I watched, silent, as he stalked towards the door of the room, that lost, murderous fury still etched in his features, darkening his face. Before he walked out entirely, he dug a set of keys out of his pocket, throwing them violently towards the hooded man still cuffed to the wall.
He didn’t look at where he threw them.
He didn’t spare me so much as a glance.
Chapter 9
Highland Dawn
It wasn’t easy getting the man with the sword tattoo back up those stairs.
I’d taken the dark hood off his head, un-cuffed his wrists and ankles from the wall.
He was still groggy from whatever they’d given him, so I supported him, slinging his arm over my shoulders and holding it there as we made our way back up to the ground floor. He lost his balance a few times, nearly tumbling both of us down those stairs, but I managed to catch us both before that happened.
I’d already called Black.
He’d been close.
I didn’t ask him how he’d tracked me, but I wondered. He must have heard me wondering, because he’d answered the question anyway.
I implanted you with another chip, he told me. A second one, I mean. One designed to fool most scanners.
I was still bringing the tattooed man up the stairs, so I huffed for breath. Seriously? When did you do that?
While you were asleep. Maybe a week ago. Maybe ten days.
My mind spun around his words. I honestly couldn’t decide if I was angry, worried about his mental state, or feeling some other emotion entirely.
We should have found you sooner, he added, his mental voice more cautious. But I think that basement you were in must have been lined with lead... or maybe steel.
Another pause at my silence.
Miri, I’m sorry... but only that I didn’t ask you. They took that tracker out of me first thing when they grabbed me. I didn’t want them doing that to you.
I nodded. I understood his reasoning.
Truthfully, him not telling me made me wonder more about him a lot more.
I’m sorry about that, too, he sent, gruff. I meant to tell you, I really did. I woke up one night... after one of those fucking nightmares. I chipped both of us. I couldn’t sleep until I did.
I nodded, feeling something in my chest relax at his explanation.
Forgive me? he sent.
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. Maybe.
Maybe?
We’ll discuss it later. Probably in bed. She sent him a sliver of heat and felt him react. How far out are you?
I’d just gotten me and the sword tattoo guy to the top of the stairs. I leaned him up against the wall of the corridor outside the door, trying to catch my breath. Glancing around, I saw tapestries hanging on the walls. Antique tables covered in china and stained-glass lamps dotted the narrow hallway. Adjusting the weight of the guy with dirty blond hair on my shoulder again, I began walking him us of the carpeted hall and back into the stone foyer. I looked up at the high ceiling, seeing three floors of stairs.
Jesus, I muttered. Black, this is a castle... like an honest-to-goodness, for-real castle.
I know. I can see it. We’re about to set down now.
Set down?
He didn’t answer, so I started walking with the man again. I got us to the front door, then set him against the wall so I could open it. Once I had, I could hear the approaching helicopter. It was dark out, but I could see the first hint of dawn on the horizon. I got hit by a rush of cold air. That green smell hit me, stronger with the rain I could now taste in the wind.
When I tried to pull the man with the dirty-blond hair back to his feet, he groaned. His eyes flickered a bit wider, but he waved me off when I tried to grab ahold of him again.
“Help’s coming, right?” he said, panting.
I nodded.
“Can we wait?” He held his side in bruised hands. “I’d like to wait for more people, if it’s all the same to you.”
Looking down at him, I nodded, realizing I probably should have done a better assessment of his injuries before I dragged him upstairs. I’d been so anxious to get us both out of that damned dungeon I’d barely felt him over.
“What the fuck happened?” the man said. He was panting, pain etched in his features as he squinted into the darkness past the open door. He raised a hand, shielding his eyes from the overhead chandelier hanging in the hall. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” I told him. “But you’re okay now. We both are.”
“Looks like Scotland,” he grunted, still staring out into the darkness.
I followed his eyes, and realized the sky really was lightening. I could see a wash of fields over a hilly, wild-looking landscape dotted by large rocks. My eyes kept returning to the helicopter, though. I could see Black through the glass.
“Scotland?” I said, not tearing my eyes off Black.
“Yeah.”
“You’ve been to Scotland before?” I said.
He let out a gasping, pained kind of laugh, shaking his head. “No. I watch a shit-ton of documentaries.” He lowered his arm and grimaced, once more clutching his side. “Damn. Feel like I got run over by a pissed-off bull.”
“You’ll be okay,” I said, watching Black walk towards us with long strides.
“Will I?” he grunted. When I glanced over, he gave me a strange sort of smile. “Ma’am... fucking vampires were eating me. I feel like I drank three bottles of whisky without any of the fun. I’m in Scotland. My body’s busted up. How the hell you figure I’ll be okay?”
I sighed, blowing my hair out of my face.
“I don’t know,” I said, truthfully.
But I wasn’t really paying attention to him now.
Black was walking towards me, with that inhumanly graceful, feline gait of his. He walked straight from the helicopter to the mansion’s entrance, then straight up to me, taking the stone steps two at a time.
He didn’t look at the castle, or the man slumped in the corner behind me, or the rising sun, or the grassy fields and mountains outside the castle door. He didn’t look away from my face as he walked right up to me. His arms wrapped around me as soon as he was close enough.
For a long few minutes, he held me tightly against his chest.
So much heat flooded into me, I felt it down to my feet.
Not just heat... love. The feeling grew stronger, the longer we stood there. It felt so raw, so completely real and unguarded, my throat closed, the longer he held me, until I could barely breathe. I opened back to him, clinging to his arms and waist.
It felt like we stood that way for a long time.
Then the man with the dirty blond hair cleared his throat.
Both of us turned our heads.
“Well now, brother...” the man said, smiling when Black jumped, looking at him for the first time, his eyes widening. “...Fancy seeing you here.”
Black blinked, staring without letting go of me. “Cowboy?”
“In the flesh.”
I stared at the man, too, realizing only then that I’d never asked him his name. “You’re Cowboy?”
“Ayuh.”
I looked up at Black, who was staring at the other man, speechless, his gold eyes holding an open incredulity that verged on wonder. Then, slowly, that incredulity faded.
He laughed. After that laugh, I watched as the first real smile I’d seen on him in weeks grew on his face. Then he looked at me.
“All right,” he said.
His voice sounded decisive, his military voice. I heard the thread of anger there still, but he no longer felt sad, like he had for so many days now.
The difference made me clutch at him all over again.
He kissed me on the mouth, then smiled wider.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said, winking at me, even as he spoke to both of us. “I know it’s pretty up here and all, but vacation’s over.”
I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Vacation, eh? Speak for yours
elf.”
“I was.” He kissed me again, harder that time, winking at Cowboy when he raised his head. “You coming? We’ve got a shit-ton of vampires to kill.”
“I’m in, brother,” Cowboy said, still breathing hard where he held his side.
Looking up at Black’s face, I couldn’t help smiling back.
Even so, remembering Lily and Brick, the look on the vampire’s face as he stormed out of that underground room, something in my smile faltered.
The End
About JC Andrijeski
www.jcandrijeski.com
JC Andrijeski is a USA TODAY bestselling author who writes paranormal mysteries, urban fantasy and apocalyptic fiction, often with a sexy, romantic and metaphysical bent. She has a background in journalism, history and politics, travels extensively and has lived abroad in Europe, Australia and Asia, and from coast to coast in the United States. She currently lives and writes full-time in Bangkok, Thailand.
www.jcandrijeski.com
Blood Fever by Jaide Fox
Blood Fever by Jaide Fox
Shadowmere Legacies Book One
Pain and loss led Arsen to search the borderlands of Shadowmere, seeking the monster who’d taken away everything he’d ever cared for. In a tiny village, he found the bait he needed to set his trap—Amaria of the sun people--bitten and turning, cursed by the master vampire. She would rather die than live a twisted existence in the dark, but with Arsen she sees not only a chance at redemption, but a man who needs her as much as she needs him—if only he can see beyond his pain.
Chapter 1
The weary horse plodded along the beaten dirt path with only a pale sliver of moonshine to guide them along the trail. Ahead twinkled the firelight marking the town in the night, and Arsen held hope an inn or pub remained open to relieve his horse and water himself and get a bite to eat. His hindquarters ached from the long, fruitless ride into a town that looked little different from any other in this god forsaken land on the edges of Shadowmere.
The black mountains which marked the Northern border blended seamlessly with the night, but they all knew the sheer surface held back the terrors beyond. Sometimes. Not his quarry, however, and Arsen held little faith of finding the creature this night or any other.
His horse whinnied and snorted, diverting his attention ahead as they closed in on the town and a gathering commotion of panicked townspeople. He thought at first it was his arrival, yet he soon realized their panic was not caused by him. Shrill cries of women and the guttural mutterings of men centered around another hidden by their gathered bodies. Even with his height, he could not see what had drawn them all out.
Arsen halted his horse and lapped the reins over a post, stretching as he watched the crowd grow and circle someone—or something—in the center of town. Torches burst into life and cast strange shadows in their eyes and gaunt cheeks, making them look garish as painted jesters.
“Burn the witch! Burn her!” a woman with scraggly brown hair cried, turning to look at the men. “Tis the only way to be sure.”
“You don’t burn a witch. You drown ‘em! Fire is the mark of the devil,” yelled another.
“Fools. You test with a hanging first—”
“Calm yourselves! We know nothing of the woman. Be she witch or other,” an elder man with bushy gray brows and a slick head declared.
“She was in the room of my son! He’s sick and hasn’t left the bed in a week. The outsider put a curse on him!” said a slender woman held around the shoulders by her husband. Her face twisted in sorrowful fury.
His curiosity piqued, Arsen strode to the gathering, dust puffing around his fur-lined boots and against the edges of the bear hide he wore as protection against the elements. The crowd quieted at his approach, as oft happened when he neared. Hushed voices whispered, tinged with fear. He knew himself an intimidating figure to the unprepared. Well-fed with years of trapping and tracking experience under his belt, he’d eaten like a king, moved like a predator, and towered over the tallest villager by a head. The draught horse was the only one stout enough to carry his bulk without defiance. He used his size to advantage, always, and now was no different.
In their midst, a woman sat on her knees in the bare dirt. Her head hung down and dark fingers dug into the drab folds of her skirts. The sleeves of her blouse were ripped and torn, exposing slender shoulders of a deep, sun-kissed brown he’d seen possessed by the sun-worshipping tribe of the Ah-Nu-Rah Valley. The valley lay not too distant—certainly within a few days’ ride, and he wondered if that was from whence she hailed. Naught of her face showed, hidden by a cloud of tangled, curly vines of dark hair threaded with shots of light brown that glinted golden in the firelight.
The bald elder stepped up, obviously a leader of sorts by his carriage. “Be ye beast or man, stranger?”
The mouth of the bear’s fur covered Arsen’s brows, and he pushed the hood back off his head, revealing his face to them. Collectively, he could almost hear their relieved sigh in unison though their wariness remained. These borderlands made an isolated people hard and suspicious.
“Man as it happens, though barely so these days without a hot meal in my gullet and a warm ale in my hand. Ye know the beastmen remain in Shadowmere. The truce stands as far as I know.”
“They cross when it pleases them,” the elder said and spit into the dirt as if cleaning filth from his mouth. “Ye gave us a fright with that skin borne on ye shoulders. Hunter?”
He nodded. “Aye. Once in better times. What is this woman’s crime, that she be dragged into the streets this night?” Arsen asked.
The elder didn’t remove his locked gaze from Arsen’s. “Trespass. Suspected sorcery. None of your concern.” He nodded toward another fellow. “The innkeeper can see you to a room.”
The woman made no sound to defend herself of the charges. Arsen pushed forward, unimpeded, and hauled her to her feet. As she stood, he saw her skin was more ashen than he first noted. Impatient by the tangled hair obscuring her face, he pushed it back. A gash marked the crook of her neck and shoulder. His heartbeat quickened at the sight.
“How come you this wound?” he asked, stilling the tremble in his throat with a harsh, guttural voice.
She said nothing, but moved to cover her wrist with her other hand as if hiding something from him.
He immediately grabbed her wrist, turning it over and saw poorly healing bite marks upon her flesh. She attempted to pull free, but his grip upon her hand wouldn’t allow it. “You were bitten. Do not deny it.”
Her silence and shame confirmed his suspicions. “I will take the girl. She is no witch, but stricken by the quarry I’ve tracked these many months.”
The elder stepped forward. “What quarry? Why should we trust anything you say, stranger?”
Arsen turned a glare upon him. “If you do not, the vampire she calls master will come and slaughter you all.”
Amaria never knew there were worse things than death. The master had availed her of that knowledge. How she hated him and what he’d done to her…
Torturous hunger gnawed her insides, assuaged not by water or food, but by the vitality of the warm blooded.
The crowd condemning her vibrated with their noisy heartbeats, thundering with life giving blood. She could turn on just one, drain her victim and complete her transformation. She’d seen the master fly away after feeding. She could live, if such existence could be called living.
Rough hands enclosed her wrists, hauling her to her feet. His heart beat loudest of all—roaring in her ears steady and strong. Her gums ached with the budding of new teeth pushing behind her canines. A dizziness swirled through her head, urging her to strike and drink.
“She’s turning,” he said to the leader. He said more, but the words floated past her, indecipherable as she eyed his broad wrists and watched the throb of his veins beneath the swarthy surface.
“…water my horse and sweet feed…” the man’s words tumbled in her ears. She lifted her head and stared a
t this chest, bare save for a thick coat of chest hair.
“…lead her master away from the town…” his words cut in again.
She tried to concentrate, but she was so hungry. She was losing herself to it. The master knew she couldn’t resist for long and expect to survive. That’s why he’d left her to prey on the sickly child, someone she could easily feed on without a fight. But her humanity remained, however tenuous.
Give me a reason to kill, she thought.
The giant of a man gave her a shake. “I asked what you are called?”
She swallowed, attempting to moisten her throat to form words. “A…Amaria,” she croaked in a hoarse whisper.
The angry crowd dissipated, going back to their homes. She’d barely noticed until the incessant humming of dozens had gone, leaving only the one to torment her with the promise of salvation. Salvation. She balked at the word. There was no saving her now. Better to die at this man’s hands now than live for the master.
“You…kill?” she asked. “Me.”
He dragged her along beside him. “Not unless you give me a reason to kill you.”
Amaria attempted to dig her heels into the dirt. Her feeble attempt garnered a look from him. He’d pulled up the skullcap of a bear’s fur over his forehead, making him appear like some half-formed beastman. She shuddered at the image. The only monster here was her, and she knew that, but the ice in his eyes could freeze the soul. As much as she wanted to die, she still couldn’t wholly give up without a fight.
“Still have some life in you I see,” he grumbled beneath his breath with…was that admiration? Surely not.
“I am called Arsen. And I’m looking for that creature that did this to you. You come with me and be agreeable and we’ll get along just fine. If I leave you here, they’ll burn you as a witch, and that won’t do either one of us much good.”
They stopped before a mammoth horse, who shied away from her. He clicked his tongue and the gelding stood still. Arsen grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the saddle. Grabbing the loop of the reins, he hauled himself up behind her, snatching her against his lap before she could make an attempt at escape.
Taming the Vampire: Over 25 All New Paranormal Alpha Male Tales of Contemporary, Military, Shifters, Billionaires, Werewolves, Magic, Fae, Witches, Dragons, Demons & More Page 146
