by Leia Shaw
“You don’t want to fight us, wolves,” Marcelo stated in a voice reserved for talking to mental patients. “You will not survive.”
Her jaw dropped. Speaking of mental patients…he was certifiably insane! She could swear a sort of strangled laugh came from one of the beasts. Right there with ya’ pal.
The werewolves showed no signs of backing off. Before Marcelo could inform Aila of what she hoped was a brilliant plan, an arrow whizzed by his head and plunked off the rock face behind them.
“Mierda!” he swore. “We must have some shit luck because here come the fae.”
“The fae?” She clung desperately to hope. “As in the ones who want to protect me?”
Another arrow thunked against the rock. “I’m guessing not. Must be the Seelie.”
“That’s the thing about life,” Sage had told her once, years ago. “Just when you think it can’t possibly get any worse, it goes and kicks you in the teeth then shits on your head.”
She hadn’t understood it at the time. But now…now Aila knew exactly what she’d meant.
Another arrow whistled and Marcelo’s body stiffened. An arm flew out and he caught the arrow in mid-air. He sniffed it.
“Poison,” he whispered.
“What?”
A werewolf yelped then collapsed onto the ground, the arrow Marcelo had been holding was lodged in his throat. The other two lunged. Marcelo’s body disappeared.
It all happened so fast her brain could barely keep up with her eyes. Marcelo grabbed the closest werewolf right as the archers let loose three more arrows. He used the body as a shield then tossed it at the third werewolf just as it lunged for her.
Marcelo wasted no time, he tore into the third werewolf with such intensity she almost felt bad for it. Until it swiped one of its deadly claws across Marcelo’s face. She screeched when an arrow missed her by an inch. Marcelo spared her a glance then caught the next two arrows, shoving them deep into the werewolf’s chest. But the two wolves she thought were dead started to rise, pulling out the arrows, shaking off the effects of the poison. They were sluggish, but regaining strength quickly.
Marcelo’s look was bleak. “Climb, Aila.”
“What?”
“Climb the cliffs. Then run.”
“What? Where? I don’t know where to go!”
Another arrow soared towards her, but she dodged it. She picked it up off the ground and held it tight in her fist, feeling a little better armed with a weapon. When she looked up, Marcelo was gone. One of the werewolves swung its head around to pin her with a terrifying glare. It growled. She’d never heard anything so menacing.
“Marcelo!” Where the hell did he go?
The werewolf crouched down onto his clawed paws then sprung towards her. She screamed and squeezed her eyes shut, hugging the rock wall, arrow thrust out in front of her. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it will impale itself. Nothing happened. When she dared open her eyes Marcelo was inches from her face, blood dripping down his mouth and chin.
“Climb, querida. Head east. I’ll find you.”
“But –”
“Climb!” he bellowed, startling her into obedience.
She turned around and began scaling the cliff, expecting to be hit with an arrow at any moment. Halfway up, she stopped to look below her. From the higher position she could see the fae archers, hidden in the shadows of the forest. Three were dead. Marcelo appeared behind a fourth and snapped his neck. The other two loaded arrows aimed at her. She ducked when one came a little too close for comfort.
Marcelo’s growl rivaled the werewolves’ as he ripped the archer’s throat out with his teeth. The last archer released an arrow just as she sprung from the foothold where she rested and gripped a ledge above her with one hand. The arrow missed her by a narrow margin. She grappled with somewhere to place her feet, then continued to ascend until she reached the top.
Marcelo had told her to run, and he would expect her to, but when she looked over the side of the cliff and saw all three werewolves surrounding him again, she couldn’t leave him.
He moved as a blur, dodging and striking. He was an extraordinary fighter, but he was slowing down. Had he been poisoned too or just losing a lot of blood? When a werewolf exacted a brutal slash across his chest, she searched the ground desperate for some way to help him.
She picked up a fairly large rock, tossed it a few times in her hand, and watched the fight below. Marcelo threw a powerful punch into a werewolf’s gut. He didn’t even budge.
A rock, Aila? Sure, if I want to tickle them. She sighed then spun in a circle, unsure of what she was looking for. It wasn’t as if a machine gun was likely to appear out of nowhere.
She froze when she saw something odd leaned up against a short spindly tree. A bow and a case full of arrows? She didn’t have time to approach it cautiously. She ripped off the attached note, recognizing the handwriting.
“A gift for a fae warrior ~ K.W.”
Kieran. Sheer desperation made her pick up the bow, grab the case of arrows and run back to the edge of the cliff. Marcelo was holding his own, just barely. Without hesitation she withdrew an arrow, fit it onto the string of the bow like she’d seen in movies, pulled back, and released. As it whistled through the air, she felt something tighten in her chest. Like some piece of her was clicking into place. A twisted smile reached her lips.
The arrow hit her target and the werewolf grunted when it lodged into his back, but he simply yanked it out and kept fighting.
She nocked another arrow, this time aiming for the back of the head. The werewolf staggered but didn’t go down. Damn these are tough fuckers!
Marcelo grabbed an arrow from the ground and jammed it into the back of one werewolf’s knee. He collapsed onto the other knee and it was enough for Marcelo to twist his head right off his neck. She blanched at the gruesome image but shook it off.
Back of the knee it is.
She let loose two more arrows, hitting her targets, and Marcelo finished the kills. Her arms relaxed and she inhaled a deep breath. He was still standing. It was over.
A second glance at Marcelo and her brain finally registered what she saw. Crimson streaks of liquid were splattered across his body. He looked like he just walked off the set of a slasher flick where he had the role of psychopathic killer.
She blinked and he was in front of her, radiating violence. Three long gashes marred his chest and blood poured out with each breath. His shoulders were tense, muscles twitching on high alert, ready to rip apart the next threat. Aila shrunk back, doing her best to look small and harmless. It wasn’t hard.
Marcelo’s fangs were drawn, biting into his bottom lip, where blood dripped to his chin. His brows furrowed, shadowing his dark eyes. His nostrils flared as he inhaled a deep breath. A fresh fountain of blood flowed from his chest wounds, dripping down his stomach.
“I told you to run,” he said in a soft but eerie voice. She was more used to his barking. In fact, she preferred it.
She took a step back, unable to tear her eyes from his dark expression.
His gaze shifted from her face to the bow in her hand. “You didn’t tell me you could shoot.”
“I can’t. I mean…I didn’t know I could. I was just…desperate.”
His brows shot up. “You mean you’ve never picked up a bow before?”
She shook her head.
“Yet you hit your target with every shot?”
She shrugged. “Must be easy to use.” She had no explanation.
He rubbed a hand across his forehead, smearing blood on the one place that was clean, and mumbled, “Bloody fae.”
One more deep breath then his hand fell to his side. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. His gaze was predatory, like he was sizing her up. She swallowed back a lump of fear and stepped backward. Her breath hitched when she felt a thick tree trunk behind her.
“Aila,” he said in that soft, creepy voice again. “I’m sorry.”
His eyes fluttered closed then he
stumbled towards her, stiff and awkward, as if trying to maintain consciousness. She gave him a puzzled glare. What was he sorry for?
A heavy weight pressed her into the tree, the rough bark biting into her back. Her arms were pinned at her sides, Marcelo’s face buried into her neck. He inhaled her, an anguished moan escaped him. Her body responded on an instinctual level. He was hurting, she wanted to comfort him, but he held her immobile.
“Marcelo,” she whispered. “Let me help you.”
He picked up his head to give her a woeful glance. “I’m sorry, querida.”
With one arm wrapped around her torso, restraining her arms, he used the other to force her head to the side and expose her neck. Oh, no! No, no, no, no! She couldn’t even get a protest out of her mouth before his fangs were in her skin. She gasped at the stinging pain of the initial puncture. Then all she could feel was the blood being drawn from her vein and Marcelo’s velvet lips against her skin. How dare he! She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to fight. But her body wouldn’t cooperate. Instead she found herself relaxing against him. Melting and molding to his larger body. Adjusting to give him better access, as if her body wanted to provide for him. She growled at her own converse reaction.
A tingle in the bottom of her stomach caught her off guard. The flutter expanded, warming her insides, spreading out along her limbs. A sigh escaped her lips and it sounded all too pleasurable to her ears. The suction of her blood into Marcelo’s mouth felt a little like a tug on her soul. Like a piece of her was becoming his, forever. And she couldn’t deny there was something sensual about it. His body crushed hers, pinning her against the tree, and she found herself with the unexpected desire to be naked. Her clit tingled with the memory of his wicked tongue.
Goddamn vampire! What did you do to me? With his neck so close to her nose she was forced to breathe him in. His scent was wild. She nuzzled her face into his hair and inhaled.
This is so wrong! She hated her reaction to him. She hated him. He was stealing from her after he’d promised never to do it!
When he finally withdrew his fangs, he lifted his head to meet her gaze but kept his body pressed into hers. She watched his wounds heal in only seconds. His eyes were as black as tar. He was still tense, not yet human, on the edge of crazed, murderous vampire. With a trembling hand he brushed her hair back from her sweaty face, his thick fingers lingered along her jaw. She was petrified, though her body ached for him. Her breaths were shaky but she tried to remain perfectly still. She didn’t want to provoke him – he looked like he was a razor’s edge away from ripping into her neck again.
He bent down to the sensitive spot between her shoulder and neck, where he’d bitten her, and licked the wound. His tongue, soft and sensual, sent shivers down her spine. Then he pressed a gentle kiss to the same spot and she almost melted.
When he pushed away, it left her body cold and empty. His gaze was riveted to the bite mark, savage satisfaction burning in his eyes. With a shaky hand she touched it and tingles ran straight to her aching core. She groaned in agony, hating that she wanted nothing more than for him to throw her to the ground and relieve the throbbing pressure.
He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into his hard body. One hand reached under her shirt, and cupped her breast. She gasped when he pinched her nipple, but she wasn’t sure if it was in pleasure or shock.
“And now we finish what we started,” he whispered harshly in her ear.
Yes! Her heart jumped. No! He was too big. Too powerful. He wasn’t in control and he would hurt her. Her muscles tensed, that familiar feeling of helplessness surged through her. But she wasn’t a naïve fifteen year old anymore. She was tired of having control ripped away from her time and time again. Aila had finally hit her limit. She’d had just about all she could take in a forty eight hour period. And she was pissed.
Aila the Meek? Aila the Doormat? Not anymore! Try Aila the Ass-Kicking Faery! And now, the shit was going to hit the fan.
She brought her knee up into his groin, drew back her fist, then, with all the fae strength and human will she possessed, she punched him square in the jaw.
“Mierda,” he muttered as he stumbled backwards, gripping his crotch.
“What the hell are you doing? You promised me you would never drink from me!”
After leaning on his knees for several deep breaths, he recovered and stood up to regard her with cold indifference. “I needed it to heal.” He maintained a distance just out of striking range. A pity since she had more pent-up rage to release. He also rubbed his jaw where she’d hit him, giving her a surge of satisfaction.
“So you decided to just take my blood without asking?” Without waiting for an answer, she stalked off, following the line of cliffs on the edge of the woods. She needed to get away from him before she tried to kill him.
He followed behind her. “You would have said no.”
“It was my decision to make!”
“Not when I’m dying.”
She swung around to face him, putting all her rage into a nasty glare. “Do you think I want you to die? If you haven’t noticed, I need you to get to my sister!”
He raised a brow. “Need me or want me?”
Arrogant asshole! “Right now, neither.”
She turned back around and continued her walk along the cliff ledge. Maybe she’d get lucky and he’d fall off. So many violent, irrational thoughts flooded her mind it scared her. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so angry. And hurt.
Following closely behind, he said, “I don’t remember you saying you didn’t want me earlier when I was stroking you till you screamed my name.”
She inhaled a sharp breath then spun around with her bow positioned on her arm and an arrow pointed at his chest. “Thinking with your dick again? Already? Maybe I should put it out of commission for longer this time.” She lowered her arm so the arrow was aimed right where she needed to make her point.
He smirked, putting her teeth on edge. “Quick to reach for that weapon now, aren’t you?”
Although the idea of shooting the vampire on testosterone overdrive was appealing, it wouldn’t make her feel any less betrayed. She sighed and dropped her arm. With a long glance at Marcelo’s unrepentant expression, she put the arrow back in the holder and slung the bow over her shoulder. Funny how natural it felt there. She turned and stomped away.
From behind her, she heard, “If you would have allowed me to feed from you anyway, then what’s the problem? The end result is the same.”
“The problem is you just blood raped me!”
He sighed. “Come now, you’re being dramatic.”
Dramatic? Maybe I willkill him. “You’re not the one with fang marks in your skin, asshole!”
He traversed in front of her. “Aila, please…”
“Fuck off.”
Another sigh but he let her pass. “Now you sound like your sister.”
“Well, maybe it’s about damn time I started acting like someone else.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Being me obviously hasn’t gotten me very far. I’ve been a victim by whole life, I turn immortal and nothing’s changed!” She put her head down and stalked off again, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill. She would not cry in front of him. Not now.
He traversed in front of her, blocking her this time when she tried to go around him. “Aila, I’m truly sorry. Most people enjoy the exchange of blood. It’s an aphrodisiac. I thought you’d like it too.”
Her brows shot up. “That’s your apology? You’re sorry because you thought I would like it?” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Oh. Well. In that case…be still my heart, vampire. I am yours forever.”
His hand gripped the back of her neck. “You are mine forever,” he rasped in her ear. “And don’t ever forget it.” He pressed his lips to hers with a punishing kiss. It didn’t matter that she was pushing him away, that she was disgusted and angry with him. He ended the kiss when he wanted
to, then looked her over like she was a piece of meat.
She narrowed her eyes and hissed, “Don’t you ever kiss me without my permission again.”
She jerked away from him but before she could get three steps away he grabbed her arm and swung her back around. “You are mine!” he growled. “I take what’s mine!”
***
Don’t push me, Aila. Now is not the time to push me.
Coming off a fight where his mate’s life was in danger, full of adrenaline, covered in blood, Marcelo was barely holding onto his humanity. Then he’d drunk from her and it was the most divine experience he’d ever had. She tasted as good as he’d imagined – sweet and addictive and perfect. When she’d pushed him away and looked at him with such disgust, it only fueled his rage. The vampire inside him roared that she belonged to him – she was his to enjoy. He saved her life. He deserved her. But the human part told him to gentle her, soothe her, to give her room and time to breathe. He was caught between the two, and right now, the vampire was winning.
That is, until he saw a single tear roll down her cheek.
She looked down at his hand, still wrapped around her upper arm. “You’re hurting me,” she whispered.
Immediately he released her. Her eyes were haunted. Her words from a few moments ago finally sunk in.
“I’ve been a victim my whole life.”
Ah, gods, Marcelo. You really fucked up this time.
He reached out to wipe her tear away, but she stumbled back looking more afraid of him than their first night together. His heart shattered into a million pieces. His mate was suffering, because of him. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and take the pain away. To kiss her and hold her and tell her no one would ever hurt her again, that he would protect her with his life. But it was too late. She was afraid of him. He’d ruined any trust they had in only a few minutes of uncontrolled vampire lust.
“What happened to you?” he asked, his voice quiet and soothing. “You said you were a victim. How so?” He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer. When she shifted her gaze he added, “And don’t lie to me.”
