The Purest of the Breed (The Community Book 2)

by Tracy Tappan

  “The ‘no’ stands.” Jaċken’s voice was hard and uncompromising. “Either fight or get the fuck out of my town.”

  “Not now.” Jøsnic took a step back, his nipple chains rattling. “But you have too many women to guard this time, Brun. A hole will appear in your defenses, and when it does…” His eyes froze down to stygian ice, no longer merely mean, but evil. “We take back what’s ours, and leave boiling Hell in our wake.”

  Marissa went numb. She believed that man. Given the smallest chance, Jøsnic would snatch her and Hadley. Not Kendra, who’d already bagged this crazy town, smart lady.

  Turning around, Marissa stumbled off the balcony and into the bedroom, barely noticing people from the other rooms surging into Berlin. To be fair, Tonĩ had warned the new hires about Ţărână’s rival neighbors. But Marissa had imagined the town’s competitors as being a bunch of sallow-faced scientists with Coke-bottle glasses, maybe a few with lisps, who didn’t have anything more ominous on their minds than stealing research secrets. Not something that looked like it’d been disgorged from Stephen King’s Pet Sematary.

  She twisted her hands at her waist as her blood slowed in her veins. Good God, what kind of idiot was she to have put her life into the hands of people she’d known for all of two days? If this Jøsnic creature managed to nab Beth as he’d threatened would Marissa be traded for Arc’s beloved, and pregnant, wife?

  In a New York minute.

  Marissa searched for Hadley, finding her friend standing near the bed. Their eyes met, identical thoughts stamped on their pale faces; half a million dollars didn’t begin to make up for this.

  Jaċken stalked back into the bedroom, followed by Dev and Arc, and stopped with his arms crossed and his legs planted wide. “You need to listen to me,” he said to the new hires, “very carefully. No woman who’s followed our security measures has ever been hurt in Ţărână. Not one. We can and will protect you. I don’t care if you’ve been here two days or two years, there isn’t a man in the Warrior Class who wouldn’t give his life for you.”

  Her stomach in knots, Marissa eyed Dev sideways.

  His lids were low, as if shielding powerful emotions, and he stood with his arms crossed, too, the position bulging out his biceps and making him look as kick-ass as any superhero. Her Bat Man.

  “Moreover,” Jaċken went on, “it may not feel like it right now, but you’re safer here, with us looking out for you, than topside. If you don’t believe me, ask the women who were just kidnapped last night.”

  Marissa glanced at Hadley.

  “If these men find out who you are, they’ll take you.” Jaċken panned the room. “I can guarantee it.”

  Maybe…Jaċken had a point. And, frankly, right now Marissa couldn’t imagine feeling safe anywhere far from Dev.

  Jaċken swiveled toward his men. “Head back out. I want to confirm the town is secure.”

  As the warriors jogged from the room, Tonĩ put her arms around Beth.

  Beth slumped against her friend, her face pressed into Tonĩ’s shoulder, one hand cupped protectively over the swelling of her abdomen.

  Marissa stood in place, unsure of what to do. The other men in the bedroom murmured to their wives. Beth cried softly. Hadley had her head pressed together with Beverly and Susan. Finally, Marissa walked over to Tonĩ and Beth and wrapped her arms around the two women, laying her cheek on top of Beth’s head. The woman’s hair smelled like strawberries.

  You’re safer down here, with us looking out for you… She needed to believe that. After all, the community’s security force was out in the town right now, making sure… Marissa blinked. All of the force? Good God, that’s right. Thomal had run out of the garden parlor with the rest of the warriors, leaving his crutches scattered on the floor.

  His foot had seemed completely healed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dev unclasped his knife set and wearily slung the gear over his shoulder as he lumbered up the mansion’s main staircase. He’d been patrolling Ţărână for hours along with the other warriors, keeping an eye on the town, but it looked like Jøsnic had played his hand for now. There hadn’t been any more signs of trouble coming from the Om Rău.

  Falling face first into his pillow was now the only thing he—

  A piercing scream rang out.

  He startled and cursed, then flew up the stairs on a surge of inhuman speed. That had come from the third floor where their Dragon women were! Unsheathing one of his knives and flipping it into his palm, he careened into the third floor hallway, images on the doors blurring as he picked up speed: Athens’ columned Parthenon, a swirling Flamenco dancer for Seville, the Medieval Square in—

  He slammed to a halt.

  In front of Lucerne and its sprawling vista of Swiss Alps, Marissa stood in an aggressive posture, wielding a vase at…ah, crap.

  Nỵko was pinned against the fairytale-like city of Bruges across from her. He had his huge, tattoo-laden arms held up in an I’m-completely-harmless pose and his black eyes were wide as saucers.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Marissa gasped, her breathing coming in rough spurts. “I caught this asshole ogre lurking about.”

  Nỵko’s brow crinkled.

  Asshole ogre? Dev stifled a groan. Every single one of the new hires was peeking out of her door right now, and after their introduction to Jøsnic earlier, they definitely didn’t need a twofer on weird and scary.

  “I’m sorry,” Nỵko said to Dev, obviously thinking the same thing. “I needed to go upstairs to report to Roth, and I figured that at this time of night I could just sneak by.”

  “You be quiet,” Marissa ordered Nỵko, jabbing the vase in his direction.

  Dev had to give her points for spunk. Nỵko outweighed her by a couple of dozen brick pallets, and even though Dev knew that Nỵko was a big fluffy ball of cotton candy, the man looked like tonight’s Creature Feature. “Put the vase down, Marissa,” Dev said in a voice that was both calm and loud enough for the others to hear. “This isn’t a bad guy.” Couldn’t she see that Nỵko looked as frightened as she was, probably more?

  “Bull hockey,” Marissa shot back. “I saw this guy with that Jøsnic man on the cliff.”

  “He wasn’t with Jøsnic, Marissa. He was standing at the ready to overcome him.” Dev walked slowly toward her, tucking his knife back into its sheath.

  “B-but, he has the tattoos…”

  “So do two other men in our town.” Dev eased the vase out of her hands and set it back on the hallway table. “This is Nỵko Brun, Jaċken’s brother and one of Ţărână’s best warriors. He’s probably the nicest guy you’d ever want to meet.”

  She gave Nỵko a dubious glance.

  It would’ve been nice if Nỵko could’ve rallied a smile to his face just then, but the man was still too busy looking like he wanted to bolt.

  “All right, listen up,” Dev announced to the entire third floor. “This mansion’s security has never been breached, so please don’t worry about anything and try to get some sleep.” The doors snapped shut abruptly. Whether that was a good sign or bad one, he had no idea. He touched Marissa’s arm lightly. “You’re going to be fine.” He offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

  Guess he didn’t quite pull it off. She sort of…melted. The tough expression fell off her face, then the rest of her deflated like a pricked balloon, her shoulders slumping, her knees sagging, her head falling forward into both of her hands. She began to make wet noises into her palms.

  He drew his brows together. She wasn’t…going to cry, was she?

  Nỵko heard it, too. “Oh, no,” he moaned. “Can I go now?”

  And leave him alone with a crying woman? Hell no. But the damned palooka had already darted up to the fourth-floor penthouse. “Hey, now,” he said quietly. “Um…don’t cry, okay? Please. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

  She looked up at him and ker-pow, a sucker punch right to the gut. The impact of those big, damp eyes drove the breath
clean out of him. They were filled with, like, puddles, tears brimming over her bottom lashes and falling down her cheeks. Dammit, why wasn’t there somebody close by right now to hit? Preferably anybody who’d ever hurt her.

  “God, Dev, it’s…it’s just too much. Last night with Mürk and his gang of psycho fiends, and…and now that Jøsnic monster wants to take me, and then…” She flung a vague gesture after poor Nỵko. “That scary guy shows up in the hall.” She sniffled. “I don’t think I can take anymore. I-I just want to go home.”

  Dev’s stomach crashed into his feet. He’d faced down some damned nasty creatures in his days, heinous demons that would’ve sent most men skid-marking their way home to mama, but he could honestly say, it wasn’t until this moment that he’d experienced outright panic. “Please, don’t say that. I know it’s been a rough couple of nights, but things will even out, I promise.”

  “I can’t help it,” she whispered, the lost look in her eyes clutching a steel band around his chest. “I’m so frightened.”

  Jesus. Effing. Christ. Now he was going to suffer complete heart failure. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Riss, you need to trust me on that. I mean, hell, you’ve seen me fight, right? I’m a total BAMF.”

  “A…BAMF?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “A Badass Motherfucker.”

  She blinked her spiky lashes, then a small smile slowly replaced the unhappy line of her mouth.

  Better, but not enough. “In fact”—he took her hand and led her down the hallway—“you’re staying with me in my room tonight.”

  “Oh?” She cut him a veiled look from beneath her long lashes.

  A blush slapped him hard across the face. “Whoa! I mean…” He came to a halt and spluttered. “I-I only meant that as a good guy, okay?” He was so used to the people around here knowing that sex wasn’t an option, he hadn’t stopped to think how that would sound. “No hanky-panky. Scout’s honor.”

  Another faint smile stole across her lips. “Hanky-panky? Sheesh, were you born in the ’40s or something?”

  He felt his blush deepen. She had no idea how close she’d come to guessing his true age.

  “Anyway,” she added softly, “thank you. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  “Well…okay, then.” He took her gently by the arm and led her downstairs and into his bedroom. “So, you ready to hit the hay?” he asked, closing the door behind them.

  She looked around his room. “Not really,” she answered.

  “It’s almost three in the morning.”

  Everything in his room seemed to have passed muster, because Marissa’s eyes landed on him again. “It’s almost three in the afternoon,” she countered. “Back in Normal Land, I’d be making myself a fruit salad for a snack right about now. Why do you flip-flop the times, anyway?”

  He shrugged. “We only work topside at night, so switching the time just makes it a regular work day for us.”

  “Always at night?”

  “Yep. That’s when the bad guys come out, after all.” Plus, I’m a vampire. “Um, you should’ve been given a sleeping pill to help you adjust.”

  She shook her head. “I wanted to stay alert, in case…” Anxiety filmed her eyes. “Just in case.”

  He exhaled a slow breath. Damn, these last couple of nights had really tangled her up.

  “And…” She nodded at the knife set slung over his shoulder. “Should I be worried that you’re still holding onto those?”

  He smiled. “Nah.” Crossing to his wet bar, he put his knife set on it. “This is just an occupational hazard, sweetheart. I don’t even go to the bathroom without a knife in my hand, right?”

  “That does sound hazardous.” Her eyes came to life with amusement. “You might cut something important doing that.”

  He chuckled. Christ, but this girl was cu-ute. So pretty her face made his bones ache. Thickly lashed green eyes were set above exquisitely constructed cheekbones, with an upturned little nose that tempted him to reach out and tweak it. The delicate arch of her jaw smoothed down to what appeared to be a slender, arching throat, but which luckily her long hair mostly covered, or he probably would’ve crapped himself. Her skin was a deep honey color, suggesting Mediterranean ancestry somewhere in her pedigree, and her hair flowed straight and fine down her back, with long feathery bangs that caught in her lashes. The color was cool, too: kind of two-toned, with tarnished blonde on top and light brown underneath.

  She was wearing a new pair of lightweight sweatpants and a T-shirt that, Christ, yes, did show off a nice pair of ta-tas, although he hated to quote Gábor. Beth Costache had probably donated some clothes to Marissa…Hadley, too, he’d bet. Beth was just that level of nice. Marissa’s body was slender, bordering on too skinny for his taste, if it hadn’t been for the slight womanly flare of her hips and those mighty fine ta-tas: a high-end B cup edging toward a C, by the looks of them. Her nipples were suffering from a serious case of stick-out-itis, and at the cocktail party, he’d kept them under solid surveillance in his peripheral vision. It’d taken every ounce of willpower he owned not to lean forward and close his mouth over one like the cherry-on-top it was.

  “You have incredible eyes,” she said, surprising him out of his nipple reverie. “They’re a gorgeous silver color and, wow, so bright.”

  He hooded his lids. Stop thinking about her boobs, you dumbass. “Um, your eyes are also… I like your eyes, too.” Besides being a beautiful green, the pupils were surrounded by starbursts of gold. “They look like little suns shining up from the bottom of a mossy pond.”

  Her eyebrows popped high, then she laughed. “My God, who are you, Dev? A big bad GI Joe type, or a poet with a palate for fine wine?” She nodded toward the floor-to-ceiling wine rack across the room: home to his extensive collection.

  “All right, all right, don’t get all fired up now. I’m not a high-society type.” He pushed his fingers through his hair, raking it back from his brow. “It’s just that not much dating goes on around here.” Or any. “Uh, small town politics, you know? So hobbies are essential.”

  “Really?” She gave his body a slow, thorough once-over. “It’s hard to imagine you not being constantly swarmed by women.”

  The appreciative look in her eyes made his skin jump. “Uh, well…um…” He snapped his mouth closed. What the hell was that? A beautiful woman was flirting with him and he couldn’t come up with anything better to say than something Urkel might’ve spluttered? Though in his defense, he’d always been the flirter, not the flirtee. Vârcolac females weren’t allowed to be flirtatious, and the Dragon women they’d brought into Ţărână before hadn’t exactly been in a welcoming frame of mind, the whole abduction thing putting a real damper on that. So having a woman show interest in him was a real red-fucking-letter-day experience.

  “Hey, you want to open a bottle?” Marissa wandered over to his wine rack and carefully eased bottles out of their circular holders to peer at the labels.

  Hmm, let’s pause and assess: hot woman alone with him in his bedroom being flirtatious and in a vulnerable state…plus several cocktails already consumed by both of them…plus more alcohol in the form of wine. Decisions, decisions…

  “You have a very sophisticated wine collection, Dev.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes once again doing that check-him-out thing that gave his nuts a nice, firm squeeze. “I’m impressed.”

  He warmed all over, feeling inordinately pleased by the compliment. “Thanks. Yeah, go ahead and pick a bottle.”

  The proverbial famous last words, surely.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Ah, here’s a good one.”

  Dev watched Marissa pull out her choice and set it on the high, round table he used for a sommelier station.

  He crossed to the table and picked up the bottle to check out the label. No Napa Valley for this girl. She’d selected a Beaujolais, a pricey brand, but not exorbitant: the best quality for the money, in fact. “The chef knows her wine.”
He set down the bottle. “You like French, do you?”

  She showed him sparkly white teeth in a smile. “I specialize in French cooking.”

  “Do you? That’s cool.” He used his wine opener to deftly pull the cork, then set the bottle back on the table to breathe. “So why a chef?”

  “I was actually a marine science major at USD to begin with, if you can believe it.”

  Sure, why not? She seemed smart enough.

  “But then my mom got breast cancer and I had to drop out to take care of her.” He heard her soft inhalation. “I’m the oldest, so…I’m sure you know how it is. Responsibilities.”

  Actually, he didn’t know. Even though he was the oldest in his family, he’d always managed to finagle himself out of responsibility crap. “Your dad’s not in the picture?”

  “No, he died of pancreatic cancer when I was fifteen.” Her lips twisted wryly. “I’m pretty much a ticking time bomb, aren’t I?”

  It wasn’t the best hand to have been dealt. “Not so good, no.” ’Course, hooking up with a Vârcolac would cure all that. “What happened with your mom?”

  “Oh, she’s fine now,” Marissa said, brightening. “In full remission and going strong. And things happen for a reason, don’t they? As it turned out, marine science wasn’t my thing. I discovered I wanted to do something creative, and, anyway…” she laughed, “I’m a terrible swimmer. But the best thing about it was that my mom and I got closer. I just feel like…my sister, Natalie, should’ve done her share. It would’ve been the right thing.” She picked up the Beaujolais and poured them each about a finger’s worth. “And what about you? Why a soldier?”

  “Hell, I’ve never given it much thought.” He supposed he’d gone into the Warrior Class to please his dad, who’d secretly wanted more for his son than geology. Unlike Dev’s mother. Yeah, pleasing Dad had always equaled displeasing Mother. Those two had forever been at odds, and never very good at keeping their children out of the middle. It’d been a rotten way to grow up at times, but at least when it’d come down to choosing sides, the decision for Dev had always been clear: Dad, the man who’d put Dev on top of the world from the moment of his birth.