Blood Vow

by J. R. Ward

  Elise closed her eyes in relief. "Oh, thank you, thank you so much...I really hope he can help."

  "My father has a way about him that really calms people down." Paradise looked at her male with love in her eyes and smiled. "And as traditional as he can be, he knows that that isn't everything."

  --

  No, Axe told his libido. No, absolutely not. You are not going to have that female.

  Forget it. Drop it. Walk away.

  F.F.S., it was like he was talking at a recalcitrant dog.

  But what the shits. She wasn't just "not his type," she represented everything he despised about the glymera. He couldn't stand blondes, for one thing. And yeah, sure, she didn't have a lot of makeup on, and it wasn't like she was dressed in a bunch of highbrow, ugly shit that was supposedly "on trend"--whatever the fuck that meant. But that accent of hers? Come on, it was so patrician, she made that human Queen of England sound like a beer drinker from the Jersey Shore.

  And her bone structure was even worse. That face of hers was so refined and perfect, he was very sure that she could trace her bloodline back to the beginning of time. And those eyes? Like sapphires. Those lips? Like rubies. That skin...like a pearl.

  She was a goddamn jewelry store of beauty. But man, it was so frickin' easy to fill in the particulars of her life: she was going to live in a mansion in the very best part of town; her bedroom would be Barbie-meets-theNational-Gallery; her father would be all up her ass to mate a suitable male from a Very Good Family; and her biggest worry tonight was what set of diamonds to wear to Last Meal.

  Good thing she had about four hours of deliberation time.

  Phew. What a fucking relief.

  She was exactly what his mother had hoped to become. When she left him an orphan and his father a ruined male.

  So no. He was not having anything to do with that stuck-up, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth, aristocratic breeding machine. Nope. Not going to--

  What would she taste like? an inner voice whispered.

  "Stop it," he muttered. "Just shut the fuck up--"

  What would she feel like, naked and under him, with her legs spread wide and her sex his for the taking? Would she moan his name? Or would she gasp it--

  "You know," Novo murmured, "you could make this easier on yourself."

  "What are you talking about? And please don't answer that if you don't feel like it."

  "Why don't you go over there and speak to her?"

  Axe considered playing stoopid, but what the hell. "Not a good idea. She'd be naked the next minute, and then I'd have to slaughter anyone with a cock who saw her like that."

  "You're a fucking animal." Novo laughed. "But I like that in a male. And I think so does that female."

  "What female." Damn it, was he out of booze again? "I think you're seeing things."

  "If you were any more turned on, you'd be doing something that would get you arrested in a place like this."

  "Which is why I like The Keys."

  "I'm serious, you need to take me to that club."

  "Name the night."

  And then he got quiet because Peyton's cousin was rising to her feet and giving the guy a hug like she was leaving.

  Look at me, Axe commanded in his head. Come on, look at me.

  The female had clearly been brought up correctly and she took the time to acknowledge everyone she had just been introduced to...including, at last, him.

  A quick flick of her eyes in his direction and then she was lifting her hand in a brief wave, and off she went.

  She walked like something he wanted to mount from behind.

  Axe went to get up before he was aware of moving, but Peyton shot a live-fire glare at him, a big, fat, don't-you-fucking-dare coupled with some don't-even-think-about-it mixed with a whole lot of not-even-in-your-fantasies-asshole. But then saving grace walked up.

  In the form of a set of DDs in a miniskirt so short it was essentially a pair of panties without the crotch. And the human woman was a blonde, Peyton's favorite.

  All the bad shit and frustration that had happened in training, coupled with the bourbon the guy had been drinking, conspired against good ol' Pey-pey's cockblocking, protective instincts--and the next thing you knew, the DDs had taken a load off in Peyton's lap and her fake-tipped nails were stroking the hair at the base of his neck.

  Cue the buh-bye's.

  Axe was up and outta there faster than a marksman could lock and load.

  Slipping through the dim interior, he moved like a laser sight through the crowd, slicing his way to the front entrance and out into the cold.

  Instinctively, he knew she'd gone left.

  And just as instinctively, she stopped at the curb the second he emerged.

  As she turned around to him, a gust of wind caught her hair, feathering it out from her face. With the fat snowflakes falling in a swirl and her coat catching the winter's breath around her body, she was like something out of a fever dream, both real and illusive.

  Axe walked over to her, aware that he was more like a love-starved virgin than the jaded sex addict he had become ever since he had kicked heroin.

  Her eyes skipped around as if he intimidated her, and she put her hands in her pockets, although, he sensed, not from the cold.

  Axe knew this because he caught her scent: This female, as skittish as she was, was far from indifferent to him.

  "I knew you would come after me," she said roughly.

  "And I knew you'd be waiting."

  She kicked up her chin. "I wasn't waiting."

  "If I hadn't rushed out here, you would have."

  He liked the way her jaw set like he was pissing her off. But then she smiled. "If you knew I'd wait for you, why did you rush?"

  "You're worth it."

  She opened her mouth as if she had expected him to say something else and had prepared a line. Shaking her head, she smiled as she glanced away. "Isn't that a line from a hair ad."

  "I wouldn't know."

  "Not into women's magazines?"

  "Not into women. Or females."

  "Then what do you think I am?"

  Axe didn't see how it was helpful to point out that he could be sexually attracted to people and yet have absolutely no other care for them whatsoever.

  "How do I see you," he asked on a growl. "Name the where and when and I'll be there."

  "What if I'm not interested," she drawled, and stepped off the curb into the road.

  He stayed right on her tail as she crossed the street. And good thing there were no cars coming in either direction--or he might have had to throw them out of his way.

  "If you say you're not interested, I'd call you on your bullshit. And really, why waste my time with that."

  On the far side, she wheeled around and put her hands on her hips. "Are you always this arrogant?"

  He leaned into her, and as he inhaled deep into his lungs, he relished the scent of her arousal.

  On a whisper, right next to her ear, he said, "Do you really think something as flimsy as false denial is going to keep me away from you?"

  At that moment, the door to the cigar club flew open and Peyton came out, all pouncing protector and then some.

  "I'm not denying anything," she said dryly. "But my cousin most certainly is going to keep us apart."

  "Only if you let him."

  "Elise," Peyton snapped from across the street. "Go home."

  "And this is the same male who was helping liberate me from my father," she muttered.

  "Elise!"

  As a couple of cars coming and going prevented the guy from crossing the road, she turned away. "Have fun with him."

  And poof! she was gone, dematerializing into the December night.

  "Goddamn it," Axe muttered.

  Meanwhile, Peyton played dodgeball with a truck, and then broke into a run to close the distance.

  "For fuck's sake," Axe barked at the guy. "I didn't touch her--"

  Crack!

  The right hook left him s
pitting blood out.

  "You don't fucking think about it!" Peyton gritted. "She is not your kind."

  "What, because I'm not an aristocrat like you, asshole?"

  The two of them got right up in it, baring fangs even though they could be seen, grabbing at the front of each other's jackets.

  Craeg was next out of the club, and Paradise was right with him.

  "She's a female of worth!" Peyton started to wind up for another strike. "She's not like the trash you fuck--"

  Axe caught the male's forearm and bent it out of the way. "Oh, and that human slut on your lap in there was some kind of saint--"

  "Her cousin is dead, okay! Allishon was the one Anslam murdered last month--I had to go to Elise's household and tell them what happened! So no, you can't fuck her and leave her ruined, which is what you're going to do. There's enough pain under that roof already and she deserves better than that! Better than you!"

  Craeg jogged across the street and wasted no time in hooking a hold onto Peyton's shoulders and dragging the guy back.

  "Not here," Craeg gritted. "You two assholes are making a scene."

  Axe cursed and walked off a little, pacing in the falling snow, his boots making tracks that quickly got him down to concrete. He spit out another mouthful of blood and tried to ignore how badly his knuckles were itching for payback.

  But damn, they'd all heard about the killing. Anslam, the murderer, had been one of the trainees, one of the few to survive the induction night and get accepted into the Brotherhood's program.

  No one knew, or could have guessed, that the aristocratic bastard had been brutalizing females and taking pictures of his handiwork on the side.

  Peyton had gone looking for his female cousin after he'd tried to get ahold of her--and from what Axe had been told, the guy had walked in on a bloodbath. No body, though. Turned out she had died at Havers's clinic, but without identification.

  Paradise had been the one to put it all together, and Anslam had nearly killed her when she'd figured it all out.

  The sadistic bastard had ended up dead in her front foyer.

  What a fucking mess.

  "Not Elise," Peyton said roughly. "I'm not going to let you ruin her. And don't pretend that's not what will happen. Unless you want to ask her father for permission to mate her properly, stay the fuck away from her."

  Yeah, like that was ever going to go down. One, because Axe would never ask any sire for that shit. And two, as if a highbred father like the one she had would let a scrub like him even walk through the front door, much less entertain a mating proposal.

  Hell, Axe wasn't good enough to vacuum the floor rugs on the guy's Rolls-Royce.

  But what did it matter, Axe thought as he looked away again. It wasn't like he was ever going to see her again.

  What was the saying? Ships in the night.

  They were two ships in the night, passing each other, never the twain shall meet again.

  "Fine," he muttered. "I'll leave her alone."

  he following nightfall, Mary watched from the end of Bitty's bed as the girl mulled over which coat to wear out. One was a puffy parka that was red and black, a gift from the King that was, as far as Mary could tell, like bubble-wrapping the kid--Rhage had even joked that it was the Gore-Tex equivalent of one of those human hamster balls that people got into and bounced down hills. The other choice was a sedate, navy blue peacoat, the old-fashioned kind with the sailor buttons and the collar you could stand up like Dracula's.

  A part of Mary's heart ached that this was the first time in Bitty's life that she'd had any kind of decision to make. Before, coming out of poverty, she had been lucky to have anything at all--and the idea the girl had spent so many winters cold was enough to make Mary nauseous.

  "I don't see why I have to go to the clinic," the girl said as she put the parka back in her closet.

  Mary had known all along that the wool coat was going to be the choice. Rhage had given the thing to the girl--and Wrath, son of Wrath, sire of Wrath, might have been the King of the entire race, but no one held a candle to Bitty's father.

  And tonight was going to be scary.

  "Do you think there's something wrong?" Bitty said as she came back from the closet.

  "No," Mary said. "I don't. But it's better to know that for sure rather than simply hope that's the truth."

  "I'm not sore, though." Bitty walked over to the dressing table and sat down in front of the three-part mirror. "And all pretrans are small."

  "I agree." Boy, Mary hated to bring up the abuse. "The reality is, though, that your body has been through a lot. It doesn't mean that you won't get through your transition and be tall and strong. But what if there's something we can do now to make sure that happens?"

  "Is it because of the broken bones?"

  "Yes."

  Bitty fell silent, picking up the hairbrush and running it through the long brown waves that fell past her shoulders--even though she'd already brushed them. And Mary gave the kid space, passing the time looking around the room...and wondering what else they could do to make the otherwise formal surroundings more what a thirteen-year-old girl would be into. Bitty didn't demand anything, though, and she seemed content.

  There also had been a lot of new purchases lately--and it was hard not to give the little girl the world.

  Hard, too, to stop the frickin' Brothers from spoiling her rotten. Bitty had arrived at the Brotherhood mansion with two battered suitcases, a doll head, and her old tiger, Mastimon--and within a night or two, her football team's worth of overprotective pains in the asses, better known as the BABUs (Bad-Ass Big Uncles), had been laying things at her doorway like offerings to an altar.

  Actually, Lassiter called the uncle squad Baboons or Buffoons. And then the beatings occurred. But yeah...

  Oh, and that fallen angel was the worst of the bunch when it came to presents. Just tonight, at First Meal, he'd given her yet another copy of the Deadpool DVD and a sweatshirt that had a red and black rendering of Dory with "Where's Francis?" printed on the front.

  "I really don't want to go to Havers's clinic," Bitty said as she looked at herself in the mirror. "I'm scared."

  Mary closed her eyes, recalling Bitty getting treatment there for what her biological father did to her. "Rhage and I are going to be with you the whole time. We aren't going to leave your side."

  "Can't Doc Jane do whatever needs to be done at her clinic?"

  "I'm sorry, but she can't."

  "Can she come with us?"

  "No, honey, she has her work to do here. But she's going to talk to Havers herself after all the tests come back. And so will Dr. Manello and maybe even V."

  Bitty put the brush down and ran her palm over her hair. "Okay."

  God, she was so small sitting there, and Mary would have given anything to be the one about to be poked and prodded and X-rayed and imaged. Bitty had been through so much, her poor little body absorbing blows and stress that most adults would have had trouble living through. And the actual experiences had been bad enough. The idea that she was still having to deal with them seemed grossly unfair.

  "I think afterward," Mary said as she got to her feet, "Rhage is going to take the night off and hang out with us."

  "He told me we can have ice cream and watch a movie, if I wanted."

  "You got it."

  When Bitty didn't stand up, Mary went over. "I'm not going to leave you."

  "Promise?" came the whisper. "I'm scared."

  Mary put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "I swear that I will never leave you."

  Thank you, Scribe Virgin. And thank you, Rhage. When they'd decided to move forward with the adoption process, she and Rhage had agreed that even if he died first, Mary would stay with Bitty. Of course, they hadn't told the girl about all that. There just hadn't been a right time yet.

  Bitty took a deep breath. "Okay, let's--"

  The knock on the door cut her off, and then came Rhage's deep voice, muffled: "How're my females in there?
We ready?"

  "Yup."

  "Yes."

  Rhage opened things up and there he was, big and beautiful, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his preternatural physical perfection the kind of thing Mary still did a double take on every once in a while. With blond hair that was thick and wavy, eyes that were the color of the ocean in the Bahamas, and teeth so white they looked like bathroom tile--even though they'd never been bleached--he was a legend in the race with the females for a good reason.

  He was also totally and completely devoted to her and her alone.

  It had taken Mary some time to get used to that, to trust it. After all, he could have had anyone or anything he wanted in a mate--someone blond and tall and gorgeous like him. Instead...he only had eyes for her, a brunette with a nice enough face, and a body that had been rendered infertile thanks to chemo.

  Rhage thought she was a beauty queen, however, and funny, when she was around him and he was staring at her the way he did? She sure as hell felt like one.

  As Bitty burst up and rushed over to him, he got down on one knee so he was closer to her height. And he took her hands, his larger palms engulfing her smaller ones.

  "You ready to get this over with so we can watch Deadpool again?"

  Mary shook her head. "You guys are in a serious rut."

  " 'So what's it gonna be?' " Bitty quipped. " 'Long sullen silence or mean comment?' "

  " 'You got me in a box here,' " Rhage shot back.

  "Yes, yes, yes, yes..." Bitty curled up her fists and pumped the air as she turned in a little circle.

  "Promise me again," Mary cut in, "that you don't look at the adult parts."

  Bitty and Rhage both covered their eyes as he replied, "Nope. We assume the position and wait till the ugliness passes."

  Pick your battles, Mary reminded herself. You gotta pick your battles.

  As the three of them headed out of the suite in a clutch, Mary said, "You know, you could try watching some other things? There are some wonderful documentaries out there on social issues that..."

  She let the pitch trail off as the two of them turned around and stared at her as if she'd suggested spray-painting obscenities all over the foyer. Or firing Fritz. Or off-loading Rhage's GTO on eBay for scrap metal.

  "How are you two not blood relations," she muttered. "But at least you might grow out of this, Bitty."

  The girl came in close and gave one of her hugs, tight and quick. "Maybe."