Cracked

by Vanessa North

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” The other woman’s face showed an open concern.

  Sarita clenched and unclenched her fist. Blood-Drinker. The wound on her finger had already healed, but there was dry blood on it. Surely this thing could smell it.

  “Tsk. Let me see.” The Ahne picked up her hand, stroking it in something like a caress, causing Sarita’s fingers to spasm suddenly. “You heal quickly,” she observed, sniffing, but not breaking her gaze. She brought Sarita’s hand to her lips and a cold tongue flickered across the healed pinprick.

  Sarita was overwhelmed, unable to move as those green eyes held her spellbound. There was power in this woman, like nothing she’d ever felt, not even from her Alphas. “I won’t hurt you, little wolf.” A feral smile crossed the Ahne’s face just a second before her eyes rolled and closed in pleasure. They opened again, spearing Sarita. “You are a sweet little thing. We could be friends, yes?”

  Sarita’s heart stuttered its yearning as she felt her lips tilting up in a smile. Friends. Yes, she wanted that. This cold, beautiful woman made her crave closeness, made her want to touch that icy skin, have those glittering teeth graze her neck. Would her bite be sweet like a lover’s? Sarita’s own teeth started to shift, the familiar tingling pulsing through her. Unconsciously, she moved closer, reaching.

  “Get the hell away from her!” Mac’s voice shattered the moment. Sarita gasped, pulling away from the smiling Ahne. She immediately looked away as she scrambled back, not wanting to meet the creature’s eyes again. Instead, she looked up at Mac, her terror easing as she saw his teeth and claws out to defend her.

  “I don’t know how you got in here, but you aren’t welcome. You have no ‘friends’ here.” Mac laced his words with scorn. “Get the hell out of here. If I see you near her again, I’ll…”

  “You’ll what, pup?” The Ahne moved toward him, trying to capture his eyes with her own. Refusing to meet her gaze, he bared his teeth, the threat clear. The Ahne’s laugh grated against Sarita’s senses, setting her still-shifted teeth on edge.

  “Oh yes, you’re an alpha wolf, sure. But I’m the Krönen. I am the Ahne. You can’t fight me.” So quickly, even their wolf senses couldn’t follow, her hand reached out and slashed across Mac’s face, her tall body pinning him to the wall, aggression and power oozing from her. Before he could react, her finger was in her mouth, his blood on her tongue.

  She spat, a look of derision crossing her features.

  “No. You cannot fight me.”

  And then she was walking out the door, into the afternoon sunshine. The icy scent, the blood on Mac’s cheek, and the chill in their bones the only reminder she had been there at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Angelo stormed into the Gallery with Bear hot on his heels.

  “Sarita!” he shouted. She came out of one of the back rooms, flying into his arms.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she whispered, and he fought the rage building inside him. Here. In his city, his woman was being threatened by the First Blood. He scattered kisses across her forehead, holding her tightly to him as he rocked her in his arms, torn between needing to take care of her, and needing to avenge her.

  A wrenching panic had filled him when Gerard’s head popped up from the book he’d been reading and the words “First Blood” slipped from his mouth. The taxi had gotten them close, and they’d run the rest of the way, the normally unflappable New Yorkers scattering in front of Gerard’s quickly moving form.

  “Querida, what happened?” He brushed the hair back from her forehead.

  “The Ahne…she was here. I pricked my finger, she came here…”

  “Shhhh.” He hugged her tighter, shushing into her hair.

  Gerard’s rumbling voice broke through: “You were supposed to be watching her, not flirting with some piece of ass!”

  Sarita’s head popped up. “Hey!” She glowered at Gerard. “It wasn’t like that. Don’t blame him. He was blooded for me. And he loves you.”

  “Well, if you’re defending Mac’s honor, you must be okay.” Angelo smiled as he tilted her face up for a kiss.

  “I am. I truly am. I don’t know about Mac though. The wound isn’t healing.”

  Angelo felt a chill down his spine as he looked at the torn skin across Mac’s face. It looked crusted over, as if it had burned, and the blood still flowed from it, no matter how much pressure Mac placed over the wound.

  “Shifter healing should have closed that up by now.” Gerard touched the wound with a finger. “It’s cold.” His eyes met Angelo’s. Have you seen anything like this before?

  “Never.” Angelo reached for his cell phone. “I think we need to talk to Neubacher.”

  “The FBI?” Sarita looked at him like he had three heads. Surely she could see how important this was. “Angelo, I don’t think we should bring humans into this.”

  “Sarita, I decide when we involve humans in anything wolf-related. That’s my job.”

  “Yes, but this isn’t wolf-related. This is me-related. And you don’t get to make every decision unilaterally.”

  “When it comes to your safety…”

  “When it comes to my safety, I expect to be part of the decision on whether the F-B-Fucking-I is going to be brought in.”

  Angelo growled in frustration, “Sarita, why can’t you just let me…”

  “Handle it?” Her eyes grew wide. “Mate, were you just going to ‘handle’ me?”

  “Aw, shit.” Mac looked from Sarita to Angelo. “Do you want to go all there, man?”

  “Wait a minute.” Angelo looked around the room. “How the fuck did protecting my mate get me to ‘all there’ in about thirty seconds?”

  “What. The. Fuck. Mac Murphy? Angelo? I’m right here!” Sarita waved in their faces. “I say, no human law enforcement. Let’s get Mac to a wolf doctor. Surely there is one somewhere in Manhattan?”

  “Yeah. I know a guy,” Angelo admitted.

  “And I’m sure he’ll be more useful handling Mac’s injury than the FBI would.”

  “Italove…” Gerard rumbled. Angelo felt a placating touch in his head. “Angelo is just concerned.”

  “Over. The. Top,” she growled. “Doctor. Now.”

  Angelo walked out to the street to hail a cab, trying to get a grip on his emotions. Sarita was right: he was being pushy. His wolf was riding him, and for a moment, he’d panicked. He needed the man, not the wolf, in control. Pushing the animal deep, he turned to help his mate and her friend into the cab.

  The doctor looked at Mac’s face, emitting a low growl as he touched the cold flesh.

  “Fucking vampires,” he snarled.

  “You’ve seen this before?” Sarita touched the man’s shoulder, turning him to face her. He looked her over, nostrils flaring. Rather than bow her head like she might have a few months ago, she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and held his gaze. Beside her she felt a burst of ferocious pride from her mate.

  “This is New York City, Usher,” the doctor said finally, “I’ve seen it all.”

  “So how do we stop the bleeding? Can you stitch him?” Sarita held her voice steady as the doctor started shaking his head.

  “You need one of them. A Blood-Drinker. You need their saliva to start the healing process. Without it…he’ll just bleed. If it were a major artery, he’d be dead already. As it is?” The man shrugged and Sarita felt something in her snap.

  “Not good enough, Doctor.” She felt her wolf pushing. “This man was blooded for me.”

  “And he’s beyond my capacity to heal. I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do.” The doctor bared his throat in apology.

  Without thinking, Sarita leaned forward, stepping up on tiptoe to reach, and took his throat between her teeth. He hadn’t offered his obeisance, but she demanded i
t. She felt a flare of anger, then acquiescence, as his awareness rushed into hers. He resented the intrusion, but he allowed it. She felt her lip curling as she realized he’d told the truth: there was nothing, nothing at all, that he could do.

  She released his throat, watched as he fought the urge to rub a hand over it. Feeling a little embarrassed at how she’d pushed her authority over him, she cupped his cheek in her hand and made him meet her eyes.

  “Thank you, Doctor. I won’t forget your kindness in seeing us on such short notice.”

  “You’re welcome, Usher. I only wish I could have done more.” His voice was rough and hoarse as he held in his wolf, and she knew they’d overstayed their welcome. As Gerard helped Mac stand, she took his hand.

  What do I do, Bear? She knew he felt her anguish, and his comforting rumble resounded through their bond.

  We’re going to hunt down a Blood-Drinker.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “No, querida, I forbid it.” Angelo’s voice was firm and quiet, and Goddess help her, sexy, even as he tried to tell her what to do.

  “Mate, you’d best think long and hard about the words you just said to me,” she growled, feeling the hairs on her neck rising. She hadn’t planned to have it out with him over his high-handed way of trying to make decisions without her, but if that’s what it was going to take to get him to stop doing it, she would.

  “You want to hunt Blood-Drinkers. The very thing Bear and I are trying to protect you from!” He bellowed, loosening his tie and burying a hand in his hair.

  “We. We want to hunt a Blood-Drinker. Bear and I together. And we’ll get one too.”

  “You make it sound like you’re going out to bag a deer. You saw what those things did to Mac!”

  “Yes. And that’s why we need to go hunt one down and bring it back here to fix him.”

  “Querida…”

  She snarled, baring her teeth, “Angelo Gonzalez. You are my mate, not my parent, nor my Alpha. You don’t forbid me anything. Understand this about me right here and right now. I am small, but I am powerful. I’m tired of being on the edges, and my friend is hurt—blooded trying to protect me. I was stupid earlier today. I made a mistake, not bringing Bear with us, and I own that. But going after these things is the only way to help him, and I’m going to do it.”

  “Wait. Just let me get some information first, okay? Please, Sarita, don’t just tear off with Gerard on a hunch and a scent. Let me call in some favors.”

  “FBI kind of favors?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “No. Califas kind of favors.” His grin glittered, sharp teeth bared. The Wolf of Wall Street was going back to his roots.

  The six wolves who entered the apartment that evening were clearly alpha and definitely dangerous. Angelo knew them from childhood and had run with them both on the right, and the wrong, side of the law before he’d gotten the hell out of Los Angeles. They were Sureños, affiliated with neighborhood street gangs in Los Angeles. The six of them had been in New York on “business” that Angelo wanted nothing to do with, but he needed information. Beyond their gang affiliations, they respected him as the more dangerous wolf, the one who would have been their Alpha had he not moved across the country. They owed his uncle their obeisance, so they came when he called. He didn’t like to think about the similarities in the leadership structure between their gangs and wolf pack hierarchy, but right now, he relied on it.

  “Angelo.” His cousin Luis stepped forward to shake his hand, baring his throat to Angelo.

  “Primo.” He took the other man’s throat in his teeth. “Thanks for coming. My mate, Sarita.” He introduced her, smiling as the other man whistled in appreciation. She blushed prettily before raising her chin.

  “Dios Mio,” one of the other wolves muttered as Luis bared his neck to her and she flashed her tiny teeth as she took it. Angelo felt a visceral pride in his mate, at her acceptance of the man’s loyalty as her due. A part of him wanted to deny it—the part of him that had run from Los Angeles—but his wolf’s power owed as much to L.A. street culture as it did to pack.

  “I need information,” Angelo said quietly. “A First Blood attacked her bodyguard this afternoon. He is bleeding, slowly. His wound won’t heal. We need to find one of them.”

  “Fuck.” Luis’s brown eyes met Angelo’s. “You know those guys, they’re growing strong. They’re making challenges. We’re dealing with them all over the fucking country right now.”

  “I figured. I’ve been looking into their legit businesses. That legitimacy is borderline at best in some cases. What kind of illegal stuff are they into, drugs?”

  “Drugs. Guns. Anywhere there’s money. They have a presence in the prison system, nothing on the scale of La eMe, but they’re there. These guys aren’t the bosses though. I don’t think the bosses are involved on the street.”

  “Do they have a hive in the City?”

  “Sí.” Luis pulled out a subway map, circled an area on the map with his finger. “We think the hive is near here somewhere.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your little mate. She’s the Usher?” Luis asked in a voice low enough that the others would have to strain to hear him.

  “Sí.”

  “Not everyone is happy about her. Keep her close. You don’t need a revolution on your hands.”

  “Keep them in line for me?” Angelo raised an eyebrow at the other man, who nodded.

  “Good to see you, Lo.” Luis grinned. “You’re still a dangerous fucker, you know that? Hunting vampires. Fuck you, man.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So now what?” Angelo faced his mate once the wolves had gone. “You’re due at the gallery in an hour.”

  “Kathy will go in my place.” She shrugged.

  “To your first New York opening? Are you kidding, querida?”

  “Mac is more important than art.”

  “No, Ita.” Mac walked into the room, his face drawn and gray. “You and Bear and Angelo will go to the opening. And then you can hunt. I’ll be fine until you get back. Kathy can keep me company.”

  “Mac…” She protested, reaching for him. He shook his head, pressing the towel he held closer to his face.

  “Go enjoy your evening.”

  Sarita wore a simple black pantsuit over a paillette-spangled, red camisole. She felt elegant and grown-up and all those things she’d never felt living in her mother’s shadow. The opening seemed to pass in a blur of compliments, a few toasts, and a surprising number of pieces sold. Pricey-haircut-cheap-’tude turned out to be a very competent advocate for her work as he led her around the room, introducing her to collectors and other gallery owners. When she spied Angelo out of the corner of her eye, standing in front of one particular canvas, she disengaged herself from the other man’s arm and made her way toward her mate. His face was a mask as he stared at the piece, but the emotions churning from him rolled over her, intense, animated.

  His voice hoarse, he turned to her.

  “How did you know?”

  The image depicted on the canvas was painted in a heavy-handed style with broad strokes: a darkened bird cage, a hand reaching from it, another gripping the bars, tattoos marking the hands. Some of the tattoos were wolf, some were human: all were symbolic of loyalty to the hierarchies that governed Angelo’s two cultures. All were tattoos that marked his body. Worked into the imagery were bits of fabric from the clothing he’d torn since he had mated Sarita. His fine wool suit had been cut into strips and sewn into the bars of the cage. Paisley swirls from his tie floated from the cage like feathers and gathered into a pile at the bottom of the canvas.

  He thought back to her words the day they met. But my personal projects are about fate. Destiny. A sense of being confined, restrained, trapped.

  She touched his hand, and his wolf lunged
for her touch. “We’re kindred spirits, you and I.”

  “Has it sold?” he asked quietly, hoping it hadn’t. He didn’t want anyone else to own it. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to look at it every day, but he felt as possessive about this piece of art as he did about his beautiful mate.

  “It’s not for sale.” Her sweet smile made his heart speed up with longing.

  “I never imagined…” He fought to find the words. How she could see so deeply into him? Even Maria, his first mate, who grew up in the same culture, even she hadn’t guessed at the war that had raged within him, the torn loyalties between pack and…

  “You don’t have to talk about it.” Sarita laid her head on his shoulder. “I saw the tattoos. I recognized they weren’t all pack tattoos. I looked them up.”

  “So your mate, your husband…”

  “…is a good man with a colorful past.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  Relief sagged his shoulders. If she could believe that, perhaps it was even true.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The air outside the gallery felt cool after the crush of people inside. Sarita called Mac and Kathy to check in on them. In her gravelly voice, Kathy told Sarita that Mac was growing weaker but seemed stable. Time to hunt.

  With Gerard and Angelo at her side, Sarita felt safe, even though she knew better than to underestimate the First Blood.

  “What do you know about their lifestyle?” She asked her mate in a hushed voice as the cab moved toward the area of East Harlem that Angelo’s cousin had indicated might house a Blood-hive.

  “They tend to live in small groups, with a dominant alpha female, usually called the Krönen, the Queen. She’ll have a small number of servants who work for her. The Ahne probably has a half dozen like Lukas, whereas a lesser queen will have maybe two. There are usually lesser, younger servants under them. That’s who we want. They’ll be the weakest, the slowest. They’re also the most likely to be out in public.”