by Tessa Dawn
And then her captor’s words sank in: Welcome to my lab.
His lab?
What kind of lab?
And why had he carted Kiera to this God-forsaken place…in the middle of nowhere…blindfolded, no less?
She shifted in her seat. “Where are we? Why are we here?”
A crisp slap across her cheek rattled the questions out of her. “You don’t speak. You don’t ask questions. You just do as you’re told. Understood?”
Kiera reached up to cup her jaw and brush away a cold, icy tear.
This animal was going to kill her—she was sure of it—but not before he did all kinds of unspeakable things to her body. She felt her bile rise and bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from projectile vomiting—the last thing she needed was to puke on Xavier Matista. He would probably beat her to death.
She watched in terrified silence as he reached for a phlebotomy tray and prepared to draw her blood. He did not put on a pair of latex gloves, and she shivered. “What’s that for?” she asked in a panic, immediately regretting her outburst. He raised his hand, and she flinched, ducking, while covering her face.
He didn’t slap her again.
He just stared at her with those creepy, menacing eyes—those strange, pale amber irises, rimmed in black—as he flipped his rough, unruly lion’s mane out of his face. “I can see you are not going to cooperate,” he spat. “So I’ll tell you what; I’ll give you three questions—no, I’ll be generous and give you five, so think very carefully—and then, if you speak out of turn again, I will chain you to the wall and whip you with that rubber hose.” He nodded toward a set of hanging glass containers connected by a thick rubber tube—it looked like something Dr. Frankenstein might have used on his famous patient.
Kiera gulped, still processing his words.
He would give her five questions—did he really mean that, or was he just playing a cruel, twisted game? She swallowed her terror and eyed him cautiously, trying to read his intent.
His pale eyes narrowed as he waited.
Okay, so maybe he was serious.
She licked her lips—they were suddenly dry—trying to think of everything…anything…whatever she needed to know in order to survive. “Who are you, really? And why was I taken?”
The massive male’s cruel mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. “I am a lycan general from a land called Mhier, and you already know my name. You were taken by witless humans who are doing my bidding to keep you from another, to study your DNA, and to exact my own personal revenge.”
His strong shoulders stiffened as Kiera processed his words.
A lycan general from a land called Mhier?
What the hell did that mean?
Lycan? As in lycanthrope? From the Greek origin for wolf? A person affected with lycanthropy…or a werewolf?
The bastard was clearly insane.
But then, her dream…
Her stomach twisted into tighter knots—she would have to consider that later.
And just where the hell was Mhier, and why had he referred to it as another land?
She reached deep inside for courage, considering the rest of his words: You were taken by witless humans who are doing my bidding to keep you from another, to study your DNA, and to exact my own personal revenge…
There were only three questions left. She couldn’t waste them dissecting his mental illness. She needed to stick to straight, pertinent facts. “Who are you keeping me from?” she asked next, afraid she might be wasting a question.
“Saxson Olaru,” he growled, and that was it—no further explanation.
Damnit.
That didn’t tell her anything.
Two questions left: She needed to be more deliberate. “What was my sister’s role in all of this?” It might not have been an imperative question, but if Kiera was going to die at this general’s hands, then she wanted to know why Kyla had betrayed her. It was human curiosity at best, but it ran soul-level deep.
At this, Xavier took a deep, contemplative breath, and it appeared as if he was considering his answer: weighing whether to give her a short, dismissive response, or to taunt her with the truth. He apparently chose the latter. “Your sister is a lost, twisted bitch who has been serving me and my human playthings for many, many moons. She is a vampire-hunter, Kiera; and she has taken your place with Saxson…as his destiny. She delivered you to me in order to achieve that goal.”
Kiera’s mind was virtually spinning.
Kyla was a vampire-hunter...
Xavier was a werewolf…
And Saxson—whoever Saxson was—was their prey.
And just what the hell was a destiny?
She wondered about Travis and Owen, but she wasn’t going to waste her final question when she could just as well put two and two together: They thought they were hunting vampires, too. They were in league with Kyla on this psychotic mission.
And all of it, all the crazy, misguided pieces, centered around one person.
This Saxson Olaru.
Her eyebrows creased as she continued to imagine the unimaginable, to reason with the unreasonable—insanity and madness. If they were vampire-hunters, and Saxson was their prey, then Saxson was…he was a vampire? At least, according to Xavier?
And if Kyla took Kiera’s place, then Kiera’s place was somehow…with this Saxson?
Which made Kiera Saxson’s destiny…
None of it made any sense.
Yet and still, an eerie, far too real memory flashed in Kiera’s mind: that night in the bar, standing in the bathroom with Kyla, that freakin’ bloodred moon.
She shivered all the way down to her bones, dismissing the recollection for the moment. If Xavier let her live—if she ever left the barn—she would have hours of quiet, time alone, to contemplate this unsettling information, just so long as she didn’t forget. She committed all of Xavier’s words to memory, rehearsing his sentences in her head and pairing them with images—memory tricks—to make sure they would be there when it was time to recall them.
And then she asked her final question, because she couldn’t stand not knowing. “What are you going to do to me? Will you let me go when you’re finished?”
Xavier snarled beneath his breath and—heaven help her, because she must be crazy too—he sounded very much like a canine.
A wolf.
She shuddered, waiting for his reply.
“That’s two questions, Kiera.” He glanced at the hanging rubber tube as if revisiting the whipping, imagining it in his sadistic mind.
“I’m sorry,” Kiera muttered quickly, praying to the angels, to God, to anyone who might hear her…for mercy.
He cleared his throat with a guttural rasp. “I’m going to experiment on you, Kiera—find out what makes you tick—and then I might keep you around for a while to play your violin.” He nicked the underside of her jaw with his nail—no, not with his nail, with a claw—drawing a warm trickle of blood. “And then I am going to kill you before Saxson has a chance to find you.” He reached into the phlebotomy kit, withdrew a large syringe, and Kiera’s sanity…melted.
The next sound she heard reverberated from within, like a blast from a seaborn foghorn: Kiera screamed…and screamed…and screamed.
Chapter Seventeen
Saxson watched his destiny as she glided gracefully through the garden-level, indoor swimming pool, her five-foot-eight-inch frame both sleek and muscular. There had been no red flags since he’d returned home the previous night…since he’d returned from feeding and speaking with Marquis. In fact, the day had passed without incident. Both he and Kyla had slept in, shared a cordial, engaging breakfast—well, Kyla had enjoyed her breakfast; Saxson had enjoyed Kyla’s company—and spent the rest of day talking, taking walks around Saxson’s property, and learning more about each other’s pasts.
Kyla had learned about Ramsey and Santos: the fact that Ramsey had always been a bit of a rebel, a hard-ass, while Santos was a bit more sophisticated—he harbored a deep sense of responsibili
ty for his family, a lifelong need to take care of the younger twins. Yes, Ramsey and Saxson were two bad-ass sentinels who could each kick ass whenever they had to, but they would always be Santos’s baby brothers. When Saxson had shared the plight of his parents, Kyla had shown a great deal of sympathy. In fact, she had physically reacted to the story about Saxson’s mother, the fact that Ruth Jensen-Olaru had been staked through the heart by vampire-hunters. The fact that their father, Santiago, had been killed by Dark Ones, ambushed in a cave nearly five years later, had seemed to break Kyla’s heart.
Her dark brown eyes had filled with tears.
Comparatively, Saxson had learned that Kyla was an only child and a rebel in her own right, never feeling like she’d really fit in. Not in her family, not in her high school, and not in society at large. He figured that made sense for a predestined female, someone whose life had always belonged, ultimately, to the house of Jadon.
Now, as another day and night had passed, and he watched her in the pool, he began to believe they might just make it. At the very least, this new tack seemed to be working—Saxson would remain as amenable as possible and follow wherever Kyla might lead…
She swam to the edge of the deep end, where he dangled his legs in the water, and to Saxson’s surprise, she didn’t hesitate to nestle between his knees and rest her elbows on his thighs. “You’re not getting in?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the clean blue water. “It’s warm.”
Saxson chuckled beneath his breath, the sound filling the vacant space all around them. “I like watching you,” he drawled.
She blushed. “Yeah, but I feel like a specimen beneath a microscope. You should join me.”
He slid effortlessly into the water and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing a tantalizing kiss against the slope of her neck. “What else should I do, Miss Sparrow?”
Despite the fact that the water was warm, Kyla shivered. “For starters, stop tempting me!” She splashed him, broke free from his embrace, and playfully waded backward. “Catch me!” she blurted, twisting like a fish as she took off swimming in the opposite direction.
Saxson found the water-play enticing.
And funny.
Kyla, a human female, wanted Saxson, a vampire-male, to see if he could catch her. In the blink of an eye, he rendered his body invisible, swam noiselessly to the bottom of the pool, and moved slowly in Kyla’s direction.
She spun this way and that, twisting in the water, trying to locate his missing form. When she couldn’t find him anywhere, she began to swim in earnest with long, smooth, even strokes, toward the underside of the diving board.
That was smart.
All things considered.
At least she would know that he wasn’t above her—as long as the board didn’t move—and her back would be to the wall, so she could watch the water displace if he approached her from the front.
Note to self, Saxson thought. Don’t underestimate your destiny.
The thing was: He could control the molecules around him, and that meant he could glide without noticeably displacing water.
Moving with the slow grace of an aquatic creature, he sidled up in front of her, grasped her by the waist, spun her around, and pulled her back against him. Then he arched his back and took off swimming, carrying Kyla on his chest like a life vest. She let her head fall back against his shoulder, clutched his hips for purchase, and laughed like she was having the time of her life as the two of them careened through the water and Saxson kept them afloat.
After several minutes had passed, Saxson brought them to the side of the pool, lifted Kyla off his chest, and set her on the tiled ledge. Placing his palms on her smooth, feminine thighs, he looked up into her eyes and smiled. “You seem a lot more relaxed,” he observed.
“So do you.” She winked.
He nodded. “I am. Perhaps we just needed some time to adjust.”
She considered his words, tilted her head to the side, then slowly moved an errant lock of his wet hair away from his eyes, her breathing growing deeper as she stared at each of his features, one at a time.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked.
She licked her bottom lip. “You really are quite stunning, Saxson. Sometimes…you take my breath away.”
The corners of his mouth curved up in a smile. Though she was beautiful, herself, he couldn’t return the sentiment, so he chose silence for a moment instead. Finally, when he had organized his thoughts, he decided to approach a deeper subject. “Kyla…”
She twirled her finger through her curly, wet hair. “Mm?”
“Do you remember when you told me what you wanted…when you asked if we could wait?”
Her brows furrowed into a slant. “When I said I wanted to delay the conversion and the pregnancy?”
“Yes,” Saxson said, “that, too. You told me you wanted to get to know me first, to learn more about my world. You said you wanted to meet my friends—other warriors, other women—and you wanted to wait until the last week because you didn’t want to sleep together until we were both committed and ready.”
“I remember,” Kyla whispered, appearing to hold her breath.
“Then you also remember how I responded—I told you I needed to give it some thought.”
She bit her bottom lip and shivered. “I remember that, too.”
Saxson absently kneaded his fingers against her thighs. “Well, I have given it some thought, and I do want to accommodate you, but I don’t think I’m willing to wait until the very last week.” He leaned in closer. “What if we give it another seven to ten days, and then we reevaluate? I can wait that long to convert you, and I can wait a little longer to father our sons—but I won’t let the clock tick all the way down to the midnight hour. I won’t risk running out of time.” Kyla appeared to swallow a lump in her throat before glancing askance into the water. When she didn’t respond, Saxson pressed her. “Okay…another penny for your current thoughts?”
Her eyes lit up with mirth. “You never gave me the last penny.”
He smiled playfully, shut his eyes, and held out his left hand, palm facing up. In his mind’s eye, he visualized his dresser and the small jar of coins sitting on top of the mahogany wood. It took a great deal of concentration to focus his psychic energy in a straight line, ignoring the interference from the walls. No longer copper or bronze, the pennies were mostly zinc, which placed the atomic weight at 65.39. Aware of the gravitational pull around the penny and how matter moved through space, he began to link his own consciousness with that of the atoms surrounding the object…commanding, redirecting, pulling…until he felt the penny lift from the jar and begin to float forward in the room. Relying on his memory as a guide—the dresser was ten steps from the door, the door was a hundred yards from the staircase, the staircase contained seven steps on each successive incline, six feet of space on the landing—he continued to draw the penny through the house until the small copper-colored disc settled into his palm.
He closed his fingers around it. “For you, Madame.”
Kyla gasped and covered Saxson’s hand in both of hers. “How did you do that?”
He shrugged one shoulder, tilting his head to the side. “Telekinesis,” he said contentedly. “Matter and Science 305.”
Kyla wriggled her nose. “Matter and Science 305?”
Saxson nodded. “Yes. One of the most coveted courses at the Romanian University, taken during a vampire’s junior century: Matter and Science 305—telekinesis, teleportation, and passing through objects.”
Kyla’s expression lit up with wonder. “That’s amazing! Can anyone do that—I mean, anything like that—before you take the class?”
“We can,” Saxson answered, “although it depends upon the vampire. But to really understand mass, gravity, and quantum physics—to understand them enough to become invisible at will, to create a holding cell, or to bring a small object with you as you pass through solid forms—that takes a great deal of knowledge, practice, and study.�
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Kyla giggled like a schoolgirl, visibly impressed. “Damn, I wish I could do things like that.”
Saxson grew pensive. “Perhaps you will… After your conversion, we could pick one skill and start to practice. Many destinies use their minds to accomplish amazing psychic feats. Some things are easier than others, but most can be taught over time. We have an immortal lifetime, Kyla—if it pleases you, I will teach you.”
An odd sadness—or maybe darkness was a better characterization—flashed through Kyla’s eyes, and her lighthearted countenance dimmed. “Thank you.” She spoke in a monotone voice. “It’s just…I had hoped…well, I’ve been waiting for you to offer me something else.”
Saxson paused. Well, that was an interesting if not somewhat clumsy segue, he thought. What did Kyla want now? He tapped her on the tip of her nose and held her gaze with his. “What does my destiny desire?”
Kyla forced the sadness out of her eyes, straightening her spine. “Over the last few days,” she began, “I’ve heard you chat with your brothers…on the phone.” She quickly held up her forefinger. “Not like a lot or anything—I mean, I haven’t been eavesdropping, but I just overheard bits and pieces of short conversations.”
“Kyla…” Saxson prodded. “Out with it, love.”
She nodded. “Well, you know how eager I am to meet your friends, to make the acquaintance of other destinies—to know someone who’s already been through what I’m facing.” She paused as if gathering her courage. “I just thought…”
Saxson waited. You just thought what? he wondered.
“I just thought that, maybe at some point, you might invite me to the party.”
Saxson frowned, confused. “The party?”
She sighed. “When you were chatting with Santos on your cell the other day in the hall, you said we weren’t going to some gathering—something for someone named Braden, I think—because of our Blood Moon.” She stared at the markings on her inner wrist and frowned. “I guess I’ve been hoping that you would reconsider and take me to any social events.”
Saxson paused to replay his conversation with Santos in his head—was she referring to the homecoming reception for Dario and Lily on Saturday night? That wasn’t even a family affair—well, at least not for his family. His only purpose there would be to act as a sentinel, and his brothers had that covered.
