Captiva Captive
Authors: Talyn Scott
Captiva Captive
Six Feet Under Book 1
By
Talyn Scott
O
ften, he wished someone would out him. Borderline insanity would do that to a vampire. Snagging his favorite trousers on a jagged brick, he elongated a claw, clipping the offending thread while moving along the second floor’s exterior. Position was everything. Sure, he could slither inside someone’s home and scare the living hell out of him or her…or not. He was that good. Staring at the wall before him, he cast no shadow.
Never had.
A born hunter.
So sliding in and out of human life was a simple existence hinging on his ability to keep a safe distance. Which. Was. Becoming. Harder. Safe distances used to mean foreign countries, city parks, grocery stores…even church on Sunday mornings. At the present, safe distances were no longer safe, since he was now staring through a thin pane of glass while baring his fangs.
Dripping.
Starving.
Dripping.
Thirsty.
On the other side of the barest of barriers laid his obsession. His chosen mate slept before him. Just like any poorly run zoo, he could hop the weakened fence and feast upon her body before she drew her next breath.
Should.
Could.
Because waiting was torrential drudgery, he should know. He barely survived highly tortured years away from her, and he deserved better. He deserved
her
. No surprise, she vehemently disagreed. She granted no forgiveness for his so-called past transgressions. Nothing remained of him in her deadened heart except cold indifference. Even so, a hollow place deep in her soul remained empty,
because
he
put it there
. Unbeknownst to her, he simply wouldn’t allow her that one hidden comfort until she finally surrendered.
On his terms
...
Chapter 1
I
t was late of a very humid evening in downtown Fort Myers when Sixten detected uncommon succulence that rarely treated his palate. As far as he was concerned, AB negative was liquid gold. Temptation was
so
close he could hear the pitter-patter of her little heart. Breathing deeply, he realized that last tempting inhale was a seriously wrong move
for her
. If he were considerate, he would stop now and drag himself away. Allow her to enjoy a peaceful night while he dropped back and cradled a scorching throat that only warm, pulsating divinity could ease. But he’d fool no one. Kindness wasn’t his calling, and he refused to feel guilty about wanting the mouthwatering orgasm her blood would deliver. And whoever said fighting his biology would get him anywhere but aching? Not that he ever bothered to try anymore. Why should he? Predators were predators. And Sixten Kovac rocked the top of the food chain.
As if on cue, there went his fangs, inching down while dripping wet in anticipated bliss. They pulsated with every pounding beat blaring through Six Feet Under’s sound system, longing to sink flesh deep and drink their fill. While twisting his neck around, Sixten stretched the tension, working out the knots. Hoping some facet of sanity would come along and tell him to calm down. He closed his eyes, knowing his irises were notching up to inhuman levels. All the while, streams of lava torched his veins, telling him to kill everyone in this disaster of a Goth club except for AB negative. Then, if his delicious fantasy bled into reality, he’d save her for last. Make her watch the others’ demise, so she’d have that extra punch of adrenalin, which heated the blood like a flame to the finest brandy.
“So you need to hunt, Six?”
“I’m good. Continue.”
“Uh-huh.” Remaining unconvinced, Bane Ruyter sat across from the narrow table alongside two of his kind. All full blood werewolves too large to be low-key even in a local meat market that boasted discretion to other than human clientele. “Well… you’re lookin’ a little thirsty.”
“I’m wondering why that’s your concern.” Oh, it should be; Sixten thought. Glancing around his environs, he figured he could sign on several agreeable arteries alongside a screw or three in around, say, sixty seconds. And the simple fact that Sixten scented a couple of Were mixed-bloods among the gyrating females didn’t sit well with the North American Beta. After flashing Sixten warning glares from flaring blue lights, which Bane called eyes, Sixten, murmured, “I won’t drink your females.” At least… not tonight. “Relax.”
“Yeah. If you need to DF, it’s a no go inside. Got it? Locals are startin’ chatter since shifters decided to set up shop on Captiva Island. Indiscretion exposes
everyone
and their younglings don’t bother to fly under the radar.” Bane spoke quietly behind bared teeth. Possibly, it would pass for a smile with humans but it didn’t fool Sixten in the least. “Captiva’s such a small island,” Bane growled low. “Wondering why you haven’t heard from your brother lately. Or know anything to help mend those rickety fences between our
kind
.”
“First off, you don’t tell a vampire where to drop fang, especially this one.” There, he said it aloud, and in this joint, no one ran out of the door screaming. “Second, if I heard from dear sweet… What name was he using last?”
“What name
hasn’t
he used,” a nearly white-haired, blue-eyed monstrosity piped in, deciding to join the conversation instead of sitting pretty and posing for the women.
“Aliases,” Sixten muttered, raising a brow. “Where would we be without them?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Bane tossed his sarcasm around. “Beheaded for crimes committed?” The Beta leaned on the table, placing heavily tattooed forearms on the black glassy surface while playing for casual. But Sixten knew he was posturing. Werewolves loved to puff out, dominate
every
creature. Too bad these three weren’t getting the effect they’d hoped for from him. Sixten wasn’t threatened in the least. As night drew along and they didn’t back off, they would find out why. Bane continued in low tones that only immortals could hear, “Scotland’s Alpha lost his closest friend of
three hundred years
. Murdered.”
“Ah, the mighty Ciaran,” Sixten said without a drop of reverence. “I heard he nearly lost his ass in Scotland, yeah? Shifters outsmarted his miasma of misfits, a laughable pack if there ever was one. Vamps swooped in and showed them how it’s done. Word travels.” He smiled carefully, hiding his oral daggers that refused to retract. “You’re accusing my half-brother of diving in the middle of that crazy shit and leaving behind a smoking gun?” Sixten would be the first to admit his brother, Rave, was a total dumb fuck. Although he stupidly tried to revamp the Habaline Shifter species, using tactics that even Sixten considered
wrong
, he still wasn’t easily convinced Rave was capable of cold-blooded murder. Yet, when was the last time they actually hung out? Years.
And here sits the North American Beta and his wingmen in my face.
“So you’re really stickin’ with your ‘nothing to see here’ story?” Bane sat stoically.
“Pretty much. Haven’t laid eyes on Rave in years and it’s not breaking my heart any. I’m not privy to his locale, and frankly, I don’t wanna be. But look where that
lack
of intel still gets me. I planted my feet in this country less than thirty-six hours ago, and I’ve already been welcomed by the neighborhood dog patrol.” Sixten studied the crowd. “Wrap it up, Beta.” He thought he had AB negative narrowed down to the kitchen area. Better and better. All industrial kitchens had at least one back door. With the size of this place, he counted on more. Hmmm…or maybe a bathroom with a locking door, then he could fuck and suck.
The Norwegian pureblood threw an icy glare his way, which meant he had a death wish. “We know you share the same half. How do you not sympathize with the
plight
,” he sneered, “of your brother’s
kind
?”
Sixten casually lifted a shoulder and let it drop. Inwardly furious that they knew his other half was shifter when most of his race still did not, but beasts sniffed out everything. In the immortal world, nosiness paid off in spades. “You’re telling me I should waste my time worrying over them?”
With the exception of the one woman who Sixten gave up on for her sake and not his own, he was a narcissist bastard. And any self-respecting shrink would agree that the blame could be placed on mummy’s shoulders. Over the years, he’d tried to remain indifferent, even civil, towards his mother. Nevertheless, it was hard to love a whore who conceived him with a Habaline Shapeshifter instead of remaining true to dear old dad. Excusing herself since his father was the Undead instead of a Species Breed Vampire like herself didn’t hold water. Sure, the vampire who raised him since birth couldn’t reproduce. None of the undead could. But his mother knew the situation before they married. Why she needed younglings badly enough to break her blood vows he’d never understand.
Subsequently, the wandering Habaline that produced him didn’t have the illusions his mother had, and he quickly shifted on, landing between open thighs all over Slovakia while spreading his seed like the madman he undoubtedly was. So Sixten never knew him. And there was no telling how many half-siblings he had at this point. Not that he cared anymore.
Bane drained his whiskey. “Don’t be an idiot.”
The heavy tumbler met the table with a damaging thud. Glass groaned and cracked, tinkling strangely while the Beta calmly swirled his bleeding fingers around the now jagged rim, unabashedly enjoying the nick of pain. Filling the air with his potent Were blood, he efficiently choked off the scent of Sixten’s prey. An accident? Hell, no. The Beta was fang blocking, playing games he shouldn’t play. Trying to get answers, he would never get from
any
vampire.
Now Sixten was brutally pissed, which wasn’t a good thing for anyone within his immediate radius, and to be hungry on top of that? Look out. As Sixten stood up, a menacing hand thick with power settled on his shoulder. “Maestru,” he addressed his Coven Master while never taking his eyes off the Beta.
Maestru spoke calmly, though anyone immortal could feel invisible flames leaping from his ancient body. “Left corner,” he muttered, flicking a wrist, “she’s somewhere near a beast.”
Sixten blinked a few times to settle his irises and turned to face three Species Breed Vampires that were his true friends in another lifetime, closer than he and Rave ever thought to be. “We’ll talk later.” They all nodded, slapping his back as he eased by to hunt his prey.
“
R
ock’s looking for Blythe!” Dakota yelled through the ‘in’ door that separated the kitchen from the bar. She smiled back. “They’re looking, big man. I haven't seen her since we grabbed lunch together, though. Of course,” she glanced around the dance floor. “This place has been hopping all day. Fridays are paydays for most.” She shrugged. “Trolling starts early.” Dakota nodded when a line chef stepped out and shook his head no. “Rock, you’re sure she’s not pushing paper at INKS?” Six Feet Under’s proprietor had recently opened the tattoo parlor. It was nestled between the club and Sven’s Spa. Blythe handled the books for all three establishments, and she was getting busier by the day. Lines were growing by the mile, and they recently had to hire two new bouncers for Six Feet Under and extra security for INKS.
Rock seated himself at the bar and signaled for a beer. While rubbing a tired hand over his sweaty forehead he grumbled through his long fingers, “Already checked. I’m supposed to take her…somewhere.”
Dakota’s smile disappeared. “On a date? This late?”
“No.”
“Whatever she needs, she’s covered here.” She placed her hands on her hips. “No biggie, we love her like family.”
“She’s my …obligation.”
“Really?” Dakota leaned on the bar, tapping a fingertip against her lush lips. “I know my best friend. If there’s anything that she doesn’t want to be, it’s someone’s
obligation
. But I’ll find her. Then we can both rest easy, alright?” She pulled her phone from her pocket while going for speed dial number one.
Rock’s fingers shot out, lightly gripping her wrist. “I’ve got this.” With his opposite hand, he placed a twenty on the bar, threw back his draft with three large swallows before pulling her halfway over the bar. “Don’t tell anyone I was here. You understand, Dakota?” He kissed the inside of her wrist and sauntered away; making an exit that demanded the attention of every female he passed.
“Sure,” she whispered dreamily, watching his back disappear into the crowd.