by Petra Landon
Elisabetta’s expression tightened. Hawk had hit his mark.
Simeonov jumped in smoothly to engage Hawk, giving his partner time to regroup. “Your sister, at least, has the guts to publicly declare she dislikes her kind, Hawk” he taunted.
Sara, unperturbed by the jab, nevertheless looked alarmed as fury flashed across Hawk’s face. Elisabetta’s taunts about him he could ignore, but those directed at his twin made Hawk see red. Before anyone could interject, Atsá strode purposefully into the room, with Maartje by his side. The Navajo Were-Alpha was always hard to read but Maartje’s faded blue eyes flashed to Simeonov with an expression that had Tasia doing a silent double take. The pointed arrows flying rapidly around this room had evidently been overheard.
As the silent confrontation in the room seemed to ratchet up, surprisingly, it was Nandini who got the first word in before anyone else could.
“Roman and I are working around the clock, strategizing to convince the First Ones to join us” the Indian Ancient addressed Simeonov, her words measured. “It will be hard enough to convince them about Lady Bethesda, without you adding to it. You know exactly what’s at stake here, Were-Alpha. How amenable do you think they’ll be to our pleas if you taunt a Wyr for associating with other Chosen?”
Tasia reflected silently that Nandini’s blunt reproach was reminiscent of a fired-up Sienna, though the Ancient’s rebuke had been deliberate and restrained. Predictably, it was Elisabetta who recovered first. Simeonov seemed nonplussed by Nandini’s curt reprimand.
“We’re Wyrs, Nandini” Elisabetta said sweetly. “All discussions, including differences of opinion, remain within the Pack. Caroline understands what getting involved with a Shifter entails. She won’t blab to any outsiders. Will you, Caroline?” she challenged the Wizard.
Before Caro could respond, Atsá chimed in, self-possessed and dignified to a tee. “Caroline is here as Sienna’s guest. She’s under no obligation to keep anything she hears this evening to herself. This is not Pack business, Elisabetta.”
He met the gorgeous Were-Alpha’s eyes, his gaze direct and grave. “If the Guardian in the other room overhears you disparage a Wizard, he’ll be justified in not assisting us” Atsá pointed out, the chiding candid but delivered with tact. “And if Bergdahl walks away, there will be disappointment all around.”
“Add me to that list, Atsá.” Roman fixed his eyes on the two Were-Alphas, his voice hard. “If Merceau is forced into a confrontation with the GCW for the records, I guarantee that the First Ones will be even less receptive to Nandini and me.”
Elisabetta held her tongue, but it was clear that the message had been received loud and clear. Maartje said nothing, though her displeasure was written all over her face. It took a few moments for the charged atmosphere in the room to return to normal.
Even as the others subsided, confident that their warning had not missed its target, Duncan drawled from his corner. “If you have something to say about the company my Shifters’ keep, come talk to me about it, Stefan.”
There was no mistaking the threat in Duncan’s dispassionate tones. Tasia was astonished. The English Shifter was rarely this direct and unsubtle, especially, when it came to Hawk, who could more than handle himself in the Pack. Sara too looked confused, making it evident how unusual this was. Perhaps, Tasia speculated, Duncan’s rebuke had not been intended in defense of Hawk, but his more vulnerable twin. Simeonov’s expression hardened subtly, but he shrugged off the remark, to engage Elisabetta in conversation.
As the others re-engaged with their respective companions and Atsá exited the room with Maartje, Caro noted to Sara and Tasia. “Boy, do I understand what you mean by testosterone all the time.” She spoke softly but made no attempt to conceal the conversation from the other Shifters.
Sara rolled her eyes, giving vent to her exasperation with the Shifters’ constant jostling for leverage and ascendancy over each other. Tasia merely sighed, immensely thankful that the crisis had been averted without more metaphorical blood-letting. But Hawk seemed curiously relaxed, even unperturbed by the exchange.
“You’ll fit right in” he asserted to Caro, the very epitome of confidence. “If Atsá had not stepped in, you’d have torn Elisabetta and her lapdog to shreds.”
Simeonov and his companion bristled at the remark but remained silent, post the blunt reprimand. Caroline shook her head at her boyfriend, a smile blooming across her face. In response, Hawk’s eyes danced mischievously.
Weeks in the past, deep in the Belizean Rainforest
He set a punishing pace as they moved deeper into the rainforest. She hurried to keep up with him. Her guards would discover her absence soon and there was no way to hide in the open from them. But evading Blutsaugers in the darkened woods, despite the dense cover, was not an easy proposition either.
As she followed him through the hushed, dark and lush jungle, the flush of adrenaline slowly died down. With the vegetation growing thicker and the moonlight scarcer, the forest’s eeriness seemed to reinforce the bizarreness of her circumstances. The first doubts assailed her. The prudence and caution she’d determinedly shoved away, overcome with sheer relief and gratitude at his unexpected offer to help her escape the Blutsaugers, came roaring back. As she trailed after him, every step now prodded her of how profoundly startling, baffling and confounding her benefactor’s unlikely and incredible act of benevolence was. Her doubts grew as she questioned his unexpected altruism. Why had he offered her a way out? Her desire to escape her captors was obvious, but what motivated him to assist her? Especially, after turning her down flat the night before, without even affording her the chance to explain why she’d risked confronting him. What could have changed his mind so drastically, she speculated uneasily? You began this by going to him in the first place, reminded her fairer self, attempting to tamp down her disquiet. Yes, she had, she acknowledged. But that had been to offer him something of value in exchange for his assistance. She’d never asked for his backing to escape her captors, and his unusual magnanimity now served to raise her suspicions. Had he, perhaps, read her desperation and assumed her to be easy pickings, she brooded apprehensively?
The interlude in her room played in her mind. The ease with which he had subdued her, the subtle threat she’d read in him despite the smooth rich tones and relaxed mien, the way he’d demanded answers from her as if he had a right to them, followed by the inexplicable offer of assistance. Had he guessed that his behavior would rattle her and keep her off kilter; and had he done so to get her to submit readily to his overture? He’d allowed her little time to contemplate his proposal, simply laying down his terms and giving her five minutes to join him.
Wary and alarmed by the doubts swirling in her, she questioned her compliance in following him rashly and blindly into the forest. What did she really know about him, she challenged herself? The whispers spoke of a mysterious Chosen adept at meting out justice to his brethren and a powerful Magick wildly successful at taking out those deemed nearly impossible to kill. His reputation suggested that he was a powerful, dangerous and lethal enforcer with a proclivity for assassinating Chosen. She would be no match for him if he turned on her. As a sense of foreboding enveloped her, she wondered nervously if she’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
Engrossed in her increasingly dire thoughts, it took her a few seconds to realize that he’d come to a stop. She watched as he slung his rucksack down on the ground, to assess the large tree they stood under. He felt the trunk delicately with his palm, the blunt fingers stroking the bark. The tree towered over its neighbors, with a bare trunk and a thick canopy on top. She recognized it — the ceiba tree. The Mayan tree of life, popularized to the world by the movie Avatar. She’d been permitted to sign up for a guided trek to the rainforest offered by the resort. Vanni had somehow spun his magic on the powers-that-be and she had joined the excursion, escorted by him and minus her usual entourage. The guide had explained about the ceiba tree and its significance to the ancient Maya
ns.
“Touch the tree” he directed, interrupting her musings.
She goggled at him. “What?”
They were running from Blutsaugers, who would soon surround them. And he wanted her to play with local plant life.
The pale eyes glanced at her. “We don’t have much time.” He was clearly trying to hold on to his patience. “Put your arms around the trunk.”
“You will do as I say” he said evenly, as she hesitated. “Or take your chances against the Blutsaugers on your own.”
She took a deep breath, to step forward and place a palm on the trunk, as he had done.
“Use both hands” he commanded. “Hug it.”
Feeling ridiculous, she clasped her arms around the trunk. He came forward to place his palm on the tree above her head, caging her in. Skittish now, she swung her head to observe him, when she felt his palm on the small of her back nudging her forward to rest her belly against the trunk.
Jittery, already on her guard, riven with doubts, and in the midst of second-guessing his intentions, this was the last straw for her. Shoving him away, she came up swinging, her fists aiming squarely for his nose. Caught by surprise, he managed to duck away but not before she caught him a glancing blow on his jaw.
“What the fuck?” His voice came out as strangled.
He grabbed her swinging fists to capture them, shoving her back, to pin her wriggling form against the tree. “What’s gotten into you?” he demanded.
“Let go of me” she cried, struggling madly against his grip. “Pervert! Lecher!”
“Huh?” The pale eyes swung to her, staring at her as if she’d lost her mind.
Her knee came up, aimed at a sensitive part of his anatomy, and he let go off her hastily to back away.
This time, the pale eyes were stormy. “You’re pissing me off” he warned her.
But she was not done. Her command of English exhausted, she switched to Italian. “Bastardo” she spat out. “Cazzo. Testa di cazzo. Stronzo.” With each word, her voice rose.
They stared at each other as she paused to catch her breath, rage and despair swirling in her, while a more confused medley of emotions held him. Primary among them, bemusement tinged with confusion.
She took a deep breath, ready to unleash the big guns. She hadn’t spent a lifetime with her Blutsauger guards without learning some colorful phrases. All she had were words. She certainly wouldn’t win a bout with magic against him. He was ElMorad.
“Pevertito! Finocchio” she asserted, almost muzzling herself at the last second. The final one, she knew, tended to hit the masculine ego particularly hard.
His eyes flickered, and she cursed herself for allowing her tongue to run away in her rage.
“Careful” he said softly, in that incongruously rich voice that belied his reputation. “You don’t want to throw that in a man’s face, little girl.”
She straightened her spine. It would not do to show any fear before him. And he was the one in the wrong.
“My name is Temi” she threw at him. “And I do not like being touched.”
As her words died way, he contemplated her. The pale eyes blanked, opaque and inscrutable, with no hint of his thoughts.
“I was not touching you, Temi.”
“I felt you” she said hotly, subtly retreating from him and into the trunk. “Pushing me against the tree.”
“I was trying to shroud you” he explained calmly. “Unless we mask your scent, you can’t outrun the Blutsaugers.”
Her eyes widened. “Mask my scent” she repeated, confusion warring with her sense of outrage.
“My magic shrouds me. But they’ll track your scent unless we disguise you too.”
She gawked at him uncertainly. “You can do that?”
“I am Eru’Aar” he said simply.
“I know you’re Eru.” She’d managed to dig that up about ElMorad, before approaching him. This was public knowledge. What was not were the powers and abilities that allowed him to slip into heavily guarded fortresses and kill powerful immortals.
“No” he proclaimed. “I’m Eru’Aar — one with the Eru. It’s what gives me my power.”
Puzzled, she stared at him, some of her roiling doubts subsiding as the cloudless eyes met her gaze. He was telling her something significant, she seemed to realize. The source of his mysterious powers. Not that she understood it. But she knew that it was an olive branch.
The pale eyes studied her silently.
“If you’re having second thoughts, now is the time to tell me” he suggested, his voice mild. “I can have you back into your room at the lodge, with none the wiser.”
She hesitated. “My guards will be back by now.”
“I’ll create a diversion. Like before.” He exuded confidence.
He was offering her a way back to status quo, Temi understood. She bit her lip indecisively, while he waited patiently as if in no hurry. Temi was acutely conscious that this was her only shot at freedom. Yet, something, a voice in her head, was suspicious of his motivations. Nothing she’d ever heard about ElMorad hinted at any chivalrous tendencies. If anything, his reputation suggested that he was a ruthless lone-wolf with an almost fanatical fixation with his chosen profession — hunting down Magicks that fell afoul of their laws.
Her eyes wandered uncertainly over the big figure that loomed close — the harsh face without any hint of softness and the pale eyes that could transform from cloudless to stormy in a blink. He said nothing, for all purposes a man with all the time in the world, not one deep in the forest about to be swarmed by a vengeful army of Undead.
So what if she had leapt from the frying pan into the fire, Temi argued with herself. She knew exactly what fate awaited her in the frying pan. With him, there was at least a chance that he might keep his word. He certainly had a reputation for it. What did she have to lose by trusting him?
“I don’t want to go back” she confessed, meeting his eyes. Her words were franker than she’d intended them to be.
But he seemed to understand what she was telling him. She might not trust him, but neither did she have any faith in the Blutsaugers.
He gestured at the tree. “Plaster yourself to it.”
Without a word, Temi hugged the trunk hard.
“The more of you in contact with the tree, the better the magic will work” he explained, joining her.
This time, he was careful to keep his distance, Temi noted. She turned her head to watch him, resting her cheek on the rough bark of the trunk. He touched his palms to the tree and lowered his head, as if in supplication. Temi waited, holding herself smack dab against the trunk. The lush forest lay silent around them, the darkness overpowering.
Abruptly, he moved away. “We’re done.”
Bending down, he slung the rucksack over his shoulder. “Let’s move.”
Temi followed him as he strode forward.
“Is my scent masked now?” she inquired, driven by curiosity as well as a desire to break the uncomfortable silence between them.
“Yes.”
Temi hesitated a heartbeat. “How does it work?”
“The tree took on your scent and covered you in its essence.” He was brusque.
“The Blutsaugers won’t be able to track me?” she persisted.
“Not by your scent. They’ll be stuck at the ceiba tree.”
Temi pondered his words. “So, we’re safe?”
“Not by a long shot. They can still hear you.”
“Oh.”
He shot her a glance. “Masking your scent is only the first step. Vampires have keen ears. They’ll be able to track you in the forest if you move.
He intended to stash them somewhere, Temi concluded. With her scent masked, that might be enough to bamboozle the hunters.
Abruptly, he came to a stop, causing Temi to almost smack into him.
Whirling around, he faced her. She noted that the pale eyes glowed now, in the grip of strong emotion.
“I told you that I would
get you into Mexico. In return, all I want from you is unstinting obedience. You run when I say, hide when I do and hug trees when I tell you, without throwing tantrums. Is that clear?”
Temi nodded mutely. She understood that this was about the accusations she’d flung at him before.
“Something else you should know” he said witheringly. “I’ve never been into scrawny, red-haired spitfires, with a taste for danger and the sense of a pea-brain. I’m not about to start now.”
Temi’s eyes narrowed, a slow anger kindling inside her. Scrawny! Spitfire! Sense of a pea-brain … a pea-brain! How dare he, she fumed silently. But before she could express her outrage, he was speaking again.
“Now, by my calculation, we have ten minutes to find a hideout. What I require from you is silence. Can you handle that?”
Temi tamped down her temper to acquiesce to his directive, heartily embarrassed by what she now suspected had been an overreaction on her part to his attempt to disguise her scent.
She followed silently in his wake, while he paused to study and, occasionally, feel the trunks of tall sturdy trees. Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for.
Turning to her, he gestured at the tree. “Can you climb this?” he asked.
He was fairly sure she could, by the way she’d swarmed down from her window to join him.
She cast her eyes up, to the dense high branches. “Yes.”
“Do you want a boost or would that open me up to more accusations from you?” he inquired sardonically.
She glanced at the bare trunk and the thick branches up over her head.
“I could do with a boost” she muttered.
He slung the rucksack to the ground without another word, to reach for her. Temi clambered up the trunk in a practiced manner, her sure fingers seeking holds and perches to help boost her up. Her flimsy shoes made the climb difficult, unable to offer enough purchase, but she managed it. Below her, he climbed expertly and so noiselessly that she could not hear him, unless she ventured the occasional glance downwards. He kept his distance, slowing his pace to match hers and offering no further assistance. When Temi thought she was far up enough to hide from the Vampires, she straddled a sturdy branch.
