by Tessa Dawn
Jocelyn stared into his impossibly beautiful eyes, noticing how his pupils shined like a glittering midnight sky. There was a deep, haunting power resting in their depths, and the shape and perfection of his mouth took her breath away: such perfectly sculpted lips—firm...inviting...flawless.
He brushed away her tears with the pads of his thumbs and bent to her mouth. She shivered with anticipation as the sinfully handsome male caressed her as if she were his world, worshipping her with his eyes.
And then his lips met hers and the earth shifted beneath her.
His mouth took ownership—teasing and tasting—even as his tongue began a slow, torturous exploration. It was both a kiss and a claim. It was a promise of heated nights to come....
It was the stamp of his soul burning into hers, and she knew from that moment forward that he had her...completely...irrevocably. He had been right all along: she had always belonged to him.
When Nathaniel pulled away, Jocelyn was breathless. He had touched her so deeply, and it was only a kiss. What in the world would happen if they ever made love?
Nathaniel pulled her close and just held her. "If we ever make love?" His voice was a husky murmur—the soft timbre of a cello playing a concerto in her heart, as he whispered the tantalizing words directly in her ear: "When, my angel. When we make love."
Jocelyn ducked her head beneath his arm and grimaced.
"You were reading my mind?" The question was rhetorical.
His answering laughter was low, amused, and completely unapologetic. He exhaled, as if taking in the moment...as if wanting to hold on to their first intimate connection as long as he could before abruptly becoming serious again. "Kagen will be here soon: I know your arm looks bad, but it will heal swiftly with his assistance. And I do not believe there will be any scars."
He stood then and turned to look out the front window.
There was frost building up along the sides of the pane, and the snow seemed to be coming down even heavier now—if that was even possible. He turned to face her. "You know this is not over...Tristan did not come here alone. Soon, there will be dozens of lycans surrounding the cabin."
Jocelyn cleared her throat, uneasy. "Nathaniel? Did you know all along...what Tristan was?"
"Of course," Nathaniel answered. "But there was little I could do without putting many of our people at risk."
Jocelyn frowned and shook her head. "I didn't pick up on anything." She felt so ashamed.
Nathaniel shrugged. His eyes were warm, his voice soft with compassion. "I don't think it would have mattered, Jocelyn...if you had known. In fact, things may have been far worse for all of us if you had resisted." He returned to the sofa, absently lifting the blanket to cover an exposed part of her shoulder, and then he took her hand in his own. "I want you to stay inside...no matter what."
Jocelyn tried not to look as afraid as she felt; two werewolves were already two more than she ever hoped to see in a lifetime. She wanted to ask about Braden, but she already knew....
She had seen it with her own eyes before she escaped the shed: The young vampire's head had been split open and his neck broken. And that was before Tristan began to rip apart his sternum...no doubt in an effort to get at his heart.
It was one of those strange tricks the mind played on its host, an irrational but necessary means of coping, a way to delay the inevitable: If she didn't ask...if she wasn't told...then up until the moment she was forced to acknowledge it, it didn't have to be real. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she could still believe...she could still hope...she could still keep Braden alive in her psyche.
At least until that dreadful moment when the truth took her hope away: when she had to face his unwavering bravery...and her own miserable failure.
"Do you have reinforcements?" she asked, forcing her thoughts back to the subject at hand, true to her detective nature.
Nathaniel smiled, clearly attempting to reassure her. "I have my brothers and they're all the reinforcement I need."
Jocelyn's eyes grew big. Her heart began to pound in her chest. "Just you, Marquis, Nachari, and Kagen? Against dozens of...those things?"
Nathaniel walked back to the side of the sofa, knelt down, and brought her hand to his mouth. He kissed the back of her knuckles and nibbled softly on the tips of her fingers as his eyes lingered on her face. "Baby, we'll be fine."
Jocelyn lay her head on his chest.
He paused then. "After you left, the lodge was attacked by several of Tristan's soldiers; our warriors and sentries were needed to protect the valley. We simply could not justify sending more than three warriors out to retrieve two people.
I'm sorry it took us so long to find you."
Jocelyn nodded, and Nathaniel looked off into the distance.
His eyes turned dark and a deep sorrow seemed to weigh down on his shoulders. "I'm sorry we did not arrive in time to save Braden." It was as if he had read her thoughts and was trying to give her the only comfort he knew how.
As if responding on cue, the door to the cabin swung open and Nachari rushed in holding Braden's limp body tenderly in his arms. Jocelyn cried out at the sight of Braden's twisted, broken neck, and a bitter gust of wind swirled around the two males, biting at their skin as Nachari ducked in out of the cold.
Marquis was right on his heels. "Damn, that wind is really picking up," he barked, slamming the door behind them.
Nathaniel went immediately to Nachari's side and looked down at Braden. "He was brave, this young one. Is he..."
His voice trailed off as he looked back at Jocelyn.
Tears ran down her face as she pulled the blanket closer around her, acutely aware that she was wearing nothing but a few torn strips of clothing underneath the heavy wool blanket.
She immediately got up from the sofa to make room for Braden's lifeless body, clutching the blanket and her tattered arm at her side.
"We found him just outside of the shed," Nachari replied.
"It looks like Tristan got to him, too." He eyed Jocelyn's arm and looked away. "And there was another lycan...a hunter...lying dead in the doorway; his body was shredded beyond recognition."
"Willie," Jocelyn offered. "Tristan's partner."
Marquis frowned. "Braden fought Tristan and another lycan?" The disbelief was apparent in his voice.
"No," Jocelyn answered, "there was another vampire: one with red and black hair. He was being tortured in the shed. He fought with Willie."
Marquis and Nathaniel gave each other an uneasy glance.
"Did you see this male?" Marquis asked.
"No, I didn't," Nathaniel answered. "Nachari?"
Nachari shook his head and laid Braden down gently on the sofa, cradling his head in his hands like delicate porcelain...placing his body in the most comfortable position possible. The stunning male vampire had tears in his deep, numinous eyes, their typical forest-green hue deepening to a cloudy, emerald.
Jocelyn steadied herself for the inevitable before she revisited Nathaniel's question. "Is he...dead?"
Nachari shook his head. "He's lost a tremendous amount of blood, he has a skull fracture, and his neck is broken...but his heart is still beating."
Jocelyn caught her breath, tears streaming down her face.
She went to Braden's side. "I'm so sorry I couldn't help him...there was just no way. He saved me." She brushed the tears from her eyes, trying to regain control over her emotions. "If it weren't for Braden, I would've never gotten to the flares; you should've seen how he went after Tristan."
She turned to face Nathaniel, and her voice trembled. "I did this, didn't I?"
If she had only refused to walk away with Tristan to begin with....
Nathaniel caught her by her uninjured arm and pulled her to him. "No, Jocelyn: Tristan did this. Kagen may still be able to save Braden—you have to have faith."
I am still a couple of minutes out, but I will be there shortly. I got sidelined by one of Tristan's soldiers when I went back for my supplies. The voice was Kagen's, an
d once again, the clear telepathic message was transferred to Jocelyn through Nathaniel's touch.
Nathaniel, Marquis, Nachari: you need to be ready. I passed at least fifteen hunters on my way in; they are no more than five minutes away from the cabin. They are breaking apart in small teams to mount a circular attack.
Marquis, you can't afford to wait for my arrival. Give Braden as much of your blood as you can afford to lose without weakening yourself for the battle.
Marquis went immediately to Braden's side and opened his long leather jacket. He withdrew a sharp stiletto from one of the many internal compartments and sliced it deep across his wrist in one smooth, vertical motion.
Jocelyn cringed as she watched him kneel beside the unresponsive body, force Braden's mouth open, and pour the rich, dark liquid into his mouth. He never even winced.
Nachari began to stroke the muscles of Braden's throat with his hand, clearly using the additional aid of his mind to coax the unconscious child to drink.
"Why did Kagen ask Marquis for blood...instead of Nachari?" she whispered to Nathaniel.
Nathaniel watched as his brother gave the essence of life in an attempt to save the young male. "Marquis is the most ancient—and the most powerful—among us; his blood will heal him quicker than the rest of ours."
Nathaniel turned to face her then, holding both of her shoulders in his hands. "I'm going to give you something, and I want you to use it if you have to. But remember what I told you, stay inside!" His eyes held hers in a stern, commanding gaze, and then he reached into the flap of his jacket and withdrew a nine-millimeter semi-automatic weapon.
Jocelyn's mouth gaped open in disbelief when he unwrapped the flap of his coat to search for an extra clip of bullets: The inside lining of the leather trench coat looked like a military arsenal—there was so much hardware concealed inside, tucked into various straps, holsters, and compartments, that she couldn't even begin to make out what each item was.
There were razor-sharpened stilettos, all with hand crafted grips and polished silver blades; a monstrous forty-one magnum single-shot revolver with a polished pearl handgrip; and a sawed-off double-barrel shotgun that looked like something he'd brought back with him from the wild west.
He had a military grade AK-47, with several extra stripper clips, and an awe-inspiring M4 carbine with a thirty-round magazine, tucked into some kind of make shift hip holsters running down the length of his rock-hard thighs. Jocelyn couldn't be positive, but she could have sworn she also saw a couple of semi-automatic revolvers tucked into two ankle holsters, just beneath his heavy leather boots.
Beyond the NRA billboard, there were several ancient weapons she couldn't identify, an old-world arsenal of treacherous-looking monstrosities, things she had read about but never seen, all cast in solid silver. A curved sickle, some sort of spiked iron bolas hanging from the end of a chain, and a double-edged battle-axe.
Nathaniel handed Jocelyn an extra clip for her Beretta. "It's loaded with silver bullets, so aim for the heart. It's the only way to kill them."
With military precision, he began locking and loading the weapons, including the AK-47 and the semi-automatics strapped to his shins just below his jeans. From the opposite side of his jacket, he pulled out some sort of leather holster, which had several pockets tailor made for holding munitions, and draped it around his shoulder.
He tucked a twelve-inch blade, with an ornately carved handle that looked like something one might find in the Ming Dynasty, into the back of his belt; donned a spiked, leather cestus on his left hand; gripped the M4 carbine in his right; and turned to face his brothers.
In her wide-eyed fascination of Nathaniel, Jocelyn hadn't noticed Marquis and Nachari doing the same thing, and she definitely didn't remember seeing Kagen enter the cabin. But he was there—already kneeling beside Braden, checking the young male's injuries. He reached into a soft leather bag and pulled out a circular container, with a flexible, sealed lid on top.
"Fill it," he commanded, tossing it to Marquis.
Jocelyn stared in abject wonder as Marquis drew his lips back in a relaxed snarl and struck the top of the container like a coiled snake. His long incisors sank deep, releasing a steady stream of venom into the container. When it was finally full, his lips twitched back, his incisors retreated, and he tossed the container back to Kagen.
Then all at once, his eyes began to glow a hollow red and his fangs came back: only this time, the jagged daggers were canines, twice as long, and the hair on the back of his neck was visibly standing up. All three of them looked like other-worldly demons...positively possessed. They were Vikings from another era whose only purpose for existence was to bring death to their enemies...to leave carnage in their wake.
Nathaniel's head snapped to the side in a serpentine-like movement, more animal than man. "Stay close to Kagen."
The command was a low hiss, and it was delivered with absolute authority.
He led the way out the front door, Nachari close on his heels. As Marquis took the rear, he turned to look back at his brother, then Braden, and finally Jocelyn. His eyes were alive with anticipation...and fever...like a dog salivating over a bone. The awesome sight took her breath away, and she involuntarily backpedaled and gulped.
Marquis growled a low, indistinct rumble in his throat. The corner of his lip turned up in what appeared to be the hint of a smile, and as he left the cabin...he winked at her.
Jocelyn's heart skipped a beat—
Nathaniel was fighting for his life...for the lives of those he loved. He was fighting for her. Nachari was steady...and arrogant...and sure as always: a soldier doing his duty. But Marquis? He was a kid in a candy store. He lived for the adrenaline and approached the upcoming battle as a sport.
Jocelyn's heart rested a little easier: These warriors would not go down easily. Not against an entire lycan army.
She double bolted the front door and took a place on the floor next to Kagen, the heavy wool blanket still wrapped securely around her shoulders, the nine-millimeter Beretta packed with silver bullets...and nestled snugly in her hand.
The cabin was deathly quiet and eerily dark, the only remaining light the soft dancing yellow of flames flickering in the fire and the subtle reflection they cast as shadows against the adjacent wall.
Kagen had carefully cleaned Jocelyn's wounds and wrapped her arm in a soft cast using a poultice made from Marquis's venom. She had managed to find an old pair of sweat pants and a long-sleeve shirt, probably belonging to Tristan, in one of the back rooms, and she was already feeling better, the sharp pain in her arm subsiding.
Braden was finally awake and at least resting peacefully.
His skull fracture and chest wounds were healing rapidly, and Kagen was working tirelessly to reset and fuse the broken vertebrae in his neck—once again, injecting Marquis's venom into the surrounding tissue, providing repeated infusions into the bone. Kagen splinted the neck in an effort to keep it still, using two straight pieces of wood torn from the fireplace mantel to hold it in place.
The sound of the ferocious battle taking place outside was more than unsettling: Savage howls of rage cut through chilling stints of silence, and horrifying shrieks of pain sporadically pierced the night as rapid waves of gunfire went off in short bursts amidst the intermittent sounds of blades clashing...claws tearing...and bones cracking.
And then there was the unmistakable sound of...death.
Anguished cries of defeat—as immortal beings were repeatedly forced to embrace the irony of mortality.
The sound of thunder roared through the heavens, even in the midst of the heavy snowstorm. It was an awe-inspiring phenomenon to behold: an amazing paradox of nature.
It was as if the universe was caught in a war of juxtaposition: flaunting wrath and peace at the same time, hurtling intense heat and severe cold all at once, whispering and screaming with one voice.
Jocelyn clutched at her stomach as another wave of thunder shook the sky with a deafening roar, and the
answering lightning once again rocked the earth beneath them with a fury so powerful, she caught at the arm of the sofa...afraid the earth might just open up beneath them.
All the while, the snow continued to fall in heavy blankets, swirling noiselessly around the cabin, as shimmering crystals of white ice were occasionally upstaged by an orange and red encore.
The temptation was just too strong. Jocelyn could no longer bear the suspense or the endless waiting. Moving slowly in order not to draw attention to the cabin, she got up from her position next to Kagen and approached the window.
She had to see.
She had to know that Nathaniel was still alive.
Wiping her hand against the glass to clear the fog, she peered out into the night, straining to catch a glimpse of the battle firsthand....
And what she saw stole her breath away: Blood.
Everywhere.
The snow was crimson, the trees painted red. There were scarlet puddles running into snowy rivers, snaking along the ground. There were parts of bodies strewn haphazardly like morbid statues randomly erected in the snow. Heads, limbs, and claws were scattered about like garbage, and spent gun shells littered the ground.
Jocelyn watched in wonder as the vampires moved in and out of the stalking lycans. It was obvious the wolves had enormous physical strength on their side. Their powerful jaws were lethal, and they continuously launched attacks relying upon the strength of their upper bodies, their strapping arms, and their treacherous teeth to bring them victory. But the vampires were far too fast, and they had the added power of invisibility on their side—the ability to cloak their appearance at will.
Jocelyn watched as two lycans approached Nachari, one from the front and one from behind. Nachari whirled around with dizzying speed, keeping his eyes fixed on both. He never even blinked, tracking their every move effortlessly, no matter how cunning. The wolves leapt in unison, counting on the fact that he couldn't defend two sides at once, but Nachari simply disappeared...dissolved in midair...and the heavy, lunging animals crashed into each other with perilous force, like two freight trains colliding on a misguided track.
