Angelic Blood (#5): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Slash

  Slash is ready.

  Ready to be done. Ready to see Adrianna. He doesn't want two antagonistic females to babysit. He wants one female forever.

  Slash is usually more focused on the task at hand. When openings for security detail came up, he and Zeke were the first to volunteer.

  Then the impossible happened. A Lanarre female stumbled into the equation.

  Slash's eyes move to Tessa, the older of the two. Her thick black hair is plaited in a single braid down her broad back. It's easy to see she's female, but there's not a soft spot anywhere on her athletic frame. Her wide gray eyes are framed by sooty lashes that match her hair. A dusky complexion contrasts to a smattering of freckles over her straight nose.

  The freckles reminds him of Adrianna, and his heart beats harder.

  As is the norm, both females have a healthy dose of prejudice against him and Zeke.

  That makes sense, because nothing good circulates about the Reds. Alaska is overrun with Reds, and they don't behave like a proper den. Instead, they run in immature, un-led packs, selecting mates indiscriminately. They've given all Reds everywhere a bad name.

  Zeke keeps a watchful eye on the young female, as he should. She's shown a prowess for self-defense atypical of female Weres, though Alpha females are known for their contentious streak.

  Slash grins.

  Tahlia notices and asks what's so funny.

  “Nothing is funny. I'm thinking about how interesting it will be for you to meet Adrianna.”

  Her faces screws up into a frown.

  Zeke covers a smile with a cough and Tessa, appearing more jaded than all of them, looks between the two males and narrows her eyes.

  “I know you're not going to hurt us,” she begins, and Zeke's expressive face gives him away.

  Tessa stops hiking and crosses her arms. “Listen, I already told you. Two females are alone, then two wolfen males pop up like jack-in-the-Weres and don't let us know if they're friends…”

  “We obviously assume you are foes,” Tahlia says with a touch of arrogance in her voice.

  Zeke glowers but says, “Obviously. Hated the talon swipe. Hurts like a bitch. Heals like hell.”

  Slash chuckles. Zeke rolls with circumstances—a critical component to surviving in their supernatural reality.

  “Anyway,” Tessa drawls, “that doesn't mean I don't need any background about where we'll be taking temporary shelter. What is expected of us?”

  Another full look passes between him and Zeke.

  “Okay, who stepped on your puppy?” Tessa asks.

  Tahlia looks around.

  “I don't see any dogs.” Then she smirks, giving a significant look at the two males in wolfen form.

  “It's an expression,” Tessa says with a proper amount of impatience.

  Zeke scowls at Tahlia. “You speak your opinion without any fear of reprisal.”

  Tahlia clasps her hands behind her back. “And you can speak. I was beginning to wonder.”

  Their stares clash, and Zeke marches over to Tahlia. She tilts her face upward.

  An expression of panic washes over Tessa's face.

  Tahlia's either stupid or brave.

  Or both.

  Zeke is a foot and a half taller than Tahlia is. He looms over her, and with a low growl, he moves as though to speak.

  Tahlia tips her head back, exposing the smooth skin of her throat to Zeke. “You would harm me because of my sharp tongue?” she whispers.

  Zeke sways forward, as if he's in a dreamlike state. “Not harm—no.”

  He grips her shoulders and sinks his short snout into the crook of her neck, letting out a low growl.

  The posturing has gone on long enough.

  “Do something,” Tessa says, and Slash sprints the short distance to the pair.

  Zeke's snout comes away from her neck, and she sinks against him, sliding her arms around his waist.

  Fuck.

  His eyes spin like emerald fire at Slash, but the revolutions are too fast to track. “Keep your distance.”

  Slash tenses. “Let the Lanarre go.”

  Her defiant gaze moves to Slash. “I do not wish to.”

  “Tahlia,” Tessa warns, “this is dangerous.”

  Zeke presses his snout against Tahlia's hair, scenting deeply of her.

  “She nearly decapitated you,” Slash says.

  Zeke ignores him.

  Slash exhales in disgust. “You're drunk from her scent. Step away.”

  Zeke growls in challenge. Slash has no desire to injure or kill his newest second.

  He gives the Lanarre the contemptuous look she deserves.

  Tahlia sniffs at him. “Do not look down on me, Red.”

  Slash folds his arms as his second rolls in her scent. Zeke's snout disappears underneath her hair, and he only comes up for air to press his nose in another unscented spot.

  “He is a good Were. Do not charm him.”

  Tahlia smiles. “Shall I charm you?”

  “Won't work, whelp. You're too young, I'm too pure, and I have a female.”

  Tahlia pouts, and the expression makes her look even younger than she is. She plays childish games with dangerous players.

  Grudgingly, she loosens her hold on Zeke and steps away. He tries to follow.

  “Zeke!” Slash says in a sharp voice.

  The Were’s head jerks. He shakes it as though he were asleep. In a way, he was.

  The Lanarre placed at the pinnacle of their species is a danger. With other lesser Were, they are treacherous. Zeke's mixed heritage make him vulnerable to her compulsions.

  Zeke gazes at Tahlia. Slash watches his expression change from one of dumb thrall, as he’s seen a human look at a vamp, to one of anger. “That is not right.”

  Tahlia shrugs. “It's important you know with whom you deal.”

  “Where is the selfless girl that saved my life?” Tessa asks with a touch of sadness in her voice.

  Tahlia's expression hardens. “I will not be ruled by males. Or anyone. My chosen, Drek—he is the only male who stands over me. I am Lanarre.”

  Tessa makes a sound of distaste. “Well, good for you. I am a rogue Alpha who's been followed for two decades by a packmaster who doesn't care how I feel—that I think independently at all.” Her eyes bore into Tahlia's. “But I'm not going to do a catnip routine on all males because of one male.”

  Amen to that. Slash enjoys Tessa's spirit. “Catnip?”

  Zeke chuckles. “I like you,” he says to Tessa.

  “Thanks, but don't get any ideas.”

  Slash laughs and turns to walk back toward Region One.

  “How much longer?” Tahlia asks after an awkward silent ten minutes of marching through the woods.

  Very young.

  “We'll be there when we get there.”

  Whelps.

  *

  Julia

  She spots them first, which is amazing, considering all the others in the group have eyesight better than hers.

  Julia jogs out to meet Slash and Zeke.

  She takes in the two women who they're walking with. Julia doesn't miss the healing talon marks at Zeke's throat, either.

  Jason is there before she can open her mouth, his arm straying in front of her. “Whoa, babe. Let's see what's what.”

  Of course, he's right, but Julia's emotional upkeep is taking its toll. She doesn't want to follow rules or keep how she feels silent. Scott has returned.

  Her people are dead.

  Julia badly wants to be in charge of her destiny. And she will be if it's the last thing she does.

  “Don't baby me, Jason,” Julia says, scooting around his arm.

  He sighs.

  “Uh-huh, ’cause you're not a danger magnet or some such shit?”

  Julia ignores him, and Slash, who's normally quiet, pipes up, “These are some stray Were we picked up on our perimeter sweep.” He jerks a thumb at the young women behind him.
<
br />   Julia stares openly.

  A couple of years ago, she would have made a stab at being polite. Three years in the supernatural world has all but scrubbed away the human niceties.

  The younger one is striking. Her large wide-set eyes have the barest almond shape and an almost violet hue. Dark ringlets spiral out and away from her face, overwhelming her slim body. Her nose is straight; her lips, full.

  They look fuller for the pouting.

  It makes her look about twelve, though Julia is pretty good at guessing age, and she thinks the girl is closer to twenty. But if she's Were, that could be way off. Julia's gaze latches on to the older woman. Her long hair is as dark as night, and her startling gray eyes are not light as Victor's were. They are the color of a coming storm.

  She meets Julia's stare unblinkingly.

  Alpha for sure.

  “I'm Julia,” she says with a smile.

  “Tessa,” the young woman replies.

  The younger introduces herself as Tahlia.

  She has some kind of accent, which Julia can't pinpoint.

  “I'm sure that Slash and Zeke didn't bring you back here because everything's all hunky-dory.”

  Tessa grins suddenly, and the expression softens her face. “No, you've got that right. But I'll be honest.”

  Well, thank heaven for that.

  “I don't want to bring what I've got chasing me down on you guys.” Her worried eyes fall on Julia.

  Julia frowns. Nope, Region One sure doesn't need any more bad crap. But she won’t turn away defenseless women.

  Her eyes stray to Zeke's neck. Maybe not so defenseless.

  Jason's strong hands move to Julia's shoulders. “Up to you.”

  Isn't it always?

  Tessa's expression is neutral and Julia can't read Tahlia's.

  “You're welcome to stay here if you don't mind a little work.” Julia's mouth twists. “Or a lot.”

  Tessa's shoulders drop, and she lets out a sigh of obvious relief. Julia turns to Tahlia, who looks untroubled. Her deep poise is weird for somebody so young, and Julia is very interested to hear why a young female Were is away from her den. It makes zero sense. Julia remembers how closely they guarded her when she was at the Northwestern den.

  Julia steps forward and shakes hands with the women. The constant chattering white noise inside her brain intensifies unmercifully for a moment then subsides. She takes a shaky breath and smiles, despite the ESP distraction.

  Being a telepath can be a liability. And when it comes to the Were, it's like bad noise that fills her head and makes it hurt.

  “You okay?” Jason asks in a low voice, and Tessa's ears perk.

  Julia nods, rubbing her temples. “Yeah.” She shakes off the disquieting telepathic current. “I bet you guys are hungry?” she asks, taking the focus off herself.

  “Starved,” Tessa admits with a grateful smile.

  “I could eat,” Tahlia says.

  “Great, follow me.” Julia turns around and without waiting for anyone, makes her way back to the kitchen.

  *

  The guilt is there, but Julia ignores it. She wants to see Scott.

  She's pulled to him like a moth to a flame. Though the soul-meld was wiped out in faerie, Julia wonders if something still remains.

  It's possible the tie is the reason why she never really grieved when Tom Harriet took him. Julia must've known, deep down, that he was still alive.

  And she's glad. Julia's married to Jason, but she's happy Scott's alive and that he's here.

  Her feelings are still kind of a mess.

  Julia gets the women settled and moves quietly through the mansion without a guide, until she reaches a closed door on the second floor. She's never been inside this room before. The house is over seven thousand square feet, probably closer to eight. There are two dozen rooms, nine bedrooms and six bathrooms.

  Scott could be anywhere.

  She lays the flat of her palm on the polished wood door. Her every sense has come alive and they're raw.

  “Come in, Julia,” Scott says.

  She sighs and turns the crystal knob, swinging the door wide.

  Scott's propped up on pillows.

  Julia doesn't speak to the weirdness between them. Instead, she asks about something safe. “How's the leg?”

  Scott shrugs. “It'll be good soon.”

  Julia looks at her feet. “How soon?” When she looks up, Scott's right in front of her. In. Front. Of. Her.

  Julia jerks her chin back. “What—what are you doing? How'd you move that fast?”

  Scott doesn't say anything. His hand moves to her shoulder and floats down to her wrist, then his fingers twine with hers.

  The breath she's been holding slides out in defeat. She forgot Scott is so tall, so big—and so terribly dangerous.

  But he’s not dangerous to her, never to her.

  His injured eye has healed enough to open, and his dark gaze finds hers. His hand moves to her jaw, and he feathers his thumb along its edge.

  “Did you believe what Tharell told you?”

  She didn’t expect the question. Julia shakes her head because she can't think. She's numb with what his touch means. Inert like unshaped clay.

  This can't be happening. Julia was so sure she had it figured out. That her path was set.

  Scott grasps her chin, moving it gently so their eyes lock. “That a soul-meld could be thrown away because we were in a faerie mound?” His voice is rife with disbelief. “What in the hell did he think would happen once we left?” Scott's brows come together at the apparent obviousness of it all.

  “I guess…” Julia tries to retreat from his embrace, and it's like stepping out of warm bathwater into a cold bathroom.

  I don't want to go.

  “I assumed…”

  Scott's eyebrows jam tighter. “Uh-huh. You know what they say about assuming.”

  Julia makes an inarticulate noise as he buries his fingers in her hair. He makes a fist, twisting the tendrils, creating a sensation just shy of true pain.

  “It makes an ass,” he whispers against her temple, “out of you…”

  He kisses her there, and she whimpers, “And me.”

  Then his lips are on hers, and Julia forgets she's married to another man or that Scott's been tortured by an insane Were.

  The wet heat of his kiss is all that exists in the entire universe. And the soul-meld locks into place once more, as if it never left.

  Julia should mourn its return.

  But when the soul's other piece has found its mate, there is no grief—only joy.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Praile

  Lazarus pulls up behind a vintage 1960s vehicle and parks.

  Good era, Praile remembers. So much simpler to sway the innocent then. Now humanity is so cynical, he can hardly take pleasure in showing the masses the path to Hades. Happily, many are already on a one-way course.

  Lazarus inhales deeply. He rolled down the driver's window as they slowed. “Were. Female.” He closes his eyes. “Two.”

  Praile frowns. Those are not the words he was hoping to hear. Praile swings the car door open and winces as the material of his shirt tears away from his wounds

  Fucking lashes.

  Gravel crunches under his stiff running shoes as he walks around to the passenger-side door. The car has fins near the trunk and has been well-preserved.

  Curiously, it’s abandoned.

  Praile does not believe in coincidence of any kind. He pops open the door and peers inside.

  “What's happened here?” he fires at Lazarus.

  His bright-blue gaze pins Praile from across the seat as he leans in opposite him. Praile has always known of Lazarus's hate for him, but he is oh-so-careful about letting it manifest visibly.

  “Give me a moment, and I will try to discern what's happened.”

  The thread of irritation buried in that neutral voice pleases Praile.

  “I wish to determine where the High One's hidey-hol
e is.”

  Lazarus gives a mild exhale of utter irritation.

  “Problem, Lazarus?”

  His eyes shift away, and Praile knows the movement makes it more difficult for Praile to read emotion. Clever demon.

  “No.”

  Liar. Praile's nostrils flare, smelling the untruth.

  Lazarus holds up a palm. “I am aware of what the end game is, Praile.”

  “Good. Do not lie to me again.”

  Lazarus says nothing. His eyes close, and he inhales in short chuffs. Finally, his eyelids sweep open, icy-blue irises blazing.

  “One female is a Lanarre.”

  Praile whistles, delighted at the revelation. Then his eyebrows drop. He palms his chin with undisguised talons. “What is Lycan royalty doing cavorting about?”

  Lazarus shrugs. “It's not important, really. What is—is the women marked their territory and left this fine stolen vehicle behind.”

  Praile swivels his head to Lazarus in a hard glance of interest. “Really?”

  Lazarus nods. “Really. And two Red Weres accompany them.”

  “Fantastic,” Praile breathes out reverently. “This is wonderful news.”

  Lazarus's lips lift.

  Praile waves his palm around. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” Lazarus frowns suddenly. “Why are you not maintaining your form?”

  It's not as easy for me, fool.

  Of course, Lazarus is no fool and gives him a knowing look.

  Praile shrugs. “I will slip my human shield on when we near Region One. I only need to employ it for a short time. The Angelic who remain will not know of our deceit if we're not in our true from.”

  In battle, the demonic must be in their true form. In all other things, the parody of humanity is perfect.

  Praile sighs. “To know that the High One and the blood babe are finally here after all this time.” Praile's gaze spears Lazarus and he gives a smug nod. “The world is our oyster, Lazarus.”

  Lazarus is silent. And that silence suits Praile. He mainly enjoys listening to himself. He needs no other audience.

  They lock both cars and walk into the woods. Praile knows everything will soon be within reach, even the swollen promises made by the Master.

  *