by Karin Tabke
Bursts of black and white spattered with crimson combined with the screams of a tortured child, flashed like a horror movie in her head.
Dear God, her breakfast roiled in her belly. Falon fought the urge to vomit. She opened her eyes and locked stares with the hard black one above her. Evil lurked behind his eyes. They sparked, and his hands tightened punishingly on her body. She knew he’d guessed what she’d seen.
She shoved away from him and rushed to Rafe. Only when she was safely by his side did she address Mr. Taylor. “Your daughter is alive.”
Ten
WHAT KIND OF cruel trick is this?” Taylor shouted as he shoved past Anton and the man who’d stopped Falon from falling. He made the mistake to push past Rafael to get to Falon. Rafael reacted lightning quick and brutal. With one arm around Falon, he maneuvered her behind him and at the same time kept her pressed against his back. With his other hand, he grabbed Taylor by the front of his shirt and flung him across the room. The shocked man landed with a hard thud on the hardwood floor.
“Holy, hell,” Anton cursed, hurrying to him at the same time Taylor’s companion did. Together they lifted him to standing.
Taylor’s face faded to ash, the stress lines on his face deepening to gouges.
“You come into my home asking for a favor and think this is the way to get it? By threatening my woman?” Rafael roared.
“I’m so—sorry. I wasn’t going to harm her. But she—she—” He raised a shaky finger to point at Falon. “She taunts me with her cruelty—”
Falon remained steadfast. “She’s alive. I don’t know how I know, but I do.”
“Sir,” Taylor’s companion said as he brushed his rumpled clothing, “she’s lying.” He turned his cold eyes on Falon and Rafael. “We have pictures, we heard the CD. If she isn’t dead, after what we saw and heard . . . If God is merciful, she is.”
Falon squeezed Rafael’s hand then released it. When she stepped past him, Rafael growled low, but instead of pushing her back, he kept stride with her as she approached the two men.
“She’s okay,” Falon said, looking at Taylor. “But she won’t be for long. There are others who want her.”
Rafael glanced down at Falon. “Be sure, Falon. What you’re saying—”
“I’m sure,” she said fervently. She took Taylor’s hands into hers. While she did not see the flash of pictures she had with his companion, she felt his desperation and his desire to believe her. “I swear it. She’s alive.” She felt a spark of hope flare in him.
“Who has her? How do you know?” Taylor implored, squeezing her hands. Gently, she withdrew them.
Falon turned to look at his companion. She lifted an accusing finger at him. “Ask him.”
Taylor’s eyes widened. “Smythe—” he whispered.
Smythe bared his teeth, glaring at Falon. For the first time she felt afraid. “Lying bitch!”
Rafael unleashed on the man. He backhanded him so hard he went airborne. As he came down, his head hit the edge of a low wooden table with a sickening thud. Even knowing what would happen, Falon hurried over to him. He didn’t move. She knelt down and pressed her fingers to his neck. Rage. Pure black, unadulterated rage roiled through him. Falon didn’t recoil. Instead, she focused, pushing the rage back, allowing none of it to contaminate her. She touched the rising lump at his right temple.
“What have you done?” Taylor shrieked coming toward his man but hesitating as he remembered what Rafael had done when he moved too fast toward Falon.
“Let him die,” Rafael said, striding to Falon, ignoring Taylor, who was completely overwrought. Rafael extended his hand to Falon.
Falon looked pointedly up at him. “If he dies, we’ll never find the girl. He’s the key.”
Rafael swore. “I never said I would look for her in the first place.”
The man beneath her fingers moaned. He was coming to. Falon removed her hands, sat back on her heels, and looked up at Rafe. “You’ll allow an innocent girl to die when you can prevent it?”
Rafael leaned down and drew Falon up. “I am not the keeper of the world’s woes. I have my own problems at the moment. There’s no time to waste chasing ghosts.” He turned to Taylor. “I’m sorry, but I cannot help you.”
“Cannot or will not?” Falon challenged, resisting his pull.
He stopped and looked angrily down at her. Rafael Vulkasin was not accustomed to defiance. He’d just have to get over it. Falon glanced at Taylor. His face had caved. He’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes. She looked angrily up at Rafael. How could he not help this man?
“You have no idea what you are asking of me. There is more at stake than you know,” Rafael hissed. “Accept my answer. It is law here.”
She got that. He walked around here like the Lord Almighty.
And maybe he was, but laws were meant to be broken. “A word with you, Rafael, in private,” Falon softly said.
“There is nothing to discuss.”
“After everything you have subjected me to, it’s the least you can do.” Beseeching, she looked at him. “Please.” She hated sounding like the damsel in distress, but she needed to be heard. Her focus was on saving the girl, yes, but in doing so, she would save herself. She needed to get out of the compound if she were going to have any chance of escaping this madhouse.
“Jesus.” He shook his head and strode angrily into what appeared to be his office, closing the door soundly behind them. She didn’t spend time admiring it. She whirled on him and said, “That man with Taylor, Smythe, he’s like Conan. Don’t you see it?”
“Conan?”
“The jaeger dude from the other night.”
She watched him bristle. “Salene, the Slayer?”
Falon waved her hands anxiously. “I don’t know what the hell that is, but that guy out there has the same dark energy. Same black eyes when he’s pissed. He gives me the creeps the same way Conan did. When he helped me up and I touched his hands, I heard the girl’s screams, felt her terror. He’s responsible for the girl’s disappearance. He can lead us to her.”
Rafael looked out the window of his office to the others. “I can always sense a Slayer. I do not sense that in him.” He looked pointedly at Falon. “His eyes are blue, not black.”
“I know what I saw,” she insisted. She was not imagining any of this. “Can he hide it from you?”
Rafael’s face hardened. Lucien had been fooled; the entire pack in his absence had been fooled. “Sometimes with black magic, if they are powerful enough. But when they are boastful, arrogant, or angry, I can see it in their eyes.”
“I saw it!” Falon took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “What—what do these Slayers slay?”
Rafael looked down at her and smirked. “Vulkasins and anyone associated with them.”
Falon gasped, stepping back. That explained the desperation surrounding her. “Why Vulkasins? Conan called me a Slayer.”
Rafael threw his head back and laughed despite the grim situation. “You? A Slayer?” His laugh deepened.
Falon flushed, angry that he was laughing at her.
He sensed her hurt. “You misunderstand my amusement, Falon. You’re a brave girl, but to be Slayer, you must possess knowledge of the black arts, and the bloodlust to kill me and mine would have to be as much a part of your DNA as your beautiful blue eyes.” He cocked his head and looked at her. “You are not evil. Do you wish to kill me?” He grinned. “Don’t answer that.” His tone lowered to serious when he asked, “Do you practice black magic?
Falon swallowed hard. No, but it intrigued her beyond normal curiosity, and she had once tried to conjure a spell. It hadn’t gone well . . . “No,” she croaked. Panic grasped her by the throat, cutting off her breath. What if she was a Slayer? Falon pushed the ridiculous thought out of her head. She was nothing like Conan or Smythe. All of that said, at the moment, right now, she had a real Slayer to deal with. “I’m telling you, he’s a so-called Slayer, and if that’s true, here he is in the Vulkasi
ns’ lair. Maybe that’s why he kidnapped the girl, because he knew Taylor would come to you for help?”
Rafael’s nostrils twitched. He looked out the window again then down to Falon. “You may be on to something there, girl.” He nodded and said, “Let’s play this out.”
ONCE AGAIN, FALON’S intuition impressed him. In his gut, Rafael knew she had tapped into something. For a human, she had extraordinary insight and power. Salene had sensed it, too; perhaps that was all there was to his wanting her. He recognized the power and wanted her so that he could control it. That she could identify a Slayer when he could not bothered him on the highest level. Not that she could, but that Smythe’s magic was so powerful he was able to hide his identity from a true alpha. With the rising impending, Slayers were positioning themselves any which way they could. The closer the better. And each Lycan they took out, especially an alpha, before the rising, was one less Lycan they had to fight for supremacy. Taylor had come to the right man after all. Rafe would look for the girl, and at the same time go hunting. The last thing Smythe would see in this world was Rafe’s sword right before he cut his Slayer head off.
Rafe looked down at Falon, standing so righteously beside him. She was a worthy partner. His belly did a slow, weird roll. He felt a pull from her he had never experienced with a woman before. It should have excited him. Instead, it did the opposite. A deep sense of dread filled the void in him. He needed to focus on saving his race, not think whimsical thoughts of a woman who could be dead by the next sunrise. For now, he would indulge her but keep his hand close to his vest. If Smythe were a Slayer, he would lead Rafael straight to his clan, and then—he smiled inwardly—heads would roll.
Rafe took Falon’s hand and led her back into the great room. Nervous energy snapped around them. Rafe looked pointedly at Taylor’s companion, “What is your full name, sir?”
He bowed his head submissively. “Harold. Harold Smythe.” He stepped toward Rafael and offered his hand. Rafael slowly shook it. He waited for a sign that he was shaking hands with a Slayer but felt nothing but cool, clammy skin. He looked directly into the man’s blue eyes, wanting indisputable confirmation that he was what Falon said he was. Nothing. If it were anyone else than Falon who made the claim, Rafe would tell Taylor to take a hike. His own instincts were sharp and they told him to trust Falon’s. And so he did, but his cautious nature also told him to be on guard.
“What do you do for Mr. Taylor?”
“Harry is my COO,” Taylor said, stepping toward them. “What he does is irrelevant, Rafael. I trust him implicitly with my life and the life of my daughter. His integrity is beyond reproach.” He grasped Rafael’s arm. “I—I fell for your woman’s foolishness, but in my heart I know—” His expression twisted painfully as he looked at Falon then back to Rafe. “At least give me the satisfaction of seeing my daughter avenged. I will give you everything I own.”
Rafael’s instincts had kicked in, and he now accepted that Falon sensed something he had not. It bothered him that she had an awareness he didn’t, but at the same time, he felt proud to be her mate. She was brave. Strong. Special. “I’ll look for your daughter’s abductors,” Rafael said, uncomfortable with the degree of relief that swept over Taylor’s face. “But when I bring your daughter to you, alive, I will name my price. Do you agree to honor it?”
Taylor nodded vigorously. “Anything you want is yours.”
Rafael regarded Falon then Smythe. “My woman says the girl is alive. I want to see your proof that she’s dead.”
Smythe stammered for a moment then withdrew a manila envelope from his jacket pocket. He handed it to Rafael. “The pictures and a CD arrived in the mail this morning. She’s been missing for two days. If it was staged, the producer should get an Academy Award.”
Rafael pulled out one gory picture after another from the envelope. It showed the girl strung up, then—he swallowed hard—dismembered. “Jesus,” he said.
Falon moved as if she wanted to see the pictures. He shoved them back into the envelope. “You don’t want to see them.”
“If I’m going to help you find her, I need to see them.”
“No one said you would be involved.”
“I said.” She grabbed the envelope from his hand and pulled them out.
Anton made a funny sound. When Rafael shot him a harsh glare, Anton stared at something interesting on the ceiling.
Rafael watched Falon’s smooth, honey-colored skin blanch white. Her hand shook, but she maintained her composure. Quietly, she slipped them back into the envelope. She looked at Taylor. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Taylor.”
“Are they real?” he demanded.
“They look real, but my gut is telling me she is alive.” She handed the envelope back to Rafael.
He withdrew the CD from the envelope. Without a word, he walked over to the elaborate sound system and put it in a player, then pressed the Play button. Terrifying high-pitched screams echoed in the room. Falon put her hands over her ears, the heart-wrenching sounds too much to bear. Rafael stood rigid next to her. Anton remained stoic beside Taylor, who looked like he was going to collapse. Smythe tried to console him. After several minutes of the same heart-wrenching sounds, Rafael hit the Stop button. “Is there more than that? Any dialogue?”
“No,” Smythe answered. “Just the buzz of the chainsaw and Ally’s screams.”
Rafe took the CD from the player and slipped it back into the envelope. “Has there been any demand?”
“No,” Smythe answered, since Taylor was too traumatized to stand, much less talk. He had collapsed into a chair. “Nothing.”
“Go home, Mr. Taylor. Give me forty-eight hours, and I’ll either find your daughter alive or the person responsible for her death.”
Smythe helped Taylor up. Taylor moved slowly toward Rafael and took his hands into his. Had he allowed him to, Taylor would have kissed them. But Rafe shook his head and withdrew them. “Go home. I’ll take care of it.”
As the men exited the building, Falon turned on him. “How could you make such a promise?”
Rafael smiled. “You don’t know me very well, my dear.”
“But how can you be sure?”
Rafael’s smile widened, and he did something that completely shocked him even as it felt completely right. With the envelope in one hand, he extended his other to Falon. “Let me help you upstairs so that you can clean up. Then I will show you.”
As Falon showered, Rafael stared out the window into the dark. He lifted the envelope to his nose and deeply inhaled. A myriad of scents swirled around him. He pulled out the pictures. Now, fewer scents. But more distinguishable. He sniffed the CD and smiled. Fewer still.
He felt the rush in his blood. Not simply because he’d soon be hunting but because Falon would accompany him. Her powers were formidable, and her Slayer detector honed. Would that each pack had a woman of Falon’s talents among them, many lives would be saved. Smythe wasn’t the first Slayer to fool an alpha. Lucien’s woman had done so with little effort. Rafe would give his right arm to know where Falon came from, who her people were. He believed her when she said she was an orphan. Did she have Amorak blood flowing through her veins? There were few Amorak, and those of blended Lycan and Inuit blood that had the skill to heal. He himself possessed great healing power given to him by his mother, who was a direct descendant of the great mother Singarti. How did a human come by the gift? And that thing she did when she was pissed, shooting off mental lightning bolts? If she did not practice black magic, then how?
He smiled when he recalled what she had done to Lucien. She may just give his brother a run for his money. His smile tightened. She was too special for the likes of Lucien. Destroying Falon would benefit no one but his brother’s bloodlust for revenge.
Rafael looked toward the bathroom door as it opened. His heart caught high in his throat, and blood slammed straight down to his dick. She looked all sexy and dewy wrapped in a big, fluffy towel. She scowled at him. “I don’t have any clothes th
at will fit over this cursed cast.”
He set the envelope down and sauntered toward her. He smiled. Couldn’t help himself. He wanted to touch her. Run his hands down the soft, sultry skin of her back to her ass. Feel her breasts push against his chest—
“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said, his voice husky, making no mistake of his desire.
She cocked a suspicious brow.
“I heal your ankle, and you promise not to run away.”
“I’ll make a deal with you. I help you find the girl, and you let me go.”
He respected that she didn’t beg for her life. Instead, she challenged him at every turn, making it more difficult to deny her. Most women would be mewling and frightened right now. But not Falon.
“Then you stay here, while I find the girl,” he softly said, praying she would not accept his command. He wanted her as his hunting partner tonight.
She smiled then, a big, bright, sexy smile. She stepped into his space. Rising on her toes, she pressed her lips to his but did not actually kiss him. His body tightened as the furnace in his loins flared. “I don’t think so.” She backed away and dropped the towel. She looked over her shoulder and threw him a slow come-hither smile. His body jerked as if he dangled from the end of a rope. And damned if she didn’t bat those long black lashes at him, and ask, “Since when did I become your woman?”
His entire body swelled with desire. He didn’t fight it. He was alpha; she was his, damn it. Rafe growled and stepped to her. He touched her shoulders, his fingers instantly reacting to the smooth heat of her skin. He traced his fingertips across the concave of her shoulder and turned her around. His body tightened, more blood slammed to his dick, and his lips dropped to the mark on her neck. He nipped her. She gasped but did not pull away. He nipped her again, wanting to throw her onto the bed and sink into her. Jesus. He felt her body loosen, smelled her musky release. What had they been discussing? He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent. It was potent. Hot. Irresistible. He forced his mind to clear. “Since I marked you,” he growled in answer to her question. His hands slid down her bare back to her ass just as he had imagined moments before. He rose hard against her belly. She pressed against him. He hissed in a sharp breath. “So long as you live, Falon, you belong to me. You can run, but you can’t hide.” With every ounce of self-restraint he possessed, and very reluctantly, he set her from him. “Do not forget it.”
