Blood Reign (#4): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Tharell padded into the larger quarters that gave way to an archway, hand-cut centuries before Tharell’s birth. He set about getting his garments donned. His tunic came first, breeches and soft-soled shoes were custom cut and sewn for his feet. He laced them to the tops of his shins, winding the leather ties twice around his upper calf and knotting it with proficiency borne of long practice. He walked to the door, grabbing his weapons belt off a hand-hammered brass hook as he left.

  There was no iron in Faerie. It was poison to the fey.

  He loathed the royal singer contained within their prison, but he must deal with her. She might be what Tharell needed to survive the journey so far from Faerie.

  *

  Tharell moved through the labyrinth of the sithen.

  If it had been to Tharell's liking, Jacqueline would have been dead long ago.

  The Singers Book of Blood forbade such a thing. Jacqueline was royalty, though her mixed blood appeared to be as frowned upon as his own. Fey, Singer, Were, and vampire. Jacqueline, reigning monarch of Region Two, had too much variation in her blood.

  And just the right amount of what mattered.

  Jacqueline stood when she saw him, the heavily veined marble bench that had been her post disappearing into the sithen wall as she left it.

  Tharell released a breath of resigned frustration. Half-clothed again. Jacqueline always knew when he would appear and shed her clothes at just the right moment.

  Tharell cast his gaze away when he saw what the Were did behind her, their vulgarity part of who they were. He could not close his ears to the lustful coupling that reached him. It was always the same. And deliberately meant to throw him off balance, make him feel ashamed to watch them rut as alley cats caught in their mating.

  Tharell squared his shoulders. They were detestable but had become necessary.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jacqueline allowed the Were to drive into her from behind, barely losing breath, though she did slap the invisible wall in front of herself so he would not force her face into it.

  She had coerced herself to mate with Tony. They had handled it quietly. As she had Were blood and must adhere to her needs as a Singer and a royal, they had been given a ceremony of the most basic order.

  Marcus was required to be in attendance, and his obvious distaste of it all had brought her more pleasure than she anticipated. It was the only pleasure of the entire union.

  A means to an end.

  Of course, even though the magical borders of their fey prison were impervious to their efforts at escape, the entire bit of Faerie could be realized through scent alone. Tony was a Were and she an expert Tracker. Too bad her talents grew weaker each minute she spent in this odd but increasingly pleasant new world.

  Tony was always aware when the one who called himself Tharell was nearing, and she cringed at what must happen. It had been Tony's idea to make themselves as repugnant as possible while also obtaining their end goal. Generally, as far as lore went, the fey were immune to sexual exploits carried out in front of them. But after much experimentation, they'd found it was the only thing that got under Tharell’s violet skin.

  Jacqueline bitterly encouraged Tony directly against her deepest instincts. “Harder, beast. Make a show of it.”

  Tony complied, spearing her so deeply she felt the pain of his entry and exit, the horrible tool of his perversion buried deeply within his nature; adoring the opportunity to hurt her through sex.

  He really was a terrible excuse for a Were.

  Jacqueline ground her teeth against his roughness, the foreign urge to cry floating within reach as he gripped her shoulder. His fingertips bit into her skin as he anchored her, causing what would be magnificent fingerprint bruises to take shape by the morning.

  He gasped. Tony stabbed her with a final, revolting thrust. As he finished inside her, Jacqueline plastered a smile on her face for Tharell's benefit. He struggled to cover his revulsion.

  What was the modern slang for that? Jacqueline wondered as she straightened and let down her dress. Ah yes, epic failure. She touched a finger to her chin, pondering... Or was it epic fail? No matter, disgusting Tharell was the goal.

  She could hardly remember why she had made this an objective, and it disturbed her more day by day. Jacqueline wondered if she could bear it much longer.

  Tharell cleared his throat and Jacqueline inquired, as if she had not just been having sex with the disgusting Were, “And to what do we owe the honor of your presence?” She watched those bright eyes, like the Caribbean Sea, flick to Tony then back to her. He was an extraordinary looking creature.

  And a dangerous one. Jacqueline never allowed herself to forget that.

  Tony learned that lesson the hard way, early on. He had thought to outmaneuver the Sidhe and made to turn into his half-wolfen form. He went for the fey’s throat.

  Tharell had blurred into him with a move that had an edge of macabre beauty. Before Tony could take his next breath, Tharell had deeply embedded his long sword inside Tony's body.

  Tony's eyes had grown wide, his body slumping atop the blade. Tharell had grunted as he'd extracted it in a tight jerk toward his own body. Tony had fallen on his smug face.

  That had been Tony’s first and last attempt to try the bounds of the prison. Now this new plan was in full play.

  Jacqueline would get with child, and when the little wretch was whelped, Marcus would have an entire new problem to consider. They could not imprison a Singer of royal blood who carried offspring. It didn't matter that she had made a bid for Julia's life, the inept girl, or that they had discovered her contaminated blood.

  Jacqueline was royal enough.

  She curled her lips into a smile at Tharell's next words.

  “I have a proposition.”

  Excellent. Jacqueline smelled opportunity and it had nothing to do with her diminishing skills as Tracker.

  Jacqueline thought she caught a whiff of a metaphorical bleed from Tharell.

  She and Tony, sensing the potential for weakness, moved in for the kill.

  “And?” Jacqueline asked, feigning boredom. It was not as easy as it sounded while Tony made a production of zipping up his sizeable but now-deflated commodity inside his modern jeans.

  Her smile became genuine as she saw Tharell's clear distaste of Tony.

  “The Rare One has been taken,” Tharell stated in bald discourse.

  Even better news than expected. Jacqueline couldn't contain her glee. “Who's taken the girl?”

  Tharell ignored her question. “I will need a fey of mixed lineage who is also Singer to Hunt the Blood until she is rediscovered.”

  Jacqueline studied his face. Arrogant—certain. She twisted around to face Tony then glanced at Tharell over her shoulder. “Let me confer with my... mate,” she choked out.

  Tharell gave a stiff nod.

  Jacqueline walked to the far corner of their “cell,” actually a mockery of the outside. All begotten by old magick, it was a type of indigenous glamour where a false sky with perpetual twilight lit the area. Stars that would never twinkle were cast about in the deep navy folds as tangerine inked the edges like spilt juice.

  “He has asked for a Hunt the Blood,” Jacqueline whispered to Tony, who of course, ignored the finer points and grabbed her breast.

  “I could go again,” he said, twisting her nipple through the thin blouse she had donned.

  Jacqueline winced, trying for patience and finding none. Instead, bile churned in her empty stomach at the thought of him touching her again so soon. “Do that again and I shall freeze your lungs, you atrocious excuse for a male.” Though she knew not how long she could make good on that particular threat. Jacqueline hated the crude smile on his face but was relieved when his fingers fell from her.

  “You need me,” he said in a huff, folding his arms.

  “True, swine, but only until your seed takes hold. After that, you are no longer necessary.”

  He leaned forward, his breath hot and rancid a
gainst her face, and she held her own against his threatening body language. “When you have my whelp in your womb, it will not be a choice. You will be mine whether you wish it or no.” He used the old language, forcing her to listen.

  Jacqueline elected to ignore his threat, for now. “Fine. Play nice is all I ask. Stop hurting me.”

  Tony's eyebrows hiked. “You like it.”

  How could Tony's perversions exceed my own?

  She ignored the goad. “Tharell of the Sidhe must use us to find her.”

  Tony shrugged a shoulder. “I heard. I don't give two shits and a fuck. I want out of here. The why doesn't matter. It's results, Jackie.”

  Jacqueline ignored his overly familiar nickname. It seemed obtuse at this point to worry over it. She flipped her palm out. “And that is what this gives us—opportunity.”

  Tony's eyes narrowed. “All right, what's my role?”

  “It will be simple for you. Do not let on that there is any agenda other than the one you normally perpetuate.”

  Tony barked out a laugh. “Which is?”

  “Your typical brutish behavior,” Jacqueline answered easily.

  He drove a palm around her neck and jerked her to his mouth, plunging his tongue down her throat, gagging her with it. She beat at him with her fists. Finally, in desperation, she stole his breath.

  Her telekinetic talent was still strong. For now.

  Tony pulled away from her, gasping for air that wouldn't come. Her power was much diminished, dampened by the magick of the fey, the holding cell uniquely fashioned to weaken her powers. She gave it everything she had, drowning Tony in what remained.

  “Stop!” he croaked, driven to his knees. He clawed at her dress. The material wrapped around Jacqueline's ankles as he fought his body's need for oxygen.

  “Jacqueline of the Singers,” Tharell called out loudly.

  “Yes?” she asked without turning, enjoying Tony's plum-colored face. And his subservient position on the floor.

  “What is your decision: Will you help in the Hunt for Blood?”

  Jacqueline released Tony's airway. It had drained her immeasurably in the hostile environment of Faerie. Her shoulders dropped from the exertion.

  Tony glared up at her, his hands ringing his throat, his ass on his heels.

  “I shall,” she replied.

  “Be ready tomorrow morning at dawn... or whatever time I call you.”

  Tharell gave a curt chin dip and with a last glance at Tony, he spun on his heel, walking away.

  Tony grunted as he stood, using a hand upon his knee to hoist himself.

  But his gaze as he watched Jacqueline spoke of caution.

  Good, he would do well to be cautious of me. Jacqueline needed no one. Only herself. And those underneath her. Or that was all it had ever been—all she knew.

  “I have wounded you.” Tony growled in pleasure.

  Jacqueline felt the wetness between her thighs and scowled at him. On some level, she understood that self-hate was part of her nature. As it was a part of his.

  Who knew what the two of them would spawn together. Many would consider the mixed genetics too diluted to introduce anything of malicious intent. Jacqueline wasn't sure.

  Tony's hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist.

  “I can do more.”

  She placed a palm against his chest to resist, but her powers were depleted.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Slash struggled to awaken. He'd become instantly aware of the commotion all around him. He was shedding the drug like unwanted raindrops as his consciousness ticked closer to full tilt.

  He sat up in a moving truck. Five sets of eyes followed his movement.

  Slash opened his mouth and no sound came out. He had never been thirstier in his life. Jason Caldwell kicked a water bottle to him with his bound legs and Slash grabbed it. He took a long pull, silently capped it, and set it between his legs. A harsh breath slid out of him. Slash didn't panic easily even as he took in the apparent direness of their situation.

  His wrists burned where ligature marks deeply grooved his flesh. He fought not to rub them, feeling fortunate he was unbound. He easily caught the reflective eyes of his brethren, realizing only just then that they were Red—all.

  “They're taking us to Alaska,” the girl named Cynthia informed him quietly.

  Instead of answering, Slash located Adrianna, her face swollen where she'd been struck. His mouth tightened. She noticed his expression and looked away.

  Of course she did. Slash understood how awful he looked. Yet it was important he knew she was healing.

  “Adrianna,” he began, his discomfort around her acute, his desire to hide it even greater.

  Her face swung back to his. “Yes?” she asked while hiding her eyes from his gaze.

  Where was that spitfire nature he so relished? “Are you well?”

  Adrianna shook her head. He crawled to her and maintained a tense two-foot distance. Silently adding his presence without throwing it in her face.

  “I couldn't help anyone. Lily forced the change.”

  Slash sensed Adrianna blamed herself.

  He remembered it all. Very painful to be brought when the moon wasn't full; it had been a deliberate move to incapacitate. She could have done nothing. Slash was Alpha enough to change into his half-form, and once in a great while he could also bring himself if the moon was only a thumbnail in the sky.

  Adrianna was not Red, and she was hurting.

  His gaze wandered the cloistered, stuffy dark van and returned to study her. He was ashamed he had missed an opportunity to protect her while he slept off his drugged state. “What can I do to ease you?”

  Slash bit the inside of his lip when all he wished was to drag her into his arms and kiss away the bruises on her face.

  A fat tear made a clean spot on the van’s dusty floor as it shook its way down the highway.

  Slash stilled.

  Adrianna got up on her knees, the silver bindings tight. Blood oozed from her wrists, and he growled low in his throat in frustration that he could heal nothing.

  Cyn interpreted the look on his face. “I could heal her if we weren't bound in silver.”

  Slash nodded. She had the same limits as he.

  Turning back, he watched Adrianna painfully, slowly, walk the short distance to him. She fought the lurching truck, the hard floor that abraded her knees as she drew closer.

  Slash sat there. He couldn't tolerate rejection. He hoped the swampy darkness of the van box’s interior sufficiently hid his face.

  Adrianna moved until her knees met with his. She lowered her face to his shoulder.

  “What…?” Slash swallowed hard, never more self-conscious in his entire life. “What would you have of me, Adrianna?” Her warm breath bled through the light shirt he wore, and he suppressed a shiver. She owns me.

  That small gesture tightened the invisible ties that bound them.

  “Hold me,” she whispered against him. Two words that changed his life.

  The moment swelled... held. Slash let the air out of his lungs, draped muscular arms around her smaller body, and drew Adrianna into his lap. She curled up as best she could, her wrists so tightly bound she gave a little whimper when Slash adjusted her position.

  “I am sorry,” he said, feeling like an oaf.

  She shook her head, her hair pleasantly rubbing underneath his chin. It smelled of sweet female. His female.

  Slash’s hand hovered over the top of that silky hair. His eyes found Cynthia's, and he began to glance away, but not before she gave him a signal that took bravery to execute.

  She had nodded her head, and Slash let his hand fall against Adi's head from her silent encouragement.

  A breath eased out of Adrianna, and her cheek pressed deeper into Slash's broad chest. “Thank you, Slash.”

  His eyes burned. A heartbeat passed while he considered many things simultaneously. “You are most welcome,” he finally said. Slash moved his hand over her head again a
nd again. When her breaths grew deeper, more rhythmic, he slowed but did not cease the motion.

  Truman and Jason gave him identical knowing looks. He ignored them.

  The Alpha female he loved was tucked against his body. She had sought his protection. It was the most ancient of offerings. An Alpha female had only to submit to an Alpha male in just that way for the male to assume care over her during time of extreme duress or war.

  A male Were chose to accept the offering or not. Slash had no choice; Adrianna had claimed his heart long ago.

  It wasn't about choice but rather letting himself fall.

  In love.

  *

  Slash was driven rudely awake by a jolt as the van came to a stop. His arms automatically tightened around Adrianna and she awoke with a start, immediately followed by a groan.

  “What is it?” he asked, pushing the hair from her brown eyes. He saw her look at his face and self-consciously turned away.

  “Slash,” Adi said. He moved his face back an inch. Just enough for her to know he had heard her.

  “Yes.”

  “Stop that.”

  His eyebrows jerked in surprise. “What?”

  “Turning away from me.”

  Slash would have answered, but bright sunlight hit them like a slap and Slash threw a hand over his eyes to shield them from the brightness.

  “Good, you're awake. I've got the bullshit babysitting duty, so come along kiddies.”

  Slash stared at a Were he'd never seen before and found he instantly disliked him.

  “Fuck you, Ford, and the horse you rode in on,” Truman announced from the far corner. The two were definitely prior acquaintances.

  The Were's brows dumped over flinty eyes. Unforgiving ones.

  He stalked over to the corner and Truman stood up, facing his charge.

  “Listen, old man, I'm here to get you to hop out of this van, mark your territory and get the fuck back in the rig, got me?”

  Truman laughed and Slash had to admire his gumption because he was bound. But Slash was not.