Keeping His Siren Part 2

by Kiersten Fay

  Her brow furrowed. What did he mean by that?

  She didn’t bother rationalizing his words. Instead, she slipped off the bed and crossed to the bathroom, not meeting his gaze as she passed. Still, she could feel him watching her go with an intensity that was almost tangible.

  Inside, she closed the door. Her jaw dropped as she took in her reflection. Aside from her wild mane of hair, she looked…great. There were no marks on her face to indicate she’d been in a horrific accident less than twenty-four hours ago. Her eyes sparkled the color of warm mocha dipped in gold. Her skin was smooth and even, almost radiant, like porcelain. Even her lips, which she’d always considered too plump, now seemed to complement her features.

  If this was the work of Mason’s blood, she could see why Winston’s rich friends would covet the stuff. What she couldn’t understand was the risk they courted by procuring it illegally, especially for people who had practically everything they could ever want. Why play with fire when the pit created under the flames could so easily swallow you up?

  As Mace predicted, the water grew cold by the end of her shower. No matter. This far from the city, having warm water at all was an unexpected luxury. In the ghetto, most resorted to heating water in pots and transferring it to a tub for what was, at best, not a freezing cold bath.

  A soft curse graced her lips as she stepped out of the stall. She’d forgotten to grab her clothing before entering the bathroom. Now she would have to waltz out there in front of Mace in just a towel.

  She gnashed her teeth and held her chin up as she stepped outside, but her posturing was unnecessary. The room was empty.

  She had no illusions that Mace had gone far, however. Trying to run now would only piss him off.

  With no other option, she dressed in her obnoxiously tight outfit. Once again, she wished she had chosen something that wasn’t so overtly sexy. She’d just finished tying the belt of her trench coat when Mace returned. He too had dressed in his clothing from the day before: dark slacks and a black buttoned up shirt.

  He paused in the doorway when he saw her, and his gaze traveled her length as if he were imagining what resided under her coat. Her first instinct was to shoot him an indignant glare. Then she remembered herself and turned her eyes down.

  There was a small paper bag in his hand. His fist tightened on the folded top before he thrust it at her. “Here. I got you some breakfast. Eat quickly. We have to get a move on.”

  For some reason, she got the impression she’d done something to displease him, but couldn’t fathom what it could be.

  Accepting the bag, she peeked inside and gasped. “Where did you get this?”

  She pulled out the large slice of coffee cake. Of all the treats in the world, coffee cake was by far her greatest weakness. When she was younger, she would sometimes stand outside the bakeries every morning just to smell it. Up until it became more of a punishment than a pleasure. Few people threw away such delicacies for the vagrants to fight over.

  After marrying Winston, she’d eaten a slice nearly every morning. A couple of times, she had even purchased an entire cake and left it near her old stomping ground where the old-timers who had always been kind to her hung around. However, that stopped the day Winston caught her. She still couldn’t understand why it had made him so angry.

  “One of our mountain neighbors was in a baking mood,” Mace replied. “Been smelling it all morning.”

  She frowned as realization struck her. “You compelled someone out of it?”

  Mace rolled his eyes. “Do you want it or not?”

  Conflicted, she bit into the cake and groaned out loud. Mace actually smiled, looking satisfied. But why would he be? For that matter, why would he care if she went hungry? Perhaps he was afraid she’d start complaining during their travels and didn’t want to deal with it.

  Or maybe keeping her fed worked to his advantage, like a farmer with his livestock. She shuddered.

  Cora ate every last crumb and even contemplated licking the bag—who knew when she’d get a treat like this again?—but Mace was in a hurry.

  Outside, Cora climbed onto the back of the bike and waited for Mace to take his place at her front, but he just stared at her.

  “What is it?” She checked to see if she had dropped crumbs down her front, finding none. When she looked back up, Mace had his phone out and snapped a picture.

  “Now that’s a sight to remember,” he said.

  She was stunned into silence, trying to see herself from his perspective. Her boot-clad leg, the one closest to him, was stretched to the ground, holding her steady on the bike, still tilted on its kickstand. About four inches of her thigh showed between her tall boot and the hem of her coat. Her other leg was bent, her foot resting on the peg. One of her hands gripped the back rest, angling her torso toward Mason. All in all, it made for a pose that reminded her of those biker babe magazines, but Cora was anything but sexy. She probably looked more like a drowned rat with her hair still wet from the shower.

  And Mace was laughing at her.

  She scowled at him. He snapped another picture, then slipped his phone back in his pocket and mounted the bike.

  “Hold on,” he ordered.

  Grudgingly, she obeyed, and he fired up the engine. The motorcycle sprang forward with unexpected speed. Cora flexed her arms tighter around Mace, fixing her torso flat against his back. Over the roar of the engine she couldn’t hear it, but she could swear he chuckled at her.

  Several hours later they were still winding through tight, nearly abandoned mountain roads. She would have been bored out of her mind if it wasn’t for the brilliant scenery. The dead burned landscape had given way to lush green forest, blanketing endless hills and valleys that were only broken up by steep stony mountains.

  Winston had never entertained the idea of visiting the countryside. This part of the world was inhabited by what he would call “crazies.” Whether that was true or not, they preferred to live alone, or in small groups, surviving off the land. She’d heard that those types of people, the kind that lived in camouflaged huts and flossed with bark, were reclusive, often paranoid, and could be violently territorial. Anyone who ventured this far without proper protection risked, well, everything.

  Most of the time, the rest of the world left them alone.

  Maybe that wasn’t such a terrible way to live, she thought, considering the struggles of her own life.

  Then again, who knew what kind of existence that would mean, especially for someone like her. In life—whether in the slums, or a high-rise, apparently—the strong preyed on the weak, and she was about as weak as they came…

  Before Winston, she’d only just been capable of protecting herself, mostly by keeping her head down and making herself as unassuming as humanly possible.

  That tactic had worked for her on occasion, though, not always. She eyed the back of Mason’s head—case in point.

  Suffice it to say, unstable mountain folk would eat her for breakfast if they had the chance. It was dangerous just to be out here on the road in plain view where anyone could be tracking their movement from a high summit.

  Yet, miraculously, she wasn’t worried.

  A frightening thought popped into her head: she wasn’t afraid of the crazies because nothing matched the savagery of a territorial vampire. Nothing would get her while she was in his custody.

  Nothing but him.

  She shivered, and he eased off the gas, giving her his profile. “Do you need a break?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied.

  He slowed and halted the bike on a narrow pull-off by the side of the road that was cut short by a small cliff. Below was a wide bank hugging a slow, winding river. The surrounding overgrowth was thick with trees, man-sized bushes, and other unkempt shrubbery.

  “I’m old enough to know that when a woman says she’s fine, it usually means the opposite.” He toed down the kickstand, making it final.

  The instant she dismounted the bike, her legs nearly gave o
ut from the strange jelly sensation.

  Mace reached out to steady her, and she flinched away. “I’m fine, really.”

  He frowned. “I hoped you’d be less skittish toward me today.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she said nothing as she walked around to stretch her legs. A light breeze carried the scent of fresh soil in the air. It wasn’t a smell often found in the city, where pungent exhaust and trash perfumed the streets.

  Out here the air felt new, fresh, and unsullied, almost giving the illusion of freedom.

  Almost.

  Mace watched Cora come to a halt several feet from the edge of the short cliff and wrap her arms around herself as she gazed out. Her expression was one that he’d seen all too often, but only from afar, across a restaurant or through military-grade binoculars. What that expression meant, he didn’t know. He could only describe it as forlorn.

  He hadn’t liked it then, and he abhorred it now.

  Mace approached her. “Look, I’m sorry you’re so unhappy with what happened, but it was necessary.”

  Her head turned his way, though she studied the ground at his feet. “It was anything but necessary. Do what you will with me, but there’s no need to lie.”

  Mace paused, surprised by her response. “You needed my help. And if you recall, we didn’t even have sex.” Though the temptation had almost destroyed him.

  “No, you only made me beg for it.” Her expression hardened, but then she turned away as though ashamed. She nearly choked on her next words. “And you bit me.”

  He went still. Was that what bothered her the most? A dark thought settled in the pit of his stomach? “Did it hurt…? When I bit you?” He’d never come across anyone who didn’t find pleasure in the act. But then, he’d never met a Lurela.

  Her brow furrowed as her cheeks flushed. Even though she didn’t answer, he could tell she had liked it…at least a little. And yet, she shouldn’t be surprised by that. He recalled her suggesting she had been bit before. So then what was the problem?

  “My bite helped to alleviate most of your need,” he explained. “I assumed it would be better than the alternative.”

  Truthfully, he’d been so overcome with desire for her he’d taken her vein without thinking.

  She went silent for a long while, scanning the landscape.

  “I hadn’t intended for any of that to happen, you know,” he said. “I just gave you too much of my blood, that’s all.”

  “For future reference, if it’s a choice between me dying and you giving me your blood, I’d rather die.”

  Red coated his vision as he spoke through clenched teeth. “The offering of my blood was a gift not to be taken lightly. Think twice before you scoff at my benevolence.”

  “Benevolence?” She dared a sardonic sneer and actually met his gaze head-on, which managed to deflate his anger. “Oh, you’re so magnanimous, aren’t you?” Then she crossed the space between them and slapped him on his chest. He took a step back, and his jaw went slack. “So gracious to let me live…?” She slapped him again. “To keep me alive…!” Her hands turned to fists, and she brought them against his torso again. “That it should be an honor for me to give you my blood?” Her fists slammed his chest several more times as she spoke, rocking him backward, but he held his ground. Tears started streaming down her cheeks. “I should be happy to let you take whatever you want?”

  Her words sounded out of place, as though she were talking about something other than what had happened between them last night. He clamped his hands around her wrists when his chest began to sting from her attack, but the verbal assault continued.

  “Are you to be my master now? Will you talk of benevolence when you take me to you clan and loan me out?”

  “Whoa, what?”

  She tried to rip out of his grasp, but he held firm.

  “Let me go!”

  He didn’t. Instead, he allowed her to exert herself till she finally stopped and surrendered to his authority, although her tears never ceased. Once more, her eyes went downward.

  He wished he was one of those vampires who could read minds.

  “What happened to you?” he finally asked.

  She flinched, but didn’t respond.

  “No one had ever acted so negatively toward a vampire’s bite, and it’s not because you’re a Lurela. You’ve been bit before, correct? So you should’ve known what to expect, but for some reason, I don’t think you did.”

  She’d gone completely still, like an animal in the grips of a predator sensing death was imminent.

  He released one of her wrists and hooked his forefinger under her chin to tilt her head up. When she reluctantly looked into his eyes, he said, “I have no intention of taking you anywhere besides a safe house, or sharing you with anyone. And as for master, I’m not one to claim lordship over unwilling women. But I won’t lie, I enjoyed giving you pleasure last night, and that’s all my bite was meant to do, nothing more.” He paused. “Now tell me what happened to you that has you reacting this strongly?”

  Her shoulders hunched, and she looked away. She remained silent so long that if it weren’t for the open debate raging behind her eyes, he would think she had no intention of answering him at all.

  She inhaled a sharp breath and raised her chin. “I was held captive by a vampire named Edgar when I was ten.”

  With that simple revelation, white-hot anger flashed through every cell in his body with his imagination acting as fuel. What had she endured? In an instant, he’d shuffled through the memories of every vampire he ever met, trying to recall any named Edgar, a death warrant already issued in his mind.

  “Mason?” Cora came back into view. Her eyes were wide, her body shaking. He realized she was terrified…by him.

  And for good reason. His fangs had emerged with his rage. His body had tensed. His expression? He could just imagine how ruthless he appeared now.

  He released her and stepped away, focusing on schooling his features.

  Still wary, she fell back a couple paces.

  “Where is he now?” he hissed through his clenched fangs.

  “He’s dead,” she replied, taking another step back.

  “Don’t move,” he warned her.

  She froze.

  “Just give me a moment.” He’d never been driven to fury so quickly. If she ran from him now, it would only exacerbate his rage. “Tell me how he died.” Humans often assumed vampires were dead when they really weren’t.

  “He was torn apart by his commanding officer right in front of me.”

  “Commanding officer?”

  “It was near the end of the last uprising when there were pockets of militant groups all over. I think Edgar was a low-level soldier. His commander found me in his quarters and ordered him to release me. Edgar had refused.”

  “The fucker must have been really young, then.” Disobeying an order from a superior—which generally meant an older and much stronger vampire—was an amateur move.

  “I wouldn’t know. He never revealed his age, just liked to divulge his future plans for me.”

  “And what were these plans?”

  She shrugged. “Things he would do to me, or things he wanted to watch others do. He would ravage my neck and then try to make me beg for his blood. Stuff like that?”

  Her flippant tone didn’t quite hide her obvious pain or the terror she’d endured.

  He glanced at the delicate column of her neck. There were no scars, but that meant little. Winston had been giving her vamp blood for months. It had cleared her of any scars, making her skin flawless.

  “Did Edgar ever manage to give you any of his blood? When you were too weak to protest, maybe?” Jealousy turned Mason’s hands into tight, white-knuckled fists.

  “No. I’m sure of it.”

  He wasn’t sure if he should be elated or more furious about that. Her wounds would have had to heal naturally. “What else did he do?”

  “He just drank from me and told me horrid t
hings.”

  “He didn’t…touch you?”

  “Not in a sexual way, if that’s what you mean. I think he got his rocks off by hurting me.”

  Mace scrubbed a hand down his face, relief softening him further. “I’m sorry that happened to you. We aren’t all like that. Just like your human race, we have our share of criminals, too.”

  She stared blankly at him, giving him the impression she didn’t quite believe him. He couldn’t blame her for that. It was no wonder she found it difficult to trust him, and how she had learned her near-perfect submission act.

  It was born of necessity.

  “If this Edgar were alive today, I would hunt him down and make him suffer horribly before I killed him.”

  She canted her head. “Why would you bother?”

  “Because you deserve that much and more.”

  His reply didn’t seem to alleviate her confusion. She looked at him now as if to figure out what manner of treachery he engaged in. He reached out for her shoulder, intending to reassure her.

  Something slammed into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs and tossing him back.

  Pain stole his sight. He lost his footing over the cliff.

  For a moment, Cora couldn’t understand what had just happened. Mason’s chest had…exploded!

  He stumbled back, falling over the bluff.

  Adrenaline spiked. She screamed. He had to have been shot, but by who?

  She darted her gaze around, searching.

  A mud-covered jeep sped over the dirt road toward her, screeching to a halt just behind the motorbike.

  Three scruffy men in grungy clothes jumped out, all of them eyeing her with cruel grins.

  She rushed to the cliff face and leaned over. Mace lay facedown at the bottom, about twenty feet below, unmoving. “Mason!”

  Boots crunched against rock, closing in on her from behind. She couldn’t take her eyes from Mace.

  Callous fingers threaded through her hair, dragging her back toward the jeep. One of the men stepped to the edge where she had been, aimed a gun down, and fired twice, presumably at Mason’s corpse.