Captiva Capitulation (Six Feet Under Vampire Werewolf Menage Series Book Three)

by Scott, Talyn

  What was he thinking?

  He was a born predator.

  Dropping the papers on the worktable, Sixten inhaled. “It’s the same scent bordering all others.” Nearing an arm Qudir gripped, he breathed over the appendage. “Rogue hunters really participated here? Is that what I smell?”

  “I’m questioning myself,” Maestru stopped, cocking his head. “It’s hard to pick up with all these underlying aromas.”

  “I agree. Still, you can detect odors better than I can.” He moved towards a small door. “There are threads of scent everywhere, hidden under,” Sixten stalled out, moving beyond that thought, his brain working in psychotic speeds. He had no doubt that this was a viable lab, up and working this very night, but they were tipped off. Sure, they could be following Vojaks. That was plausible, but still. “And all of this,” he said, waving one hand over the floor. “It’s a feeble yet nearly effective cover up for the sinister parties involved.” But who were all of the players in this sick game? Whose scent were they really covering? Sixten had a hunch, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  “Wouldn’t they be covering for the rogue hunters?” Qudir questioned. “Master, didn’t you say the werewolf trackers could scent the Lovci?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “There’s something else at work here,” Sixten cut in. “Another creature’s trail the shifters are working overtime to conceal. You still have Adam trussed up, Maestru?”

  “Definitely,” the Coven Master replied. “He’s be-spelled inside a cell at the joint faction facility while drumming up countless ways in which to kill you for lying about his Amy’s whereabouts. Why?”

  “Just thinking.” Pulling his favorite blade back out, he opened a narrow door to find numerous quart sized bags torn open, dripping with remnants of a vampire’s blood. His fangs dropped low, and he shut the door in vampiric speed. “My instinct says they’re still below.”

  “Finally.” Oycher stood before the first in a long row of computer screens that he and Kash booted. Now, all flickered bar graphs and corresponding equations. “These aren’t in their alien language, humans worked the reports. Blood extraction data,” he murmured before moving his hands across the keys. “Let’s see if they’re smarter than me.”

  “We need to find their exit route,” Maestru said, “his eyes raking every square inch of the torture slash medical lab.”

  “Working on it.” Qudir placed his hands on each vertical surface, sensing any minute changes in pressure, any sign of a hidden panel. “Electricity cuts off about here,” he said slowly, “and amplifies down here.” With a strong-arm move mimicking a perfect close-line, Qudir knocked a rolling, medical cart to the ground, beakers and test tubes flying in his wake. “Hot spot.”

  Maestru shook his head, staring at the panel. “Too easy.”

  Oycher pulled his eyes from the screen. “We used explosives to open this baby, dispelled alien ores to get inside. Yeah, a passageway behind a medical cart sounds like a setup.”

  “Agreed.” Qudir backed away. “Did you manage to retrieve those reports?” He motioned to the computers.

  Oycher flashed a shit-eating grin at Kash. “My man Kash did. All forwarded to an undisclosed computer at an undisclosed location.”

  “Yeah, it’s bad enough that they attacked our Sanctuary,” Kash put in. “We don’t need to leave any trails for the Habalines to hack into our new and improved computer systems. Is everything else here a waste of time, Six?”

  “Yeah, I’d like your verdict, Six. I have soldiers waiting to secure this nightmare,” Qudir said, fooling with his phone. “They’re guarding the perimeter, but I don’t want to risk them if you’re jazzed about something.”

  Sixten couldn’t take his eyes from the panel. Certainly, it was an elementary trap, but there was something more. Yes, he knew this sensation, was becoming familiar to him by now. An underlying urge beckoned him to go down there and kick the ass belonging to a creature who thought he was Sixten’s counterpart, though he would never come close. “Poison is lurking,” he said in a voice devoid of any recognizable emotion. “I can feel him.”

  “Six,” Kash warned, now placing an insistent hand on his shoulder. “Not this way. It goes against everything they taught us at the Academy, and those were the baby classes. Suicide isn’t the way.”

  It sure wasn’t, but Sixten had something Poison wanted: a scroll that was no longer missing. “This may have started with my brother, but it didn’t end when I killed him. I have to take out Poison, too. Somehow, I have to atone for all of this death and, in the process; I have to prevent more from happening.”

  “Why now?” Kash pleaded. “Why this trap? Think of Blythe.”

  “I’m always thinking of Blythe,” he hissed in the way of vampires. “You were there last night, at our home, the shifters coming onto my territory, risking my precious mate.” Yep, they would continue to threaten his mate until he produced the scroll. Wrenching the panel from the wall, he kicked it away. They were past going covert, anything below heard he was coming. “They’re never going to stop unless I stop them. Blythe will always be in danger because she loves me, because I love her, you know this.” Folding himself, he moved inside the confining duct. There was a drop next to him, no rungs in sight, and he couldn’t see the bottom. Before he let go, plummeting to the unknown, he turned back to Kash and the others lurking behind him, all readying their weapons. “None of you are coming,” he said, pushing his best friend away from him. “Poison is the pinnacle. Poison must die by my hands.”

  Four inches to his left, and he free fell. “Here goes nothing,” he groaned, hoping his coat didn’t snag on anything and snap his neck. Thankfully, he landed on two feet. “Just like a cat,” Sixten congratulated himself, pulling out a six-inch dagger in the process. “Here, Poison. Come to Daddy.”

  He came upon a heap of Stavzs parts, assorted wires and pliers. “Why the modified Stavzs, Poison, they didn’t change any results?” Unfortunately, Qudir and Kash had tested them on a few vampire prisoners. The vampires had the normal reaction, with their innards gruesomely disintegrating and then painfully regenerating within three long days. What was the difference? Why did the Habalines change them with their alien ore? Sixten kicked the mess aside, revealing a sewage grate filmed with fresh blood and human flesh. “I know this grate doesn’t belong here, this far below sea level. Come out and play, Poison.”

  Kneeling down, he took hold of one of the bars, lifting it to the side. Sixten couldn’t believe how heavy it was. He narrowed his eyes. “More ore, is it? Do you ever run out?” Wasting no time, he jumped down feet first. When he landed, shadows darted left and right. “You didn’t think I would have the balls to come down here alone, did you?”

  He didn’t like having his back vulnerable, but he sensed he should walk forward. “I feel you, Poison.” Sixten’s footfalls crossed the uneven concrete in slow, measured movements. Every step he took dragged wires under his boot heels or whirled screws against the dank, moldy walls. “How do I feel you, you ask? Ah, maybe it’s because we have a Habaline kinship. Possibly, it’s because we’re adversaries. Lucky for me - trouble for you.” Cocking his head, he caught the tiniest whimpering sound coming from the left, muffled, though it was definitely there. “Still, I’m thinking it’s because the last time we played, I gorged on your blood, after surviving your venomous bite. Ah, yes, connections we have.” Veering right, he went the opposite way of the whimpering sounds, finding their rudimentary ploy insulting. “Hmm, sounds like I’m unstoppable as far as you’re concerned, Poison, is that why you’re hiding even now?”

  A heavy thump sounded overhead before cold fingers sprung from behind, wrapping themselves around Sixten’s throat. A bloodcurdling scream followed, not his. Sixten whirled, nearly taking his head off since Poison had the grip of a five-hundred pound Python.

  Poison smiled manically, slamming Sixten against the wall with Sixten’s dagger positioned between their chests. One side of the blade cut into Poiso
n’s breastbone, the other sliced into Sixten. “So you think we’re blood brothers now, Bastard of the Habaline King? You gorged on me, you say. I have no problems feeding the last walking prince. If you have no problems feeding from a lowly Raven, after all, I am your humble servant,” he mocked with eyes of a thousand desert sunsets, pressing further and smashing Sixten into the wall. He could feel the rise and fall of his chest - Poison’s every breath - as their blood mingled in rivulets.

  “You’re starting to piss me off,” Sixten growled.

  “Produce the scroll and she’ll always live by your side. You have my word. Otherwise -” Kash jumped down, throwing his long knife. It landed between Poison’s shoulder blades, burrowing through his body until its tip came out above his breastbone. Although a half inch went into Sixten, that wasn’t his biggest problem. Sixten’s own dagger had made headway inside his very spleen, possibly his liver, and he was rapidly bleeding-out.

  Poison’s eyes widened, but his reflexes were quick. He swiveled, blade still buried in his chest, and easily knocked Kash’s feet from under him, his friend’s head making a sickening crack when hitting the wall. In blurring speed, Kash’s body slipped down, landing in a loose heap. “Aim lower. You missed my heart, fool!”

  Sixten couldn’t believe the way this was playing out, couldn’t understand why Kash would stupidly come after him. Even so, he would stick to his plan. Poison dropped to his knees, grunting. Sixten had one hand around his throat, the other was holding his favorite dagger. The one his brother gave him. The one his brother died by. A blade that killed pure blood Habalines. “I aimed perfectly,” Sixten hissed in his ear, “didn’t I?” Unable to deny his thirst for blood, he tore into Poison’s throat, drinking in power.

  There went that blood-curdling scream again.

  When Sixten felt Poison slip away, he dropped him to the ground, disgusted, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. When he kicked him in the head a few times, he waited. Nothing. Not even a twitch. No heartbeat, either. Then his body dissolved into the ground. “Fuck…there’s no way,” he groaned, wondering how the bastard lived through that.

  Disregarding his pain, he tugged at the blade buried in his chest, also choosing to ignore the revolting drag as he slid it free from his organs. Looking everywhere, he scanned all crevices, unable to find those darting shadows again. Where had the others gone? Why didn’t they attack him when he attacked Poison? Why didn’t they help their nefarious leader? A weaker scream echoed, which brought him quickly out of his thoughts, this one coming from Sixten’s right.

  “Sixten?” he heard Oycher call.

  “Over here.” Pressing his palm into his middle, he couldn’t halt the blood flow, but at least he was well fed, would last a while on Poison’s blood. “Kash,” he said, nudging his friend’s shoulder with the toe of his boot. “Speak to me! Please!”

  “Shut,” muttered Kash, “your drama. You have been watching too many movies with Blythe.”

  Sixten snorted. “I can’t bend down or my spleen will pop out. Think you can pull yourself up on that pipe?”

  “I got it,” Kash growled, bringing himself up on two feet, swaying but he righted himself. “Are those your intestines, Six?”

  “I believe that’s an accurate assumption,” he said, wondering how he was going to move up the floors when he was in no shape to mist or climb. “Blythe can’t see me this way. I swore I wasn’t fighting anymore and she’ll think me a liar.”

  “You are a liar.”

  “Right, but why should she confirm it?” He frowned, following Oycher’s movements. “Oycher?”

  “A female!” he shouted, throwing heavy pipes in all directions. “She’s alive!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Good afternoon, angel, I’m on Marco Island,” Sixten whispered, trying not to wake up Kash. “Oh, I fed well last night. Uh huh, not from a female, I assure you. My wife gets prickly on the subject, yet I find her jealousy somewhat endearing, makes me feel special.” A pause, then, “I will see you in just a few hours. I promise. Yes, you haven’t a clue how much I missed you, too, but you will find out soon enough.”

  How lame of an excuse was that? He put his palm on his head, staring up at the ceiling. He’d left his beautiful wife with Rock yesterday afternoon, last night, and then half of this day. Though it had flown by while he and Kash healed from wounds that would have killed mortals on the spot. It’s not as if he could tell her the truth, upsetting her with more shit when she hadn’t calmed down enough over her abduction. How could Sixten tell Blythe that her life would never be her own until he shut down this Habaline mess?

  Kash nudged him in the back, his leathers creaking, since he wore his coat to bed, passing out while fully dressed. At least Sixten managed to get his coat off and drop his blades.

  Blades were a bad subject. Rubbing a hand across his stomach, he winced in pain. Kash suffered a cranial fracture, while Sixten gutted himself, with Poison’s help. “Kash says hello. Oh, yes,” Sixten said, flipping over and winking at his awakened friend. “He’s been here all day, doesn’t want me to show him up in front of his Master.” A knock sounded on the door, power emanating from the other side. Speaking of Masters… “Gotta run, moja láska. Love you, too.”

  Maestru stuck his head in, looking like hell. “Can the two of you walk yet?”

  “I’m offended,” Sixten sat up, his eyes nearly popping out of his head from a gut-wrenching tearing sensation. A literal one. “Yep,” his voice shredded with the pain, “ready… to work.”

  “Ready to work so you can get home to your lovely mate sooner, can’t blame you there,” Maestru said wearily. “Kash?”

  “Head’s good.” He sat up, stretching his neck. “Everything’s in working order.”

  “Oycher’s with the female.”

  That didn’t surprise Sixten. Oycher had a way with women that Maestru didn’t, especially when the Master was seething. And by the looks of him, Maestru was seething. “Maestru, what happened to you guys when this idiot next to me followed me down the concealed shafts?”

  Obsidian eyes raked him. “Our men had the perimeter squared away for scant minutes, if that, but all was lost. The trap was set on the outside, Habalines ambushing from the exterior, dropping from air. Kash had already moved down to you. Oycher happened to jump through the hole before the shifters rolled in. The majority of them were pure blood. I killed everything I could, but we lost six soldiers. Six that we couldn’t afford to lose. I just came from meeting with their families…their children.”

  “If I had been there instead....” Sixten went to the sink, splashing cold water on his face. He wanted to vomit.

  “Is that how you see it, Six?” Maestru asked, gripping the door facing. “Presently, we have a survivor we can question.” Shaking his dark head, he moved back into the corridor. “Both of you come. Now.”

  Sixten and Kash followed Maestru down two flights of stairs and one fetid corridor. Sixten fought not to gag. Oycher met them before they reached the female’s door. “It’s her,” he said. “She says her name is Amy.”

  “Adam’s Amy?” Six asked in astonishment, which was stupid. It’s not as though she would accept a Habaline as a mate after being enslaved and undoubtedly tortured by them. “Scratch that. Is she going to live?” Could life rise from the ashes on the heels of such a gruesome death filled night?

  “Oh, she’s gonna live in double time. Dru just left, says she’s pregnant,” Oycher whispered. “She’s horrified, of course. Though not about the pregnancy, Amy was aware. She speculates that we’re going to keep her imprisoned, as well, because of the baby and the fact that she knows of the supernatural world.”

  Sixten glanced at Maestru, thinking it was a logical assumption. They could wipe her memory, but there would still be a baby, an inhuman baby in her womb. “I’m assuming the unborn is one of Poison’s projects.”

  “She said that she went through a series of surgeries, wasn’t told what they were doing to her body at the ti
me.” Oycher had his head down, his hair falling over his shoulders. “It became obvious.”

  “After everything Amy’s gone through, and we can only imagine the extent of it,” Maestru said. “How can she handle this pregnancy, this child? She’s only human.”

  “How are we going to handle her?” Kash crossed his arms, staring at her door.

  “I can’t answer all of that,” Sixten said. “But she’s gotta give me some answers.”

  “Take it easy,” Oycher said, gripping Sixten’s arm, daring to get in his face. “If your irises start glittering in the alien way, she’ll freak.”

  “For someone who doesn’t like human females, you’re getting awfully pushy.”

  “For someone who wants to get answers from a terrified female, you’re awfully bloody. Good luck,” he sneered, flashing fang. “She’ll pass out before you get three feet inside her room.”

  Maestru had his shirt off before Sixten could respond, handing it over before shrugging back into his long coat. “I’m misting to Captiva to check on something,” he said cryptically. “I’ll send Grim back with some fresh leathers from the Sanctuary.” Sixten couldn’t miss the knots forming in Maestru’s jaw when he added, “It’ll serve him right, since he stayed out and partied all night between human thighs. Talk to Amy. Take a shower. Call me before you go home.”

  Sixten dumped his bloodied and torn shirt in a nearby trashcan, summoning a clinician. She sidled up to him, and he asked for all of Amy’s records. When she handed him an electronic tablet, the clinician was astonished to find him working it without her assistance, reading all the reports. “This must be a mistake,” he stopped, eyeing the ultrasound results.