The Community Series, Books 1-3

by Tappan, Tracy

  She was staring back at him with her amber tiger’s eyes, her cheek pressed to the cave floor.

  His heart rocked back and forth against his ribs.

  “You came for me,” she whispered.

  Nyko wrenched his gaze away from Faith’s and directed his attention to the domed ceiling, a tic in his cheek twitching. He supposed he deserved to hear the astonishment and disbelief in her voice, but it still rammed a ten-foot spike into his pride to know he’d done everything in his power to earn that doubt.

  “Thank you.” Faith’s voice sounded small, calling to the Big Nyko side of him, the man who’d devoted his entire life to being everybody’s most dependable good guy and had hated every living second he hadn’t been.

  “Don’t thank me.” He dragged his gaze from the ceiling to face her. “I know why you sacrificed yourself to Oţărât, Faith. Because you lost everything in your life that mattered. I…I saw it happening to you, but never did anything to help you. I don’t deserve your gratitude.”

  She only smiled. “You’re here now, aren’t you?” She cast a quick glance around the rock room. “Where is here, exactly? Are we safe?”

  Safe. Ah, yes, all men who could leap tall buildings in a single bound strove to give that to their damsels. A knife turned inside him. “I’m sorry, but no. I…” botched it again. “I wasn’t able to get us out. We’re in some hidden room in the Hell Tunnels.”

  “Oh.” Faith’s teeth tugged at her bottom lip. “So what happens now?”

  Nyko chugged his larynx until he managed to produce more sound. “You’ll be all right. My brother knows the way out and—”

  “Your brother?” Faith peered over Pandra’s prone form to find Shon. “You!” she exclaimed. “I thought you seemed familiar. You must look like Nyko.”

  “Like him?” Shon’s eyebrows flew up. “You really know how to hurt a guy, lady.”

  Nyko cut back in. “Shon is going to take you and Pandra out of—”

  “Whoa, hold up,” Shon interrupted. “What do you mean me? I don’t have the juice for that. I just fought Bollven, I’m fried from these Hell Tunnels, too, and I haven’t fed since yesterday.” He narrowed his eyes. “Which reminds me…why did you keep sending my donor topside to me if you thought I was a bad guy?”

  The wheels of Nyko’s mind moved sluggishly toward his memory of the meeting to decide that. “That was Toni. She didn’t want to give up on you.”

  Shon pushed his tongue into his cheek. “And you did?”

  “You said that you wanted me out of your life forever, Shon! You sat there while Videon prepared to rip my balls off with a pair of pliers, which was my rightful penance, according to you.” Nyko flattened his lips against his teeth, the force of that accusation hurting his chest.

  “I’m not leaving without you, anyway, Nyko.” Faith pushed up on an elbow and bent a worried look on him. “It’s obvious that if you stay here, you’ll die.”

  “That’s kind of the point,” Nyko said. “I’m too far gone to go any further.”

  “You could make it if you fed, though?” She turned to Shon. “Couldn’t he?”

  “Faith,” Nyko gritted. “I can’t ask my donor to risk her life coming into the Hell Tunnels.” And even if Ruxandra insisted on coming to his rescue, she wouldn’t make it in time. He was circling the drain here. I’d rather die than do nothing, so if it comes to that, then it does. Good thing he was okay with it.

  “Don’t be a hayseed, Nyko,” Shon said. “She’s offering you her own vein.”

  She’s…? Nyko jolted his gaze over, saw the expression on Faith’s face, and… “Absolutely not.”

  Faith’s brow crinkled, irritation and—please, not this one—hurt creeping in. “Why not?”

  “Because…” The first saliva he’d felt in two hours wetted his mouth as his imagination conjured the taste of her—for only the billionth time—her blood loaded up with all her Royal strength and saturated with her unique, delicious Faithness: manna from heaven, surely. “Because…” Because why, again? “The decision to bond is a serious one. You can’t make it to…to save my life. You’d be stuck with me forever afterward.”

  Faith gave him a potent glare. “I can make the decision for any reason I want to.” Pushing to a full sitting position, she bunched little fists against her bare thighs. “The manual says I only have to be willing, and I am.”

  Willing. The word itself sent a stronger surge of bloodlust biting deep inside him. He stared at the light blue veins in Faith’s throat with animal focus.

  “Besides.” She scooted closer. “You owe me a rescue.”

  He tensed all over, very aware that—even though her long, coppery hair was stuck to the front of her body, covering her nakedness—she was still very much naked.

  “I’m afraid that means you’re back in the hero business. So get over yourself, feed on me, and haul us out of this place.”

  His pulse beat in the corner of his left eyeball like a tic.

  When he didn’t move, Faith thinned her lids on him. “I’ll make you, if I have to.”

  Shon let out a snort.

  Faith whipped her head around.

  “You weigh, like, three pounds,” Shon pointed out.

  Her look was pure challenge. “You might want to back up a bit.” With a flourish, she swiped off the scent-reducing mud from behind her ears.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Ahhhh!” Nyko arched his neck, pressing his head into the rocky floor as a full-on blast of Faith’s scent bombed the cave room, fumigating the entire small interior in the space of a second. It swirled, tickled, consumed…yes, yes, yes, more, more…The ventricles in his brain vacuumed it up and his lungs ballooned.

  Shon—never any good at managing himself around aromatic females—let loose a low, lusty growl, his fangs springing down into his mouth. And suddenly he was no longer a younger brother, but a rival male Vârcolac.

  Nyko bolted upright and clamped a fist around Shon’s throat. He snarled, snapping his fangs inches from his brother’s face, then let go.

  Shon reacted immediately to the not-so-subtle territorial communication and retreated back against the wall next to the entrance, his gaze black fire.

  Nyko flopped back onto his spine, adrenaline spent.

  Faith watched the two-second exchange with wide-open eyes.

  A guttural noise spilled out of Nyko, his nostrils fluttering. With one hand, he gingerly cupped his crotch. His man-parts were in serious jeopardy of being squeezed unto death by Faith’s scent. It made him want to do the horizontal bop with her and stuff his aching balls down a garbage disposal all in one certifiable moment. With his other hand, he grabbed Faith’s wrist and pulled her toward him.

  She’d won. He’d feed on her. Of course she’d won. No way did he have the strength to resist her now, not as battered down as he felt, not with his survival instincts steering him into a hard turn away from death, not with his possessive Vârcolac male roaring that he needed his strength right now to fight for his woman. And definitely not with Faith’s scent making him yearn for her so badly—for blood, sex, love…throw in Parcheesi nights and shopping for antiques online, or whatever. He wanted the whole bonded kit and caboodle.

  “Turn around,” he barked at his brother.

  Shon crab-walked in a circle until he was crouched with his back to the room.

  He kept pulling Faith closer. She needed to get on his lap if he was going to take her at the throat. Wrist was another option, but her throat was where he wanted to be…maybe never leave. Her scent would be richer there, her skin softer, the act of feeding on her carotid, by some unspoken natural law, more intimate. He swallowed so loudly, he heard it echo up through his ears.

  Faith got the hint and climbed aboard, her sleek dancer’s legs straddling his hips, her bare derriere using his balls as a couple of couch cushions.

  A moan escaped him on a long breath. “Go down the ramp a ways, Shon.” He had no idea how loud he was going to get. Probably f
airly loud.

  His brother disappeared.

  He reached up and grabbed a handful of Faith’s sweat-soaked hair at the base of her head and gathered it into a ponytail. Coppery strands slithered off the front of her body, and then—

  He smothered another moan. There were her breasts.

  Perky, round, and white, like cream puffs topped with lush, red strawberries. They were on the small side, but to him, the perfect size. More than a handful is a waste, he’d heard the saying go, and Faith’s offering would fit nicely into his palm. Not his whole hand—that wasn’t even fair to ask—but definitely she’d fill his palm. She was packing a lot of curves, actually, more than he’d expected. In clothes, her frame was so slight, he’d worried she’d lean toward preadolescent, even underdeveloped. But, no, this naked body before him was all woman, hips gently flared, thighs shapely, the area between her legs like—

  He felt the scorching heat of a blush. In all his years he’d never seen a woman’s… femininity before, and the reality of how those curls looked, all silky and coppery, and how close she was to his own…area made his breath wedge deep in his chest.

  Lust bit harder. With his hand on her nape, he pulled her to him. She scooted up his body and leaned over him, her nipples almost caressing his bare chest, but not quite. More of her scent atomized into his nostrils, and his loins filled with a heaviness his pelvic bones didn’t feel equipped to contain. Need blinded him to all but the pulse at her neck, but somehow he pushed the warning out of his mouth. “The first bite hurts.”

  She paused. “Worse than an all-day ballet workshop with Vladimir Azarov, world famous Russian choreographer?”

  Hunger thundered down his spine, and his hand quaked as he cupped the back of her skull. “That, I don’t know.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she whispered.

  Green light. He angled her head to the side, found her pulse, and broke her skin with his fangs.

  She let out a squeak as he clamped onto her artery, his lips latching securely to her flesh. He sucked vigorously. A coarse sound broke from him as blood gushed over his tongue. She’s so… Pleasure noises stampeded up his throat and—

  And then he was gone. Time and place ceased to exist as he was pulled into a vortex of ecstasy.

  I was empty, now I’m full.

  I was hurt, now I’m healed.

  I was missing, now I’m found.

  I was dying, now I’m saved.

  He drank and drank, like a man nearly starving his whole life getting his first true taste of unpolluted water. He drank until his fangs wouldn’t let him take anymore, then with a huge gasp, he broke the seal.

  I was half, now I’m whole.

  Faith gazed down at him with hooded, Fiinţă-dazed eyes, her body loose-jointed on top of him.

  Hot air streamed out of his nostrils. He’d never seen her look more beautiful. Setting her gently aside, he rolled onto his hands and knees, crawled forward, and stuck his face into the pool, drinking deeply. His cells twitched sharply in complaint. His staff was hard as petrified wood, ready to make love to Faith and complete their bond. His body howled for it. But on a dirty cave floor with hundreds of Om Rău still hunting them was no time for that.

  When he had his fill of water, he leapt to his feet and stretched to his full height. Wow. In the time it’d taken him to stand upright, the world had acquired a whole new shape; colors were brighter, sensations sharper, scents richer, and his muscles were powering up with Faith’s Royal Fey blood. It was like being in a state of Rău, but with none of the bad.

  I was weak, now I’m strong.

  He bent to pick up Faith. “I’m going to get you out of here, don’t worry.” He swung her up on his shoulder, Pandra onto the other, then trotted down the ramp to Shon.

  “All right, Magellan,” he said to his brother. “Lead the way out of this hell pit.”

  Shon turned his head to peer up at him. “Nice boner.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Ţărână

  Thomal refused to leave the Outer Edge—the area of town near the Hell Tunnels. He sat on the ground with his back propped up against The Shank Tooth, Stânga Town’s dive bar, and waited. The muscles in his legs wouldn’t stop twitching, pushing him to put his agitated energy to us and pace, but the fifty swords piercing his sternum, twisting that bone into spiky gristle, kept him on his ass.

  So this was what it felt like to have his radar go off.

  And from the grim look Jacken had exchanged with Toni, standing nearby with Dr. Jess, a bunch of medical supplies clustered around their feet, when Thomal had first toppled over from the excruciating pain, his level of agony was symptomatic of a mate not just being hurt, but dead.

  A paroxysm of emotions rippled up his throat. He glanced sideways at his right bicep, still neon blue with shirt-paint, and wrestled with the monsters in his head, a myriad craptacular images of all the ways his wife could’ve possibly died. What had the Om Rău done to her? How had she spent her last hours on—? C’mon, Costache, don’t kill her off. Get in the zone, man, and keep hoping. A bone-rattling shudder clonked his vertebra together. He tried to squeeze breath through his lungs, but didn’t have much success. It felt like he was operating off deflated bota bags. His pain was severe enough that, even if by some miracle Pandra wasn’t dead, she had to be hurting. Bad. That thought was about as welcome as the others.

  He snapped his head up. The muted cadence of footsteps had just rolled down the Tunnels…hadn’t it? He whipped his gaze over to Jacken. His boss had gone hyper-still. Yeah, dammit, Jacken had heard it, too.

  Thomal struggled to his feet, his heart beating wildly, every hair on his head standing at attention.

  Steel hissed as Jacken unsheathed his blade. There was no other sound quite like it, and it called the other warriors milling about to move forward, their own knives drawn, ready to fight in case it was a gang of Om Rău headed their way, instead of the three people who’d been presumed dead the moment they’d gone into the Hell Tunnels.

  The sound of running grew louder, ringing out sharply in the stillness, beating a rhythm of urgency.

  Thomal did the pins-and-needles thing, one hand braced against the wall of The Shank Tooth.

  Nyko reeled out of the Hell Tunnels, dust flying from his heels, flecks of sweat and blood flinging off his back. He had Pandra and Faith supported on each of his enormous shoulders and a hand fisted in the scruff of Shon’s shirt, dragging him along beside—Shon?

  Nyko stumbled down onto his knees and deposited the women on the cave floor. Naked.

  Oh, shit.

  “Help h-her!” Nyko wheezed out. “I think she’s dead.”

  All the blood drained from Thomal’s head. It was obvious who Nyko meant. Thomal’s pinging radar notwithstanding, Pandra’s skin was an ominous grey color and her nose…holy crap. It wasn’t even there anymore. Vomit scaled his throat and horror burned at the backs of his eyeballs. A sound rushed out of him. He didn’t know what it was—a yelping growl?—alarm, worry, desperation, and grief mashed together. A whole lot of stuff he hadn’t even known he was capable of feeling.

  Toni held onto her pregnant belly as she hurried over to Pandra and knelt down at her sister’s side. She felt for a pulse. “Thready and weak,” she told Dr. Jess. “She’s barely alive.”

  The words washed over Thomal in a numb tide. He stood on the perimeter with his arms hanging loose. Alive, but barely. “Barely” wasn’t good.

  Toni fumbled in her lab coat pocket, pulled out a small box, and slipped Pandra’s immortality ring onto her finger.

  “Don’t leave it on for too long,” Dr. Jess warned. “Or her face will heal like that. Just stabilize her enough so we can get her to the operating room.”

  The numbness rolled up and peaked inside Thomal’s head, bright animated Pac Men eating across the screen of his vision. “Operating room” wasn’t good, either.

  Thomal sank into a hospital waiting room chair and let his head wilt backward off his neck. Th
e fluorescent lights glowed through the threads of his blond lashes as he relived the look on Pandra’s face when she’d been on that shelf of cave rock. Her eyes had been such deep wells of pain, full of sorrow and regret, as if she wished things had worked out between them.

  His lids fell closed. What the hell had he ever done to warrant her regret? Or her willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice of her life for him? The shutter clicked across the screen of his mind and he saw Josnic punching her. Pandra letting him. Because she’d wanted to die. For him. So he could be free. Him.

  His own bitter regret climbed up into his throat like bile. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his thighs, and clasped the back of his neck. He’d wasted a lot of time confused about what he wanted from Pandra, but he knew with absolute, no holds barred certainty that he didn’t want her dead. Might’ve been nice if you’d said something to her about that. Because now his barely alive wife was going through hardcore surgery to have her face reconstructed, maybe on the verge of—

  “What are you doing here?”

  The question came at Thomal in a flat, hard tone. He didn’t recognize the voice, and when he glanced up, he barely recognized the scowling face.

  Nyko never scowled; the dude was generally all about playing down the child-butcher disguise he wore.

  Only one explanation for the uncharacteristic frowny face. Everyone had seen the telltale bruise on the side of Faith’s neck. Nyko had fed on her, but odds were he hadn’t had time to close the deal with some doinking. Being inside the Hell Tunnels and chased by a crapload of Om Rău dipshits wasn’t exactly conducive to the old in-out. So Nyko was half-bonded, which meant he was caught in a torturously painful, crazy-making state, the kind of condition that could turn a man even as mild-mannered and agreeable as Nyko into something rabid.