Primal Instincts

by Susan Sizemore

  Greg took a sip of the pale red liquid, making it look like a ritual. “Pleasant,” he said. “Thank you—Lord Dragomir?”

  The Master Prime laughed, a deep, booming, falsely cheerful sound. “That’s right, we haven’t been introduced. I am Dragomir, and I have heard about you. I was glad to hear that your former Master sent you to retrieve my property.”

  Saffie pressed her lips together hard to keep from gasping at the word property. She didn’t doubt Dragomir was talking about her. She wanted to demand to know what he was talking about, but she kept her mouth shut.

  Greg asked the question for her. “How is the female your property? My Master told me to bring her to him.”

  Dragomir’s smile didn’t go anywhere near his eyes. “So that she could be returned to me. Your former Master called to tell me she still lived. Since I was passing through the neighborhood, I decided to reclaim her myself.”

  Still lived? That hit her like a punch to the stomach. What did he mean by that?

  As much as she wanted to know, Greg didn’t ask. “My former Master?” he asked. He looked more curious than concerned.

  Of course the Tribe boy was going to turn the conversation to himself.

  “I’ve heard that you are smart and an opportunist. Your former Master doesn’t appreciate your talents the way I will. You can work for me, or you can die. Yes or no?”

  Greg lifted his glass in a toast. “Happy to be on board, Master.”

  Another false laugh from Dragomir. “Welcome, Gregor. Tribe Harpy is always looking for qualified Primes.”

  Because you’re a bad leader who keeps getting your boys killed, Saffie thought. Her father would never have put the Crew at risk with that crazy helicopter stunt. Apparently there was some personal vendetta involving her, but you didn’t put your troops in danger for your own private agenda.

  Of course she hoped Dad wouldn’t see rescuing her from this bunch as a private matter. She’d be perfectly happy if he brought the whole Crew along, despite the teasing she’d get for having to be rescued. If she didn’t think of a way out of this on her own first.

  Nothing she could do but listen until the plane landed.

  Francesca had never been so happy. She couldn’t imagine anything better than to be where she was right now, or anyone better to be with.

  Tobias’s body covered her, a hot, hard-muscled blanket that kept Francesca pinned to the bed, and she didn’t mind it a bit. Blood and sex had come together so perfectly between them that she didn’t know where she ended and he began, and didn’t care. Her body was so sated she was ready to melt into the bed. If this two-ton boulder of a male wanted to sleep the night away on top of her, she was happy to oblige.

  She rested her hand on the base of his spine, pressing him even closer to her. There was something so endearing and enduring in the way his head rested on her breasts. It was where he belonged.

  She nipped the top of his ear affectionately for one more small taste of him. “Good night,” she whispered. Feeling the approaching dawn in her bones, she closed her eyes.

  A knock on the door wrecked her peace a moment later.

  “Goddess damn it!” Francesca swore. “Go away!”

  “Get used to it,” Tobias grunted, and kissed her shoulder before he got up and opened the door. Francesca sat up and saw a large werecoyote sitting in the hallway. She wondered how he had knocked on the door in his shifted shape, but she was no expert on the skills of werekind. She supposed she’d better learn if she really was going to stay with the Dark Angels.

  A thrill went through her at the thought—of excitement, anticipation, and trepidation. There could be trouble for her and Tobias ahead—with her Clan, her Matri, the Council.

  “The political maneuvering will give you a purpose,” Tobias said, cutting into her thoughts. “Here’s your opportunity to free the females of the Clans by freeing yourself.”

  She liked the idea. “You’re smart, and sneaky. I like that about you.”

  “But this isn’t the time to worry about the future. What is it, Eleanor?”

  Sorry for the interruption, boss, the waiting werecoyote thought. We’ve got company heading up from the beach. Message delivered, the shifter padded away.

  She listened in on Tobias’s telepathic conversations with other Angels while they both hurriedly got dressed. He found out details and gave orders. When they were ready Francesca accompanied him to the kitchen, where members of his team were already waiting.

  Along the way he gave her a look that said he was surprised she’d let a little emergency spoil her beauty sleep.

  “I’m getting used to it, as you ordered, boss,” she said. “Even if my hair does look frightful.” He gave her an encouraging pat on the head. She snapped at him, and they grinned at each other.

  Ben Lancer stepped forward. He was wearing a blue terry-cloth bathrobe, but the old man looked as dangerous as anyone else in the room. He seemed put out. “What are you doing letting werewolves onto my lawn, Tobias?”

  “Housebreaking them.”

  The old man snorted. “You damned well better pick up after them when you’re done. And don’t wake the neighbors.”

  “Why would werewolves risk attacking Primes?” Francesca asked. “Are they crazy?”

  “They’re ferals,” one of the Crew werewolves sneered. “That says it all, ma’am.”

  She’d already gathered the hostile shifters weren’t from the local werewolf population but from the growing minority of humans who had deliberately gotten themselves bitten and learned how to shape-shift as easily as born werefolk. The natural werewolves hated these abominations, and it was always fatal for anything but a vampire to be on the bad side of a werewolf.

  “They’ve come for the Purist prisoners,” Tobias said. “Figured this would happen.” He sounded happy about it. “I wasn’t expecting werewolves, though. I do not know where they came from.”

  “You set this up as a trap for the rest of the Purists who’d try to rescue them?” Francesca asked. “Or were you hoping for the last Prime to show up?”

  “I’d be happy to get the Purists out of my media room,” Lancer said. “When I let you use my place as headquarters, Toby, I didn’t expect you’d turn it into a jail.”

  “Toby?” Francesca asked. She noticed several of the Crew fighting to hide smiles.

  Tobias ignored her questions. His attention was now intently focused on the combat situation. He spoke into his headset to the guards outside. “Remember what I told you about putting up minimal resistance and falling back.”

  Francesca bet that Ben wasn’t going to like it if the werewolves were allowed indoors, bloodstains and broken furniture and all that. But as he’d already said, it would be better than waking the neighbors—alerting Malibu police and the media.

  A chorus of howls sounded in the distance.

  “Keep it quiet,” he told his fighters.

  “That’s not us, boss,” someone outside replied.

  Tobias stepped onto the back patio to get a better look at the situation.

  “And it’s not the ferals,” another voice reported.

  Francesca stepped out beside him and studied what was happening with all her senses. She saw the world as heat signatures, heartbeats, blood scent, and circulation. Shadows became bright; the moonlight gave a burning diamond blaze to the nearby ocean.

  There was a Prime by the house to her left. Someone with invisible wings to the right of the patio. Werefolk moved over the lawn toward the house. She saw four werewolves moving stealthily at the edge of the property, where the land sloped down sharply toward the beach.

  But there were other werefolk moving up swiftly behind them: wolves, foxes, a coyote, a mountain lion—and a vampire. She recognized the vampire. One of these werewolves let out a long howl.

  “That’s Joe,” Tobias said.

  “Sid’s with him,” Francesca said. “Who are—?”

  The feral werewolves were overtaken before she finished.
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br />   Do it quietly! Tobias shouted telepathically.

  Of course, boss. The answer came back from Joe.

  The ensuing battle was savage and to the death but accompanied only by low growls and snarls.

  Sid Wolfe walked through the carnage nonchalantly with the sort of cool indifference only a vampire could carry off, her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. She came to stand by Tobias on the patio, causing Francesca a momentary stab of jealousy until she remembered that Sid was bonded to Joe Bleythin. She still put her hand possessively on Tobias’s arm.

  “You told Joe to bring the local werefolk to the party if we found ferals in their territory,” Sid reported. She tilted her head toward the fighting. “And here they are.”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Tobias had long ago learned to block the intoxicating effect of spilled blood, but when he became aware of Francesca’s gaze fixed on the darkness and saw the gleam of her fangs, he took her arm to lead her back into the house. He wasn’t surprised when she fought him. He was surprised when Sidonie grabbed Francesca’s other arm and helped him get Francesca into the house.

  “I’ve been hanging with werewolves for years,” the former private detective told him. “I’ve had to get used to their copious bloodletting.”

  “At least that’s one thing I won’t have to train you on.” He concentrated on Francesca, who was gazing with a glazed expression out the patio door. You’re not tasting anybody’s blood but mine, sweetie.

  He held his wrist up to Francesca’s mouth, and that got her attention. It got Sidonie’s too.

  “What the hell have you done to my best friend?” she demanded.

  He felt a rush of pleasure as Francesca drew a sip of blood from him.

  “What do you think he’s done?” Francesca asked. That she sounded smug pleased him no end. It pleased him even more that she’d gotten hold of herself so quickly. Everything about Francesca pleased him. He had himself one damn fine female.

  “Oh,” Sid said after giving them an intense physical and psychic looking-over. “I guess congrats—”

  Tobias held up his hand for silence, and he took his vibrating BlackBerry out of his jacket pocket.

  Before he could say anything, a voice whispered faintly, “Listen.” Powerful jet engines purred quietly in the background.

  Tobias put the phone to his ear and was silently brought into an ongoing conversation.

  “Listen to what?” a gruff Eastern European voice asked.

  “May I ask some questions, Master Dragomir?” another male voice asked.

  “It’s a long trip. I’d welcome intelligent conversation. I’m told you’re very intelligent and I plan to use it, Gregor. There are things you need to know. What do you wish to know first, who my principal is?”

  “May I make the assumption that you are working for the same group my former Master doesn’t think anyone knows about?”

  Dragomir laughed. “I’m not sure your Master realizes that he is not the one totally in charge of our operations. He tries, but just under the surface he’s as foolhardy as every Tribe Prime used to be.” Another brief laugh. “You and I realize we are being manipulated by others, but I’m interested in making a profit. Let others try to take over the world as long as they pay me very well to provide the muscle they need.”

  “And why are you taking your soldiers to California? I thought that operation was winding down.”

  “So it was, but your friend Dr. Stone requested reinforcements to deal with the Dark Angels.”

  “His assignment was to create a diversion, no more.”

  “So he was reminded. But he saw an opportunity to end Strahan’s interference for good. I sired him and trained him and he ultimately answers. I seriously considered his plea for help, but I was putting together an op for Brazil I didn’t want to postpone. Then fate intervened when your former Master called to taunt me about the female. When I learned about Saffron, I knew I had a chance to wipe out Strahan’s group once and for all.”

  Fear clenched deep inside Tobias’s guts and soul as he heard his daughter’s name. Saffron? What about Saffie? Is she in trouble?

  It took all Tobias’s self-control not to shout his questions into the phone. He found that Francesca’s fingers were twined with his free hand, a solid link to sanity. She gave him strength he’d never known he needed before.

  “By pitting your mercenaries against Strahan’s mercenaries?” Gregor asked.

  “Yes. I’ve wanted Strahan dead for a long time. A seer with military training makes a dangerous adversary. I tried getting rid of him even before he formed his Dark Angels, just after he stumbled across the beginning of the plan.”

  “He survived.”

  “He’s lucky. But now I know he has a weakness I can use against him.”

  “The girl? Saffron?”

  Another laugh from Dragomir. “Saffron is not the creature’s name. I don’t know why she survived or why Strahan kept her, but she’s my property. I have her back to use as I see fit.”

  “You have completely confused me, Master Dragomir. I got the impression Strahan has had the girl since she was a baby.”

  “You don’t understand why I had an infant slave?” That damn laugh came again.

  Slave? Property? Tobias’s temples throbbed with fury. Nobody spoke about his baby like that! Tobias was ready to jump through the phone to rip Dragomir to bloody pieces.

  Francesca squeezed his fingers tightly. Steady.

  “The slave came into my possession in a simple enough way. I sired her on a mortal female.” Laughter. “You are good at hiding your emotions, Gregor, but even you cannot hide your revulsion.”

  “I mean no disrespect, Master. But—”

  “It was an experiment. I bred the bitch on purpose to see if she’d have a vampire baby. The mortal was a half breed, mortal but with a vampire mother.”

  “A Clan or Family female? I’ve heard they sometimes take mortal male lovers.”

  “My mortal pet’s mother was a female of an Asian Clan. I captured them both when we raided their Citadel. I experimented to see if I could get a vampire offspring from the half breed. It didn’t work; she had a mortal baby. But I found a use for them. A double use, really. Very profitable.”

  “This had something to do with Strahan?” Gregor asked.

  “I was contracted to dispose of Strahan at the same time I agreed to help a group of political radicals make a violent statement. They wanted to blow up an airplane. I decided to use my pet to carry the bomb. She was the bomb, with a simple telepathic trigger. It wasn’t likely that a woman with a baby would be suspected of sabotaging an airplane. We called it Operation Saffron. My terrorist clients got themselves killed before we could carry out their plan, but it was still a good idea. I used it on Strahan.”

  All those people died because of me? He forced Saffie’s mother to kill herself?

  Microscopic bloody pieces. There won’t be a molecule left of this Dragomir when I’m done with him.

  “Strahan survived the bombing. With the child,” Gregor said.

  “I’ll never understand how. But he’s as emotionally soft toward mortals as any of his sort. This Saffron is a weapon to use against—”

  Silence as the connection cut off.

  Tobias took the BlackBerry from his ear and stared at it for a moment before heaving it as far across the room as he could.

  Francesca winced as the phone shattered against the kitchen wall. Joe Bleythin and Shaggy Harker had to dodge ricocheting plastic shrapnel as they came in from the patio. Wide grins were wiped from the werewolves’ faces as they hurried up to Tobias.

  “Boss?” Joe asked.

  Tobias’s muscles were as rigid as stone. The look on his face was the most frightening Francesca had ever seen. His huge brown eyes swirled with hatred, fury, and terror. Francesca wanted to help him somehow but knew trying to hold and comfort him wasn’t the answer. He needed to kill.

  “His daughter’s been taken,” she
told Joe and Shaggy Harker. Everyone else in the kitchen had easily overheard the voices from the phone. Low murmurs and angry telepathic comments were zinging around the room.

  “Who’s taken the kid?” Shaggy demanded.

  Sid explained what was known to the newcomers.

  Tobias came out of his frozen rage as she finished, and he said to Harker, “The fight for your territory isn’t over yet. The Tribes are sending in fresh reinforcements. If I have to tear up this city and reveal the existence of our kind to find the bastards with my kid, I will.”

  Harker threw back his head and howled. Francesca worried that this was a protest until the local werefolk leader said, “You don’t need to hunt for them. We can lead you right to them.”

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Tobias looked to Joe Bleythin for an explanation.

  “My hunch that we should start tracking our bad guys where the original ferals hung out was right. They were dead, but their scent was overlaid with fresher traces of ferals that had been there over the years. It took a while, but we traced them to their den at a small airport. I gathered the local troops for a raid, but the ferals took off before we got to them. We followed them here. The scouts we left behind all report vampire headaches. There’s a vampire in the hangar at the airport all right,” Joe added.

  “Why did a pack of werewolves show up here?” Ben Lancer asked. “They had to know it was suicide to go up against Primes.”

  “That’s easy to answer,” Shaggy said. “Stupid and sad, but easy.” Everyone looked at the local shapeshifter leader. “Even ferals have a twisted loyalty to the pack ethic. These curs made a pact with the Purists and Tribes and they got themselves killed fulfilling the pact. Their mortal brothers were prisoners. It was their obligation to try to rescue them.”

  “I bet the vampire talked them into it,” Sid said. “If he was cutting his losses, it was the perfect way to get rid of them.”

  Tobias wasn’t interested in the why or the who of the plotting right now but waited impatiently for the explanation out of respect for Shaggy.