by Marata Eros
“Oh dear goddess,” Seraphina says. “I cannot subdue them.”
Altho knows this. She is the natural complement to a Reaper or pure-blood Druid male, such as himself. Seraphina can be used by the Were, but it would be sacrilege, and the only gain would be an ancient genetic tie to the Were. Most Druid breeders have only vampiric lineage.
However, a small percentage have an ancient tie to the cousin of the vampire, both Reaper, Exotic and rogue.
Blood never lies. The Were are renown, like their relative, the wolf, for having the most sensitive noses of all species on Earth. It is no small matter that Seraphina spills blood and they come.
Altho counts six of them. His hands slick, his heartbeat thudding in his ears like a river.
His hands come away empty of runes.
There are spells, but without the help of runes, they might be ineffective.
“Do not let them take me, Altho,” Seraphina says, still weak from the Faction’s feed.
Altho knows only the slimmest of escape is possible. He utters the response she most wants anyway.
His arms tighten around her.
“Never.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Siana
Siana counts eight Were, many of which are too close to offer assistance to Altho. She runs instead toward the four who cover the back of the front line.
They are in half-form, and Siana is aware that while she is not at her full strength during daylight, night approaches. With it—more strength.
She closes in on the two farthest from the main pack.
They turn, their sense of smell better than hers, and she manages only one talon swipe at the back of a knee. It has its desired effect. The Were crumples, one leg no longer operational.
However, he grabs hers as Siana flies past him toward the other Were.
Siana falls, rolling to the side as the second Were leaps on her.
Her talons burst out of her left hand, spearing him on his descent. His weight drives her elbow into the ground, and she screams from the pain.
Siana scrambles from underneath him. Three more have broken off from the main knot of half-turned Were.
They advance.
Siana's eyes meet Seraphina’s for a split second. Siana has no answer to the question she sees in them.
Will they survive?
I don't know.
Siana crouches in readiness.
*
Baird
Baird stops, and Titus throws himself to the left to avoid crashing into him.
“What is that scent?” Baird asks. It thrills across his nostrils, ancient and deadly.
Titus spins around, lifting his nose, nostrils flaring.
Corrin halts as well, and the two Reapers with him raise their noses to scent the air.
Titus drops his chin. “Werewolves.”
Baird gazes at the moon that passes from beneath a cloud.
“This is not their territory.”
Titus rolls his eyes and Baird puts his hands on his hips as he asks, “What?”
“They go where they choose if the moon is full. However, as this area stands between the Reaper stronghold and that of Altho, I wager the Druid female is the wounded party.”
“Why?”
Titus looks at Baird seriously. “Because blood from a human, even a rare Druid male, would not be sufficient lure for the fanged ones.”
“Goddess, this keeps getting more and more complicated,” Corrin says in a disgusted huff.
Baird agrees. When he catches the scent of someone else, it makes the fine hairs on his body stand on end.
“Siana,” Baird whispers.
“What say you?” Titus asks in alarm.
“Siana's scent is mixed with that of the Were!”
Corrin jumps, moving toward the danger. Baird follows, though his guts tell him what he might find.
Baird does not know if he is ready for her death.
Endangerment he can rectify, but Baird never contemplated a life without Siana until he faces it in this moment.
He did not know he had a heart, until she might not be in it.
*
Seraphina
She watches them come, her eyes buggy. She is weak but not blind. Like wild wolves are of varying colors, the Were are as well.
In all the time Seraphina has made trade between other covens, she had minor dealings with the rare Reaper and even rogue, but she never encountered the Were—until now.
There were more than a half dozen.
“Stay close to me,” Altho says.
As though she would go anywhere. She is pressed between the trunk of a tree and his broad back.
“We have no quarrel with you, Druid. Step aside. It is the wounded female we want,” a Were calls.
Altho does not hesitate. “No.”
A second brute with downy hair over his body like ink breaks away from the first.
Altho splits his gaze between the two.
Seraphina understands the technique. They are gauging Altho. Feeling for weakness, strength.
The Were’s reflective eyes fall on Seraphina tucked behind Altho.
“You cannot protect her as we could.”
Gooseflesh spreads over her body.
He sounds oh so reasonable, but Seraphina is Druid. Some of her kind have ancient ties to the Were. It is not common, yet as Seraphina meets the possessive stare of the black Were, she realizes that her own genetic map might lead to the Were.
“You have not,” the Were adds.
Altho tenses. “We were engaged by the Faction. There were many.”
The black Were's gaze narrows on them. “Yet you managed to extract yourself.”
Altho's silence serves as his answer.
Behind the two Were, a commotion breaks out. Seraphina sees Siana crouch low in the distance behind the last of the Were. A blur of metal, like a flash of lightning, strikes one of them low, and he falls. The one beside him lands on Siana, and she screams in agony.
“Stay behind me,” Altho says, for Seraphina had moved.
She'd been unaware of doing so.
The two Were in front of them use the distraction of Siana to lunge for Altho.
He springs away from Seraphina, and she runs through the trees, sprinting in whatever direction is opposite of the Were.
Branches reach for her as her neck throbs. Blood wells, running between her breasts. Her vision fogs, turning gray at the edges.
Please do not pass out.
Seraphina slows then falls to her knees.
Feet that are not human—tipped by sharpened short claws of variegated browns, black, and cream—fill her narrowing vision.
“Little dove who takes flight,” a voice like gravel calls softly.
Seraphina begins to stagger.
Falls.
Strong arms catch her, cradling her close.
A wet tongue like erotic sandpaper cleans the pulsing wound at her neck. It makes her tingle at her throat, and in areas that surprise her.
Seraphina opens her heavy eyelids.
A handsome face peers down at her. A creamy coating of fur with silver tips covers his features.
Seraphina opens her mouth to scream, but a short talon presses against her lips. “No, we shall not alert the vampire who skulk nearby.”
He smiles, every sharp tooth is in full reveal.
Seraphina panics, wanting Altho. The sounds of fighting in the distance clamor.
“No, sweet little Druid, do not fight me—you bleed. I cannot stop it if it starts again.”
Seraphina feels her lip tremble. Yet if he had meant to kill her, he could have done it a dozen times, in as many different ways.
“I—I am with the Druid male.”
The werewolf smirks. It sits oddly on a face that is only half-human. A snout instead of a nose nuzzles her neck, and he snuffles a breath that smells like the forest, male with a touch of a scent like rich herbs.
It causes a weak response in her despite h
er terrible physical condition.
His nostrils flare.
“You are Were.”
Seraphina shakes her head. “I am Druid.”
His luminous eyes narrow. “You have the genetics to turn. It would take nothing to force the change. Females are much prized.”
Seraphina's heart races.
She does not desire a life with a pack of men who are wolves by the moon's fullness.
Howling rises, and Seraphina cringes.
The noise is triumphant.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Siana
A Were crawls up Siana's body, his nose hovering above her skin. “This Druid is with child and useless. She smells of the undead.”
“Undead cannot breed,” another notes.
Siana's chest is heaving, her eyes darting around for an escape. There is none. Three of the Were have wrestled her to the ground. A Were lays atop her, and one on each arm have immobilized her.
Tears spring to her eyes. Her pregnancy is no secret, and Carrig's worse fears have come full circle.
“We might have fun with her before we kill her,” says one.
Rape.
Siana screams, full-throated and desperate.
Howling comes from behind her, and it is the music of an engagement won.
Then a series of staccato grunts interrupt the Were's hands on her breasts. He squeezes her painfully and gets up, complacently turning.
His absence leaves her legs free.
Her captors have each arm, so Siana uses their weight and throws her legs up, striking them in the heads. They lose their balance, and her arms come slightly loose in their grip.
When something heavy lands on Siana, at first her mind cannot put together what it is she is seeing.
She blinks as the body drops.
The Were who had groped her breasts now stares at her unseeing. His decapitated head oozes gore against her torso.
The Were on her arms jump upright.
Siana moves in a jerk, and the head falls away. She rolls to her left and hits his headless body away from her.
She screams, getting to her knees, and hops over his body. Someone grabs her from behind.
She swings her talons at whatever reaches for her.
Baird leans backward, and her talons meet air.
A choked sob escapes her, and Siana turns into his arms, flinging her legs about his waist.
“I spend an inordinate amount of time saving you, Siana.”
She cries harder.
“Do not. Your tears are shards of glass which cut my heart.”
Siana kisses his mouth. Blood, dirt, and lip connect like two drowning halves of a whole.
Baird chuckles against her, swinging her around.
Siana takes in the spinning view of the meadow. Deep sparkling starlight reveals headless Were.
It also reveals Altho and Titus, plus two Reapers. A third lays dead.
Siana's smile slips as she slides down Baird. “Where is Seraphina?”
Altho and the others walk to Baird and her. Blood is ebony spatter on their clothes.
Siana swallows hard, knowing she looks the same. She pulls her blood-soaked blouse away from her skin, and it makes a wretched sucking sound. Siana tears it off, flinging it to the ground. She wears a contraption to hold her breasts, but it is little more than a showcase for them.
Baird stares, and Siana sighs.
His lips tilt. “I cannot admire your beauty?”
“Yes.” She nods quickly. “Admire it all you wish whilst Seraphina is absent.”
Baird's grin fades. “I do not mean to disrespect that basic fact. However, Seraphina is not my pregnant, soon-to-be-mate, Siana.”
Siana bites her lip to keep from crying a second time.
Instead, she turns to Altho. “Where is she?”
His face answers before he speaks. “I do not know.”
Siana gazes about the starlit meadowland.
It is as though Seraphina vanished into thin air.
***
One month hence
A month has come and gone since Seraphina’s kidnap and Maghnus’s murder.
The transition has not been an easy one.
Altho has agreed to lead a reluctant troop of Reapers, an uneasy task.
Not unlike the one he takes on: finding Seraphina.
Altho wears the grief of her loss like a cloak.
Thus far, there has been no word of her. Altho punishes himself for her loss. However, even the Reapers who were initially resentful of his leadership have come to respect his quiet dignity, strength, and command of magick.
They have also endeavored to assuage his guilt. Three Were against one Druid male is nearly impossible odds.
Still, Altho watches the land from the high tower during daylight.
During the night, he scouts with a band of Reapers, hoping Seraphina might be in his path.
Alas, the Druid sisters suspect she might never return.
Siana and the others pray to the goddess she will.
*
Baird
Her scarlet dress sweeps the floor as Baird lifts her.
Baird admires the color, so like the blood they both need to sustain their immortal existence.
His arms hold Siana, and he kicks the door to their domicile open.
Siana beats at him with her fists. “Romantic fool, that is a human tradition.”
“I am aware.” His voice is dry, and his eyes take in the heat of hers.
“But you agreed to mate me, and me alone. In keeping with my possessive, unreasonable stance, I wish to claim you using every means. The humans’ tradition of carrying the bride over the threshold is charming.”
Siana smirks, and he laughs.
“What say you?” Baird asks softly, running a finger over her full lip.
She gasps, pulling his fingertip inside her hot, wet mouth.
Baird sets her on her feet.
“I say that my dress should be white in that event,” she says.
“No.” Baird’s forehead touches hers. “That is a Reaper tradition I ascribe to.”
His hands span her waist, just beginning to thicken with their child.
So says Altho.
Baird’s joy makes him reckless, and he nuzzles Siana's neck with his lips so the smooth press of his fangs can be felt against her soft flesh.
Siana tips her head back, giving him better access.
“My child resides within you,” Baird says for the hundredth time.
Siana smiles against his lips. “Yes, barbarian, it certainly does.”
Baird gets on one knee, the side of his face against her belly. “Such a small thing changes so much.”
Her fingers spear his hair. “Not so much.”
Baird's hands flirt with the hem of her long skirt and slide up her bare legs. When he finds her moist sex, no undergarment stands in his way.
His eyes snap to hers. “Minx.”
Siana gives him a secret smile and nods. “Indeed.”
“I will take what you offer.”
Her grin widens. “I wish you to.”
Baird needs no invitation. Flipping her dress over his head, he grabs the round globes of her ass and widens her legs.
With profound gentleness, he seeks and finds the nub of her pleasure. His tongue does most the work, but his fangs cage it. Tongue laving, he deepens the pressure of his fangs on either side as a finger enters his new mate’s hot pussy.
Siana gasps, her legs trembling, and he lifts her. One of his hands moves to the small of her back, and he lowers her onto the bed of down feathers.
“Baird,” Siana cries softly, scissoring her legs impatiently.
He admires the glossy arousal coating her inner thighs. When his gaze rises, it meets hers.
“I cannot take this torture. Fuck me... fuck me,” she says, her head whipping from side to side.
Baird shakes his head, loving seeing her spread and wet before him. “I am not near done with my cons
umption of you, Siana—Druid queen.”
Baird kneels at the edge of the bed. With a harsh pull, he brings Siana's hips to the edge.
He buries his face against that hot slick wetness, and she moans, flinging her arms to the side, grabbing for anything and nothing.
Baird works Siana until she trembles under his tongue. When his talon elongates, the nub caresses her deep inside.
“Baird!” Siana shrieks for mercy.
With another deep stroke, he pushes her over the shining edge of restraint. Her control crumbles, and Baird's comes to the forefront.
Tearing off his fine breeches, he steps out of the puddle of them and braces his arms beside her head.
He looks into her half-closed eyes and sheaths himself inside her in a single thrust.
Baird's fangs elongate, and he hisses his pleasure into the stillness of the room. Siana groans from the deep penetration.
Baird pumps in a slow deep slide. His cock breaks contact, only to pound her sweet cunt again and again.
“Faster,” Siana whispers, her fingertips gouging his ass as his hips move quickly.
The pain makes Baird hiss his pleasure again as he speeds his thrusting. Siana’s orgasm echoes in the room. Her talons pierce him deeply as he pounds the last thrust, and seed shoots into the perfect well of her body.
Siana arches her back to receive every drop as her body milks the last from the bottom of him, his soul, his body.
Gradually, they come back to themselves. Baird finds himself wrapping his new mate tightly against the inside curve of him. He kisses her temple, her eyes closed.
“Who is this stranger that makes tender love to me?” Siana laughs, opening her eyes to gaze at him.
Baird does not know the perfect answer for that.
His fingers splay against her face, each tip touching a beautiful part of her. “I am the stranger who loves you.”
Color spreads on Siana's cheeks. “I feared it would never happen.”
Baird places his hand across her naked skin, covering her heart. “It is you who has changed me into something I can admire.”
Siana smiles at him, and it is his small piece of heaven on earth.
Baird gathers Siana against even more tightly.
Peace steals inside him, and with it—joy.
