by L Ann
It was Hamish who signalled for the S.O’s to lower and holster their weapons, while Zuron closed the distance between himself and his son and did something even more out of character. He threw his arms around Taz and hugged him tightly. Fiercely.
“Would somebody like to tell me,” Taz said, forcing an end to the embrace, “what the hell is going on?”
“We thought… we felt…” another first, Taz noted, as Zuron appeared to struggle with words and the older man grasped Taz’s hand in both of his. He glanced over at Morgan, whose face was a study in blankness, which transformed into a questioning look when she felt his eyes on her.
“You’re all right, son?” the elder vampire said after a moment, a slight but noticeable quiver in his otherwise deep voice.
“Ah, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Zuron threw a quick glance at his lifelong friend, who nodded in response, both flashing sappy grins.
Taz attempted a chuckle. It came out more like a cough. “If I didn’t know better,” he ventured another glance of his own at Morgan. “I’d ask what you two have been smoking. And, to be honest, you’re starting to scare me.” His eyes tracked Morgan as she moved toward the wet bar, watched as she filled three glasses with whiskey and handed on each to Zuron and Hamish before carrying the third to him.
“I get the feeling you’re going to need this,” she commented as he took it from her. Taz leaned forward to snatch a kiss before she moved away.
“I’ve got a feeling you might be right,” he murmured, his lips lingering against hers. The noise of a pair of cleared throats separated them.
“Did you complete the bond?” Hamish asked into the awkward silence.
“We did,” Taz answered, looping an arm around Morgan’s waist to pull her closer, and was surprised that she didn’t pull away.
The two older men exchanged a long look. “I wonder…” Hamish spoke, then cut off when Zuron shook his head.
“Son, how did you do it?” Zuron asked Taz.
“I took her blood, she took mine. That’s how it’s done, right?” Taz replied.
“And how do you both feel?”
Taz arched an eyebrow. “Currently? Confused. What is wrong with you both?”
Realising that the security team was still present, Hamish moved back to dismiss them. Taz knew that, keeping recent events in mind, standard procedure would have them stationed just outside the door. As soon as the door closed behind them, Hamish gestured to the room’s largest couch.
“We may as well get comfortable. This might take a while,” he said, making a stop at the bar to retrieve the bottle of whiskey before joining the group.
“Tell me,” he eyed first Morgan and then Taz. “What are you both feeling right now?”
“Irritated,” Morgan replied, drawing a laugh from Taz. She bumped him with her shoulder, peeled away his arm and headed back toward the couch. Taz followed, close on her heels, taking the corner seat and wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her back against him when she sat down. Morgan slanted an unreadable look at him and shifted sideways, putting some space between them.
“All right,” Hamish said, as he lowered himself into one of the chairs. “Just how long ago did you complete the bond?”
Taz pursed his lips, thinking. “Half an hour… an hour, maybe?” He looked at Morgan for confirmation.
“No more than an hour,” she agreed.
“And tell us again.” Zuron entered the exchange. “Just how did you go about completing the bond? Performing it, I mean.”
“We…” Taz angled another quick look at Morgan as a thought, a realisation began to take hold. He cleared his throat before continuing. “All right. What the hell. We were in bed – together. Do I have to come out and say it?”
“At the moment of bonding, what happened?” Zuron asked. “What were you doing?”
Taz raked a hand through his hair. “Is this really necessary?” He felt Morgan shift and move further along the seat away from him.
“I don’t think a second-by-second description is required, surely?” she said.
“Oh, hells bells! Just tell us what you felt while it was happening!” Zuron growled, throwing both hands up in exasperation. “one or two simple descriptive adjectives will suffice.”
“Okay, okay!” Taz braced himself, forcing his gaze to meet Hamish’s. “With all due respect to yourself and your daughter, it was incredible.” His eyes wandered leftward to Morgan. “Like the first time.
“The first time I had sex, that is,” he added. “Not my first with… I mean, not that that wasn’t just as… ah, I’ll just shut up now!”
Stifling the urge to laugh at his son’s discomfort, Zuron turned his attention to Morgan. As did her father.
Morgan cleared her throat. “It was…” she cleared her throat again, her voice dropping an octave. “… like he said.”
“That must have hurt,” Taz stage-whispered.
Morgan ignored him, her eyes on her father. “Something went wrong, didn’t it?”
“Not wrong, as such,” Hamish replied. “Just unexpected.” He paused to take a sip from his glass before continuing. “When a Nikaran bonds with a Necuno, it is something private between the two of them. Unless they tell people they’re bonded, it’s not usually something that can be felt by others. It only becomes noticeable if you know both of them well enough to realise their personal scent has changed, and even then, it’s not something easily picked up on.”
“Common knowledge,” Morgan waved her hand impatiently.
Her father inclined his head. “Occasionally, something happens and the blood bond takes on a life of its own and becomes something more. It’s rare and unusual. Where a blood bond links Necuno and Nikaran by blood – a sharing which benefits both while it is kept active – if left to stagnate, it will wither and die, killing the bond between the two and leaving them both as they were before taking it. It was used during times of war to give the Nikaran House the upper hand, with the bonded Necunos later being released from the link.” Hamish and Zuron shared a smile. “Some decided that the benefits of the bond were such that it was worth keep it alive and active. When this evolution occurs, however, it changes things.”
“Changes things how?”
Hamish leaned forward and patted his daughter’s hand. “Before I explain, let me ask you this. Think about all the bondings you know about and then tell me how many of them are male/female pairings.”
“The only confirmed bonding I know about is yours and my father’s,” Taz spoke up.
“And tell me, young nephew, do you think your father and I shared a bed to complete the bond?”
“No! What? NO! Why would I think that?”
“Then why did you think you had to share a bed with Morganna to complete it?”
“I—“ Taz gaped, swallowed, looked at Morgan and then away again. “I just assumed. You kept asking if we’d completed it, kept pushing us together.”
“So, what you’re saying is we could have just shared blood?” Morgan cut in. “And, because we added sex into the mix, that changed something? Didn’t it? How did it change things?”
Hamish sighed. “Well, there’s the thing. No two evolutions are the same, but one thing is constant. It no longer becomes a choice to continue. The bonding is irrevocable. When this type of bonding happens, it sends a ricochet through anyone who shares your bloodline.”
“That’s why you panicked.”
“That’s why we panicked,” Zuron repeated, joining the conversation. “We know of only three other times this has happened. Twice the bonding itself killed both parties. It doesn’t just bond your blood; the added intimacy and emotional intensity binds your souls. The only way to break it is through death. But the strength drawn from each other makes any normal blood bonding look weak by comparison.”
“Wait… what?” Taz found his voice. “Go back a bit. Our souls are now linked in some way?”
“The both of you have always been linked, so
n,” Zuron said and, in an uncharacteristic show of fatherly affection, he reached out to cup his son’s cheek while his gaze switched from Taz to Morgan. “From the moment of your respective births, you have been on inescapable intersecting courses. Let’s just say that the bond put on the breaks.”
“To put it very mildly,” Hamish added.
“How is that even possible?” Morgan demanded.
“You know,” Zuron looked at Hamish, ignoring Morgan’s question. “The birth auguries predicted a soul-bond, we should have known it would happen.”
“Auguries?” Taz’s head jerked up, eyes boring into his father’s. “Predictions, prophecies? Is that what we are… are you back on that again?”
A shift of weight and a sudden change in her body language – even if he wasn’t looking at her (he refused to say it was the bond in action) – told him that Morgan knew what he was getting at. How many times, since the onset of puberty and understanding had he heard the talk, the stories from his parents (mainly his father), of their sessions with the Preot – the ancient Shaman Priests in the subterranean temple at Chimera, who guarded the ancient vampire texts – the Scrolls of Zalemain – and, or so it was said, could foretell the future.
“I would not be so quick to be sceptical,” Hamish said. “it was those predictions, as you call them, that foretold the murder of the human clergy, which sparked the Great War and sent our kind into hiding for nearly a millennia.”
“And also, what Kane would face in 1941,” Zuron put in.
“And what good did it do either?” Morgan demanded. “You didn’t work out what the prophecies meant until after both events had happened. Prophecies are just stupid riddles that help nobody.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” Zuron responded.
“Yes, it is! You pushed Taz and I together into a bond which you don’t completely understand, or even fully expected. You’ve tied our lives together in such a way that the only way out of it is if one of us dies!” She sprang to her feet and began to pace the room, her expression angry. “What else have you set into motion because you thought you could combine two houses and gain more strength? You didn’t come out and say it, but you made it clear you believed this bond had to be made through sex. Don’t you dare deny it!” She glared at Hamish as he started to reply and he fell silent. “Not only that, we’re now unable to break the bond… ever! Did either of you even consider the fact we mightn’t have wanted this? That we were happy with our lives the way they are? You thought of nothing beyond the chance of the power you would gain if your stupid prophecies were right and it was a soul-bond.”
“You only completed the bond because you thought we could break it later?” Taz asked, abruptly.
“The possibility was there. As you said, a blood bond can be broken, given time.”
Taz stood up and moved in front of her, stopping her pacing. “So, as I said, you agreed to it because you believed it would be temporary.”
“We need it right now. Otherwise, the Cabal Master wins.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.” Taz caught her arm as she went to walk past him. “Don’t walk away from me,” he snapped. “Answer the question. Did you only complete the bond because you thought we could break it later?”
Zuron cleared his throat. “That’s irrelevant now, it’s already done.”
Taz swung around to face his father. “No offence, Old Man, but this has fuck all to do with you.” His gaze found hers again, silently prompting. Demanding, more like.
“I actually didn’t think –“ Morgan, in the process of attempting to break his grip, faltered when Taz’s fingers tightened. “I didn’t think it mattered to someone like you,” she finished, regretting the words they moment they left her lips.
“Someone like me?” He repeated the phrase. “Want to explain that? Someone like what?”
“You’re heir to the Nikaran House, you can bond as many Necuno women, or men, as you want. You don’t need to keep me glued to you.” She twisted her wrist, wincing. “You’re hurting me.”
“Hurting you? I’m tempted to break your fucking neck,” his snarl froze everyone in the room. He let her go and turned his head to look at his father. “Other than a concern we may be dead, which still has the distinct possibility of happening to at least one of us, was there anything else you wanted?”
Zuron cleared his throat and shared a glance with Hamish. “Yes. There has been talk coming out of Pike Place, of a group of young boys causing problems. We think they may be –“
“Part of the pack,” Taz finished, with a nod. “Fine. I’ll head there now and see what I can find.”
Morgan stared at him, then took in a steadying breath. “Taz –“ she began, raising a hand to touch his cheek.
“Save it,” he snapped in response, brushing her hand away and retreated to his bedroom. He re-emerged less than a minute later, having donned a t-shirt, jacket and the handiest pair of shoes available, his eyes only briefly touching the still silent trio on his way out of the suite.
Morgan remained, rooted to the spot for a long moment, struggling to conceal her inner turmoil from the two elder males. Though she knew he would never admit it – especially to her – Taz was more hurt than angry. And maybe… no, not maybe. He had every right to be.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.” Hamish touched her shoulder.
“Will he? Have you any idea what you have done?” She pushed his hand away and launched herself back toward the spare bedroom without a backward glance.
~*~
Pain. Little more than the dull, throbbing, chafing variety… albeit in several places, as consciousness made itself evident. But enough to make a couple of things apparent to the Nikaran Prince. For one, his mood following the conversation back in the suite had caused him to forget himself, to drop his guard and become careless. No, stupidly careless. And for another, the young lady – a dark-haired lovely with haunting violet eyes – on the sidewalk at the club’s main entrance had not been the damsel-in-distress she appeared to be.
He’d fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book. She’d tottered at the curb, drawing him in, and stumbled against him as he drew near.
“I’m sorry, I’m a little drunk. And those guys over there…” she flicked her eyes to indicate a small gathering of shady-looking young turnbloods a few feet from the club entrance. “I think they might be stalking me. Could you walk me to my car, please?”
And, of course, gentleman that he was, Taz had obliged. Then, appreciative for his chivalrous assistance, she’d tiptoed up to thank him with a kiss on the cheek…
…and the rabbit hole swallowed him whole.
The grating, acrid taste at the back of his throat wasn’t recognisable but, given the situation, Taz had a good idea what it was. Garlic… an old trick used predominantly by slavers in days gone by and, in more recent times, members of the Vampire underworld – the House of Maggio and the Purple Brotherhood, to name two. Tools of the ‘abduction trade’. Just enough of the debilitating substance to weaken the inherent vampire immune system so that the mixture’s included knockout drug could do its work. Garlic could be as deadly as direct sunlight or silver; which, from Square One, told Taz that his captor or captors weren’t amateurs. The fact that he could taste its residual presence said that they had calculated a successfully strong dosage to compensate for his age and the strength of his immune system and that they didn’t want him dead.
Not yet, at any rate.
Which brought to mind at least a pair of obvious questions. Who and why?
One way to find out.
Struggling to get at least a semblance of sensory focus, Taz inhaled slowly, deeply, allowing his eyes to open as he exhaled. First to kick in was the awareness of his situation and positioning. He sat on the floor of what appeared to be a warehouse, arms pulled above his head and bound at the wrists. A slight tug revealed that his bindings were anchored to the wall, actually a sturdy wooden crate, at his back. He had been stripped of hi
s jacket, shirt and t-shirt and, in confirmation of the pain (some of it, anyway) he’d felt earlier, blood seeped from several wounds, slashes at his chest and stomach.
That too, was explained as his vision cleared, revealing he was surrounded by a group – dozens, in fact – of children. Young bodies, closer to fact. The pack.
They stood in clusters of twos, threes and fours – before, and to his left and right. In a variety of heights, ages, sizes, gender and ethnicities; ranging in ages from pre-pubescence to early adolescence. Their clothing – tattered and dishevelled from their recent actions – was dotted, stained, splashed in places with caked, dried and drying blood. As was, in many instances, their hair and small faces.
Faces. They were the most disturbing aspect. For what, on the outside, appeared as groups of denim, hooded, and dress-clad babes, stared back at him through eyes which bore more kindred with a pack of feral beasts than even the average turnblood vampire.
One of them – a young brunette of maybe ten years of age – noticing that Taz was conscious, moved toward him, the separate blade of what had once been gardening shears raised to strike.
“No!” A male voice echoed within the warehouse’s enclosure, bringing the girl’s movement to an instantaneous halt.
“We don’t want him too damaged. At least not now.”
Begrudgingly, the girl backed away. Though only two feet away, the shear blade still poised at shoulder level and her gaze still fixed on his shirtless torso. The others, without exception, turned to stare at a point to Taz’s left and out of sight beyond the crate to which he was anchored. Footsteps sounded on the structure’s concrete floor a moment later – soft, barely audible, but unmistakable – stopping just behind and above him.
“I don’t suppose I could get a drink?” Taz initiated contact with he whom was unquestioningly his host. “Water? But I wouldn’t say no to a swig of bourbon.”
