that had begun in their relationship.

  “I know it was a shock.”

  “Oh, God, was it ever!” They shared a laugh. “But, thank you for telling me, for trusting me. I know I vegged out, and I’m sorry.” When Remi started to speak, Deborah hushed him. “Look, let me say this. You’re my big brother. And, somehow when you said that the person you were into was a man. I don’t know. I just wasn’t sure you’d be my big brother anymore, the one who always looked out for me.”