Mackenzie McKade

by Black Widow (lit)

  Tammy pressed her hand to her chest. “Oh my God. I need to call my employer. Tell him I’m alright.”

  “I’ve taken care of that and the police,” Donne announced.

  “How?” she asked.

  “Glamour.” Donne didn’t explain further. Vampires could make people see and think what they wanted. With just a thought, a suggestion, Roark knew Donne had easily made the police as well as her boss think they’d seen and talked to her even though she was never in the room. Had he even tendered her resignation?

  “I did. I’ll take care of her apartment and belongings later.” Donne shared his mental answer with Roark only.

  “It’s true she can’t go back to her old ways, but she deserves to know our ways and begin to live again.” Roark spoke aloud as he stepped behind her and trailed a finger up her arm, before he embraced her, pulling her close to quiet the stirring inside her. She visibly trembled at his touch. Her feminine scent wrapped around him like invisible arms. A tight breath squeezed from between her lips as her body melted against his. “Baby, Donne just needs reassurance that you don’t want to leave us,” he whispered against her ear. I need to know you’ll never leave me. Anxiety gnawed inside him as he awaited her answer.

  Roark felt the minute Tammy’s heartbeat began to race. Every muscle in her body stiffened, as she jerked her attention toward the door leading into the hallway. “I feel their hatred, their fury and fear. I can’t live here knowing that they want me dead.” An emotion that sounded like it was caught between anger and agony choked her, and then she fell silent.

  In the hush that followed, Roark tried to shake off the crawling sensation that raised the hair on his arms. There was something more going on here. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it felt as if they had come to an impasse.

  Tammy drifted out of his arms, moving back so she faced both of them. She stood erect, regal. Even in a robe she looked like a queen standing before them. “You know I won’t go down without a fight.” Her expression was dauntless. “I feel my strength growing.” She leveled her eyesight on Roark. “Last night,” she paused, “I felt stronger than I have ever felt.” Her gaze snapped to the headboard, which protruded where the handcuffs had once held her. “I did that.”

  Shit. This wasn’t good—not at all. But Roark should have known it was coming. Time was all she needed to adjust to her new life and discover that she wasn’t the victim anymore. The question was what was she capable of?

  Shooting a glance in Donne’s direction, Roark suggested, “Maybe it would be best if I took her to the mountains.” Honestly, he wasn’t sure if that was the best alternative, but what did they have to choose from? He had been gone too long from his home. It wouldn’t be long before the clan came looking for him. He brushed his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t let her go.

  Donne took a step forward and then paused. “Is this your wish?” he asked Tammy.

  “I don’t want to feel like a prisoner any more, to be around people who want to harm me, force me to defend myself.” She licked her lips, drawing both Donne’s and Roark’s eyes to her mouth.

  Roark’s cock jerked, firming. He wanted to kiss away her troubles. Tell her that he would take care of everything, but he sensed that would only anger her more.

  A strand of hair fell before one of her eyes. She didn’t bother brushing it aside. “There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know what I’m truly capable of, another part that hungers for it. I can feel the wolf and vampire within me starting to merge. They want to become one. I’m confused, but determined to take hold of my life. I can’t…won’t—” she corrected before continuing, “—live caged, standing behind your protection.” Roark heard resolve in each of her words.

  The sudden opening of the door jerked all their gazes around. A small brunette dressed in tight leather pants and an even tighter corset that showed off her full breasts entered the room. Roark began to growl, low and deep. His steely glare pinned on her.

  “Bag it, fur ball,” she snapped. “Donne, a constituent of mangy wolves is here to see their leader.”

  Donne glanced at Roark with an uneasy smile. “Your turn.” He drew his gaze back to the sassy vampire. She strolled up to him and gave him an intimate kiss. “Thank you, Sasha.”

  Roark raise an eyebrow as Tammy shot Sasha a look that would kill a lesser woman. But Sasha ignored her. The woman lowered her eyelids, and then gave Donne a quick wink before heading to the door and pulling it closed behind her.

  Not good—not good at all.

  Chapter Nine

  Jealousy was something Tammy wasn’t prepared for. It burned red-hot across her skin, heating her blood to a slow burn. She forced herself not to lunge at the prissy vampiress dressed in leather who slinked through the door as if she were completely unaware of Tammy’s presence. Instead, Tammy jerked her glare toward Marcellus. “Who is she?” The need to remind the vampire who he belonged to simmered low in Tammy’s belly.

  She realized for the first time being who she was held some power. These men belonged to her and she would fight anyone who stood between them.

  “Damn you, Donne,” Roark muttered, cupping Tammy’s face to pull her from her anger. “I can feel your need awakening.”

  Awakening? That was an understatement. Her arousal was like pinballs pinging through her, causing every nerve ending to stand and take notice. She needed to be sandwiched between Roark and Marcellus, needed to have their cocks deep inside her body.

  “Who is she?” Tammy repeated firmly, holding onto her anger, until a shuddering spasm gripped her.

  “Shut up and breathe,” Roark demanded. As he inhaled with her, Tammy sensed that he, too, searched for his center of gravity. She felt his apprehension of facing his people.

  A series of sharp raps against the door made Roark glance over his shoulder. “I’ve got to attend to my clan.” Concern shadowed his eyes as he asked, “Will you be okay?”

  “Yes,” she responded, even as a fist closed around her stomach. A mass of heat threatened to engulf her. She focused on the air filling her lungs, slowly pushing it out. Over and over, she repeated the process until the contractions were bearable.

  “Donne, stay with her while I speak to my people?” Concern brightened Roark’s eyes. He squeezed her arms before releasing her.

  Marcellus stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Tammy. She wasn’t ready to forgive him, but the temptress had other ideas. Even through the red satin robe she wore and the black silk shirt and pants he wore, Tammy could feel him surround her with his warmth when he pressed his length to her back. “Sasha is nobody to me, my pet.” He nibbled on Tammy’s earlobe, sending chills up her spine.

  She spun around in his arms, capturing his lips, determined to make sure it was so.

  Marcellus was taken aback by the fever in Tamanen’s kiss. She was jealous. Her possessive caress was proof as she branded him with a soul-shattering mating of their mouths. Before they parted she captured his tongue in her mouth, sucking long and hard, making sure he understood who he belonged to.

  Belong? That meant she cared for him—didn’t it?

  Like a teenager instead of the man he was, Marcellus fell into her web of seduction. Hell. He was the leader of the vampires; shouldn’t he be able to resist her? Yet when he stared into her eyes his knees went weak and a grin pulled at the corner of his lips. He hadn’t felt this giddy in ages, make that centuries. Happiness squeezed his chest, made his heart beat rapidly. There was no hesitation as her hands slipped down his back, smoothed across his abdomen, and slipped into his pants to cup his firming groin. He leaned into her touch. Each stroke was magical sending red-hot sensation to every nerve ending in his body.

  “Je vous tu.” I want you, she whispered in that sexy temptress voice that shook him to the core. When she moaned, “Fuck me,” blood rushed his groin.

  Not a good idea without Roark, but fucking her was just what he wanted. He needed to make love to her alone—the two of them. It was
important to prove what was beginning to develop between them was real and not just his imagination. She was like a craving to him—he couldn’t get enough. But did she feel the same or was it the lycanthrope’s heat masking her true feelings.

  Even as Marcellus attempted to rationalize the dangers of mating with her alone another wave of heat flared across his skin. When her hand slipped down his pants, her finger glided around the crown of his cock, paying special attention to the sensitive rim, he sucked in a breath. Fire raced down his shaft as she found the small slit and bead of cum that she rubbed, spreading over the top. He barely held on to his senses as he grabbed her wrist to restrain the movement of her hand rocking up and down.

  “My pet, this is not wise.”

  She glanced up at him, her eyelids heavy and the cutest pout pinched her lips. “Please, I need you.”

  His resolve trembled. He could almost hear it begin to crumble. Of course, his guards were just outside the door. Not a good idea, he reiterated, holding his breath as she wiggled a finger against a particular sensitive spot that made Marcellus throw caution to the wild. A growl vibrated his throat. He took her mouth in another passionate kiss. He was just about to strip them both naked when he felt a reverberation in the air around him. It began as a soft rumble with the undertones of a storm about to be unleashed.

  Marcellus’s people needed him and so did Lanier. Without another thought he turned to Tamanen. “I’ve got to go. I am needed in the courtyard.”

  He could see her disappointment and the war she fought with her temptress as she attempted to push aside her arousal. Confusion overtook her expression as she skimmed her gaze across the room. “What is it? I feel—” She placed her palm against her chest. Her brows tugged inwardly. “Something’s wrong.” Then her eyes widened. “Roark. I need to go to him.”

  As Marcellus prepared to vanished, she grasped his arm. “Take me with you.”

  Marcellus’s pulse began to race. Still he took a moment for Tamanen. “Lanier would not be happy with me if I let you go. You must stay here. I will return shortly.”

  Her grasp tightened. “No. You can’t leave me here. This is about me—what I’ve become. I have the right to face those that accuse me. I have to get them to understand I mean them no harm.”

  Marcellus couldn’t argue with her logic. He grabbed her hand and headed for the door.

  Holy shit! Had the whole damn pack followed him to Phoenix? Beneath a full moon, three dozen or more lycanthropes in human form shadowed Donne’s artfully decorated grounds. With the events of the last couple of days, he had nearly forgotten that Christmas was only a week and a half away. Donne had a blue Christmas theme going on, but Roark didn’t have the time to revel in its beauty. As soon as the pack sniffed the air and caught wind of him, their gazes tracked him down. Alert, they moved cautiously between the polished marble statues that adorned the grassy area. Cascading water from a large fountain in the center of the courtyard could be heard above their footsteps. No one spoke, but Roark heard and felt their discontent and animosity toward the vampires.

  Members of the vampire clan were strategically positioned around the perimeters of the eight-foot block wall and the entrances of the gothic mansion. Their unease matched that of the lycanthropes as they nervously shifted from foot to foot, while others were as still as statues as they scanned the throng.

  Roark had found the clothes he’d arrived in several nights ago. His red flannel shirt was lacking its buttons and lay open, baring his chest. He secured the button on his jeans as he stepped barefooted out of the manor.

  Several of the personal guards Roark had left behind when he decided to make the trip to Phoenix drew to his side. Manny, Stephen and Franc each shot him a worried expression as they gave quick bows. Each of their astute gazes swept over the masses as they moved into place beside and behind him. Built like line-backers, Roark knew these three men would never let anyone near him without serious injury.

  “Roark, you should have never left without us,” Stephen chastised. “You could have at least told us where you were going.”

  Franc, Stephen’s twin brother, was an exact copy of the tall, barrel-chested man with wavy black hair. They were even dressed similarly in dark shirts and slacks, the color helping them to blend into the moonlit night. A handful of stars graced the sky, others shielded by the growing clouds.

  Franc took in the number of vampires. “Twenty-three, more inside.” He raised his nose and scented the air. “It isn’t safe here.”

  Manny was the fair-haired of the three. His casual movements were so unlike the other two guards as he moved forward. “Sire, we’ve heard rumors—” He didn’t finish his thought when the man Roark was dreading to speak with pushed through the line of lycanthropes. Of average height and weight, Martin held himself erect, with pride, but Roark could see concern rimmed Martin’s eyes. Roark waived Manny back when he stepped forward to block Martin. A cool breeze ruffled his dark hair threaded with gray.

  “Is it true? Is my son dead?” Martin’s backbone was ramrod straight as if he knew the answer even as he awaited Roark’s response.

  There wasn’t any other way to say what Roark dreaded to reveal. “I’m sorry.”

  Martin’s hold on his composure slipped. His complexion bled. His vacant expression made him appear older than his fifty years. He stumbled, reaching aimlessly for something or someone to steady him against the emotion that visibly washed over him as he began to tremble. Roark waved Stephen to his side. The fact that Martin accepted the guard’s assistance revealed his pain at learning of his son’s death. Martin batted his eyelashes at tears threatening to fall.

  An invisible fist squeezed Roark’s heart. Sorrow narrowed his throat making it difficult to speak. When Martin shrugged out of Stephen’s hold, Roark swallowed hard, dreading what he knew would be Martin’s next question.

  As Martin struggled to find his aplomb, a nervous tick played at his jaw. His body stiffened. Tears dried as his face hardened. His steely glare filled with accusation moved over the sentry of undead with distaste. “At the hands of a vampire?”

  Roark hesitated only a moment wishing this could be handled anywhere but in the courtyard of Donne’s mansion. The lycanthropes were outnumbered. If a fight broke out he couldn’t promise the outcome.

  “Yes, but—” He didn’t finish his sentence before the pack began to rumble. Several moved restlessly aligning themselves to guard their backs. Calls for justice made the vampires present take a defensive stance. Someone hissed a sound of derision and contempt. Vampire? Lycanthrope? Hot glares flew between the undead and wolves. The slightest misstep and Roark knew his people would attack.

  He held up his hands. Raising his voice, he yelled, “Hear me out.” The noise level softened, but the undertone of unease still remained. His pack wanted Grady’s death avenged.

  Martin expression was a mixture of pain and fury. “Where’s my boy?” Again, Stephen moved to Roark’s side, but this time to intercept Martin if the need arose.

  “Grady wasn’t well. He stepped out of line,” Roark insisted as he took the final steps to close the distance between them.

  Moisture seeped into Martin’s eyes once again. He trembled. Roark knew the man’s beast was close to surfacing. Dammit. He could almost hear its mournful howl.

  “I want the bloodsucker responsible for my boy’s death. Who’s at fault?” Again Martin scrutinized the undead, pausing to level his eyes on each one. The bitter scent of anger simmered off Martin, arousing the pack. Snarls and growls rose initiating several vampires to hiss in return. A handful of Roark’s people allowed the change to sweep over them. Anxiety sprang from their quick strides as they began to pace back and forth. The situation was becoming more volatile.

  One of the vampires closest to the house slinked away disappearing behind its doors. Roark had no doubt he sought reinforcements. An all out war would erupt if Roark didn’t do something.

  “Grady attacked an innocent woman.” His words br
ought gasps of surprise from the crowd as disbelief played across Martin’s face. “When Donne attempted to intervene Grady turned on him.” Roark knew if he could calm Martin the rest of the pack would follow. “Martin, you know Grady hasn’t been well since the attack.”

  From the pack someone yelled, “Death to the bloodsucker,” another joined in.

  “Donne did what he had to. He was in his right to defend the innocent.” Roark found himself in an awkward situation defending Donne, a vampire, over one of his own. His beast crept stealthily below his skin, agitated and restless, demanding to be set free. He had to make his people understand.

  “Grady broke the treaty we have worked so hard to make with the undead. He was in vampire territory when he attacked the woman and then the vampires’ leader.” When that didn’t work Roark announced, “He broke lycanthrope law.” That got everyone’s attention. “He converted the woman.” The throng grew deathly quiet, only the wind whistling through the branches of several Ash and oak trees aligning the fence was evident.