by Apryl Baker
“It’s never been hidden from me,” Roman said quietly. “I don’t know why. Delia can’t see it, but I see it as clearly as I do you.”
“Blood calls to blood,” she said. “Perhaps the blood of your ancestors reached out to aid you. It’s not uncommon. When there is blood that needs to be avenged, it’s something that can happen. Our ancestors often guide us.”
“Perhaps.” Roman looked off into the distance. “Do you think you’ll be able to sense where the wards start? I don’t want to take you any closer than necessary. No point in borrowing trouble.”
Greggor chuckled. “Mama always said you were an expert at borrowing trouble, Roman.”
An easy smile replaced his melancholy. “That’s only because she didn’t realize you were the one to usually get us into that trouble.”
“The two of you were little bundles of trouble, were you?” she teased, her body relaxing into Roman’s. “I bet you caused all kinds of mischief.”
“Greggor did. I always tried to talk him out of it.”
“Lies!” Greggor feigned a pained expression. “You sit there besmirching my character when it was you who let mother’s underpants wave like a flag from the top window of the house. Nothing I ever did came close to causing the havoc that did.”
She could imagine them as boys, running rampant through the fields, laughing and causing general mayhem.
Roman laughed. The men stared at him, half in shock, half amused. She’d guess laughter was not something they normally heard from him. “She was furious. Had us both on kitchen duty for a month.”
“You see, he admits it!” Greggor wagged his finger at Roman. “He did the deed and I still got into trouble for it.”
“Only because you were standing underneath them laughing so hard she couldn’t make any sense out of you.”
“I miss her,” Greggor said. “We should go see her once this is settled. She’d love to meet Katyia.”
“We will,” Roman promised. “It’s late and we need to be riding before dawn breaks. Best we get some sleep.”
The mem agreed and they all stretched out around the fire, their bedrolls flimsy protection against the cold. The first two on watch slipped out. Katyia couldn’t see them, but knowing they were there gave her a little comfort. She lay down on her own bedroll and pulled the blanket tight around her. The fire at her back offered some warmth, but the bitter chill seeped up through the ground. She shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and sighed. She’d slept against Roman for the last week. Sleeping without him wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be. He’d given her plenty of space since his declaration. That included letting her sleep by herself tonight. What she really wanted was to go curl up against him.
But she lay there instead, missing him. When her eyes finally closed, his face followed her into her dreams.
Katyia woke, her senses on alert even as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. She sat up, looking around. The men were sound asleep, the fire crackling as it burned down. Nothing looked out of place, but something wasn’t right. It registered with her brain long after she was up and moving. The scent of dirty dishwater. She stopped and nudged Roman, who came awake in an instant. He glanced around, his nose twitching. He stood, his sword in his hand. One by one, he woke each man.
At least a dozen waited out there. She picked up variations of the same scent. Vampires. Vampires were outside their camp, watching. Vampires all had a sweet, cloying scent that identified them. It was the aftertaste of whatever their particular individual flavor was. She also smelled fresh blood. It set her thirst flaming. Human blood. One of the humans had stood watch tonight. Edgar. He’d told her about his life as a soldier as they’d ridden today, keeping her company for an hour or so.
“I can’t find Edgar or Juval,” Greggor reported a few minutes later.
“They’re dead.” Katyia’s gaze stalked the woods around her. “I can smell fresh blood.”
Greggor sniffed, frowning, but Roman answered his unspoken question. “Her senses are stronger than ours. If she says they’re dead, they’re dead.”
“How many do you think are out there?” Olaf and Kreiger joined them. They’d huddled the remaining three humans next to the horses.
“A dozen or more,” she answered. Closer, they were coming closer. Their scent invaded her nose, setting off all sorts of instincts new to her. She cocked her head, listening. A twig snapped. Her head swiveled left. They were coming for her mate.
“Katyia?” Roman took a step closer, his face alarmed.
“Shhhh,” she whispered, her voice feral. A door opened in her mind. Pieces of her reality shifted. Her visions sharpened, became more color oriented. Heat signatures stood out, a vibrant orange. Sixteen. She counted sixteen of them out there. Their breathing was slow and steady, unafraid. Foolish. Images she’d fought against resurfaced, only this time she welcomed them. Her entire being came into sharp focus—the witch, the vampire, and the ravager. They merged, melted into one creature.
She crouched, her body twisting in ways it was never supposed to, and then she sprang, running headfirst at the waiting enemy.
The wind tore at her hair as she ran, searching for those who meant her harm. Who meant to harm her mate. The vampire in her wanted to protect its mate at all costs. The ravager in her wanted to maim, to maul, to slaughter. The two of them came to a mutual agreement. Work together to protect her mate. Her body stretched, the muscles flowing, lengthening to support the bones growing longer, wider. Her hands became razor sharp claws, her legs contorting to allow speeds unheard of even for a vampire.
She opened her mouth and an unholy sound emerged, a sound that echoed around her. Ravagers. She stopped, watching them come out, approaching her hesitantly. The abject terror they normally inspired was oddly absent. She gazed at them, curious to see what they’d do. They no longer were something to be feared, but some new toy to explore. Curiosity replaced disgust. They must have come to find the thing that smelled like them, but wasn’t one of them.
A multitude of thoughts invaded her mind, the questions bouncing around like a dodge ball. They didn’t understand what she was. She smelled like them, but she wasn’t either. Was she to be feared or to be welcomed? She opened her mind, let them see what had happened, how she’d come to be like this. They came closer, sniffing, their leathery skin, coated in mucous, wrapped around her. She stood still, letting them touch, letting them acquaint themselves with her scent.
The scent she’d followed came closer and they all stilled, a herd of predators catching the scent of their prey. They knew she hunted them. A chorus of images assaulted her. They wanted to join in on her play. To them, this was all play. Like children, they saw it as a game. She nodded, crouching amongst them. The snow white color of her skin barely registered as she saw her prey.
Time to play.
Roman cursed. Where the hell was she? He and his men fanned out, their swords readied, and started forward. When he got his hands on Katyia, he swore he’d beat her. Fear rode him hard. Where the bloody hell did she go?
A scream echoed around them. A man’s scream. Greggor looked at him, grim. They’d both seen the change come over Katyia. The ravager in her surfaced and they were both on the same page. She stopped fighting it.
They moved slowly, alert. When Roman broke through the trees and into a small clearing, he saw something lying mangled in the red snow. Bits and pieces of flesh lay strewn in a circle around the corpse. Another scream broke the silence, followed by two more. His men tightened their grips on their swords and kept moving.
More bodies lay in front of them, each as mangled as the last. Shouts broke out ahead of them and Roman ran, not heeding the warnings of his men to wait. All he could think of was that his mate was in danger…she needed him. The need to protect her drove out every other instinct he had.
What he saw stopped him cold. Bodies were everywhere. Three men stood back to back, swords drawn, looking everywhere. Roman searched the surroundings, but saw nothing.
Where was she? His men caught up and shock held them still. A massacre lay spread out before them. A strangled cry echoed, and they looked to see two men now standing where three had.
“Do you smell that?” Greggor whispered.
“Aye,” Roman said, the smell finally reaching him over the blood. “Ravagers. Not just Katyia, but ravagers.”
That was how it happened so fast. Ravagers picked them off one by one. He stopped looking for his mate and focused on the snow itself. The monsters were albinos, blending into the snow. Only their eyes had any color whatsoever. Many sectors’ ravagers had no eyes, relying instead on other senses. Why the ones in Sector Three were different, he had no idea. It only made them more deadly.
A cry went up around them, the hissing close. Roman’s men took up defensive stances, preparing to fight. Then he saw her. She stepped out of the trees. Only it wasn’t the Katyia he knew. Her skin, her hair, even her clothes had turned white. Her eyes glowed yellow. She looked like some wild animal hell-bent of savaging its prey. She was terrifying. His men gasped, and even Greggor took a step back.
She came straight for them, her hands curved, elongated into claw-like fingers. ravagers emerged from the trees, trailing her. The last two men went down just as Katyia reached Roman. The ravagers hissed, surrounding them. Roman stayed still, his sword gripped tight, and prayed he’d not have to put his mate down.
She cocked her head, listening. The ravagers made angry, snarling noises. Katyia’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head, an ungodly cry emerging from her that sounded exactly like a ravager. One inched close to Olaf, and she snapped her body in that direction, speaking in that strange snarly tongue. It hissed at her, the challenge clear. They all echoed the sound, challenging her.
Katyia’s face contorted in rage. Roman watched, fascinated as her hands shrunk, turning human again. She slipped one into her pocket, pulling out a simple brown pouch. She sprinkled some of whatever substance it housed into her palms and began to rub them together. “Duck.”
Roman and his men hit the ground. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t make out what she said. Fire sprang to life in her hands. The ravagers squealed, backing away. Katyia kept her gaze fixed on the one who’d challenged her first. The one closest to Olaf. When she spoke, it was rough and garbled, sounds only the ravagers understood. They all backed away, leaving the challenger alone to face the deadly foe he’d come up against.
Roman barely noticed the men rolling out of the way. His eyes stayed on the two. Katyia crouched, her human form mimicking the stance of the ravagers. It amazed him she could be all spiderlike and still maintain a perfect balance. Yellow flames danced in her eyes as she watched her opponent’s every move. It darted left, then right, and right again. Katyia’s movements matched it. Frustrated, the creature growled. She was faster, and the creature knew it. Roman could see it on the thing’s face. It realized it bit off more than it could chew.
It sprang at her, deciding a preemptive strike was its only option. Katyia threw her hand outward, pointing at the create. The flame she’d held shot out, catching it in mid-air. An earthshattering howl met their ears as the flames caught. It fell to the wet snow, writhing, trying to extinguish itself. The flames intensified, and the scent of burnt flesh permeated the air. They all stood in silent witness as the creature burned to death, its flailing slowing and then dying altogether.
Katyia turned to where the other ravagers gathered. Her mouth opened and she let loose a cacophony of noise. The creatures dispersed.
Katyia stood alone in the blood soaked snow, eyes glowing fire, and Roman thought he’d be repelled, but he the opposite held true. His body hummed with excitement. The thrill of battle, of seeing his woman in all her bloody glory, turned him on in ways he never expected.
“Roman…she’s not turning back.” Greggor’s softly spoken statement snapped his attention to the man.
“Take the men back to camp.” He needed to calm her down, and having so many around might spook her.
“I don’t know if leaving you here is such a good idea.” Greggor looked worried.
“I’ll be fine,” he assured his brother. “I’m her mate. She’s not going to hurt me.”
“You sure about that?” Greggor asked skeptically. “I don’t think she ever said she decided to take you as a mate.”
“Trust me on this, Greggor. Take the others back to camp. If we want to get her back, it’ll be easier if only one of us crowds her. I’m her mate. I’m the one person she’s least likely to attack. You know I’m right.”
Greggor let out his own frustrated growl. “Fine, but if she kills you, don’t blame me.”
“Go.” He put the bite of a command in the word. He leveled a heated glare at his brother hot enough to melt the ice caps. Greggor shook his head, and he and the men started back toward camp, leaving Roman alone with his mate, standing amidst the carnage.
Roman held out his hands and took a few steps nearer to her. She hissed at him, her teeth out on display. “Easy, little one. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She tilted her head, still crouched on the ground in the ravager’s classic pose, feet tucked under, arms outstretched in front of her, body extended. Her tongue darted out, sliding across her bottom lip, cleaning the blood splattered there. A streak of desire shot through him. His mate. He wanted to taste every inch of her.
Roman sank down onto his knees in the snow. She had to come to him. To trust him. The animal and the beast had to acknowledge him as her mate, even if she didn’t.
She inched closer, her nose working as she took in his scent, rolled it around on her tongue. The wild desire in her eyes confirmed his suspicion. Her vampire recognized him. Now all he had to do was get the ravager in her to accept him.
He let her take her time. She crawled up his body, her nose skimming in a line straight to the vein pulsing at the base of his neck. Her tongue scraped over it. She gasped, tasting the magic of their connection bound in the tattoo that now rested there thanks to his claiming of her. Fingernails dug into his shoulders, shredding skin. He ignored the pain. Right now, this was more important than wounds his body would heal in a few hours.
He wound her hair around his hands and pulled her head back. Green eyes met his, full of desire and need. He watched her body shift back into a purely human form. Her mouth opened, her breathing labored. She looked vulnerable, but the darkness in her eyes held still held danger. It ignited his desire like nothing else. His mouth came down on hers, and this time she didn’t protest the hard, punishing kiss. She welcomed it. Her mouth opened to him and joy spread wings in his heart. Here she was, his mate. All of her.
Her hands trailed down his arms and then under his shirt, her skin cold to the touch, setting off shivers in Roman. She pushed at the fabric, demanding it to come off. He held up his arms and let her pull it off. She leaned in and inhaled deeply, eyes closed, and a little moan slipped out of her mouth, her hands roving over his naked chest. When her mouth made a little wet path of kisses from his neck down to his nipple, he shuddered. Her mouth wasn’t hesitant; she was bold, greedily drinking his flesh in, scraping her teeth over the quivering skin. Roman’s desire rose, making him rock hard in moments. He ached with the need to bury himself in her, but he refused to push her. He’d take this slow if it killed him.
One hand ran in a soothing motion up and down her back, the other working loose the buttons of her coat. He slid it off her shoulders, letting it pool behind her. He pulled at the hem of her shirt and she whimpered, forced to break contact with his skin when he removed her shirt. She had no type of bra on under the shirt. Her breasts stood on display, the cinnamon colored tips pebble hard. An arm snaked around her and bent her backward, his lips closing over her nipple. She cried out, fingers tangled in his hair. He worked the little bud with his teeth, his other hand undoing the buttons on her pants so he could slip one hand inside.
He found the wetness of her folds, slipping a finger inside to tease the little nub that lay hidden. Her entir
e body bucked in his arms and he smiled, moving his attention her other breast. Her breath hitched when the cold air met the wet nipple that left his mouth. Unintelligible sounds burst from her as he worked her clit and suckled her breast. He rubbed her harder, faster, his lips traveling up to find his mark on her. His teeth sank into her and she bucked, her muscles clenching as the orgasm hit her. He drank and continued his torturous rubbing of her clit as he watched wave after wave of pleasure roll through her, her body shuddering all around him. Once she lay boneless in his arms, he laid her on the ground, her coat beneath her, and stripped them both.
Beautiful. So beautiful it made him ache. His mate.
He went down on his knees, gathered her legs in his arms, and pulled her close. He ignored the cold, ignored the snow beneath them, and let nature take its course as he claimed the woman who’d claimed his heart.
Katyia woke to feel of the earth moving. She yawned, trying to stretch, but ran into a wall of hard muscle. Her eyes popped open. Sunlight stabbed her and she quickly closed them. Her head pounded, her body ached, and she felt like she’d eaten an entire vat of ice cream. Which she had done once. She was lifted up, and Roman’s own special spicy scent teased her nose. She cracked an eye and saw she was sitting on his lap as they rode. He was a good makeshift bed, she decided, and settled into him.
“Easy, little one.” Roman’s lips brushed her ear, sending a thrill down her spine. Memories of last night rushed in and she felt her face flame. It had to be cherry red. Roman laughed when she hid her face in his coat. “How are you feeling? Too sore?”
Full body blush. She felt herself go hot all over. Yes, she was fine, sore, but in a good way. She was more embarrassed right now than anything. The things she had done, had let him do…right out there amid all that carnage. Dear God, she’d turned into some kind of wanton harlot. Her mother would call her a disgrace.
