Rush of Darkness

by Rhyannon Byrd

  A cold fear twisted through Raine’s system as the reality of the situation spread over her. Her eyes filled with hot, blistering tears of outrage, while her mind filled with a torrent of strange questions that revolved around McConnell. Would he try to rescue her a second time? Or would he simply wash his hands of her, once and for all?

  The Casus began carrying her down the deserted street, and she screamed so loud she was surprised the glass storefronts lining the road didn’t shatter from the harrowing noise. Her heart raced, beating faster and harder, raw panic searing her veins, and she suddenly found herself throwing the Marker onto the ground. Without the cross in her palm, she was able to release the deadly talons on her right hand, and she lifted her arm over her head, clawing at the Casus’s forearm, trading the cross’s protection for the chance to get free. Dark satisfaction poured through her veins as her fingers sank into his flesh, digging all the way down to the bone, until his hot blood poured over her hand. He roared with fury, releasing her arm, and her upper body crashed to the ground, pain radiating through her skull with the force of a hammer as it cracked against the asphalt.

  The bastard who held her legs—the one named Carlson, who she’d come there to kill—suddenly let them go, and with a low, mocking spill of laughter, he smiled down at her. “You dropped the Marker,” he rumbled, reaching down and undoing the top button on his jeans. “Without its protection, you’re fucking helpless. Just like you were before.”

  Raine was still disoriented from the blow to her head, but she managed to roll over and start crawling. She had no idea where she was trying to go—only knew that she had to get away. She had made it no more than a few feet when there was a sharp tug on her hair, reminding her of every time this asshole had attacked her at Westmore’s compound. Her throat closed with fear as her head was wrenched back, a fresh surge of pain radiating through her skull.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked with another low laugh, flinging her onto her back. He came down on her with all his weight, straddling her waist, and she tried to claw at him with her talons, but he backhanded her so hard that she went numb, stars flickering across her vision.

  Then he hit her again, this time with his fist, smashing her lips against her teeth and breaking the skin, the scent of her blood instantly filling the air.

  “Damn,” he groaned, his graveled voice thick with hunger. “You have no idea how good that—oomph!”

  One second Carlson was sitting on top of her, and in the next he was gone, a furious roar jerking from his chest as something crashed heavily into his body, tackling him to the ground. Scrambling into a sitting position, Raine pushed her hair out of her face just in time to see McConnell pin the Casus facedown against the road, wrench back the hand Carlson had just used to hit her, then twist and torque, breaking his arm so badly that the bone broke clean through the skin. The monster’s howl of pain filled the air, the look on the human’s face one of dark, violent rage. The other Casus finally pulled himself to his feet, his body shuddering as he began to make the change into his true Casus form, but McConnell grabbed the gun tucked into the back of his jeans and drilled three bullets into the male’s chest.

  Then he lowered the gleaming automatic weapon to the back of Carlson’s skull.

  “No!” Raine screamed, her sharp cry echoing through the night, but she was too late. The shot rang out, silencing the bastard’s howls, his blood flowing out over the road like a dark, inky stain.

  “I can’t believe you did that!” she seethed, watching as McConnell rose to his feet and stalked toward her, the moonlight shimmering against the metallic surface of the gun before he tucked it back into his jeans. He crouched down beside her, his expression impossible to read as he ran his sharp gaze over her battered face. For once, she didn’t flinch from his nearness—until he started to reach forward, as if he would push back the tangled fall of her hair.

  “Don’t! Do not touch my hair!” she growled, scurrying back from him like a crab. It seemed crazy, but that was the only thing she remembered clearly from her torture, and she couldn’t stand the thought of a man’s hands in her hair. “Never touch my hair!”

  He lifted his hands to show her he understood and moved back to his full height, taking a step back to give her some space. Even though Raine knew his bloodthirsty anger wasn’t for her, but the ones who’d hurt her, the murderous look in his dark eyes still made her shiver with fear.

  “It’s okay, Raine.” His husky voice was low and calm, as if he were trying to soothe a frightened animal. And that’s no doubt what she looked like to him, with her fangs extended and her talons dripping blood. “You know I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I told you to leave me alone,” she muttered, wiping the blood from her mouth with the back of her wrist in a stiff, uncoordinated motion. “What are you doing here?”

  Silence, and then a rough, graveled response. “They had you once. I won’t let them have you again.”

  “I didn’t need your help. And I don’t want it!” She barely managed to push herself to her feet, having to use the storefront behind her for support. “I don’t want you here!”

  Great, she thought, the instant the words had left her mouth. Now I sound like a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

  Instead of shouting back at her, like she was sure he wanted to do, McConnell took a deep breath, no doubt trying to control his rage. But he still sounded pissed when he jerked his chin toward the fallen Casus and asked, “Are they the reason you’re in Paris? Were you hunting these assholes by yourself?”

  She gave a jerky nod, then retracted her talons and fangs. “The last one you killed—Carlson. He was the one I came for. But I wanted him killed with a Marker, not a gun!”

  “I don’t fucking believe it.” Obviously losing a bit of the hold on his fury, he ground the words out, his voice more guttural than she’d ever heard it. “What the hell, Raine? Are you trying to get yourself killed? You got a bloody death wish?”

  “If I did,” she shouted, “you’d be just the man to handle it, wouldn’t you?”

  He flinched, looking as if she’d struck him, and a sliver of shame immediately sliced through her insides, making her cringe. In all the weeks she’d known him, they’d never once discussed his past. They’d never discussed anything, simply suffering the heavy silences that were always wedged between them like soundproof sheets of glass. But now that glass had been shattered.

  He spent a few moments scrubbing his hands down his face, then finally said, “I’m trying to come up with a logical reason for why you’d be willing to take this kind of risk, but I can’t. So you’re going to have to explain it to me.”

  Raine lifted her brows. “You’ve talked to my mother, McConnell. If she told you I was here, surely she told you the reason why.”

  “Actually,” he muttered, crossing those big arms over his chest, “all she gave me was your location. Said I had to figure out the rest on my own.”

  A tight smile caught at the corner of her mouth and she had to choke down a lump of emotion. “Well, that sounds like my mother.”

  “We’re not leaving until you tell me why you’re here, Raine.”

  Knowing that she had to give him some kind of explanation, or he really would make her stay there all night, she squared her shoulders and got on with it. “It’s just some unfinished business that I’m taking care of. It doesn’t concern either you or your friends, so there’s no need for you to get involved. I plan on handling this on my own. Then, when I’m done, I’ll make sure the Marker is returned to the Watchmen.”

  He slid a hard look toward the bodies that were still bleeding out on the street, rubbing a scarred hand over his mouth—and she knew the instant he thought he had it figured out, that dark green gaze whipping back to her face, sharp and bright. “Christ, he was one of the bastards from the compound, wasn’t he? One of the ones who raped you?”

  It was her turn to flinch in reaction, and he cursed something ugly and roug
h as he turned, stalked across the quiet street, then brutally punched his hand into a brick storefront. The violent blow instantly split the skin across his knuckles, the hot scent of his blood making her mouth water.

  The soldier’s harsh breaths filled the air and he lifted his arms, his head hanging forward as he braced his big hands against the dark bricks. “You’re going after the ones who hurt you.” The thick, guttural words weren’t a question. He believed he had it right. “How many are there?”

  She hadn’t meant to answer his question, or correct him, but she did. As if the words were being pulled from her against her will, she heard herself offering him a quiet explanation. “I’m going after the five who killed my sister. I’ve already killed one in Madrid. Carlson was meant to be the second. But now you’ve sent his shade back to Meridian.”

  He turned, propping his shoulders against the wall, his hands hanging loose at his sides as he locked that piercing gaze with hers. “Was he one of the ones who attacked you or not?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she forced through her clenched teeth, shaking. “He killed Rietta. That’s all I care about.”

  For a moment he said nothing, simply holding her stare, and then he spoke in another soft, quiet rasp. “I know you suffered through hell in that place, Raine, but what you’re doing…” He flexed his hands at his sides, his expression grim. “It won’t change anything. Not for you, and not for your sister.”

  She could tell from his tone that he spoke from personal experience, but she didn’t ask for him to elaborate, knowing that the more distance she could keep between them, the better. She was already too drawn to him as it was.

  And she already had a good guess at the answer. After all, she knew he’d lost his family at the age of fifteen to a rogue nest of vampires. Surely that was the impetus for the killing spree he’d gone on afterward, slaughtering every Deschanel he could find, whether they were young or old.

  “It’s not just about revenge,” she told him. “When I’m done with the Casus, I’ll find Westmore, and I’ll find the three Markers he has. It’s my fault he has two of them and I intend to get them back. Your friends won’t be able to get into Meridian without them.”

  Thanks to a journal that had been found in Westmore’s compound, they now knew that there were twelve Dark Markers in all. In order to keep them from falling into the wrong hands, the powerful crosses had been hidden in various locations all over the world. The Watchmen had been able to find eight of them, but Westmore had stolen one, and with Raine’s help he’d been able to find two more before the Watchmen could get their hands on them.

  “We only have two more to find,” the human rumbled, “and then we plan to go after Westmore and get the other three crosses. So it’s all going to be taken care of, Raine. This isn’t something you need to be involved in. No one blames you for what happened. Hell, they’d have all done the same thing.”

  “I doubt that,” she muttered, her stomach churning. “And it doesn’t matter. I’m the one who did it, and I’ll fix it. Just as soon as I’ve dealt with the ones who killed Rietta.”

  He moved away from the wall and toward the “host” body that Carlson had inhabited, nudging it over with a push from one of his heavy boots. “I know he hurt your sister, but… Was he also one of the ones who touched you?” he asked her in a raw voice, keeping his gaze locked on the body.

  “Honestly, McConnell.” A tired, weary sigh. “What does it matter?”

  “Just tell me.” The softness of his voice sent chills across the surface of her body. “I need to know. Did. He. Rape. You?”

  She relented with a husky, “Yes,” then watched, stunned, as he pulled the gun back out and fired five shots into the male’s groin, turning it into a bloodied, shredded mess. Then he replaced the gun, turned and hammered his fist against the wall for a second time…then a third, the heavy, choppy force of his breaths echoing through the night. It was a shocking display of visceral aggression, one he didn’t seem capable of controlling, reminding her of a Lycan’s rage, raw and animalistic. And she’d have been lying through her teeth if she’d said she didn’t find it hot as hell.

  When he finally turned toward her again, the look in his unholy green eyes made her chest feel tight, as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen. “Have you talked to anyone about it? About what happened to you?”

  She panted, fighting down a rise of nausea, hating that he was thinking about it…that he even knew about it.

  “Are you going to answer me?”

  She shook her head, wrapping her arms across the front of her body, as if they could form some kind of shield. “There’s nothing to say.”

  “I could help find someone,” he told her, the gentleness of his tone nearly her undoing. “It doesn’t have to be me. A counselor. Someone who’s trained to—”

  “Damn it, this has nothing to do with you!” She flung the words at him, using them like weapons. But he didn’t back down.

  “It does now. Someone’s got to look out for you.”

  She reeled, thankful for the wall at her back, his tone scaring the hell out of her. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. You need to just turn and walk away, McConnell. Go back to the others.”

  He scowled, his expression sharp with disbelief. “And just let you get yourself killed?”

  “This…this isn’t going to happen,” she suddenly stammered, hating her weakness. Hating that part of her that wanted to cling to him…rely on him. She had to be strong, damn it. She wasn’t going to be that little victim that everyone had tiptoed around back at the Watchmen compound. The one they treated like blown glass. “I’m leaving now,” she said, pushing away from the storefront, “and I’m going alone.”

  “Like hell you are. Where you go, I go. You want to go on a killing spree? Fine,” he ground out through his clenched teeth, walking toward her. “But I’m going with you.”

  She shook her head again, trying to make sense of what was happening. “You can’t be serious. Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  He stopped a few feet in front of her, a muscle pulsing hard in his jaw, his eyes so dark they looked black in the silver glow of moonlight. “I’m not joking, Raine. I meant what I said.”

  “Yeah, well, you won’t be able to keep up. I’ll ditch you the first chance I get. And now that I know you’re out there, I won’t be so easy for you to find.”

  “You’re not going anywhere without me,” he countered, the calmness of his tone bringing a fresh wave of panic.

  “Are you insane?” she snapped. “You don’t even like vampires! You’ve spent your entire life killing them!”

  “But I spent a hell of a lot of time making sure your little ass made it to England, where you would be safe. I’m not going to let you just run off and fuck that up.”

  “You can’t stop me,” she growled, knowing her eyes must be glowing with rage.

  “You’re wrong,” he argued, working his jaw. “You owe me, Raine.”

  “I don’t owe you anything!” she shouted, her panic spreading, spearing through her system. She knew, from the look on his face, that something bad was coming. But never in a million years could she have guessed what he said next.

  “According to the sacred laws of the Deschanel, you damn well do owe me.”

  The sacred laws? No! He wouldn’t dare!

  “Don’t even think about it,” she warned him, unable to control the tremor in her voice, her throat tightening with rage and fear, her eyes burning with tears.

  “Are you going to be reasonable?” A quiet, composed demand that made her want to hit him.

  “You self-righteous jackass!” she screamed, shoving hard at his chest, not caring who heard or what attention they drew. But the bastard didn’t even budge. “I am not your problem!”

  “You are now,” he said in a rough voice, his long fingers wrapping around her wrists as she pounded against his chest. “Because I’m claiming a Blood Oath from you, Raine Spenser. And until I free you from it, your st
ubborn little ass is mine.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A small town on the outskirts of Venice, Italy

  ROSS WESTMORE WAS a man who liked to win, no matter the cost.

  The vices that shaped most males meant little to him. He didn’t care about money or sex or fame. But the power that came with victory…that was what made him tick. What drove him to succeed, no matter who or what he had to destroy in the process. He knew the Watchmen were scratching their heads, trying to come up with a logical explanation for why he was fighting so hard to free the Casus, and that right there was the answer. Power.

  And he wasn’t alone. Most of the Kraven shared his thirst for power, simply because it was something they’d always been denied. The offspring of female Deschanel vampires who were raped by Casus males before their imprisonment, the Kraven had been kept a secret by the Deschanel clan for centuries. Considered a sign of weakness, they were treated little better than slaves by the vampires, and the Kraven were tired of it. Tired enough to abandon their stations within the vampire clan and follow Westmore in his quest to break the Casus out of Meridian.

  Then, once the Casus had been freed and embraced the Kraven as their brethren, Westmore and the others of his kind would no longer be considered an embarrassing abomination. As the Kraven and Casus bloodlines mixed, they would become more powerful than any creature the world had ever known—and Westmore would be considered a hero.

  Hell, I’ll probably be considered a god, he thought, walking onto his balcony through an open set of double doors, a cool breeze rushing against his face while the lights of Venice flickered in the distance. And what could be more powerful than that?

  But to make his plans a reality, he needed the Dark Markers. Only the ancient crosses could set the chain of events into motion that would free the Casus from their impenetrable prison. He’d been so close to achieving his goal in January, with the psychic under his command, only to have his dream snatched away from him. Now he seethed with frustration, longing to strike out against the Watchmen with the full force of his army. But he had to be smart…patient. Those were the traits that had gotten him to this point, and they were the traits that would lead him to success.