by Tracy Tappan
Antoinetta let out a startled cry, her eyes widening on his forearm tattoos. “Holy crap! You’re one of those cult freaks!” Leaping at Jess, she seized the doctor by the top of his hair and cranked his head back, setting the tip of the letter opener at his throat.
Jess squeaked in alarm.
Roth roared to his feet as if he’d been goosed in the ass by an ice pick. “No!” he shouted. “Please, I beg you to take care, Dr. Parthen.” He held out a staying hand. “Blood is sacred to us, and if you draw Dr. Jess’s that…that will be an act of claiming him.”
Unfortunately, in her humanness, she couldn’t give Roth’s warning the weight it warranted. “Then I suggest”—she dug in the tip of the opener deeper to emphasize her point—“you unlock that door and let me out of here right now!”
“Dear heavens!” Roth gestured emphatically at Jaċken. “Stop her before she does something irrevocable.”
Finally, action. Jaċken stepped forward—
It might not be said he could move as fast as a Dragon warrior, but he could definitely get his ass in gear when necessary. Fast enough, at least, to stupefy the hell out of Antoinetta. Her eyes rounded when she found him suddenly standing right in front of her, his fingers wrapped around her weapon hand. Locking eyes with his target, he forcibly pulled the letter opener clear of Jess’s throat.
The doctor scrambled out of the way, smoothing a manicured hand down the front of his silk paisley tie.
Antoinetta’s blue eyes blazed furiously, the heat of her gaze sending blood pounding against Jaċken’s temples and into his ears. He applied steady pressure to her hand, but she wouldn’t give up the letter opener. Stupid woman. He twisted her arm down and behind her, then realized his own stupidity when the move brought her jerking up against him, her full breasts squashing into his chest. An electrical charge went through him, a burning heat landing right in his groin.
Antoinetta’s cheeks flushed a brilliant red, the plump softness of her breasts rising and falling unsteadily against the underside of his pecs.
His balls tightened at the feel of her. Her powerful scent tunneled into the ventricles of his brain. A noise came out of him, a deep, guttural something. It rolled up from his gut and rumbled from his chest, sending a warning vibration through his fangs. Antoinetta clearly found the animal quality of it convincing. Her arm went slack. He took the invitation and tugged the letter opener from her grasp, then stepped back and jammed it into his belt. Without missing a beat, he grabbed her by the shoulders, propelled her back over to her chair, and ass-planted her into the seat.
Air spilled out of her in a heavy rush, her cheeks leaching of color as her eyes went stark with fear.
Yeah, he’d guess it was finally sinking into her brain pretty damned firmly that she was completely at their mercy. That part of him that didn’t like to mess up women? It was an all over body-throb.
Easing back into his own chair, Roth gave her a look of genuine regret. “I apologize for the necessity of that, Doctor. We truly don’t want to hurt you.”
She swallowed visibly, casting an apprehensive glance over her shoulder at Jaċken.
Roth, ever the peacekeeper, gave him a discreet back-off nod.
Jaċken moved out from behind Antoinetta’s chair and took up his usual position next to Roth’s desk.
Roth offered Antoinetta a sympathetic smile. “I understand your fear, I really do, what with all the lore and legend that has traditionally surrounded vampires. Let me unequivocally assure you, doctor, that Vârcolac are not monsters. We’re not undead creatures who sleep in coffins and transform humans with our bites. We can see our reflections in mirrors. We aren’t driven off by garlic or crucifixes, although,” he added dryly, “a sharp object like a letter opener being driven into our hearts will kill us.” Roth let out a sigh. “Those are just hyped-up lies invented by our enemies years ago. We’re quite human, doctor, just a different…species of human, if you will. Look at us and you’ll agree there’re many similarities between our races.” He gestured broadly. “We laugh, we cry, we—”
“Suck blood?” The question was asked in no more than a whisper.
Jaċken nearly rolled his eyes. Guaranteed she was imagining some pasty-faced fiend swooping down on her and plunging stalactite-looking fangs into her neck. Dracula 101 crap all the way.
“That….” Roth cleared his throat. “Yes. That’s something we do. We call it feeding, but we don’t do it for any sinister purpose, rather because of a limitation to our physiology, that blood-need I described earlier. It’s a weakness, certainly, as is our inability to go out into the sunlight; we’re severely allergic to vitamin D, I’m afraid. But our breed also has many strengths. We’re physically stronger than regular humans, we can move faster, and our senses are more highly attuned in many areas. Can you imagine the benefits we could’ve brought to the human race had we been allowed to do so? What kind of soldiers we would’ve made, or detectives or researchers or—”
“Please, Mr. Mihnea.” She held up a hand. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe any of this. I’m a scientist, and none of what you’re saying fits in with my knowledge of how the world works.”
“Ah, yes.” Roth stood up and strode around to her. “People of science tend to need concrete proof. I remember that with Ellen, our dentist.” He settled his hip on the edge of the desk, gesturing at the blood graph and photo next to him. “Something more tangible than these, I imagine?”
“No. I—Really. I’d just like for us to agree to accept our differences and go our separate ways.”
Roth looked over at Jaċken as if she hadn’t spoken. “Where are Dr. Parthen’s mate-choices at present?”
Jaċken glanced down at his watch. “In the gym training.”
“Excellent. They’re right down the hall. Jess, my good man, would you mind bringing them here?” Roth smiled. “I believe now would be a good time for Dr. Parthen to meet her future husband.”
Chapter Seven
Somewhere along the way, Toni’s brain had come unplugged. There wasn’t much going on inside her mind except a lot of white noise, backed by a repetitive holy crapping chant which seemed to be caught in an endless loop. No grand plans about how to get herself out of this disaster, that was for damned sure.
Okay, time to regroup. Line up her thoughts into a manageable row.
Right. The main thing was to Stay Calm. Panicking could only lead her into more acts of stupidity, like threatening three men who were in top-notch condition—one who looked to be set on permanent wanna-kick-your-ass mode—with little more than a letter opener. Not the best of ideas.
Behaving idiotically wasn’t her usual style, but in her own defense, this was the first time a group of individuals had drugged her, kidnapped her, told her they wanted to use her as a brood mare because she was a “dragon,” and then claimed to be “vampires.” Uh huh. Here’s what was really happening; she’d woken up on the TV show Scare Tactics, and any minute now Shannen Doherty was going to jump out and jeer, “Ha, ha, you fell for it, you boob.” See, because the last she’d checked, there was, you know, no such thing as vampires.
She fidgeted in her chair, her fingers flexing and releasing around the armrests. Okay, door number two, Bob. This wasn’t a reality TV hoax. She was being held hostage by a bunch of schizoid delusional freaks who appeared to have formed a cult—or, ahem, “community”—for all of their schizoid delusional followers. Oh, God…. Her throat shut off. A cult. What she wouldn’t give to go back to these guys being Mafia.
The moment she’d seen the tattoos on that Jaċken creature’s forearms was pretty much the moment her self-control had gone bye-bye. The marks were almost exactly the same as the tattoo she’d seen on that corpse’s jaw the night of the crime scene, although Jaċken’s were more like black interlocking lines, rather than flames…no, not lines: long, swooping teeth of the kind on a saber-toothed tiger. Seeing them had instantly filled her mind with nightmare images of having her skin stripped off her body in a ri
tual satanic killing.
Tension coiled across her shoulders as she tried to imagine what these sickos planned on doing to her. The possibilities, especially those of a sexually deviant nature, were endless. Just her luck that she’d ended up being kidnapped, not just into some vampire cult, but into a vampire sex cult.
“Ah, here they come.” Roth rose smoothly to his feet at the sound of male voices approaching. He pushed a button and the double doors buzzed open.
Dr. Jess reentered with three men trailing him, a blond, a brunette, and a black-haired one.
She came stiffly out of her own chair, schooling her face into an indifferent expression. The last thing she’d wanted from her challenge of Roth’s claims of vampirism was a meet-and-greet with the “vampires” she was expected to do the nasty with. Whatever concrete proof he planned to show her using them, she didn’t even want to try and imagine.
The three drew up in front of her, and only her years trained in the art of keeping bad diagnoses from her face allowed her to deadpan her reaction to them, because, Jesus, they were all ridiculously gorgeous.
To a man, they had physiques to die for, their powerful builds only enhanced by the dark workout gear they were wearing. Each was dressed in black wrestling shoes, a black lycra T-shirt, and black shorts styled after Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. The trim cut of the shorts emphasized each man’s…er, potency in a manner that gave the impression of straining seams and near-popping front laces.
Heat crept into Toni’s cheeks, and she forced her eyes away. How long had it been since she’d had sex, that she’d be staring goggle-eyed at the packages of men who were no better than Jim Jones wannabes?
Roth set right to the explanation of how matters stood. “Dr. Parthen and I have been discussing some of the distinctive traits of our breed, but, as one might expect, she’s having a bit of difficulty accepting the authenticity of everything without some proof. Ergo, I thought this might be a good opportunity for her to meet all of you and familiarize herself with your unique qualities.”
“Familiarize?” The blond, who had enough innate sex appeal to melt iron, despite some fading bruises on his throat and bloodshot eyes, cocked a single brow. “You mean, like…she wants to give us a medical examination?”
“Works for me.” The one with black hair, matching goatee, and a small Bad Boy gold hoop earring dangling from his left earlobe, glanced around the room. “Where do you want us to undress?”
Her face burned hotter. “I don’t think—”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Roth jumped in.
“Cut the shit, Nichita,” Jaċken snapped.
“Yes, sir.” Bad Boy winked at her.
“You see, Dr. Parthen, there are different breeds of Vârcolac,” Roth explained, “within the entirety of the species, and each one has an extraordinary ability.” He laid a hand on Bad Boy’s shoulder. “Devid Nichita here can—”
“Excuse me, but please, it’s Dev,” Bad Boy corrected. “I hate Devid.”
Well, she could relate to that sentiment. She’d always thought her mother had been suffering from a severe case of postpartum dementia to have named her Antoinetta. But Shannon had always claimed she’d just been compelled to give her children majestic-sounding names, and to this day she was grumpy that Alexander went by Alex, and Antoinetta, by Toni.
“Dev’s a Pure-bred Vârcolac,” Roth continued, “like myself and Dr. Jess. You can always tell a Pure-bred by their black hair and their ability to grow facial hair. A Pure-bred can also see in the dark and light up his eyes. You’ll be impressed by that, surely.”
Dev bobbed his eyebrows at her and grinned broadly, displaying a mean set of canines.
She took a step back. She couldn’t believe someone would purposely file down his teeth like that. It had to have hurt like hell. But then again, none of these men was altogether there in the sanity department, were they?
“This is Thomal Costache and Kasson Korzha,” Roth introduced the other two.
Kasson, the brunette, had a boyish-looking cowlick in the front of his hair, and what appeared to be a serious case of the fidgets.
“They’re what we call Mixed-bloods,” Roth said, “meaning they have both Dragon and Vârcolac ancestry in their bloodlines. Dragons always have light hair: blonde, just like yours,” he made sure to emphasize, “or varying shades of brown. The blonder they are, the more Dragon they have in them. Dragons can move with blurring speed. They also have a full dragon tattoo on their backs, but their creatures—unlike the washed-out tattoo that Dragon humans such as yourself have—are made of colorful scales. I thought we’d start by showing one to you.”
“Ho, really?” Thomal’s face brightened while Bad Boy Dev turned his eyes to the ceiling and muttered a curse.
“Kasson.” Roth gestured Cowlick forward. “Come here, let’s have you—”
“God, no way!” Kasson jerked backward, his eyes rounding.
A frown tugged at Roth’s mouth.
“I-I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t get close to her. She…she….” Kasson closed his eyes and moaned. “She smells.”
Toni tucked in her chin. I what?
“I’m afraid I might….” Kasson shook his head. “Oh, this is bad.”
Roth looked nonplussed. “I don’t understand. Are you saying she’s more pungent than the other Dragons?”
Jaċken answered that. “Definitely.”
Flushing, Toni self-consciously squeezed her arms against her ribcage, closing off her armpits. Steeped in hospital yuk for a day and two nights, she probably did smell like an unpleasant combination of rubbing alcohol, latex, and orange Jell-O, but there hadn’t exactly been time to take a shower.
“Interesting.” Roth turned to Dr. Jess. “Are you picking up on it?”
“No.”
“You two are mated males,” Jaċken said tightly. “For an unmated, it’s pure torture.” He gestured at the other men. “Trust us on that.”
Dr. Jess crossed his arms, the finger of one hand pressed contemplatively against his lips. “What does she smell like?”
Dev snorted. “Nothing that can be described politely.” He glanced at Thomal. “Was it this strong at the hospital?”
“Vinz’s blood was around, so—”
Hospital! “Oh, my God!” Toni burst out. “You’re Nurse Fine Ass!” Glaring, she pointed an accusing finger at Thomal. “You drugged me, you big jerk!”
Thomal’s expression flared wide with astonishment. “Hey, whoa!” He threw up his hands. “I was just doing my job, okay? Don’t get mad.”
“Nah, get as mad as you want, Doc.” Dev slung an arm around Thomal’s shoulders. “And feel free to have this jerk bounced off your list of mate-choices. You have other options, you know.”
Thomal shoved Dev off him. “She doesn’t want to get rid of me, Nichita. Weren’t you listening?” Thomal settled a pair of stunning blue eyes on her. “She just said I have a fine ass.”
“All right, enough of this,” Roth intervened. “Let’s move on to the demonstrations. Dr. Parthen, if you would take a seat….”
She closed her eyes. Demonstrations? Oh, this day was turning into a regular party.
Chapter Eight
The computer clicked, then whirred its way into the boot process, making noises that were as familiar to Alex Parthen as his own heartbeat and always oddly relaxing. He propped his feet up on the desk and took a sip of morning coffee from his UC Berkley mug.
He smiled as he thought back to his student days. He’d been such a rage-against-the-machine hippie at that liberal school, shuffling around in flip-flops, cut-off shorts, and a tie-dyed tank top with a peace symbol like a bull’s eye smack in the middle of it. He and his computer buddies used to get into one hacker war after another to see who could topple the government’s “tower of power.”
Alex swung his feet off the desk as his computer settled into a low, friendly hum. It was kind of ironic to think about those rabidly anti-government days now, especially since
the main contract for his at-home business was the DoD. He glanced down at himself and chuckled. He supposed he did look a bit like a stuffed shirt, too, what with his fondness for khaki Dockers, plaid button-downs, and gold-rimmed glasses. But, hey, at least he wasn’t strangling himself with a damned necktie every day.
Grabbing the mouse, he opened his Gmail account and scanned for news from his sister. Ah! He clicked on her email.
Had dinner at Wasabi’s last night, good, but overpriced. Off to another seminar…Sorry to be in such a rush these days. Love you.
Alex frowned. Since when did their conversations revolve around restaurant choices? And Toni didn’t like sushi.
The doorbell rang.
Great, the FedEx guy. Setting down his mug, Alex hopped up and grabbed the disc he was sending off for Beta testing. He headed out of his office, sliding the disc into a preaddressed envelope as he cut across the brightly lit jungle that passed for his living room. He loved plants: ferns, palms, Pothos…. He opened the front door and—
Hey, not the FedEx courier. The man on his porch looked like a pretty regular guy, though, dressed in Levi’s, cowboy boots, and a collared maroon shirt under a navy windbreaker. He was about Alex’s height, though brown-haired instead of blondish-reddish, and sans glasses. He had an athletically lean body and eyes that were green or blue, kind of turquoise, maybe. Alex had never met the dude.
“Hello, may I help you?” he asked, setting the disc aside on an empty plant stand, whose occupant was currently draining in the kitchen sink.
“I hope so,” the guy responded pleasantly. “Are you Alexander Parthen?”
He was tempted to come back with depends on who’s asking, but the guy didn’t look like a missionary or an insurance salesman, so he just said, “Yes.”
The dude reached into his windbreaker and pulled out a wallet. “I’m Detective John Waterson, SDPD.” He flipped it open. Not a wallet, after all, but a badge.
