by Tracy Tappan
Tonĩ put a hand over her mouth, tears stinging her eyes again. Had it really been her?
“And now I’m guessing you’re doing the same thing to this man of yours,” her mother said. “You’re running away from him, not because of whatever this not-awful thing is he did to you, but because you started to love him too much. And you got scared.” Shannon set both palms on the table, a loving ache entering her eyes. “You need to stop beating yourself up for the choices you made back then. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything absolutely right.” Grabbing her purse, Shannon reached inside and pulled out a photograph. “Here”—she set it on the table in front of Tonĩ—“it’s time you took this.”
A tear slipped from Tonĩ’s eye and rolled over her fingers. She didn’t look at the photo. She didn’t have to.
“I’ve kept it all these years,” her mother said softly, “knowing you’d want it someday.”
“I don’t.” Tonĩ reached out to shove the photo away, inevitably glancing at it. The paper was curled at the corners and yellowing around the edges, but the picture in the middle was startling clear. Acid lurched into her throat.
“Take it, Tonĩ.” Shannon gently pushed the picture back to her. “Show it to your new husband and tell him about it. When you see nothing but loving acceptance in his eyes, then maybe you’ll finally realize you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Tonĩ stared blurrily at the photo. “Oh, Jesus,” she moaned low, “Mom.”
Shannon reached across the table and gripped Tonĩ’s hand, holding it firmly while Tonĩ cried, her chin ducked to her chest and tears dropping steadily into her lap. She couldn’t believe she was crying in the middle of a bar, but there was nothing she could do about it. That photo had torn open an unhealed wound, and there was no getting around the excruciating anguish of something that had been festering within her for so many years.
When Tonĩ’s tears had finally eased to sniffles, Shannon patted her hand. “You okay, baby girl?”
Nodding, Tonĩ wiped at her eyes with the palms of her hands. “I…I should probably go, though.”
“Yes,” her mother agreed. “It sounds like your husband needs you.”
Tonĩ pushed unsteadily to her feet, feeling utterly drained.
Her mother put some money on the table, then stood, too, handing Tonĩ a tissue. “So when do I get to meet this man of yours?”
“Probably Christmastime. Sooner if I can arrange it.” Tonĩ blew her nose. “I should warn you, though, he’s…kind of scary-looking.”
“Is he?” Shannon laughed. “Okay.” She hugged Tonĩ tightly. “Email me, baby girl. I miss you so much.”
“I will.” Tonĩ squeezed her mother back. “A lot.”
The two women exited The Field, parting at the door. Tonĩ headed for the parking lot, spotting Arc, Gábor, and Thomal standing next to the community Pathfinder. Thomal made a pained face when he saw the evidence of her tears.
She came to a stop right in front of Arc, clutching the photo to her chest. “You don’t know anything about me Arc Costache,” she said, barely keeping a quaver from her voice, “the experiences I’ve had and the pain I’ve suffered. So I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your damned judgments about me and my marriage to yourself.”
“All right.” Arc shocked the devil out of her by pulling her into a quick brotherly hug. “Sorry, Doc.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Tonĩ made it all of two steps inside the Doubletree Hotel room, then slammed back against the door, her mouth gaping open on a frightened gasp.
Jaċken was coming at her like a Howitzer.
Arc, Gábor, and Thomal scattered in all directions, while Nỵko leapt to Jaċken’s side and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to a halt. “Jaċken—”
Jaċken snarled and curled his lip at Nỵko, showing his brother a pair of rapidly lengthening fangs.
“Listen to me,” Nỵko enunciated clearly, sounding amazingly unfazed. “You don’t want to scare your wife again, do you?” His voice dipped an octave. “Just let me talk to her a second.”
A sinew in Jaċken’s jaw shivered ruthlessly, but he nodded and stayed where he was.
Nỵko let go of his brother and looked at her. “Please don’t be afraid, Tonĩ, all right? Jaċken’s not Rău, and he’s not going that way. He’s just three days without blood and screwy. I imagine the last thing you want to do is let him feed before you’ve had a chance to talk things out, but—”
“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted. Dear God, her husband was a mess, his black hair sticking up all over his head like lacquered broomsticks, his eyes wild and bloodshot, his skin zombie pale. Huge sweat rings marked each armpit, while more perspiration painted a wide racing stripe down the middle of his pecs. “He just startled me at first, is all. I’m not afraid.”
“Okay,” Nỵko said, “good, that’s good. I’m going to leave this cell phone here for you, though, just in case.” He set it on the nightstand. “Press number one and it’ll automatically send out an emergency call to every warrior.”
“I won’t need it.”
“Of course not. It’s just to make you feel solid about things.” Nỵko gestured the other men out. “We’ll be down in the lobby bar.”
The four Vârcolac left, the door shutting softly behind them.
She exhaled raggedly. “I’m so sorry, Jaċken. I had no idea this was going to happen to you.”
He rushed over to her, his arms wrapping her in a shaky embrace. “I….” He gave her a turbulent look. “I don’t want to be too rough, but I’m….”
“You won’t be.” She grabbed his head and pulled his face down to her throat, every loving instinct in her just wanting to make him better.
With a groan, he plunged in his fangs, his jaw pumping hard against her throat as he sucked like a starving babe at the breast. His body shook, and again.
Her lips parted on a breath as Fiinţă swam through her, heat and pleasure beginning to—
Abruptly, Jaċken jerked out his fangs and collapsed onto his knees at her feet. “Oh, shit.” He clutched her around the middle, his cheek pressed to her belly. “Tonĩ, I…I’m the one who’s sorry. Jesus, if….” He sank all the way to the floor, hunching over, and grasped his head between his hands. “If I could let you divorce me, I would. I swear it.”
She knelt down beside him, her knees feeling a little squishy from that bolus of Fiinţă in her bloodstream. “I don’t want to divorce you.”
He lifted his head, showing her haunted eyes. “I hurt you,” he wrenched out. “I would’ve forced myself on you if the warriors hadn’t—”
“You were glazed-out and didn’t know what you were doing, and I…have to take my own share of responsibility for what happened.” She gently touched his sweat-soaked hair. “That night we cooked meatloaf, I’d just checked an O-stick. I saw I was heading into my fertile time, but I came out of the bathroom anyway.
Surprise flexed the skin across his face. “You did it on purpose?”
“Partly subconsciously, I think, but yes. I certainly didn’t know you were going to go Rău when I ovulated, but I think somewhere in my mind I was looking for any excuse to run away.”
He blinked hard, once, in confusion.
“Will you…sit with me for a minute while I try to explain?”
His brow cleared. “Of course.” Pushing to his feet, he moved slowly over to the bed with her and sat.
She picked up her purse from the floor, pulling out the photo her mother had given to her. She handed it to Jaċken, peering over his shoulder as he studied it, seeing what he saw: a blonde girl in a hospital delivery room, painfully young-looking, a bundled newborn baby in her arms. The expression on the girl’s face was something between amazed shock and anxious desperation. Tonĩ knew exactly what was going through the girl’s mind; that she was going to have to give up something soon that she deeply wanted to keep.
“That’s me,” she said around a lump in her throat.
Jaċke
n looked up from the picture and met her eyes.
She smiled weakly. “When I was a junior in high school, I had a stupid crush on a guy that led me into making an even stupider mistake, which got me pregnant.” She pointed to the baby in the picture, the lump in her throat nearly choking her. “I held my son for three minutes, thirty-two seconds, then never saw him again.” Tears flooded the corners of her eyes. “Ever.”
“Tonĩ….” Jaċken took hold of her hand.
“I know I did the right thing by giving him up for adoption. I was in high school and couldn’t have taken proper care of him. Other girls, maybe, but I was really immature and had low self-esteem. Now I understand that it was because of being a Dragon. My mother found a very good home for him, too, so I know he…he’s had a good life.” He’d be about sixteen by now. Was he good at sports like his dad? Did he like chocolate chip mint ice cream like she did? A cold, hollow feeling opened in the pit of her stomach like an echo. “Problem is,” she continued on a rasp, “even though my logical mind tells me all of that, my heart doesn’t agree most of the time.” The tears in her eyes tumbled down her cheeks. “I feel like I abandoned that little boy, just like…just like….”
“Just like your father did to you,” Jaċken filled in for her.
“Yes,” she sobbed.
“Ah, honey.” He drew her against his body and held her close. “I don’t know your father’s reasons for leaving, but I do know that he was an adult when he walked out on his wife and kids. In my eyes, that makes him a selfish bastard. Whereas you gave up a baby you obviously adored for your son’s welfare. That’s the furthest thing from selfish there is.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “You’re nothing like your old man, okay? You shouldn’t feel anything but proud of yourself for making what was probably the biggest and hardest sacrifice of your life.”
She pressed her face into his thick, sweaty shoulder, nodding mutely. She cried harder, though—really hard, sobs wrenching her chest and clutching at her throat.
“Tonĩ, it’s okay, really.” He was probably completely freaked out by her breakdown, but, God, she was stripped so raw, she couldn’t help it. “You’re such a caring person, honey; look how much you’ve done for the community and the Dragons in just two weeks. You gotta remember that about yourself.”
She gulped and sniffled, bringing herself back to some semblance of calm. “M-my mother says I’ve been pulling away from people ever since I gave up the baby, and…I think she’s right. Somewhere in my mind I must’ve decided that anyone I loved would eventually be lost to me, like my father, and then the baby, so I needed to leave first before I got hurt.” She leaned back and looked at her husband through swimming eyes. “I love you so much, Jaċken, more every day, and as idiotic as it sounds, that’s why I left you. I’m just so afraid of losing you, and…and being destroyed.”
He exhaled. “Okay, first off, that’s…uh, probably the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He ran a hand down the side of her hair. “Secondly, are you insane? Leaving you is an absolute impossibility, you have to know that. Besides the fact that I’m biologically bonded to you, I’m batshit crazy in love with you, too.”
“I know you wouldn’t leave me on purpose, but…well, you could die.”
He snorted. “I’m not going to die.”
“You don’t exactly have a desk job, Jaċken.”
“Tonĩ, I’m not going to—”
The door exploded open with a thunderous crash, hitting the wall with enough force to send the doorknob bulleting off and splinters rupturing from the frame.
Tonĩ screamed as the Topside Om Rău she’d come to know as Spike Boy barreled into the hotel room with a rifle in his hands.
Jaċken threw his body in front of her.
Spike Boy lifted the weapon, sighted….
And shot Jaċken in the head.
Chapter Forty
Spike Boy launched himself at Tonĩ, and she screamed again, scrambling backward, her heels digging into the mattress. Fear rocketed adrenaline through her, and her heart sped into an impossible beat.
Spike Boy seized her by the ankle and dragged her across the mattress.
With a sharp, discordant breath, she kicked Spike Boy’s hold off, the side of her shoe scraping a patch of skin off his hand.
“Shite!” he snarled, white liquid oozing from his cut. “You bloody diesel!”
She rolled onto her hands and knees and clambered to the bedside table, grabbing the cell phone Nỵko had left there, and—
Spike Boy threw himself on top of her.
The cell phone slipped in her grip, dangling precariously from her fingertips.
“Now, now, no scarperin’ off, Tonĩ love.” Spike Boy yanked the phone out of her hands and hurled it against the wall.
Her heart drummed a pattern of panic in her chest. She’d managed to plant her thumb on number one, but had it been long enough to send a signal?
Rearing above her, Spike Boy planted a knee in the small of her back and wrenched her arms behind her.
She struggled and yelled, her stomach heaving into her throat.
Spike Boy zipped a plastic spot-tie around her wrists, then flipped her onto her back and stuffed a ball gag into her mouth.
No! She hissed a breath from her nostrils, her eyeballs flexing in terror against their sockets. A scream pounded against her larynx. Jaċken! But her husband was knocked out on the floor. Not dead, thank you, God—Spike Boy had used pellets again—but certainly in no position to help her.
Spike Boy hefted himself off her, pausing to rake his gaze over her body. “Fuck me ragged, but you’re a right fine piece.” His black eyes glittered. “It’s goin’ to be a bit of all right knobbin’ you, especially between the—”
The sound of the hotel door opening brought Spike Boy’s head whipping around.
The Vârcolac were entering the room—they’d received her call!—but they were coming in slowly and cautiously, no doubt figuring they’d be arriving in the middle of a marital spat.
Spike Boy had plenty of time to move into ambush position.
Thrashing her legs, Tonĩ tried to scream a warning around her ball gag.
Thomal was first through the door, his eyes jerking wide at the unexpected presence of an Om Rău.
Spike Boy grabbed Thomal by the throat and testicles. “Another ’round with you, is it?” He tossed Thomal across the room, sending him smashing through the fourth floor window in an explosion of razor-edged glass.
“Thomal!” Arc shouted. He pulled a Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon across the room after his brother, flinging his body halfway through the broken window just in time to catch Thomal by the forearm. The two men dangled there as Spike Boy snatched his rifle off the hotel table and swung toward—
Gábor let fly a knife.
The blade sliced deep into Spike Boy’s shoulder, white acid spraying. The Om Rău yelled and dropped his weapon.
Nỵko surged in behind Gábor, hissing when he saw Tonĩ trussed up like a prize deer, and Jaċken sprawled out on the floor. He reached for a knife on his belt—
Another Om Rău—Skull—appeared behind Nỵko in the hotel doorway, his own rifle up. Sh-zip. He took out Gábor.
Eye-blink quick, Nỵko spun around and snatched up the barrel of the rifle, ramming the stock back into Skull’s face, driving the man’s nasal bone into his brain. Skull’s face tilted skyward, flat as a plate, white acid fountaining in all directions. As the Om Rău timbered over like a felled oak tree, Nỵko snatched the rifle out of his hands, whirled, and shot Spike Boy twice. Sh-zip, sh-zip.
The pellets splatted harmlessly against Spike Boy’s leather jacket. He laughed. “We’re immune to the enchantment, tosser. Why else do ye think we swan about with these pellet rifles? They can never be used against—”
Nỵko rushed him.
Spike Boy stomped on the butt of his own rifle, flipping it up into his hands. Sh-zip. “—against us.”
Nỵko dropped to the floor.
Spike Boy turned, saw Arc still dangling, and pegged the blonde warrior with two pellets.
Arc crumbled out of the window, falling four stories down with his brother to the street below.
Tonĩ let out a strangled cry.
Spike Boy sauntered over to the bed and stared down at Tonĩ with those shiny black eyes of his. “Well, shite, Sunshine, looks like everyone’s catchin’ a good forty winks now.” His lips pulled back from his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “No rescuin’ for you today, love. What a bleedin’ shame.”
Chapter Forty-one
S>edge Stănescu rolled his shoulders to settle the blazer into a better fit across his body, grimacing as he did. The monkey suit was annoying the hell out of him. His thick, broad body just wasn’t made for pulling off “businessman” comfortably, but he had to look the part of a reputable, up-and-coming newscaster for this performance. Although his overall “look” probably wasn’t being helped much by the insane rage pouring off him in scalding waves.
Damn it, the dick-breath was late.
Sedge started to pace again. What kind of unprofessional piece of shit couldn’t manage to—
A knock sounded at the hotel door.
Dev Nichita swiveled his head toward Sedge, his silver eyes lighting up with savage Pure-bred fire. Dev’s lust for violence was nearly as heated as Sedge’s.
“Do you think maybe you can ratchet down the psycho killer a bit, Nichita?” Sedge said in a low tone. “You look like a vampire right now, and one who’s totally pumped to disembowel a guy.”
With a quick lift of his brows, Dev said, “Have you taken a look at your own face in the mirror, Stănescu?”
“Yeah, I know.” Sedge drew in a deep, calming breath. “Let’s both put a lid on it, okay? I don’t want to blow this.”
Dev nodded, inhaled his own chillax breath, then crossed to the door. Putting on his best grin, he threw open the door. “Tim Armbruster!” he exclaimed, reaching out and pumping the football star’s hand vigorously. “It’s a real pleasure, man. Over a thousand yards rushing, eight TDs this season…. You’re my favorite running back of all time.”
