Nightshade's Bite (Blood Wars)

by Zoe Forward

  “I never took you for a romantic, Blay.”

  He waved a hand. “Silliness aside, Michael is a valuable general in this war. Until two days ago, he killed vamps for sport.” He straightened. “The Michael who appeared on my doorstep a few days ago wasn’t the warmonger I’ve grown used to. He was vulnerable and uncertain, two things no one other than me and the King have seen from him since our youth. So I want to know what the hell you did to him and what you’re going to do about it.”

  “I don’t know.” With a long sigh, she dropped her head. “I can’t do what I do if I give up everything to chase after hot sex.” Her cheeks scorched. “We haven’t, but believe me, if we did, I’m pretty sure it’d scorch. Right up until I made a mistake, took a small bite, and died.”

  “That’s dangerous.” Blay would be one to know the exact danger of an interspecies attraction. “I worry for you. Even with a threat of death hanging over your head, you might not be able to resist the temptation to experience something incendiary.”

  “Sure, there’s nothing more seductive to beings as old as we are than a chance to be sensual again. Aside from the unavoidable death issue, the possessive alpha bullshit you guys specialize in when it comes to your mates would irritate the hell out of me. I can’t see him happily allowing me to go about my business. Let’s not forget he’s my species’ arch enemy. That is one line he wouldn’t be brave enough to cross simply for hot sex.”

  “You’d be surprised what a guy’d do for hot sex,” he muttered. Louder, he said, “I’ve hoped you’d find happiness before you did something insane for the Nightshade League and ended up dead like you almost just did.” Ancient wisdom and sadness rested in his regard.

  “Next time you think about playing snitch to my mother”—she glared—“don’t.”

  “You were dying. Literally separating at the seams. Vee couldn’t do anything and was on the verge of a panic attack. Michael freaked out. I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with you. I went to the only person I suspected knew what was going on.”

  Kiera took a deep breath, seeking the calm that wouldn’t come. “You took Michael with you to see her?”

  “I wasn’t sure I could be convincing by myself.”

  In a millisecond, she was on her feet, gripping Blay’s suit lapels and pulling him to a standing position. She gave him a hard shake. “You took Michael to see the sociopathic bitch who sits on her throne in the shadows and watches this war? What were you thinking? All she has to do is show herself once to the Foundry and put them into submission. She could end the conflict, but she’s so psychotically in love with the drama, she won’t. Now you added Michael into the mix. She probably ate it up that he’s potentially interested in me. She’ll catalog that away to be used to torture me or him at a later date.”

  Blay fell back into his chair when she released him. “You’re alive. So you’re welcome. I’m also not so sure she’s quite what you make her out to be. Sociopathic? Maybe. In love with the drama? Not so much. I got more that it exhausts her.”

  “She’s a superb actress and a shitty mother. There’s not an altruistic bone in her body. To her, life is chess, and if you thought she came off exhausted or caring, then she’s already five moves ahead of you in the game.”

  “That may be, but she still helped you.” Blay resumed sipping his tea.

  She couldn’t imagine what her mother might do with the information about Michael. “She now knows something that could get me killed.”

  “Perhaps. What’s your plan to deal with Viktor?”

  She resumed her seat. “He wants the viral cure. Does it exist?”

  Blay tilted his head, compressed his lips, and evaluated her in silence. Finally, he said, “There’s one for werewolves. It heals the slow, debilitating death the virus wreaks on wolves. It exists.”

  “Only wolves?” She should’ve guessed Blay knew all about it. The wolf had his hands in every bit of advanced technology of the species. It wouldn’t surprise her if one of his research facilities designed it. He owned huge labs that produced weapons and designed new medicines.

  “It doesn’t work on humans.”

  They gazed at each other in silence until she said, “I think Viktor doesn’t know that.”

  “Probably not.” Blay’s forehead wrinkled. “Viktor wants it to cure humans. Or at least the humans he wants to cure. His request isn’t out of concern for the welfare of our species or yours. With the cure, he could corner the market on disease-free human blood.”

  “I knew he’d gotten into the blood business. That makes sense.”

  Blay’s hands stiffened over his thighs before he fisted them. “I don’t have proof, but this theory got me thinking. The second wave of viral release was from a DiFalco facility. They released it on purpose to kick off the war, and if we are to believe propaganda, then it was meant to be a way to weaken wolves. Over the past year, my scientists discovered the second virus wasn’t the same as the original strain. First, it was capable of infecting humans, possibly due to an unfortunate mutation. Second, unlike the original virus, vampire-werewolf mixes are immune. Third, it’s not as predictably fatal to werewolves.”

  “I didn’t know this.”

  “It appears its release might not have been intended to target us.” Blay let that linger between them.

  “Viktor might’ve wanted the virus to attack humans?”

  Blay fiddled with a pen on the side table. “What if Viktor instigated this stupid conflict and then purposefully released a second virus in the name of killing werewolves, but his true goal was to infect a high percentage of humans? Then his company collects clean donors or already had uninfected human donors for use, thereby forcing your people to buy blood from him.”

  She gazed sightlessly at the shelves of old volumes, a bibliophile’s dream. Two yellowed maps of the old world before the Age of Exploration hung framed on either side of one shelving unit. “It could be true. If I had a gun with three bullets and I was in a room with Hitler, Robespierre, and Viktor, I’d shoot Viktor three times. He’s self-centered and greedy.”

  “After that, you’d have to cut off Viktor’s head or he’d be so pissed he’d kill you. Three bullets?” He snorted. “Hell, you’d shoot Viktor to slow him down because the other two humans you could eliminate with your pinky finger. It’s a weak metaphor.”

  “I was trying to make a point.”

  “What’s both fascinating and scary about all this is without us intervening, if we let evolution takes its toll, this virus has the potential to wipe out both our species but leave the mixes. The cure we have is of limited supply and cannot be replicated. So, ironically, the ones who were scorned for centuries, the mixes, may now be our best hope for survival. This changes the playing field when it comes to mated pairs between the species, does it not?”

  “Toxic blood problem…remember? Vampire sex involves biting? Not many vampires are willing to risk likely death for one bout of incredible sex.”

  “Yeah, okay. We’re not two species meant to mate.”

  She would not allow herself to circle back to her and Michael. She cleared her throat. “Would you give me the cure, if I asked?”

  “Yes. I trust you to use it justly. However, if you want it, I don’t have it. Michael controls it, not me.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll ask him about the cure. I’m not interested in giving it to Viktor.” Her heart raced at the thought of confronting Michael. Maybe she was a danger addict.

  No, this was about a chance to experience true passion.

  And hot sex.

  Uber hot sex.

  Followed by certain death.

  She rose to leave.

  “Did he tell you who Grace is to him?” Blay asked softly.

  Kiera paused at the doorway. “Said she was a relative.”

  “She’s his daughter. His only child.”

&
nbsp; Oh, God. Was it his mate who was murdered? Her chest compressed to the point she almost couldn’t breathe. Grace was young, and maybe her mother was the person Michael loved.

  “If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask him.” Blay picked up a book, dismissing her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  This attraction to her was a bizarre physical reaction. A new insanity. A liability.

  Michael had never mated anyone and didn’t know if it caused the obsession consuming his brain.

  No.

  This was physical attraction only.

  Which he couldn’t admit out loud. Especially not right now.

  It meant he was fucked. He could not be fantasizing about Kiera naked. He couldn’t be thinking about her at all, not while he planned the execution of many of her species.

  “Michael, do you agree our attack yesterday was a success? The new chemical bomb as a knock-out agent seems to get the job done. Feels good to be more on the offensive rather than playing defense.”

  He tried to focus on the twelve werewolves projected via video conference onto a sixty-inch screen in Blay’s meeting room. All here needed him to be the warmongering psychopath. His king depended on him to be the battle general. Resigned, he pulled his brain into the conversation.

  He’d been sitting here for…he rotated his phone. Four hours.

  On screen, Phillip in Madrid who’d asked the question cleared his throat.

  Day attack. Yesterday in London. Chemicals. Focus. He didn’t have the taste of victory in his mouth like everyone else. Nope, he had a case of the I-don’t-give-a-shits and a tension headache that ran from the base of his skull to his frontal lobe.

  What was the point of this conflict? Neither side was going to “win.” He wasn’t clear if either side really wanted to win and now wondered if all of it was diversion to draw attention from a despicable Foundry business plan.

  Everyone on screen sat in silence as if waiting for something. His mind rewound the conversation. They expect you to say something. Anything. Speak.

  “Yes,” he forced out. The arms on the wall clock said two and change. It felt like the middle of the night, but it was afternoon. Wasn’t it? Outside, light trickled around one of the window shades. Yep, afternoon. She’d be sleeping.

  “What’s your plan for tomorrow?” Phillip’s respectful tone didn’t match the cunning in his gaze. The asshole plotted to incorporate Michael’s territory into his—not a new situation, but one he periodically reminded himself not to forget. If Phillip wasn’t a power-hungry, selfish dickwad, Michael might consider handing him the reins.

  He had a baby to care for now.

  That wasn’t the full truth. The temptation to relinquish his territory had to do with the vampire who’d almost died for Grace, the one with whom there was no future.

  He pretended to peruse maps on his laptop like he hadn’t memorized them hours ago. “We attack the facility the Nightshade League discovered tomorrow during the day. We’ll free all the wolves.”

  Conversation resumed around the table on logistics. The methodical leader in him, the one who kept himself and his people safe, kicked in and dwelled on details. He made a few comments over the next hour, but seconds after each one, he couldn’t remember what he’d said.

  She’d almost died.

  He hadn’t been able to breathe when Kiera’s heart stopped, the moment they took Grace away from her to allow Vee to work on Kiera’s wounds. Never in his existence had he been more tangled with panic than the three minutes it took to restore her heartbeat.

  “Will you be there?” Phillip asked.

  After a long pause, during which time no one spoke, he realized the question was for him. Shit. “I’m not sure on the logistics of who will be going.”

  He realized he didn’t care about the fight. He still cared about his people and their need for an effective leader. Ever since he’d gotten free of slavery, he’d been hell-bent on revenge. He’d wiped out more vamps than he could remember over the past century, enough to be legend among his kind. But he’d lost his taste for war, something that had been waning well before he met the girl who saved him.

  That drive to annihilate them, spurred by a compulsion to win, was now gone. He found himself not wanting any part of it anymore. He wanted… Hell, he’d never actually considered what he might want if the desire didn’t involve hunting vampires. The stump of his favorite tree, a grave marker of a friend lost long ago, pushed into his brain along with the vast blankness of loss.

  She suggested he replant the tree. Why hadn’t he considered that?

  No! He wasn’t going to give up warring to go on a tree-hugging campaign. That was stupid. This obsession about a fucking tree was her fault.

  He might know his continued warring put him on a one-way collision with the end, but he wanted his end to be filled with honor—to die fighting. He preferred that end come sooner rather than later.

  “You shouldn’t go. We need you to stay in safety.” Phillip knew he had the virus cure, as did all the leaders on screen. His blood was the cure. Somehow his super healing ability, unique to him, could be passed temporarily through transfusing his blood. It “cured” everything and then dissipated in the wolf receiving his blood. His bi-weekly blood donation ensured enough stored “cure” for hundreds of wolves.

  One more minute of this and his head-pounder might explode into a full-fledged aneurism.

  “We’re done.” He rose. Eyebrows on all monitors shot up, but he didn’t care.

  …

  He shouldn’t go downstairs.

  He needed to sleep off the headache, the product of almost three days without rest and that five-hour meeting. Bryan offered a sleep-aid drug to him last night, but he’d refused. What if she had awoken?

  She hadn’t. He knew because he prowled the corner of her bedroom most of the night.

  A few fast corners, a few flights of stairs down, and he halted.

  She stood outside her room, back to him with shoulders slumped, against the wall as if about to fall over. Her long hair fell in dark, damp waves down her back as if she’d bathed recently. The pink pajamas were a bit too tight on her ass, but he wasn’t complaining about the view. He wondered if she wore underwear beneath.

  Had he gazed for too long with visions of touching? She had to know he was there. He shouldn’t be here. It put them both at risk of discovery or of him caving to kissing her again.

  Kiera’s destiny may be to die now, since Michael in her life guarantees she’s going to die soon anyway.

  Ehlena’s words haunted him.

  He should about-face and leave.

  She pushed off to stand, made a semi-turn, and wobbled.

  He rushed forward to stabilize her. Up close, she smelled amazing—shampoo and something else fresh and reminiscent of clean night air.

  “I’m fine. Don’t need help.” But she listed his way.

  “What’re you doing out here? Why aren’t you resting?” He realized he’d barked it out rather than asking in a reasonable tone.

  She pushed away from him. “Who shoved a bee up your ass?”

  “You were shot to hell and…” He waved at her midsection.

  “So? I saved Grace. That was the point of the whole exercise.” She raised her chin, eyes narrowed and flickering with desire to fight.

  “You almost died,” he roared, losing his ability to keep it together. She blinked, obviously startled, but didn’t move.

  “Why should you care? Not like you were around when I woke up.”

  “I had shit to do today, people to manage, and a war to organize. I can’t sit down here like a sap.”

  Her lips thinned. “Then what are you doing down here now?”

  “Fuck.” He tugged a hand through his hair and considered retreating. Because this wasn’t going how he’d imagined speaking with
her after she’d been full of bloody holes and then magically sealed together by the druid. Hell, he’d run through a dozen scenarios and finally settled on staying away from her as the smartest option. “It shouldn’t matter to you if I was there when you woke up or not. I shouldn’t matter.”

  “Maybe not, but you do.” She wouldn’t look at him as she added on a whisper, “You matter to me.”

  “Don’t do this. I came down here to make sure you’re okay and tell you thank you.” He memorized the angles of her face and added softly, “I have to say good-bye. Because that’s what has to happen.”

  He wanted her and everything bit of passion in her gaze. So much.

  Tears filled her beautiful eyes. She whispered, “You’re holding my hand.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I waited most of the night but had to go.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her palm, lingering over the soft pale skin. He pressed her hand between both of his. “Thank you. For bringing Grace back to me and for getting me out of Paris.”

  Her soulful eyes burned into him. Tears leaked and trickled down her cheeks.

  Tears. Fucking tears.

  “You and me…we can’t. I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. He released her hand and forced himself to move away from her. He needed to get the hell out of here and back to his space where he could figure out how to ignore the pain in his chest…and get massively drunk.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After a couple of hours of tossing and turning in the guest bed of the forest room, the willpower to stay away from Michael caved to desire to fight it out. He didn’t get to simply run away. Whatever sat between them deserved a moment, at least a nod.

  Maybe the loss of his mate was a part of his distress. Hurt to think he might care about another so deeply, even if it made him tackling Paris alone make more sense.

  By the time she surrendered to the need to see him, it was almost midnight. Finding him wasn’t the challenge, not to a high-end predator like her.

  As she neared the opposite end of the house, her hands shook. Her breaths came in choppy gasps as if she ran rather than walked.