Once a fool over a woman never a fool again, is my motto.
Anyway, if it wasn’t for Marcus interceding on my behalf during our last visit here, my head would now be separated from my body. I was much younger when the incident with Torbic’s concubine occurred; I’m much wiser now. Not that I act the part—carefree, take-nothing-seriously-Rondy is my best disguise. I guard the real me carefully. There are too many humans who need my special skills, and I don’t want people, mainly my extended family of vampires and beastkind friends, watching me too closely. So, juvenile Rondy with the pathetic vampire name is who they see, and I plan to keep it that way. Now, I just need to get through this bullshit so I can move forward in my secret life.
Marcus lifts the ornate knocker. It’s a gold wolf’s head with nice shiny teeth. Of course, because of my endless luck, it’s Letta who answers. She’s the young and beautiful werewolf concubine who gave me the outstanding hand job the last time I was here. Answering the door means she’s no longer one of Torbic’s favorites. I should feel bad for what happened, but I don’t. It felt too damn good.
“Greetings, Letta. We are here for our meeting with your master,” Marcus tells her, as if she doesn’t know.
The entire master thing irritates me, too. Liege is a much better title for a vamp, and it tends to be one that beastkind can comfortably live with. When in Rome and all that shit just doesn’t work for me, but Marcus plays the game to perfection. It’s why he’s usually the ambassador for the American vampires. Cherie, the liege of the Eastern American clan, told the other American vampires that she would return for a council visit when hell froze over. Marcus and I are here because hell is still pretty damn hot. Again, it’s all about the fucking politics, and Europe and Asia wanting to know that America keeps its youngest vamp on a tight leash.
“Please follow me,” Letta’s soft voice returns my focus to her. She rocks a sari, and I like the bits of mocha flesh that peek out as she strolls in front of us.
She glances over her shoulder, and her hungry gaze locks with mine. When I say hungry, I mean “sexually unsatisfied and needs to be fucked in the next sixty seconds hungry”. She finally turns away, and we follow her through the mausoleum that Torbic considers home. The house is right out of a Count Dracula black and white film, and needs updating like the Chicago Cubs need to win a World Series. Chances are good that neither will happen this century.
Letta’s sky-blue sari enhances her skin, and I want a slow lick. Her black hair is pinned up in an intricate bun. Letta has a shitload of silky hair, and it’s really a shame that it isn’t flowing down her back. Her hips continue to sway in front of us, and I wonder if we will have a chance to find another empty hallway while I’m here. Marcus’ elbow connects with my ribs, and I give a slight grunt. He knows exactly what I’m thinking.
We follow Letta to a large, formal dining room where the scourge of Canada, Europe, Asia, and Africa are seated. Letta leaves and closes the double doors behind her. The room goes deathly quiet as all eyes turn to Marcus. There are thirteen men and women present at what is known as the Council of Thirteen. With the arrival of Marcus, they’re all here—eleven men and two women. Without fanfare, Marcus takes the only empty seat. Being an unclean vampire, I stand behind him… when in India, and all that. Several of the vamps have their own unclean vamps in attendance, too, but I don’t look at them. My gaze goes to Torbic.
His head is covered in a turban, and he’s just as pretty as the last time I saw him. Handsome or manly are not his style. Pretty works best. I’m in my standard Goth attire, though I left my full-length leather coat back in the hotel room because of the warm weather. I’m wearing black jeans tucked into black kick-ass military boots, and a black, button-down silk shirt. My eyes are accented with tattooed liner to help give my youthful appearance a touch of sinister. I don’t decorate my face like pretty-boy, who adds curlicues to his eyes and eyebrows. I’ve darkened my lips, but have never put on red lipstick, which Torbic uses in abundance. No wonder his concubine looks to me to get her off. My appearance might not agree with some, but what straight man in his right mind tries for the pretty-boy look that Torbic goes for? I think even a gay man would cringe.
Torbic the Tasteless, as I’ve dubbed him, offers the official greeting, which is part of protocol. “Welcome, Marcus, liege and master of the Southwest American clan and representative of the American vampire coalition.”
Torbic completely ignores me after Marcus nods his head.
It’s very hard to keep my mouth shut and not introduce myself as Rondy the Great, fifteen-year vampire, currently residing in a high-rise apartment and attending evening college acting classes while helping humanity on the side. That would put them in their place or have my head removed, which a safer bet, so I remain silent.
Torbic’s gavel, which is made of human ancestral bones, slams down on the table and I lose my opportunity.
The discussion, as usual, begins with a rundown of pack alphas, the growing pack numbers now that beastkind can produce children with different types of shifters, and possible dangerous rumblings from beastkind, who may or may not like the current state of vampires holding dominion over them.
Beastkind and vampires were at war many centuries ago. The war was brutal, and both sides were in jeopardy of annihilation. It takes approximately ten beastkind with a single purpose to take down a vampire. I give the weres credit for getting their shit together and making headway against the vamps. The war ended when, completely by accident, it was discovered that vampires gain strength by feeding off beastkind blood and beastkind gain eternal life by providing blood to the vamps. Who knew?
The number of vampires living in most countries is kept to a minimum, because vampires are more afraid of each other than they are of beastkind. However, the vamps love nothing more than discussing the pending unrest of beastkind, which goes along perfectly with the doom and gloom philosophy they’re so stuck on. The vamps of the United States, who I claim as friends, don’t have this problem. We keep our own politics private and don’t tell the council that beastkind are our friends and gladly give us loyalty. This allows us to continue sitting at the council’s table. Well, they allow Marcus to sit, while I gather dust as his lowly assistant. Cherie tried to convince the Council of Thirteen that our way of civility among vamps and weres worked better for all involved. It went over like a ton of bricks falling on eggs. Thus, the hell freezes over comment.
The American vamps also have higher standards for granting eternal life, and it has nothing to do with fear. We know eternity is a dangerous bedfellow, and must be approached with caution. To my family of American vampires, it’s all about loyalty.
I still don’t understand why The Moor turned me. I have no territory, and Treson is my only beastkind friend who would claim me as liege. Talya, as mate of Ivan, has her own clan and responsibilities.
Again, vamp politics drive me abso-fucking-lutely insane.
The meeting moves into its second hour, and my mind wanders to Letta and the slim possibility of a liaison before I leave. Even after the fiasco of my last visit, Letta showed up at my hotel room and finished what we started in Torbic’s hallway. It’s not just her fingers she’s good with.
A soft female voice breaks into the conversation. “We need to speak of the separation of our youngest tiger.” My immoral thoughts come to a halt. The female vamp’s name is Hiruka, and she represents the Japanese delegation. She’s a stunning woman and soft-spoken, but I have no doubt she’s as deadly as she is beautiful. You don’t sit on this council if you can’t back up your shit.
I replay what I think I heard her say in my mind, and freeze on tiger. What the hell?
“She is in great pain and in need of our mercy,” Hiruka continues. She looks down at the table in practiced supplication and whispers, “I granted mercy to her sister, and do not wish the role again.”
I am about to ask what the hell she’s talking about, when Marcus’ hand swings back and his fingers dig into my
thigh. My muscle cramps, and it takes everything I have not to groan. I keep my mouth shut.
Saloret, a creepy vampire with greasy, shoulder-length hair, an anorexic face, and who most likely eats newborn babies for breakfast, says, “I would consider it an honor to grant mercy to the young tigress.”
Marcus’ fingers flex again. He must realize that he’s about to puncture the muscle, because he jerks his hand away, and I’m able to breathe again.
Marcus turns his head from Saloret to Torbic. “I would also be honored to grant mercy.”
Why the fuck is Marcus getting involved in this?
I glance at Saloret. Fury is all but pouring off him, and his eyes have gone completely amber. Bad vampire. Marcus’ shoulders are rigid, and something is playing out here that is far beyond my understanding. At least I know, without looking, that Marcus has control of his eyes.
I shift my gaze to Torbic, who is smiling. His lips are so “pretty” I wanna puke. It also assures me that whatever is happening is not good for me or Marcus. Torbic hates us.
“I believe a challenge is in order,” Torbic says, with a delighted gleam in his eyes.
Saloret stands. “I accept the challenge,” he says, his eyes remaining amber.
Now Marcus stands and nods in Saloret’s direction. “I also accept the challenge.”
Fuck, why did I come? I know Marcus can kick Saloret’s ass, but that doesn’t mean I’m good with the turn of events. It’s hard for me to stand by as an onlooker when I prefer to be in the action. I place my hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “Are you sure about this?” I whisper, even though I know every vamp in the room can hear me.
Marcus turns his head, not a touch of amber in his eyes, and gives me a wicked smile. “I should be asking you that question. You will fight Saloret’s second.”
I look over Marcus’ shoulder to see Saloret’s second, Caleb, who is a 250-pound vampire made of pure muscle, giving me the evil eye. I give the second a long wink and a black-lipped grin. I raise my voice a bit, but bend slightly to Marcus’s ear, “Please tell me this is to the death.”
Chapter Three
Rondy the Bloody
Okay, so the rules aren’t exactly to my liking; the fight is not to the death. That would be uncivilized, and more like the beastkind way of doing challenges. Goddess forbid vamps sink as low as beastkind. I can’t wait to give Treson the lowdown, though.
“Any chance I could get you to focus on what I’m telling you?” Marcus interrupts my thoughts.
We’re in an upper bedroom and have about twenty minutes to get our asses downstairs, or we forfeit. I give Marcus my full attention, but can’t hide my grin.
“Youth,” he mutters before continuing his pep talk. “Caleb will try to kill you, even though it’s not condoned. He won’t fight fair, and he won’t be judged if he manages to kill you. On the other hand, I will be judged if you kill him. We have very little political power here, and I need you to remember that.”
“You take the fun out of everything,” I say, with an even wider grin.
Marcus slaps the side of my head. “I swear you will be the death of me. This is important, Rondy. What Saloret will do with the tigress before he kills her will not be pretty. I, on the other hand, will grant her the quick death she’s entitled to.”
My grin disappears. “Let me get this straight: either way, this tigershifter dies?”
“Yes, and I don’t have time to explain. I just need you to go out there and do what you do.”
I give Marcus a long look. Is he aware of what I do on the side? I can’t ask him, or I’ll give myself away. Better to keep my mouth shut. “You owe me a full explanation of this crap as soon as I take care of the douche.”
“Agreed.”
The challenge will take place in the courtyard behind the house. Torbic’s servants steer us in the general direction as we walk through his mausoleum. Torches are lit around a center ring that has a six-inch lip and is filled with sand. The ring is about twenty-five feet across. A shirtless Caleb is flexing his muscles, and manages a grunt when he sees us approach. It sounds like he’s constipated.
I unbutton the cuffs of my shirt before moving to the front buttons. My black shirt most likely won’t show blood, but I take it off anyway. I’m not like Caleb, with swollen muscles and a small dick. I carry lean muscle that’s deceiving. I’ve also spent many hours sparring with Dmitri and The Moor. Both vampires make the Council of Thirteen quake in their boots. Not that Marcus isn’t badass, but he is the most civilized of the American vamps. I’ve only tussled with him once, and he kicked my ass. That was when I was newly-made, and he needed me to know that he wouldn’t put up with my shit. I’m no longer that boy, and if Marcus can still kick my ass, at least I wouldn’t make it easy for him.
I’m not mentioning my dick size, but I will say that the ladies don’t complain.
I hand my shirt to Marcus and enter the center of the ring, as per Marcus’ earlier instructions. Caleb also moves forward and faces me. The Council of Thirteen and Torbic’s mostly female household have come to watch as well. It’s strange that I don’t see Letta. I also see no bets being placed, which is shit. Marcus could make a boatload of cash if all these people bet on Caleb’s large size.
Not only is Caleb bigger, but he stands about four inches taller than I do, and, by the looks of how his arms hang, he has a much longer reach than I do. His bald head gives him an added tough-guy appearance. A bit of unrest outside the ring causes me to take my eyes off my opponent, which is never wise. Seriously, though, Caleb doesn’t scare me in the least. I’ve dubbed him ‘Mr. Clean’.
Two men about Caleb’s size are dragging Letta through the crowd. She’s terrified. Torbic steps into the ring and waits until Letta is brought before him. He grabs a handful of her recently- unbound hair, and jerks her around so she faces me and Caleb. Tears are running down her face, and she’s visibly shaking.
“I have found disfavor with my concubine, and have decided to sweeten the pot. Whoever wins the challenge will also have full rights and ownership of this beauty.”
I would think Letta would have pleading eyes cast in my direction, but she’s looking past me in terror. I turn slowly and follow her gaze. I see lust written clearly on Caleb’s face. He grabs his crotch and fondles his dick, while thrusting his tongue out in a disgusting fashion. Okay, his name just went from ‘Mr. Clean’ to ‘Mr. Nasty’. A tongue flapping around is so uncivilized. Watching his hand at his dick and his tongue action leaves me with a conundrum: Which appendage should I remove first? I find them both revolting. I turn back to Letta and wait for her eyes to meet mine. I wink when they do. She doesn’t acknowledge me, and I’m sure my careless attitude offers no reassurance.
I take a deep breath and then slowly expel the air from my lungs. Calm washes over me and I allow my eyes to go amber. I turn and face Torbic. The color of my eyes is no surprise to anyone, but what they don’t know is that when I purposefully change them, someone usually dies.
“Rondy,” Marcus draws out my name. He remains outside the circle, as per the rules.
I look over my shoulder and give Marcus a nod. No one dies. Or, at least, that’s the plan for now.
Torbic glances behind me. “Caleb, the favored protégé of Saloret, and his second, do you accept this challenge?”
I don’t hear a response, so I’m guessing Caleb gave a pussy nod, because his gonads are too small and that’s what he’s thinking with right now. My gaze remains on Torbic, and he turns to me. His tone changes; you would think he just squashed a maggot beneath his boot. “Rondy, Marcus’s second, do you accept the challenge?”
Before I can answer, Marcus speaks, and my gaze jerks to his. “I believe you have forgotten Rondy’s lineage. He is the favored protégé of The Moor, and my second.”
Marcus keeps his gaze steady on Torbic, and I see a touch of amber enter Marcus’ eyes when Torbic remains quiet for a little too long.
“Yes, Marcus, my apologies,” he finally res
ponds. He waves his hand, as if the entire announcement is of no consequence, and continues in a bored tone. “Rondy, favored protégé of The Moor, and Marcus’ second, do you accept the challenge?”
“I sure as fuck do.”
Marcus sighs and shakes his head. Torbic addresses the crowd. “The challenge will end when one of them is no longer able to fight or is thrown from the circle. The winner receives my concubine, and also the right to grant the kiss of death to the tigress.”
Torbic turns back to us and nods. I’m not sure what’s happened, but Caleb knows exactly what Torbic’s signal meant. He’s on top of me before I figure it out. My head cracks onto the sand, which isn’t as soft as it looks. Caleb lands a hard blow to my ribs and another to the side of my head. I’m seeing double stars and I can’t suck in oxygen. His arms go under me, and he lifts me off the ground and tosses me about ten feet away. I’m only a foot from the perimeter of the circle. I roll to my back and just have time to lift my feet and kick out, when Caleb tries a running body slam. The soles of my boots connect with his chest, and I thrust him back about four feet. It’s all the time I need to spring up and land on my feet.
He laughs while fisting his giant hands. “I’m going to remove that pretty face of yours, boy,” he growls.
Okay, his tongue goes first. No one calls me pretty. I’m dark and dangerous and deadly, no matter that my name is Rondy. One of the rules of this challenge is that we can’t flash to a different location within the circle. It’s my best move, but I can work around not being able to use it. I charge Caleb, and he squats a bit to take the impact. At the last second, I propel myself up and over his body. It’s a trick that Dmitri taught me. My elbow goes into Caleb’s jaw, and the fingers of my other hand enter his mouth before he has any idea what’s happening. My nails are long and sharp for a reason. The noise that comes from Caleb is a cross between a yell and a scream. He no longer has a tongue, and he’s also missing a few teeth, so the sound is hard to describe. I will admit to enjoying his tongue-less scream. His hands go to his mouth, and blood pours between his fingers.
Alphas Unwrapped: 21 New Steamy Paranormal Tales of Shifters, Vampires, Werewolves, Dragons, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More Page 83
