“Twenty-one recruited, including Gunter. I don’t expect any resistance. I’ve sent Gunter to the smaller lycan nests outside the city to apprise them that he’s been routed and you’ve taken charge. He should be back in the morning with the necessary tribute from each pack. Not bad work for an afternoon,” Jonah reported, his blue gaze flat, his voice its usual clipped monotone.
Ivo studied him, roving small circles with his fingers on his mate’s tender flesh. He wished he could read him better. After thirty years, he thought he would have figured the young hybrid out. He’d found him starving in a London slum and instantly known what he was. Taking him under his wing, he trained the dovenatu to be his second-in-command, pleased he’d found another dovenatu to one day breed with his daughters and help toward his goal of creating a master race.
Jonah stared at him, cocking an eyebrow. “Aren’t you pleased?”
“Very much,” he murmured. “The pack reputed to be the toughest in Istanbul has fallen into my lap with relative ease.” There had been far harder conquests. Barcelona had nearly defeated him. He’d wiped that entire pack out for refusing to bend to his authority.
His hand drifted to Danae’s belly, the slight bulge there deeply satisfying. Their fifth child. He hoped for another son. Three daughters were well and good, but with Jonah the only male dovenatu around with whom he might breed them, they weren’t entirely useful. Too bad his cousin Luc had disappeared years ago, stricken with an overly active conscience. Ivo would have forgotten about the close familiar relation and bred his daughters with his first cousin so that he might create the dynasty of which he dreamed. For now, Jonah would have to be enough.
“You mentioned two escaped?”
“They were prisoners.” Jonah shrugged one broad shoulder. He was strong, well-trained from years of fighting and subduing lycans. “I questioned Gunter and learned something you may find interesting, though.”
“And that is?”
“One of them was a dovenatu.”
Ivo sat up in bed, the silk sheet sliding to his hips. “One of them? The male or female?” His blood burned at the thought of a female dovenatu, one whom he might use to further strengthen and multiple his progeny on the earth. He loved Danae. But love had nothing to do with fidelity. If other female dovenatus existed, he would gladly use them for his purposes.
“The male. The female was a lycan, newly turned.”
“Oh.” He sat back, only slightly disappointed. A male could serve him just as well, he supposed. As Jonah served him. “Find him. Bring him back at once. Alive. He’s no use to me dead. Take a few dogs with you to be of assistance. And don’t cause him too much harm bringing him to heel either. Explain our purpose. You might find him obliging.” A male dovenatu. He nodded, a smile curving his lips. He would be quite useful. Now he would own two studs for his daughters.
“Of course.” Jonah turned.
“And Jonah.”
His second-in-command stopped and faced him again, those eyes cool and unreadable as ever. “Yes?”
“When you return, we’ll discuss you taking Sorcha.”
A faint flicker of emotion passed over his face, and even then Ivo could not tell exactly what Jonah felt at his declaration.
He continued, “No more talk of her youth. Fifteen is more than ready.” At Jonah’s stoic expression, he added. “Otherwise, I’m sure this other dovenatu will make a fine stud and have her breeding within the year.”
Jonah nodded curtly. “Very well.”
Ivo slid his hand back along his wife’s thigh. “Now leave us.”
The door shut, the sound resounding in the cavernous room. Facing his mate, he shook his head. “I just don’t know about that boy.”
“Such a prig. Reminds me of your cousin Luc at times. He has that scared look about him.”
Ivo shrugged, not too bothered about that. “He’s my second-in-command. Wouldn’t want him too brave and bold. He might think to oppose me.”
He smiled then, thinking of his cousin, likely cowering and living the life of a hermit monk somewhere… too frightened of himself—of Ivo—of the dark powers that simmered inside them. Luc had not even tried to oppose him. Not even when he claimed Danae. He just ran. “You once liked Luc. You even preferred him to me for a time.”
“Never,” she purred, wrapping a satiny thigh around his waist. “You’re the one I was always after. The big fish. Luc was weak, not even close to the man you are.”
“Not a man, my dear. A god.”
Danae stripped her nightgown over her head then and straddled him. His eyes feasted on her as she came down on him. He caressed the large breasts swaying above the belly that carried his seed, one of many offspring that he would breed to serve at his side as he reigned supreme over the world.
Dovenatus. The perfect race. All the strength and prowess of lycans. The ability to shift at will, to think. They killed when they willed it. The moon did not rule them. Nothing did.
Soon his sixth child would be born. Soon his daughters would breed. And once EFLA was at his mercy, he would find the location of every Marshan female, drag the information from the EFLA archivists through whatever means necessary and release his lycan soldiers on them. He would have his population of dovenatus. A new world was on the rise.
When he met this other dovenatu, he intended to teach him that particular lesson first thing.
Sorcha whirled around at her younger sisters who crept up behind her with all the stealth of a herd of horses. “Go back to your rooms!”
“You’re supposed to be in bed.” Rochel, only eighteen months her junior but already bigger in the chest, taunted. “What are you doing? Following Jonah around like a little puppy again? Must sting to know he doesn’t want you… no matter how many times Father offers you to him. Face it. You’re too ugly. Too fat—”
“Shut up, brat,” Sorcha hissed, knotting a fist at her side and taking a threatening step in Rochel’s direction.
The girl flung her dark hair over one shoulder. “He’s probably waiting for me.” She puffed out her melon-sized breasts against her nightgown. “He’s probably trying to think of a way to not hurt your feelings by taking me to mate. I’ve seen the way he looks at me.” She shivered with delight. “It’s like he’s picturing me naked!”
“Shut up,” she hissed again, wondering how wrong it was to hate your own sister. Or, for that matter, your own father. She grimaced at the thought of him. She had just overheard what he said to Jonah and her fury couldn’t burn hotter.
If Jonah didn’t want her, Father would give her to some stranger? Her stomach knotted and she feared she would lose her dinner. She couldn’t let him do that. Couldn’t let him use her as some sort of broodmare in his mad game to dominate the world. If Jonah didn’t want her, she would run away. Some place far, where her father could never find her. She was smart, always with her nose in a book. She spoke five languages—one of the benefits of always moving, never settling anywhere, never having roots, a home. Jonah was the only boy—man—to ever spike her interest. He did things to her heart no other man could do.
If he didn’t want her, she would have no one.
“Sorcha.”
She whirled around at the voice. A voice she knew instantly.
“What are you doing out here?” He looked over her shoulder at her two simpering sisters. Both of them, age ten and fourteen, batted their lashes. It was as though they had been born with active libidos. And she supposed that was the nature of what they were: dovenatus raised at the foot of a man who taught them that their greatest worth would be that of breeding heirs to their race.
“Get to bed,” he ordered, his voice biting, leaving no room for argument.
Her sisters scurried off at his command. Sorcha faced Jonah. He stared at her for a moment, and she felt her face heat as she recalled the conversation she had overheard.
“Are your rooms satisfactory?”
“It doesn’t matter. In a month, we’ll be somewhere else, another city
, another nest of lycans for my father to add to his collection. The madness will never stop.”
His gaze fixed on her, ever unreadable. “You shouldn’t speak that way—”
“Why?”
“Your father wouldn’t like it and I would hate to see you punished.”
A lump filled her throat. Only he gave a damn. Only ever him.
“You care so much about what he thinks?” She cocked her head to the side. “Then why don’t you do what he asks of you?” She couldn’t have been more direct.
The light at the center of his blue eyes ignited and she knew he understood her meaning. He inhaled deeply. “Sorcha…”
It was the tired way he said her name that did it, convinced her he would never love her. No matter that her father commanded they mate, no matter that they were two of a rare species, ideally suited for each other. No matter how much she cared for him. She was nothing more than the doting puppy her sisters accused her of being. Rochel was probably right. She repulsed him. He thought her too ugly. Too fat.
She held up a hand, stopping him from saying any more, stopping him from delivering her more humiliation. “I understand. Say no more.”
With pity in his gaze, he watched her. Unable to stand it, Sorcha turned, walking quickly, just shy of a run. There was nothing left to keep her here anymore. Hope for a future with Jonah fell dead in her chest.
He would continue to serve her father, and maybe someday he would take one of her sisters to mate. She would never know. Because she wouldn’t be here.
Soon, she vowed, she would forget his face. Eventually, his name.
And one day she would not even remember this killing pain in her heart.
15
Dressed, fed again, Sebastian strode through the bazaar near Gunter’s nest with swift purpose, feeling almost himself again. Almost. All expect the tightness seizing his throat when he thought about Ruby. Out there alone. He detected traces of her, hints, but nothing substantial lingered. She was long gone, beyond tracking. It was as if she had disappeared like smoke from the streets. Plucked off the ground and whisked away on the wind.
Since they’d mated, he was tuned in to her. He knew the earthy scent of her skin, the aroma of her hair. Wind that passed over her tasted different on his lips, felt different against his face. Lifting his chin, he breathed, drawing air deeply into his chest, probing. There was a bite in the air. It nipped at his newly shaved cheeks. Lowering his chin, he settled his gaze before him, eyes straight ahead as he walked.
He could pick up nothing.
“So,” Kit murmured, keeping pace beside him. “Is this lycan pretty?”
Sebastian glared at his sister-in-law. In the last day, he had learned how strong-willed she could be. And nosy. There was no leaving her behind at the hotel. In fact, they all insisted on joining him in his search.
This close to the pack’s nest, he knew he risked discovery. Darius, it seemed, knew this, too. Several times, the lycan would pause and lift his face to the air. Then his gaze would find Sebastian’s, lock in silent message. They risked much. And yet Darius never objected as they circled dangerously close to the pack’s nest again and again. He supposed a thousand-year-old lycan was accustomed to risking death.
“What are we doing hunting this one lycan?” Gideon demanded of Rafe. “We found your brother—not that it appeared we needed to. He’s safe now—”
“Then go home, March,” Sebastian snapped, stopping at a sudden familiar scent. Just the barest trickle, but he marked it. Ruby.
He moved past vendors’ stalls, slapping at a colorful array of scarves that blew in his path.
“Sebastian! Wait up,” Rafe called but he was gone, on the scent.
Her smell grew stronger and his gut cramped as he realized he was headed directly for the nest. Had she been recaptured then? His pulse hammered in his ears as he flew through the narrow alley, stopping before bursting into the courtyard that faced the warehouse of horrors he and Ruby had survived together.
“What are we doing here?” Rafe stopped beside him.
Sebastian held up a hand, listening, feeling. He sensed her close, but she wasn’t inside the warehouse. No, she was…
His gaze drifted up to the tenement at his right. Several shadowed and curtained windows stared down at him. Watching eyes.
He turned and ran for the front door. The others pounded behind him. He blew up three flights of stairs before stopping. A baby cried from a room somewhere at the end of the floor. He eased his foot off the top step and started down the dingy hall, each step he took slow, measured and assessing, before halting at the door numbered 417.
He resisted the instinct to burst inside the room. His skin tightened, pulled with familiar, snapping tension. Instead, he closed his hand around the latch, wondering why she would be this close to the nest. Wouldn’t she have wanted to get as far as possible from the pack? What he knew of her led him to think so, but then what did he really know of the woman he had ravished within the first twenty-four hours of meeting? Other than that she had every reason to hate him. Fear him. He winced at the reminder, then shoved the memories away. Especially the ones that made his blood burn—the silken heat of her surrounding him, taking him deep inside her body. Steeling himself, he pushed open the door.
His eyes locked on a male, not a lycan… but not human either. The light gleaming at the centers of his eyes marked him a dovenatu. Damn, another one. That brought their total count in this city to who knew what. Clearly, EFLA’s and NODEAL’s attempts to control the breeding of dovenatus had failed, and their extermination of all Marshan descendants was all the more pointless. Sebastian, Rafe and Kit weren’t the only hybrids. This city was overrun with them.
His brother and the others crowded close behind him, their breaths falling hard and heavy. The bastard was so big, easily pushing six and a half feet. He overpowered the room with his proportions. Sebastian took a moment to locate Ruby.
Sebastian felt her—the very pulse of her life’s blood reached out to him across the squalid little room—before he located her. She stepped around the dovenatu. Her fingers circled his muscled forearm, and the action sent the blood pumping hard and fierce through him.
“Sebastian!” Her gaze scanned his face, eyes widening as she took her first good look. She hadn’t seen him like this before. Clean. Shaved. Civilized. In truth, this was the first time she had ever been granted the full view of his face. Stupidly, foolishly, he felt a surge of self-consciousness, hoping she liked what she saw. That the sight of him—the man who had ravaged her on the floor of a cold, dirty room and claimed her virginity—did not disappoint her.
Tension thickened the air.
“Yeah,” he bit out, his voice tight with anger. “I’m alive.” She looked good. Skin a healthy glow. Dark hair falling past her shoulder in glossy waves. “In case you were concerned.” His gaze flicked back to her hand on the stranger, and he inwardly cursed himself for sounding like a petulant child, jealous and sniping.
Frowning, Ruby tried to step forward then, but the dark-haired hybrid wouldn’t let her. He stopped her, one hand clamping down on her arm.
Red filled Sebastian’s vision, and he sprang into action, unmoved by the cries from those behind him. He crashed into the other hybrid, sending them to the ground in a fierce collision. Bone met bone as he struck the bastard. The floor shuddered beneath their thrashing weight and from the ferocity of their blows. His head snapped back from a punch that would have knocked a normal man’s head from his shoulders.
He heard Ruby scream, and his heart squeezed a little. Did she scream for him? Because she gave a damn? Or because she wanted him to leave off killing her new friend?
His brother and Kit fell on him, tugged him back, using every bit of their considerable strength. Darius squared off before the hybrid, stopping him from charging.
Ruby positioned herself in front of Sebastian, hands on her hips, pewter eyes aglow. “What are you doing?” Looking back over her shoulder at the im
posing wall Darius made in front of her friend, she abandoned him in a flash.
“Leave him alone!” she cried.
Air sawed from his lungs, frothing at his lips. He steeled himself, trying to regain his composure, to not sink into the dark and let the beast overrun him because Ruby appeared to care for another over him.
“I thought I was saving your ass,” he snarled to her earlier demand, as if she still gave a damn and waited for his answer. He eyed her proximity to the dovenatu, the way she insinuated herself between Darius and him. Almost as though she thought she needed to protect the hybrid from them. “Guess I was wrong. It appears you don’t need saving.”
“You are wrong,” she agreed with force. “I don’t.”
Only what he heard was: I don’t need you.
It stung. More than it should. He quickly squashed the feeling. The last thing he wanted was for her to use her gift and sense his feelings, to think he was hurt or rejected. He didn’t want her in his head. Especially not right now when jealousy ripped through him at her closeness to some stranger.
“My mistake, then.” He shrugged out of his brother’s and Kit’s hold. “Let’s go.” Vowing inwardly to leave her and forget her, he didn’t stop when he heard her call his name. She could have her damned hybrid. She could shift at the next moonrise and kill, feed, lose her soul…
He did stop, however, when a female lycan arrived breathlessly in the door, her dark hair wild and windtossed around her shoulders, as if she had run a great distance at the speed only one of their kind could achieve.
“Luc,” she rasped, her gaze landing on the hybrid before skimming each of them, assessing them for threat. Her throat worked, her pewter gaze wild. “Are you okay?”
“Everyone, just stop! Don’t move!” Ruby sliced a hand through the air. “We’re all on the same side here.” She flicked Darius—dark, imposing Darius—a nervous glance. “I think.”
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