by Lola Taylor
Elijah let out a breath and stared at her with both brows raised. “You’re blackmailing a vampire? Really?”
“If it suits me,” she said idly, shifting her weight. Her boss would kill her if he ever found out. She’d definitely lose her badge for sure.
Was it worth it?
She didn’t even have to think twice about it. If it could help Elijah, she’d do just about anything.
Which, in and of itself, was ludicrous.
Heat kissed her skin, and she became aware of his arm brushing hers.
He was entirely too close. And yet, as he took her hand and pulled her around to face him, she found she couldn’t pull away.
Her body wanted to touch him, to feel his hands and mouth moving over her as it had earlier.
Heat rushed through her cheeks and she clenched for him.
Ugh! Why did he have to have this effect on her? Why, oh, why, did he have to be a werewolf?
“Why are we really here? What are you up to?” he said, dark mischief dancing in his eyes.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, making herself look into his eyes. Challenge accepted. She would not be intimidated by him, no matter how intolerably sexy he was.
“Are you doing this for me?” he asked after a measured second. His fingertip traced a path up her arm and across her shoulder blade, making her heart race.
“No,” she lied. Swallowed. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. His dark voice stoked the rising fire within her. “Is it because you’ve decided to surrender to me? To be mine, forever?”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Her heart hammered inside her chest as her thoughts spun, and she struggled to form an answer.
She didn’t argue as he pressed her back flat against the wall, pinning her wrists to the cold cinderblock. Her mouth opened as he pressed his hot lips to hers, eagerly inviting his tongue to explore her mouth. He kissed her deeper, making her moan with longing. One of his hands slid down her neck, trailing down her chest to glide over her breast. Its descent stopped there as he cupped it and squeezed.
She sighed, rubbing her breasts against his hands. He began kneading them, and a moan caught in her throat. Her eyes drifted closed as she gave in to the moment. Oh, she wanted sex right now so badly, wanted him.
“I could show you passion,” he breathed against her neck. His hand climbed down the curve of her hip, slipping inside her pants to tease the soft hair above her sex. “I could show you devotion and loyalty and do anything in my power to make you happy. You say this can’t work, but you know what I really think? I think you’re just too scared to give us a try.”
Her eyes flew open. Was she that afraid? The mere mention of getting involved with another man was enough to make her tremble.
He gently touched her sex, and her breath caught as he tenderly kissed her neck. “I’m rough around the edges, but I’m worth learning to love. Let me show you I’m worth taking the risk for.”
Her breathing deepened as she stared at him, a silent question written in his eyes.
A throat cleared, and they leapt apart.
Dawson stood there eyeing them with a cheeky grin. “Is this part of the good cop or bad cop routine?”
She glared at him, her face flushing. “Do you have what I asked for?” she said coolly, not giving him the benefit of knowing he’d rattled her with the dig.
He brought it over and she inspected the bags. She gave him one last level glare. “Remember what I said, earlier. You keep your mouth shut, and I’ll keep mine shut. Deal?”
“Fine, fine,” he snapped, shooing her away. “Now get out before you decide to rip me off some more.”
She handed some of the bags to Elijah, which he tucked inside his jacket. She tucked the others inside her purse.
Elijah hadn’t stopped looking at her as they walked back to the front of the store. It was only making her more on edge, but in a good way.
It wasn’t until they were in the car and on their way back to her parents’ house that he said, “So, you going to tell me what the blood is for?”
She took a shaky breath, trying to keep a grip on the leather steering wheel despite her sweating palms.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
Elijah was starting to freak out. Nah, screw freak out—make that about to lose his damn mind.
Verika had been staring at his naked back for the past ten minutes. Since walking through the door and locking themselves in the guest room, she’d remained tight-lipped.
Now, when a woman dragged him into a room, he expected to hit the bed with her within a minute. His sex had gotten super-excited when she’d ordered him to take off his shirt.
Unfortunately, nothing had come from that command other than long, silent minutes. The tension stretched between them like a cord.
“You made up your mind yet?” he asked. The only hint she’d given him as to what the hell she was up to was that she “had an idea and it involved a spell.”
That part had made him start sweating bullets, but he wasn’t about let on to that. He wouldn’t be able to call himself a werewolf if he admitted to being a pussy around incantations and candles. The stuff gave him the creeps.
Fucking magic.
Verika didn’t reply for a long while. “I’m scared.”
He snorted. “That’s comforting.”
“No… ugh!” She sighed and rubbed at her eyes. They were starting to look dry from staring at his back for so long. “I mean, Blood Magic can be unpredictable. I can’t guarantee there won’t be side effects in my attempting to remove your brand.”
So that’s what she’d been thinking of. He’d suspected, of course, but he was having a hard time reading her. The shields surrounding her feelings were nearly as impenetrable as his own.
He tried to sound nonchalant as he said, “It can’t be any worse than the spells I’ve already survived.”
Verika shuddered. “Yes, but I’m still hesitant. I could seriously injure you if I don’t get this right.”
He gave her a wicked grin. Almost as an afterthought, he brushed away a stray piece of hair from her face. Her breath caught as he leaned in. “Do your worst,” he whispered in a sultry challenge.
He briefly glanced at her lips. They were parted, as if inviting him to explore them further. With great resolve, he pulled back and forced himself to turn around.
He smiled to himself as he heard Verika release a long breath. “I have to be out of my mind,” she said.
“For thinking I’m so sexy?” he inquired lightly, over his shoulder.
She shoved him. “No. But nothing short of insanity could possess me to attempt a spell this dangerous.” Another deep breath. This time she sounded more determined. “But Satine always said that in witchcraft the old adage is true; to fight fire, you need fire… or in this case, blood.”
He swallowed hard. “I’m ready when you are. I’m not afraid… I trust you.”
She went still, not even breathing.
Slowly, without another word, she pressed wet fingertips against the brand. He knew from the zing that went through him that she had dipped her fingertips in the first bag of blood. Since he had no idea what blood type Mistress Black was, Verika said she’d have to try each type to see which one the brand responded to.
He couldn’t wait.
Verika began chanting. His heart leapt to his throat. Chills broke out over his skin, and he could feel the first strands of panic creeping in.
Relax. Calm down, he willed himself. He forced himself to focus on his breathing and closed his eyes. Deep breath in, long breath out. Deep breath in…
He vaguely felt her touch leave, only to return a moment later with new blood. He was taken with trying to keep from thinking about the spell she was casting on him when a lightning-hot zap went through him, ripping apart his brain and sucking him into his vilest memory.
He
could barely see or hear, for the drugs in his system. Another game was about to commence, another test to see if he was fit to be Mistress Black’s guard dog.
To be her slave.
Laden with so much poison, it was nearly impossible to fight back. A toddler would have had more strength of will. The spell made him hallucinate as the swish of long skirts reached his ears. A woman came into view, the skirt of her dress moving like smoke and shadows.
“It is time, my pet,” said the silky voice he had once thought sexy and irresistible.
God, he’d been such a fool to trust her. A reckless thrill-seeker. That’s what he was. A damned fool. Never could resist hot women, even when he knew they were bad for him. But by the time he’d realized he’d stumbled into the viper’s nest, it was too late to crawl out. He belonged to her, body and soul.
He couldn’t protest as she waved her hand and the magic sizzled over his skin. The chains that had secured him to the wall of the dank dungeon fell to the floor. Her face was encased in shadows, but he heard the smile in her voice as she crooked a long, pale finger. “Come.”
His body couldn’t refuse. Mechanically, he followed her up the stairs and through the long stone corridor that led to the arena. No, not the arena—a forest.
Torches were lit in even intervals along the trees, seeming to hover in the darkness because it was so thick.
“I have a special treat for you tonight,” Mistress Black purred, stroking his hair as if she were petting a dog. That’s all he’d ever been to her—an amusement, a pet.
Fucking bitch.
A howl sounded in the distance, and his inner wolf stirred. All his senses went on high-alert. He knew that sound, remembered it tangled in his brothers’ screams from his nightmares about the night they were all bitten by a werewolf.
“Yes,” she murmured, still stroking him. “You recognize your old enemy, I take it?”
A growl was his response.
She chuckled. It sounded cold and brittle. Sinister. Her lips were beside his ear as she commanded with quiet authority, “Go and claim your prey. Take the vengeance that should have been yours the night those assholes ruined your life.”
He didn’t need any prodding. The change came in an instant, his inner wolf snarling free in a flash of snapping bones and glistening teeth. He tore through the woods, Mistress Black’s laughter echoing all around him.
He could smell his prey, just a short distance away. Its fear was palpable, and he licked his muzzle. All the nights he’d dreamed of tasting this son of a bitch’s blood…
Feet pounded the ground in front of him. They were slow and bulky.
Human feet.
Mistress Black must have enchanted him to remain in his human form. Her cruelty truly knew no bounds. Most of the time, he feared and loathed her, but tonight he loved her.
Tonight, he would finally make that man pay, the one who had taken everything from him.
The thirst for blood wrapped around his senses, driving him forward. Faster and faster he ran, until he was upon the man in a blur of black fur. The man screamed, his terrified eyes staring up into Elijah’s for a brief, satisfying second.
It felt so damned good to see him so scared.
Without a second thought, Elijah tore out the man’s throat.
The woods abruptly faded, revealing an arena filled with black-cloaked figures. Torches lined the tall, stone walls, and blood soaked the ground at his paws.
Mistress Black stood at the center of the raised dais designated for high-ranking Order witches and warlocks. A black veil cloaked her face, but her ruby smile shone through the intricate lacework. “Well, done, my pet. Very well done, indeed.”
Applause filled the arena as he backed away, whining in confusion. What had happened? Where did the woods go?
People began to stand, chanting something in an ancient language.
Someone whistled their approval. Elijah looked up to find a regal man standing beside Mistress Black.
He’d seen enough pictures to know the High King of Werewolves when he saw him.
His heart began to pound, and he lost control of his inner wolf. He shifted back, standing there naked and shivering in the sudden cold. Blood covered his hands. He held them up, watched as the moonlight glistened off them. There was so much blood that it dripped off his hands and splashed against a puddle at his feet.
With dread, he looked down.
A sob tore from his mouth.
A child, a witch, lay at his feet. He’d heard Mistress Black raging about her, how “promising a White Witch” the High Council had praised her to be, and how she was going to snuff out her light like a candle, before she became a threat.
And she’d done just that, using Elijah as the killing blow.
The people began throwing coins at him.
Entertainment. They thought this was entertainment.
Rage and horror mixed within him, swelling as he pressed his hands against his ears to drown out their applause.
He gritted his teeth, the tension in his body humming and vibrating, ripping apart his human shell as the enraged wolf spilled out.
The next thing he knew, a woman was shouting his name. He opened his eyes to find massive black paws pinning Verika against the floor, his jaws wrapped around her throat.
It took all of two seconds for the haze of his terror to fade. Part of that could be attributed to the bedroom door flying open, followed by a blood curdling scream of horror-movie proportions and the crank of a shotgun barrel. Abruptly, he shifted back and got off Verika, about the time her father jerked the barrel in his face.
“Get the hell out of my house, monster,” Mr. Tate said in a low voice, eyes never once blinking.
“Dad,” Verika said, scrambling to her feet, but Elijah held up a hand to cut her off. She glanced nervously between them.
Elijah didn’t even care he was buck naked. Not getting a hole blown in his head was a high priority right now. He held up his hands. “Take it easy.”
“Take it easy?” Mr. Tate said incredulously. “You were about to rip my daughter’s throat out!”
“I know what it looks like,” he said cautiously.
“I do too. Now get out. You won’t get another warning.”
“It was my fault!” Verika interjected, getting between the barrel and Elijah. Elijah instinctively stepped forward to put her behind him and out of harm’s way, but she waved him off. “A spell backfired and it triggered the change. He would never hurt me.”
Elijah stared at her. So much trust, in so little time. He suddenly felt unworthy of her faith in him. If she knew the darker part of his soul, she’d run screaming from him and never look back.
“It sure as hell didn’t look like that when he had his jaws around your throat,” Mr. Tate said, shooting Elijah a glare that could melt flesh. “He’s dangerous. I could see bad news written all over him the second I laid eyes on him.”
“Dad—”
“And I want him out of my house right now.”
Verika pleaded with him with her eyes. “Please don’t do this.”
“It’s already done!” He shoved Verika out of the way with the barrel and aimed it at Elijah. “You have ten seconds to get some pants on and high-tail it out of here before things get messy. One…”
Elijah knew that murderous gleam, had seen it on plenty of angry fathers’ faces. Not wasting any time, he grabbed a nearby pair of pants and awkwardly put them on while doing some weird hop-skip-jump step toward the door. Thank God Mrs. Tate had brought up extras. She must have assumed they’d be staying longer.
Verika trailed after Elijah. Her father paused long enough to tell her to stay put, a command she promptly ignored. His counting sped up, as did Elijah’s steps. He had never been more appreciative for werewolf grace. Without it, he would have tripped down the last few stairs as his pants leg got caught on his heel.
“You don’t have to go,” Verika said, as they cleared the stairs. “It’s not the first time he’s lo
st his cool. I’ll talk to him.”
Elijah grinned. “Appreciate it, sweetheart, but something tells me he’s not going to cool down anytime soon. And I don’t intend on becoming a rug.”
“You won’t become a rug,” she muttered, then winced as her father yelled at her to stay put. “Then again…”
He stormed into the kitchen, right behind them. Mrs. Tate fluttered behind, hands waving and looking completely distraught.
Elijah gave her a small smile. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“It’s more than you deserve!” Mr. Tate snapped.
“Dad!” Verika hissed.
Elijah gulped. Grabbing the doorknob, he opened the door. Verika made to follow him, but her father grabbed her arm.
“You’re not going anywhere!” Mr. Tate roared.
She jerked free of his grasp. Elijah swore the shadows flickered and shifted in the room, but it could have been the aftereffects of the spell. “I can’t leave him alone.”
“Like hell, you’re leaving!” her father roared, charging after her. “No way is a daughter of mine going with that low-life, son of a—”
“He’s my mate, Dad!” she screamed.
That stopped him dead. He stared at her, the gun lowering. “Your… your what?”
Elijah stopped breathing. Verika stared down her father. “It’s true. He marked me.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Mr. Tate said, his face jerking back and forth between them, as if that would reveal the answers.
Verika gulped. “It means I’m going to marry him.”
Elijah’s heart stopped beating. He swore it did. Either that or the words “marry him” broke his brain.
The Tates stared at their daughter, jaws open and eyes wide. There was about a beat of silence before questions burst from their lips. Well, questions from Mrs. Tate’s lips. Mostly profanity and objections spewed from Mr. Tate’s lips.
“Are you out of your damned mind? He tried to kill you! No daughter of mine is going to marry some—”
Verika shook her head and shouted, “I’m sorry! I’ll come back and explain,” before heading out the door.
She had enough sense to grab her purse and keys before leaving. They got in the car and drove off.
