by Zoe Forward
He reminded her of the wolves in her youth, not the ones who raised her—they hadn’t been warriors—but the wolves trained as fighters. Only the strongest and most cunning had survived the Emancipation War two hundred years ago, which put an end to wolf enslavement.
A pencil-sized dart that she hadn’t noticed until now stuck out of his shoulder. She jumped forward and plucked it out.
He slapped his hand over where the dart had been and backed away from her, knife raised defensively.
Finn shot forward, gun raised.
“Hold,” she ordered Finn. She yanked off the mask. “I’m not your enemy. I’m even letting you see what I look like.”
She wanted him to trust her.
Oh, hell, she wanted him to see her.
Wariness lingered on his face. “You’re a vampire. All of you are my enemy.” His deep voice sneered contempt. “And you’re a female.”
“I don’t get how me being female makes me any worse of an enemy than any other vampire. If that’s chauvinism, then we’ll chat about it, but later. I get the vampire hate. No doubt more than a few of my kind have been real bastards to you.” She held up the dart. “They drugged you. Removing it might stop it from delivering any more sedative.”
“What type of drug?”
“Not sure. Something guaranteed to knock you on your ass for hours. They probably hoped it’d work a bit faster. Interesting that it didn’t. We need to get you out of here before you collapse. Do you need help?” She reached out.
“Don’t touch me.” He held his knife in ready stance.
“Fine. I prefer you walk on your own to the car. It’s messy if you bleed on me. I can’t smell like werewolf blood tonight. I could carry you if I had to, but it’s such a hassle. Don’t give me the skeptical eyebrow. I could do it.” The rain had slowed to a spitting drizzle. She wiped moisture from her face. “I despise being wet in clothes.”
“I’m not going anywhere with a leech.”
A smart person would back away from an injured werewolf who wielded a knife and preferred to be on his own. She slowed her breathing and focused inward, mentally reaching out to get a handle on his emotions once more. He wouldn’t kill her. Hurt her, maybe. This was bluster to hide his frustration. And fascination. There was a lot of revulsion at her being a vampire, but this was interlaced with interest. He’d hate her if he found out she could tell he thought her a curiosity.
She took two steps forward, until the knife he held slightly indented the skin just above her left breast. The flutter beneath its point had nothing to do with fear.
She direct-eyed him and bit back a chuckle at the shock on his face. “Are you going to sit here bleeding with a buttload of vamps on their way here?”
“Better that than trust you.”
“I swear I’m here to help you.” She accentuated each word with a poke of her finger into his hard chest, each jab jiggling the chains around his neck supporting an ornate protective amulet and an ancient-looking beaded necklace. Someone less solid would’ve rocked backward a bit at the strength of each contact.
His eyes widened with a you’re-crazy stare. She got that a lot from wolves.
She poked him one more time with her forefinger. “I just saved your life. I’m not about to waste that work by letting you get caught. I also got a nice slice in my shoulder. Instead of all this hate, I’m due a big thank-you.”
He clamped his lips shut.
“I’ll give you a choice,” she said. “Come with me, and I’ll get you out of Paris. Or stay. Face the fifty Squad vamps on their way in—” She glanced at Finn.
Finn checked his watch. “Seven minutes.”
When she looked back at him, she momentarily lost her train of thought. His fathomless eyes—pale blue irises, indicative of an ancient wolf—sucked her in. Only those of pureblood descent had those paler eye colors—blue or green. Those with some human dilution had brown. After clearing her throat, she said, “This second wave of Squad vamps will know the first wave’s drugs didn’t work. They won’t be using sedation guns.”
He glared at her finger where it still touched him. Everything around them dropped away until there was only the two of them. His gaze rose from the knife to meet hers. Beyond the smell of rain and his blood was him. In most situations, she disregarded body odors on purpose. The stench of most beings, whether human, vampire, or werewolf, nauseated her. There’d been some embarrassing puke incidents as a child before she learned how to avoid taking in scents. With this werewolf, though, she wanted to breathe deeper. He smelled of a mixture of homecoming and the finest blood vintage. Her body almost went languid with the desire to rest her head against him and simply inhale.
Oh my God. It was happening again.
Maybe he had some sort of enthrallment magic like the werewolf king. This guy looked as old as the werewolf king, who she’d met a few times.
She pushed his knife away from her chest, calling his bluff, and stepped away. After another throat clear, she said, “Decision time. We have to move.”
“No one barks orders at me. Ever.” His tone was more than a tad threatening.
“I’m the best bet for your soon-to-be-terminated ass.”
He moved forward and stumbled, catching himself against the slick, wet, brick wall. “I’ll never trust one of you.”
“I don’t know how you’re even standing with those kinds of wounds. Admit you need help.” When he remained stubbornly quiet, she threw her hands into the air. “Fine. Would you please accompany me to my car so I may safely remove you from the city?” That sounded decently polite.
He glowered at her in silence.
“Now!” she snapped, ruining her effort at niceness.
“If you fuck me over—”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ll kill me, my family, everyone I love, and then everyone who ever knew me. Got it. Heard it before. Get over yourself. Forget for a few minutes our species hate each other and think of me as an outlier in this war. Either take my help walking, as I suspect you need.” She eyed his injuries. “Or follow me.”
“Not leaning on you,” he slurred out. “I heal fast.”
A peek over her shoulder confirmed he trailed her, even though her sneaked glance was unnecessary. The marvelous scent of his blood carried in the air. Every vampire within a mile radius would also smell it.
He stumbled and caught himself on a lamppost. If she tried to help him, he’d probably use the knife. He didn’t complain as he kept up with her, tripping every few steps. Had to respect a guy who didn’t whine. Not common these days.
“I need you to move a bit faster.” She waved him forward. Damn it, he hunched over, still hanging on to the streetlight.
The wolf nudged one of the nearby downed vamps with his foot. “They dead?”
“No. Just out. I’m not a fan of killing. Enough have died in the past year.”
“What’d you use?” he asked.
“Nightshade. We discovered last year if the drug is used at the right dose, it knocks vampires out for three hours. They wake up high and amnesic, as in they won’t remember us.” He finally let go of the streetlight, but he still moved too slow. She should pick him up and throw him in the back of the SUV.
“You’re with the Nightshade League?”
She didn’t reply. The question seemed rhetorical.
Finn had the trunk open as they approached.
She pointed at the metal box specially built to look like a storage box that took up almost the entire trunk. “Get in.”
His lip curled up in a sneer. “I’m not getting in there.”
“What’s your suggestion? You want to ride shotgun? That’d get all of us killed. The box is airtight and undetectable. We can smell you outside the vehicle, especially a bleeding you. So get in. I’m going to hook you up to oxygen.”
“I’m not getting in
a coffin for some leech bitch I don’t know. They’ll still smell me all over the SUV. I’ll stay and fight.”
“I have ways to remove your odor from it once you’re in the box. Suit yourself, if you want to stay, but we’re leaving.”
“This is taking too long. You want me to just put him in there? He’s about to pass out.” Finn drummed his fingers on the SUV’s frame.
She scowled at the wolf. “This thing’s headlights are brighter than your future right now.”
He staggered against the side of the vehicle. “Leave me. I need to stay.”
“The drug’s going to have you on your ass in a minute.” She gauged him at two-fifty plus, which would be a hell of a haul to get him into the box should he pass out. He made her feel petite even though she wasn’t a shorty at five-foot-ten. Regardless of height differences, she could still lift him inside if she had to.
He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not getting in there. I don’t need the League to rescue me.”
He staggered, gripping the rear door as he slumped to his knees.
“Apparently, you do.” She looped her hands under his arms and hefted him into the vehicle, dragging him to the box. Once he was inside, she draped a nasal cannula line around his neck and inserted the prongs into his nostrils, a necessity in an airtight container.
“This isn’t part of my plan,” he murmured, but he didn’t—couldn’t—fight her.
“Some part of you understands they’ll execute you when they arrive. I promise you’re going to be okay.” She patted his chest in an attempt to be reassuring.
His eyelids snapped open. He slurred out, “I’ll kill you when I wake up.”
Chapter Two
“We have a huge issue.” Finn’s voice from the hidden communicator echoed inside her ear. “Like big, big…super big problem.”
Kiera shook out her second-choice designer evening gown in front of the mirrored walls of the reception hall. Finally, they’d made it to the runway after-show party before it ended. She hadn’t yet found her contact. The woman, a member of Viktor’s inner circle, promised her new information on one of Viktor’s wolf detention facilities. As Kiera pretended to pick something off her dress, she whispered, “Only been here a half hour. You’re supposed to stay in the vehicle. What’s wrong?”
Finn never bothered her while she pretended to be Elise unless it was an emergency. If someone here had identified her as Nightshade, then Finn would’ve stated that.
Maybe their secret passenger woke up in a homicidal rage. Or he died. Not dead. Please, not dead.
Come on, Finn. Talk. Now.
“He’s still out, but I have to show you something about him that can’t wait. This is…shit. Exit in five. I’ll have the car out front. Forget whatever info you might get at the party. This is important.”
She swallowed the demand for exact information on the issue when a lithe male vampire waved at her from the crush and stalked her way.
Crap.
Viktor couldn’t be avoided.
With a deep breath, she brought forth the world’s flakiest vampire fashionista. Years of attending these parties had enabled Kiera to cultivate Elise’s reputation amongst elite vampire society as the voice of fashion.
People in various stages of inebriation got in Viktor’s way as he navigated toward her. Humans were naturally drawn to the allure of vampires, which made drinking from them easier. Crowd situations, though, were a pain. Most of their kind were well-practiced at masking their inner predator, which, when released, could incite a heart-attack-inducing terror in a human. Many vampires in attendance enjoyed the power of provoking such fear, sometimes right before biting.
Disgusting and nasty to bite a human, in her opinion. She preferred to drink her red through a straw. Most avoided sipping from the source these days since so many humans were infected around the world. Those same ego-tripping power vamps of the elite had unleashed the deadliest virus since HIV, which had been intended to kill werewolves. It did work on a low percentage of the wolves, though not all. Accidentally, the virus infected humans, making the majority unsatisfactory food sources. It caused a Sickle Cell anemia-like syndrome that made the blood cells sticky and foul-tasting. Huge mistake. Even bigger miscalculation was that they’d released the virus before they had a cure.
A woman threw herself at Viktor and wrapped her arms around his neck. He snarled, which sent her scurrying. Not smooth.
Not that Viktor cared. One of his people was already comforting the woman.
“Elise.” Viktor DiFalco lifted Kiera’s hand and laid a kiss on the top of her knuckles. He didn’t release her hand afterward, holding it long beyond what was considered socially acceptable.
She executed a small curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
“It’s Viktor to you, my dear.” His eyelids drooped to half mast while he perused the low dip of her gown and slowly released her. “You’re a vision tonight, as always.”
Impeccably dressed in a tailored dark suit, Viktor adjusted the sleeve over his missing left arm, a casualty of the Emancipation War of the 1800s. The werewolf king hacked it off before Viktor begged for mercy and peace.
Viktor granted her his dazzling grin, a look meant to lull the recipient into relaxation. Did he ever dress casual? She couldn’t imagine him in a T-shirt. He probably wore silk to bed.
“Viktor, it’s always a pleasure to see you. But…” She tapped a long red nail against her lips and scrutinized his outfit. “Who made that suit?”
He puffed up with pride. “It’s Rinaldo, of course.”
With a disdainful sniff, she said, “Of course. I should’ve guessed.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it? Tell me.” He plucked at the buttons.
With a critical sigh, she pushed long blond hair over a shoulder. “That shade of navy is all wrong for you. The pinstriping isn’t aligned properly. Reminds me of a kid’s art project rather than an artfully draped suit. It’s a catastrophe. If you need me to suggest a tailor in Italy, near your home, I know one.”
“Visit me, love. Please. Dress me.” His face neared hers, obviously desperate for a sniff. His fangs extended past his lips as he zeroed in on her neck. “Or undress me. Spend the weekend with me. I’ll show you all the sights. We can go to the Alps, if you prefer. Just the two of us.”
She stepped out of his mouth’s descent toward her neck. He’d never bite in public, at least she hoped not—do not gag—but the presence of humans might not be much of a deterrent to him.
She managed to keep revulsion out of her tone. “The offer is tempting. That is so long as your wife won’t be there. I don’t like to share.” She forced herself to do a slow perusal down his body, even though inside she agreed with the vomit noises coming through her earpiece. “What a temptation. To get you a decent suit, of course.” With a bright smile, she said, “I must say good night. My car is waiting.”
She pecked him on each cheek.
“Until next week. The gala at my place. You are coming?” He caught her hand while he continued to leer at her chest, vulgar.
“Of course, love.” She blew him another kiss before she sashayed to the large glass entryway.
Finn met her, umbrella up and ready to shield her from the drizzle. He offered her a wrap to ward off the frigid wind, which had kicked up in the past hour. Like her, he too was in disguise, today as a forgettable elderly human male. Vampire noses would detect him as human, even though he wasn’t vampire or werewolf. Instead, he was a different shifter species altogether.
As soon as he closed the SUV door after her, he scurried around and had the vehicle at top speed within seconds.
“I didn’t get the intel, which sucks. What’s wrong with him?” She twisted around to examine the trunk. “I don’t hear anything. Seems like he’s still out.”
“Hold on.” He zigzagged through streets and pulled into a parking d
eck. “Get out.”
He popped the trunk and opened the panel that allowed access to the hidden compartment. “So I figured while you were in there, I’d clean him up. He was harpooned and the blood… But look at this.” He lifted the tattered remains of the wolf’s shirt away from the side on which he’d been impaled. The guy overwhelmed the box, his body beyond large. His facial hair looked longer, perhaps already grown out? And holy cow, those abs. His chest and abdomen had indentations she’d never imagined existed in anything beyond movie fiction, but there they sat chiseled right down to a lightly haired triangle that went into his pants. Her imagination conjured some whoppers for what she’d see if uncovered further south.
The harpoon wounds were gone.
“So he super-healed injuries that might take a normal wolf a few days to get over? Not a crisis. He’s old, and he heals fast.” She lifted one of the two amulets dangling around his neck. Sensations jostled through her fingertips as she rubbed the intricate metalwork, an ornate pentagram. “This is unique. A magical relic, perhaps?”
Curious for the wolf to be wearing such a symbol, which some believed would defend its bearer from all evil. Others thought it an attractor of good fortune. Obviously, it wasn’t silver unless he was a sadist and enjoyed the continuous burning pain it’d force him to suffer. Maybe it was tarnished white gold. Whatever its metallurgy, it’d been endowed with an old magic.
“Forget the goddamned pendant.” Finn grunted as he strained to prop up the top half of the wolf’s body. “Look at his back.”
She lifted his shirt. Tattooed words in the old language spanned his back, a sign of enslavement that dated him to at least three hundred years old. Still not a crisis. Almost all wolf survivors of the Emancipation War had this ink.
A circular scar rested over each shoulder blade. A werewolf with great healing ability like this guy should’ve healed them. The marks looked like someone had put spikes into his back… Oh, shit.
