Captiva Captive (26 page)

“Do
you
think I’m something other than human?”

“I can’t answer that.”

She pushed past him, stomping into her old bedroom and slamming the door.  “Can’t or won’t?” she asked while slipping off her clothes.  Ryan shuffled his big body around in the tiny hall.  She heard his sighs, almost heard his internal gears slugging along while wondering how far he could push her before he broke all their lifelong connections.  His weight pushed against the door and she fought not to open it on a surprise attack, landing him flat on his ass in a childish but very fulfilling move on her part. 

She’d pulled an emergency outfit out of her closet the moment she’d gotten there and hidden it on the back of her bedroom door, away from Six’s prying eyes.  After seeing him in those painted on jeans, she felt the need for her own ammo.  Silly as it sounded, she was still as jealous as he was.  The restart of their relationship was too fresh.  Some wounds were still open.  And if a cream mini dress made entirely of soft leather placed her on nearly equal footing with Six, then so be it.

Her bronze coloring had come back somewhat.  She stared at her image in the long mirror screwed to the back of her door, and saw the glint of happiness that hadn’t been in her eyes in ages. 
I
love you, Six.

Ryan rattled the doorknob.

“I’m changing.” She yelled through the wood. “Six is taking me to dinner after this so-called meeting.”

“I’m sorry to see you pack your things.”

“I’ll be out of your hair.”

“I’ve always tried to protect you, sweetheart,” he whispered softly on the other side, but she heard. 

“In a way, I understand, and I appreciate what you had to do.  Though I want honesty from this day forward, Ryan, total honesty, okay?”

The thought of meeting with werewolves made her stomach sick, so she concentrated on
her
man.   Sixten was downstairs waiting for her to wrap up her packing. After she had her illustrious meeting, they were going to enjoy a normal date at a fine, romantic restaurant by the river that housed an awesome band and an overbuilt veranda as a dance floor - just the two of them. 

And a lot of guards.

She pressed the dress with her palms.  Angular seams ran down the sides, paralleling her larger curves perfectly before settling mid-thigh with a hem that was simply rebellious.  She slipped into the matching thigh-high stiletto boots made entirely in suede.  Although they covered most of her legs, the flesh that peeked between the dress and the boots was a flash of pure eroticism and she couldn’t wait to see Six’s face when he got a load of her.  She opened the door and slid past a gaping Ryan before making her way to the street. 

Although he had many modes of transportation, Blythe suggested Sixten drive his rebuilt 1963 Corvette Stingray.  By the gleam on his face, she’d picked his favorite.  It was loud and sexy as hell, just as Six had been when he was climaxing over her in the bed earlier.  Apart from the neck ache that accompanied riding in such a fast car with such a fast man, she’d had one of the best days of her life, bouncing from shop to shop all over the islands with the man of her dreams. 

Sixten had spoiled her rotten, though she didn’t want any of it, she only wanted him.  But his smile stretched wide as she ooh’ed and ah’ed over every purchase, and they kissed madly until her stomach clenched with need.  All she wanted was his love, and he wanted to give her love and the world alongside it.

He was standing by his car.  The sight of him turned her heart over, until she saw the livid expression on his face.   There was pure savagery haunting his eyes. It moved with his stride as he neared her and pushed blazing lust through her body.  Though unsure, Blythe stopped herself from taking a step back.   As divided as she was in her reasoning to hide or stand her ground, she didn’t want to be afraid of him in any of his capacities, forms…or
moods
.

“What are you wearing?” He asked in clipped tones.  “That’s not the outfit I bought you.”

She knew his feelings weren’t hurt, or his pride.  “You don’t like it?”

“You are trying to provoke me.”

That made her take step back.

He followed her movements, dipping his head and brushing her cheek with his mouth, lingering for a second before saying, “Do not attempt to make me jealous, Blythe.” A warning. “I can have you under me, barley speaking and entirely incoherent without using
any
of my endorphins or coercions – only my body.”

“Hold on,” she said, flattening her palms on his chest.

“I am a mated male.  I am dangerous when other males are around you. Think about that before you walk out dressed in such a manner, tempting others and putting their lives at risk just to get a rouse from me.” He bit her ear, and then sucked it hard. “Or do you mind if they die?”

“You started it,” she mumbled, not intending to fight, but she couldn’t think straight.

“Oh, yeah?” He breathed in her scent. “How did I start it?” A firm hand on her bottom…squeezing.

“The pants,” she whispered, fire curling in her stomach. “Stop wearing tight pants.” She wrapped her fingertips around his waistband, tugging. “I don’t want women ogling you.  Ever.”

“Good. I only want you ogling me,” his low, sexy voice rumbled against her ear, sending shivers over her skin.

“Please, let’s go back up to the apartment alone, just for a while.”

Abruptly, he pulled away to stare down at her.  “They’re here.”

“Oh.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Great.”

Fifteen minutes later, Blythe peered at Bane Ruyter through her dark lashes.  His Beta beast was at bay.
So everyone said
.  But if she thought that he was intimidating several yards away from her while working his werewolf the other night, she was wrong.  Up this close, sitting across the table from her with his unbelievable blue eyes, she figured he was an axiomatic Trojan horse:  Death wrapped inside an inhuman sculpture. Very pretty to look at, but he was coming to get you sooner or later. And the later wouldn’t be pretty at all.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” his deep voice echoed unquestionable authority.

Me?
 Half of the supernatural community was waiting outside the doors of Six Feet Under.  Apparently, no one would agree on anything until Sixten promised to square things away at his father’s office located a few blocks down. And
stay
there until he was called back. Not that he couldn’t poof in anytime he wanted, but he agreed nonetheless - only because he had every available vampire on security detail, which included the almighty Maestru. 

    
“Yeah, well, let’s get this underway.” Blythe had freaked out when she walked in.  Since the club was closed, it offered tremendous accommodations for everyone ‘other’ to cram around the tables, dance floors, and even behind the bar.  Not to mention, all eyes were on her. 

When they weren’t, vampires hissed at the werewolves, and werewolves growled at the vampires.  It was high school all over again, only with limitless creatures who could throw entirely too much death and destruction around while groused by childish, angry whims. So she figured if they could toss Sixten out, everyone else could haul ass except for Bane.  She crossed her arms and tapped her booted toe on the floor until the last immortal left, standing proud that she got her way for once.

    
“You understand that you were recognized by our pack years ago.”

    She stared at him, blue-black hair and bronzed skin like her own.  Except for their eyes, they looked more like siblings than she and Anthony.  “Yeah, I’d rather get to the current situation, though.  I think a war’s about to break out any minute, and I don’t want to be the cause of it.”

    
“You wouldn’t be.” He splayed his large hands on the dark tabletop, watching her intently. “Maestru would.”

    A tense moment filled the air before she said, “Well, I know better than to discuss him with you.”

    “Good.” Bane almost smiled while assessing her.  “Intelligence can keep you alive.” He sharpened his perusal. “But I’ll train you to fight.”

    “I’m not playing the ‘who can keep me alive the longest game’.  I’ve taken care of myself for quite a while now, and although things have been weird lately.” She wouldn’t discuss the Habalines or Rave with the Beta. “I won’t always depend on a man or male or group of beasts to do that for me.  I will be with someone because I choose to – not due to what they can or cannot give me, including bodily protection.”

    “Well said.” He rubbed his whiskered jaw. “However, in our world - your
true
world - you are a Were. In
that
world you answer to your pack leaders.”

    “The vampires disagree with you.” She shrugged indifferently, though she felt otherwise. “They say I am something other.”  She wasn’t going into the logistics of what the other was, either.  If he knew –fine.  If he didn’t – she wasn’t telling. 

But Bane looked
way
too confident, and she knew it had nothing to do with him being an authoritative Beta.  He knew something important.  One of many who knew pertinent facts about her life that she didn’t, and that just pissed her off. 

    “There aren’t many women who could sit with a werewolf and have a polite conversation.” He paused and cocked an ebony brow. “I’d say most would pull a disappearing act.” A masculine lip curled. “Not that they would get far with me on their tail.”

    “Maybe.”

    “You aren’t most women, because you’re a female mixed-blood.” Then he flashed a genuine smile. “Fear doesn’t affect you the way it does someone who is wholly human.”

    She frowned over at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

    “You are not a Giarrusso,” he said gravely.

    She stood up so fast her chair fell over.  “Then who the hell do you think I am!”

    “A Ruyter.” He stood up. “My bloodline.”

    “What?”

    Bane had that blinding speed, the same as Sixten.  He was suddenly behind her, turning them both towards the bar.  Facing the large mirror lined with countless bottles, he whispered, “Look at us.  We are blood.”

    She stood numbly, shaking her head at their reflections.

    “We
are
. I smell it, but I can prove it by paperwork and blood, since you refuse to take a Beta’s word.” He gazed at her. “Come home with me.  If you don’t trust me enough for that.  At least go to the Alpha’s manse on Sanibel.  He’s away in Miami, but it’s fully staffed and security will be tighter than anything the vampires can come up with.”

    “Yeah,” her voice broke. “I heard how well you protected your wife and queen.” He flinched behind her.  “I’m fine where I am.  Sixten and I are together - for good.”

    He delved into something she didn’t want to discuss. “Word is, you’re a Donor. We think that’s why the vampires can’t scent you as a Were mixed-blood.   Most pack members do not understand the significance of Donors to vampires,” he was speaking to her reflection, since she wouldn’t turn around, “but I do.  The Alpha does. Loose chatter like that in the immortal world puts you in harm’s way.  Bounties are placed on heads like yours.  If you continue to hang with vampires, you’re a blood slave waiting to happen.” He drew in a breath and leaned against the bar, facing her instead of her mirrored image.

    She was trying to soak everything in, and then sort it out to make sense.  But she was having a hard time after the ‘you’re not a Giarrusso’ comment.  Somehow, she knew he wasn’t lying.  And it didn’t make sense for a Beta of his magnitude to claim just anyone as family.

“We have a gifted shaman from Scotland’s pack,” he continued when she stayed quiet, “and we think he can help you.”

“How…are we related?”

“It’s a long story I would like to share with you.  Maybe, it’s incentive for you to come with me and find out.  I won’t force you, though.  But I will say that you have brothers out there, Blythe.  I’ve contacted them, and they’re dying to meet you – to protect you as their own.”

She thought that over. “I…have Anthony.”

“Well, since he’s gone,” Bane said softly. “You’ll have the rest of us to lean on.”

“Where did he go?”

“Blythe?”  Bane shook his head.  “What do you mean…where did he go?”

“You said he was gone.” She gripped the bar until her knuckles turned white. “I didn’t know he was gone. He hasn’t been returning my phone calls, but Sixten said he spoke with him earlier.”

“Damn it to hell.” His eyebrows shot up. “Sixten didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He was actually with Anthony,” he released a heavy sigh and continued, “when he was killed by Habalines.”

“No.” Her other hand clutched a nearby bar stool as she took in deep cleansing breaths.

“It happened the night we came to Sixten’s house in order to…help you.  Our pack knew about the altercation.” Bane tilted his head, his expression guileless. “Can’t keep that kind of stuff on the low talk, you know?  I guess our worry played out in our aggression when we approached and demanded you.  I’m truly sorry we were frightening.” He reached for her as if to steady her trembling, but she pushed his hands away. “I don’t like Six, honey.” He added reluctantly, “But I believe he tried to stop them.  Sixten would have done that for you.  And I heard the Species tried to make Anthony Undead, so you could have him back.  But, uh, it didn’t take so well. So that plan’s out.”

“Habalines?”

“Yeah, shit, honey, I’m sorry.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let me hold you.  Scream.  Cry.  Let it all out.  I’ve got big shoulders.”

“No.”

“Please, come home with me,” he said solemnly. “My mate, Renee, is wonderful.  Her cooking sucks, but you can have those talks females need to have.” He pushed his hands in his pockets and started pacing. “We’ll pull together around you - a true family who will support you through this.  You’ll want for nothing.”

“She has me,” Sixten hissed lethally, and Blythe started crying the moment she saw him. He glided to her looking hostile and gorgeous, stretching to his full height while putting his big body between her and Bane. “Yes, Blythe, your brother was murdered.  Until this morning, I thought we were bringing him back to you.” He shook his blond head determinedly. “His injuries were too severe, even for a Species to revive him.”