Blood Law

by Karin Tabke

  Yuri’s eyes widened to huge. “Tell them—? Are you mad? They won’t listen to me!”

  Rafael scoffed. “Angor will take your instruction.” As only Rafael could, he alerted Angor to follow Yuri’s directions to the letter. “Now go. And, Yuri? Tell them to make a lot of noise when they come in. I want every Slayer in the building to shit themselves.”

  “Gotcha.” Yuri bounded away, stealthy as the wolf he was. Quickly Rafe turned his attention back to the warehouse.

  He called his men to his side as he studied the front of the building. “Both sets of doors are rigged to blow. The trip will be when they open.” Rafe grinned and looked at Anton. “And we are going through them. Line your bikes up, stack column in front of the doors from fifty yards out. When I give the signal, rev ’em big, get that back wheel spinning. Both point riders proceed through the door alone.”

  Anton’s jaw dropped, but he did not say a word. Nor the men behind him who looked at each other with concern.

  “Not kamakaze,” he assured them. “Jump off the damn things before impact. But be exact in your steering. Guide the bike into the center of the door as fast as it’ll go.”

  Relief flooded their features. Of course they didn’t want to die, not without a fair fight, at least. Still, Rafael had no doubt each and every one of them would ride into hell for him. Just like he’d do for them.

  “They’re ready at the windows, Rafe,” Yuri said as he rejoined the group.

  Motioning the rest of the crew around him, Rafe moved fifty yards farther from the warehouse and quickly laid out his plan. “The warehouse is roughly thirty-five thousand square. The only thing in it is a shrouded raised platform approximately thirty by fifteen with ramps on either side. It’s directly in the middle of the space. I don’t want a fatal funnel at the doors. After impact, split right and left into the warehouse as you enter. If the man in front of you goes left, you go right, and so on. Focus on the interior of the building; that will be where the action is. Yuri, Anton, and I will ride in directly behind the front column, so your asses had better be out of the way because we’re not stopping. As we enter through the front, the second column needs to be in position to hit right after you hear the explosions from the front column. The Berserkers will be entering through the windows. We’ll have these pieces of shit in a vise grip. As always, use your firepower to compromise them so that you can get close enough to take off their heads.”

  Pounce and start tearing off heads. Yes, it was primal, but then so was the eight-hundred-year war between Slayers and Lycans.

  Rafe looked over at Yuri. “We need to get a lock on the girl immediately after entry. I don’t exactly know what to expect, but I don’t think she’s going to be sitting pretty, bags packed and waiting to go.” Turning back to the group, Rafe asked, “Any questions?” No one called out. He nodded and stepped back. “Then let’s do it.”

  As they broke, Falon, who had listened but kept her distance, stepped toward him and stated, “I want to go in with you.” She had come this far. Why could she not finish it? And she had proven she could hold her own.

  The hair on the back of Rafael’s neck stood on end. He turned to look at her, feeling as determined as she looked. More so. “It’s too dangerous in there, Falon. I want you to stay here.” He knew he had been foolish to bring her. But his desire to have her by his side overrode his caution.

  “I can help! I can hold my own, Rafael. You know it.”

  It was not going to happen. Not under these conditions. He didn’t need her help. It would be too risky, and for what? Her indulgence? No. He watched her about to erupt again. He moved into her space in an attempt to make a rational case on both of their behalves. He pressed his fingers to her lips, shushing her. He didn’t mean to shake his head; it must have been his brain thinking out loud. Her dark brows dipped ominously low over her flashing eyes, then she nipped his fingertip, and to his surprise drew blood. He yanked his hand back in surprise. What a vicious little—

  “I bite, too, mister, and if you’re not careful”—she swiped at his blood on her bottom lip—“I’ll eat you up and spit you out.”

  She pushed past, then turned to face him. “You gave your word to Mr. Taylor that you would return his daughter to him in forty-eight hours or less. She’s in there terrified. How do you think she’s going to react when you and your boys come charging in like demon bikers wielding your swords and chopping off heads? I can go to her, let her know not to run. We’re here to save her, not hurt her.”

  “Do you think for a minute those bastards in there don’t know we’re out here? They’ve been waiting all night for us; she’s the bait. If she isn’t dead now, she will be the minute we enter.”

  Falon raised her nose to the night breeze and sniffed the air. Her eyes widened before they narrowed and turned on him. “She’s still alive.” She turned then and strode as quickly as her casted foot would allow toward the warehouse.

  Rafael stood in shocked silence. Had she just caught the girl’s scent in the air? They were almost a football field away and downwind! He looked at Yuri, who cracked a smile. “Too bad the Blood Law prevails. She is more than a worthy mate, Rafael.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know,” Rafe grumbled as he strode after her.

  When he caught up, Falon abruptly stopped and held out her hand, palm up. “I want a sword.”

  He nearly choked. “For what?”

  “To defend myself.” She snapped her fingers. “Now, please, and while you’re at it, heal my damn foot so I can walk!”

  Rafael ignored her demeaning command of him and shook his head. “You’ll get yourself killed. Stay here and wait for JorDon. He’s riding in with backup. I’ll entrust you with bringing them up to speed on the situation.”

  “Backup?”

  “Angel Ruiz, southern family. He has some personal business of his own with the Slayers.”

  Falon shook her head. “I will not stand out here and wait when I can be of use inside! I have a right to go in there. We’re here because of me!”

  Rafael leaned down into her space. Alphas were never challenged, not even by their mates. Not unless they wanted to learn a harsh lesson. “You have no rights unless I give you rights.” The minute Rafe said the words, he knew he was going to pay.

  She slapped him hard across the cheek. “How dare you!”

  Rafe grabbed her hand before she could strike again. He pulled her so close to him their breaths mingled. “Do not ever strike me.”

  “You are not the boss of me! You’re nothing but a brute! Kidnapping is against the law! You have no right to hold me against my will.”

  Frustrated by her defiance in front of his pack, he shook her. “You accepted my mark. That makes you mine. As such, I am your master, and you will obey me!” he growled as his men began to gather around them.

  “You seduced me!”

  Not wanting to hurt her any more than he had, Rafael leashed his temper and pulled her away from the gathering group. “I will not have this discussion with you here, Falon. I own you. Accept it.”

  She yanked her arm from his grip. “If I am truly nothing but a possession of yours, am I so unworthy that you’ll allow your brother to kill me if he gets the opportunity?”

  Rafael rammed his fingers through his hair. This was not the time or place to discuss any of this. “I cannot turn back time and undo what I have done. The Blood Law trumps emotions and desire. Even mine.”

  “What did you do to your brother that was so horrible your laws mandate you serve me up to him?”

  Rafael inhaled then slowly exhaled. He looked down into her righteous blue eyes and knew he had no right sacrificing her. But didn’t know how not to. At the very least, he owed her an explanation. “I took his chosen one from him.”

  Falon blinked. Confused. “So? I pay with my life for sibling rivalry?”

  “I took her life. While he was still inside of her!” he roared, years of anger, frustration, and yes, guilt poured out f
rom him.

  Falon blanched white before his eyes.

  “I killed her, Falon. I ripped her heart out of her chest. I watched as she bled out in my brother’s arms. I am responsible for all of our woes.” He pointed a shaking finger at the warehouse. “In there are a dozen Slayers, one of them directly responsible for my mother’s death. I’m going to kill them all. While I’m in there, you will stay out here, because”—he yanked her up to him so that her feet dangled in the air—“because—” He wanted to say because he did not want any harm to come to her. That he cared for her and could not bear to see her destroyed by a Slayer. That if he could challenge the Blood Law for her life, he would. But he didn’t say any of those things. Instead, he took the cowardly way out. He let go of her and strode away.

  “Rafael!” Falon called. Rafe stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face her, suddenly willing to take the brunt of her anger. Guilt did that.

  “Why did you kill her?” she asked softly.

  “My brother was too blinded by lust to see that she was a Slayer.” As he said the words, Rafael knew he’d do it again. And again. Lucien had given him no choice then, and Lucien would give Rafael no choice now.

  Falon made her way to him and stopped just shy of an arm’s length away. She leaned toward him and put her hand on his chest over his heart. She could feel the wild thump of it against her palm. “Conan said I was a Slayer. What if he was right?”

  He felt gut punched when he thought of what the law decreed. No Lycan shall lie with a Slayer; to do so was punishable by death. By rights Lucien should be dead, and if Falon were Slayer, Rafael as well. But before his death sentence, could he destroy her? Would he? His heart tightened at the thought of harming her. The ring flared on his finger. He took Falon’s hand into his and squeezed. “Then I would take my sword and cut out your heart.”

  He flung her hand from him and strode toward the warehouse. His men stood in silence as he strode past them.

  “Yuri!” Rafael shouted over his shoulder, “Handcuff her to something. I don’t want her to play hero or to escape.”

  He saw her eyes widen and knew she’d really hate him for giving that command. He kept walking, even when he heard Falon’s screams of protest and Yuri’s grunts of pain. Rafe shut down his emotions and focused solely on getting to the Slayers, not losing any of his men, and, as a possible bonus, getting the girl. Afterward, Falon might refuse to speak to him, but—he cursed—it was better that way. He was beginning to go soft. This way, he’d let her go, telling himself there’d been no future for them anyway.

  By the time they had taken their positions, the night had stilled to a dead calm, as if it were going to sit back and watch the action play out. And for the most part, the action would be perfunctory. They had been killing each other for eight hundred years.

  Telepathically, Rafe called to Angor, who informed him the Berserkers were in place. He nodded to Yuri, who looked no worse because of Falon, who he could see was handcuffed to a stop sign. He gave the signal to crank the bikes. The engines rumbled to life with a deep, guttural roar, their distinct sound a warning to Edward. They were here, and they were going to fight to the death.

  As the engines warmed, the rpm’s rose higher and higher. They opened full throttle. Rafe sat back easily, giving his bike gas. He looked over at the two men who were riding point and who would send their bikes through the doors. Staying mounted until the last moment was crucial and difficult, but if anyone could handle it with precision, it would be a Vulkasin.

  The back column was set. Rafe gave his bike some gas and moved up to the front and side of the column. Holding in the clutch with his left hand, he gave the signal to go with his right. The two point riders, Jackson and Mateo, their bikes now at a fever pitch, popped their clutches and roared forward. Both the bikes popped wheelies, dropped, and then hurtled like missiles toward the doors. Somewhere between twenty and ten yards out, Jackson jumped clear of the bike, guiding it dead center into the door. An enormous explosion racked the night, the velocity so great, the ground shook beneath their feet and the back draft flared with the heat of an oven across their faces. As the bike slammed the door from its hinges and plunged deep inside the building, flames and debris poured out through the jagged opening.

  It was more than Rafe had expected. Was that why the Slayers seemed so complacent inside? Did Edward really think the C-4 would do all the work for them?

  Mateo, the second biker, struggled to keep his bike upright after the initial burnout and wheelie. When he neared twenty-five yards from impact, Rafe cursed, knowing Mateo wouldn’t have the time or the distance to guide it to target and jump to safety. Even as he watched, Mateo eased his body down over the tank and throttled back as far as possible. The bike lurched and slammed into what was left of the second door with Herculean force. Another fireball exploded, mushrooming through the opening and swallowing both rider and bike. Rafael heard Mateo’s screams and imagined his body hurling through space and slamming into the concrete floor with a sickening thud. He didn’t have to imagine the bloodcurdling scream that followed as Mateo was killed by a Slayer’s sword.

  Rage exploded inside Rafael. An eye for an eye. He would avenge Mateo’s death this night and the deaths of so many before him.

  Rafael kept his focus on getting inside to do it. An explosion at the back of the building announced the entrance of the second column. The sound of shattering glass followed by bloodcurdling snarls filled the air as the Berserkers smashed through the windows and poured into the place. Giving the enemy no time to gather their wits, Rafe howled a throaty battle cry, signaling his men to open throttle and charge through the jagged, smoldering openings of the decimated front doors.

  Gunshots reverberated through the building; the clash of metal on metal fused with the grunts and screams of men as they fell.

  FROM WHERE SHE stood handcuffed to a damn stop sign, more than one hundred yards from the warehouse, Falon blanched at each explosion, then watched as flames shot high into the night. Her anxiety rose as she paced in a circle around the sign. She didn’t like to be separated like this from Rafe. Her place was beside him. She yanked and pulled at the handcuffs. The metal cut into her skin; blood dripped to the asphalt. She jumped when another explosion set the dark to light and a harsh sense of urgency shook her. Nervously she trembled, not understanding her sudden and uncharacteristic agitation. She was supposed to be at Rafael’s side. She was his chosen one. Falon squeezed her eyes shut. What was she thinking? She should be running the other way!

  She was torn in half. She wanted to run to Rafael. See for herself he was alive. Then fight beside him. The other part of her, the survive-at-all-costs part, screamed at her to escape. To run far and run fast.

  No one stood guard over her. She looked down at her bloody, swollen hand. She could gnaw it off. Or, she gulped, she could break the bones in her wrist and pull her collapsed hand through that way.

  Anguished screams drifted from the warehouse. Falon’s heart beat faster. The terrified cries of a little girl called out to her. Rafael’s anger, his bloodlust, his passion transcended the space between them. Her body jerked as if she were spasming. Pain speared her belly, as if she had been stabbed. She heard Rafael’s enraged war cry. He was wounded. He needed her. And unable to stop herself, she answered his call.

  “I’m coming!” she cried. She did not hesitate. She grabbed her arm just above her wrist and the metal cuff, then threw her weight into it. She twisted then pulled. She screamed in pain as bones crunched. Her world went black just before she saw stars. Her knees shook. She took a deep breath and did it a second time. She screamed louder and dropped to her knees. But she knew it was enough. Before her hand swelled more, she carefully maneuvered it out of the metal cuff. When she was free, she held it gingerly with her right hand. Nausea rolled through her. She sat down and put her head between her knees. She was going to faint from the pain.

  Long minutes later, when her vision cleared, Falon ripped part of her s
hirtsleeve off and, as best as she could, wrapped it snugly around her wrist to give it a modicum of support. Slowly, she stood, inhaled, then exhaled.

  This was it.

  She had a choice. She turned toward the city lights in the distance and freedom. Then back at the flaming warehouse and Rafael. Freedom? Or death?

  She turned toward the beckoning city lights but wavered in her step. What life did she have? Knowing she was different, always running, not knowing who she was, where she came from. With Rafael, she felt alive. Accepted. She had meaning. Had she not had the vision of the girl, she would not have a chance at survival. She turned back to the warehouse. She may not know much about herself, but she knew she possessed power. Power that if paid attention to and honed could be her ticket to freedom. She took a step toward the warehouse.

  A lone howl echoed from the building. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

  “Rafael.”

  She took another step and then another. Then she was running. To Rafael, the man who made her come alive, and the man she was determined would not see to her death!

  Thirteen

  RAFE PULLED THE Slayer’s blade from his gut with his left hand before deftly turning it back on the bastard, relieving him of his head. Rafe howled his battle cry as he skidded to a sideways stop directly below the gallows. The top shroud had been lifted. Standing like a hunk of bait on a hook, directly on top of the trapdoor, was a young girl, knees shaking, hands tied behind her back, her head in a black cloth bag, a hangman’s noose around her neck.

  What a sick fuck Edward was. Using a child to lure them in.

  Rafael looked for Yuri across the vast space. He had seen the girl as well and was already riding toward her. Anticipating their approach, a tight ring of Slayers swelled from beneath the gallows as Rafael’s men pressed upon them.