Chapter XI
Tarryn
A cold draft sinking into my bones wakes me. There’s pounding in my head, no vampyre in my arms, and a sense of dread swallowing me. What the fuck happened?
A quick survey of the room confirms that I’m alone.
There’s not even a lingering scent of Nicolai.
How long have I been sleeping? No. That’s wrong.
I wasn’t sleeping, I was unconscious. We were drugged.
I’d never have slept through Nicolai leaving, whether he chose to leave or not.
Can’t imagine he’d allow himself to get kidnapped quietly. He’s too mouthy for that.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think the wooziness in my head was due to a long night of drinking.
Wouldn’t be the first time. Except the ache in my dick is a solid reminder of just what I’d been doing.
Besides, the idea of Nicolai being drunk is laughable.
The idea of him relaxing enough to have a drink has me snorting in derision. Yeah, I don’t think so.
There aren’t pieces of him scattered across the floor, which means it’s not the work of the ghouls. Someone with thought took Nicolai from me. Someone else is down here with us. Well, they can fuck off. The vampyre is my prey, and I don’t share; just ask any of my siblings.
I should have known that something was wrong when every time I had a thought that wasn’t about how damn sexy Nicolai is or how much I wanted to get my hands and mouth all over him, they disappeared in a fog.
I can’t deny the sexy part, but I’d never willingly get in bed, literally or figuratively, with a bloodsucker. I’m not even into casual sex.
A piece of memory hits me just as I reach the door. The smell. The air had held more than staleness and rot, but a sweet scent that at the time I’d attributed to Nicolai. Except he has a scent, and as pleasant as it is, sweet isn’t the word I’d use to describe it. This was an artificial smell.
Fuck. That means a witch. More than one, since they never travel alone. Why did they leave me here and take Nicolai? Where did they take him? I’ll tear the entire catacomb apart to find him and kill anything that’s stupid enough to get in my way.
I lift my head and smell deeply, searching for a direction. The same sweetness still lingers in the air. That’s… awfully convenient. Whoever did this had been clever enough to catch us unawares yet not enough to hide their tracks? I don’t buy it. Do they want me to follow?
It’s their lucky day since they’ll get their wish; I’m not leaving without Nicolai. He’s my prize, and no one has any right to take my hunt from me.
My claws slide out in a partial shift as I make my way through the passages. The deeper I go, the more structures emerge.
The place hasn’t been lived in for a long time, or someone has questionable taste.
Webs from spiders are dusty and old; even the small creatures of the earth have moved on.
The scent of the dead and whispers of lost souls are cloying, and the sound of ghouls scratching the walls is loud.
That last part might be my imagination. There’s no sign of them even as I check every corner for them.
I don’t plan on getting caught unawares again.
Underneath it all is that sweet scent and something far darker. Pure evil walks here, and I’m heading right toward it.
It doesn’t take much longer for me to pick up Nicolai’s particular scent in amongst the rest. It’s subtle and might have gotten lost among the rest for another lycan.
Not for an alpha, and not when I already have him marked.
A true hunter never loses the scent. They could take him to the end of the world, and I’d still find him.
The lit sconces on the walls, and the faint sound of chanting—never a sound I like to hear—are a dead giveaway I’m on the right track. The trap they’re leading me to is close now. How many are waiting for me?
Slowing my steps, I move carefully, my bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. The chanting is louder now, clear words filtering through. I don’t recognize the language. Some kind of butchered Latin. Older than Latin. A forgotten language. What the fuck are they doing in there? Nothing good.
At the next corner, I stop abruptly, a growl rising in my chest that’s more beast than man.
The stone floor stops at the edge of a large foyer, replaced by white marble and gleaming shine.
There are no cobwebs here, and the scent of rot and decay is gone.
On the opposite side are large double doors made of iron and infused with a magic that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
Twisted, intricate symbols adorn the iron, carved into the metal.
I like to think I know a lot about our world, where we came from and how we got here.
Years of history have been drummed into me from the time I was a young, rambunctious boy, the elders forcing me to sit and listen when all I wanted to do was run outside and howl at the moon.
It’s important to remember the past in order to avoid repeating it. A reminder and a warning.
Even with all the knowledge crammed into my brain, I don’t know any of the symbols.
Are they nonsense or something else? It seems like a lot of effort to go to for no reason.
I’d stake my life on the fact that they have meaning, and that I won’t like what that meaning is.
I’m ready to get the fuck out of here. I plan on taking my vampyre with me.
The iron doors burst open, mist blowing from within and reaching across the floor like a river of water. My claws extend as it curls around my feet and calves. There’s no pain, only a light tingling sensation. Magic. Just the thought has me snarling. The witches are no friends to the lycans.
“Come in, Tarryn of the Vasiliás pack.”
The unfamiliar voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
Not because it’s unpleasant, but because it’s too pleasant.
Made to sound inviting, seductive. I’m not fooled, and my teeth clench in response, my fighting instincts coming to the fore.
Nicolai’s definitely through those doors.
It will be one hell of a fight to get both of us out once I step foot inside.
Especially since whoever spoke knows my pack. I don’t like it when an enemy knows more than I do. It puts me at a disadvantage, which just makes me want to rip everything apart with teeth and claws. It’s my go-to response for a lot of things.
It takes no effort at all to push out part of my soul, the black swirling soul shadow rising from the ground.
Awaiting my command. Find Nicolai. Opening my sight so that I can see through the soul shadow’s eyes is as easy as breathing.
I’ve been doing it since I was a child, since I was old enough to walk. It’s part of who I am.
The shadow instantly turns in the direction of the iron doors. The mist covering the floor parts for it, shifting around and then reforming behind it.
A sudden bright burst of light momentarily blinds me as it meets the barrier in the doorway. It explodes, and I wince at the violent end, pain rippling through me, my stomach churning. Burning heat sears me from the inside, scarring my soul in a way that will take time to heal.
Motherfucker. What kind of magic is that? I’ve never heard of anything being able to block an alpha werewolf’s soul shadow from entering anywhere.
I carefully approach the doorway, not interested in sharing my soul shadow’s fate. It survived because it had a body to return to. Me? I’m not so sure I’d survive it.
There’s nothing but pitch black beyond the doors. Has to be an illusion, hiding whatever's inside. Parlor-trick magic. Not impressive.
This barrier, though? Hovering a hand above the threshold causes sparks of the repellent to sizzle through me. There’s no way of knowing what it would do to me if I walked through it. I like to take risks but only if the odds favor me.
“Do not be afraid. You may enter.”
I’m not afraid, I’m cautious. The situation reminds me of the fable about the frog and the scorpion. You can’t fight your nature or instincts. “How generous.” The barrier isn’t a block for the physical, then. My soul shadow isn’t magic, but it’s a thin line. The paranormal always is.
That’s even if they’re telling me the truth. There’s no reason to trust this voice, and if walking through destroys me, it’s an easy victory.
Only one way to find out.
My sight flickers from human to beast and back again as I step through and my eyes adjust to the new surroundings. It’s a huge domed room that might have masqueraded as a ballroom once upon a time. The vampyres do love their fancy parties, the pretentious fucks.
In the center of the room, figures dressed in black robes form a circle, flames flickering from the hundreds of lit candles on the marble flooring. There’s an eerie silence to the room as they stare at a figure kneeling in the middle of the room.
Nicolai.
Head bowed, hands chained in front of him. He’s shirtless, with my bite mark angry and red against his pale neck. Why hasn’t it healed? The vampyre fed from me; it should have been more than enough to bring him back to full health.
There’s only one reason why it wouldn’t have.
No, that’s impossible. Fate would never do that.
We can only mate within our own species.
The bond requires a physiology no other possesses.
Vampyres tried to force it, once a long time ago.
We reacted so violently, destroying the experimental laboratories with such brutality, that they stopped.
Or perhaps it was because even with the help of witchcraft, they weren’t able to get the bite to take. That’s because it’s impossible.
Except there it is. Sore, angry, and seared into a vampyre’s skin.
If it’s a mating bite, it will never disappear.
Eventually, it won’t look so red, but it will always be there.
A shining beacon that Nicolai belongs to an alpha werewolf and a warning that retribution for so much as looking at him wrong would be swift and violent.
The sight of it, so fresh that I can almost taste it on my tongue, has something primal bursting to life inside me.
Whatever they’d used on us in the moment had stopped the bond from clicking into place properly.
Now it sinks in deep, attaching in a way that will never let go.
Mine. I’d put that mark there and claimed the vampyre for my own.
The idea of it repulses me as much as it pulls me in.
There’s no denying it or turning away from it.
Mating happens only once, and not all of us are ever lucky enough to find that other half of our souls.
Fate is laughing at me somewhere. I’m not about to laugh back; only an idiot ignores what she sets out.
One of the robed figures lowers their hood, stepping away from the circle and revealing their face.
Long auburn curls spring free, tumbling down his chest. The robe is clipped closed with a pin that has the same symbol as the one on the door.
He’s no vampyre, despite the fact we’re in a lair made for them.
I can smell the power radiating from him, strong enough to leave an uncomfortable tickle in the back of my throat.
“Witch.” The word comes out in a snarl. He’s more than that; a sorcerer. Dangerous and deadly. I’ve only fought a few in my time and barely survived each encounter. They’re even rarer than alphas, and they pack one hell of a fucking punch.
They’re allies to the vampyres, though it still doesn’t explain why they’re using a lair that’s clearly been abandoned for centuries.
Shrewd violet eyes stare right through me. My teeth bare at the feel of whispered fingers trying to get inside my mind. If he thinks I’m so easy to break into, he has another thing coming. I wasn’t prepared for his magic before. Now I am.
I shove him out with a mighty push. “Keep your fucking poison away from me.”
“Good to know your kind haven’t learned any manners in the last century,” the sorcerer says mildly.
“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” As if his manners are any fucking better. “Who the hell are you?”
He doesn’t answer. Every muscle in my body tenses as he takes slow, deliberate steps toward me. His shoes click on the marble, like a gong signaling danger.
Right now, I don’t care enough about who he is to push for answers. I’m here for one thing only, and anyone who gets in my way will be cut down with prejudice. “Give me the vampyre, or things are about to get messy.” I plan on making them messy anyway, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He chuckles, and my hackles rise. “Don’t worry, Tarryn, your bloodmate is safe.” He smiles with sinister intent, and I want to rip out his throat for the implied insult. “For now.”