OnsetofDanger (20 page)

His mouth released her shoulder and he lowered her until her
hands touched the mattress then he started to move again. The pronounced slide
of his shaft inside her kept the waves of sensation crashing over her. Her
voice sounded raw and her head spun, but she couldn’t stop arching to take him
deeper. She felt savage and wild, completely lost in the moment.

His desire flooded her mind, consuming and electric. She
showed him how much his need excited her and his pleasure surged in return. The
pulses passed back and forth, building with each rotation until he clutched her
to him and shuddered in release. She followed him over, her body primed and
ready for the final climax.

Breathless and shaken, he collapsed onto his side, dragging
her with him. She snuggled back into the warmth of his body, amazed at how
right it felt to have him inside her. It didn’t seem to matter where she took
him as long as their bodies joined.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She smiled, though he couldn’t see it. “You know the answer
to that. I’m not going to feed your ego.” He chuckled and his cock bobbed
inside her, launching tingling aftershocks. She shivered then sighed. “Will
your people be less resentful of me once they learn that I’m your mate?”

“Those who get to know you will love you regardless of our
relationship. And those who don’t know you don’t count.”

“Was the hothead you were talking to in the game room your
brother?”

“You heard that?”

Tenderness and regret trickled into her mind, the
combination making her smile. His outward ferocity no longer concealed the
depths of his emotions. “I walked right by you with Heath, but you were both
too engrossed in the argument to notice.”

He stroked her side, teasing the side of her breast with his
fingertips. “Kristof still thinks of you as my interrogator. It might take some
time for him to accept your new role, but he’ll come around.”

“And what is my new role?” She wiggled away from him then
turned around, loath to lose the physical connection but needing to see his
face even more. “Being your mate is only the beginning. I still need a defined
place in Strigo strain.”

“The rest is up to you.” She didn’t need their link to
decipher the affection smoldering in his gaze. He propped himself up on his
elbow and brushed the hair back from her face. “What do you want your role to
be? What are you good at?”

“You mean other than this?” She motioned to the
passion-rumpled bed.

“You’re not doing this with anyone else, so yes, other than
this.”

As the afterglow faded her uncertainty returned. Her
attraction to Bronik was undeniable. She wouldn’t waste any more time or energy
resisting a connection that was obviously meant to be. Having a mate gave her
an anchor, a point of reference on which to build. Still, so much was
unresolved. Life as she’d known it was over. The blinders were off. She’d
learned too much to ever go back. Now she needed to make decisions and form
alliances that would shape the next phase of her life.

She scooted toward the edge of the mattress, determined to
remain positive. “I need to give it some thought. I was Tara’s obedient
daughter for so long, I never really allowed myself to think about anything
else.”

“Fair enough.” Bronik followed her lead and stood beside the
bed. “Why don’t you go take a bath? Baths are good for reflection, or so I’ve
been told.”

“You’ve never taken a bath?” Incredulity crept through in
her tone.

“I can’t say never, but it’s been a really long time.”

She held out her hand and smiled. “Then you’re coming with
me. We could both use some relaxation.”

Caresse gasped and stumbled as Desmond brought their
teleportation to an unexpected stop. He released her and rushed toward the
ramshackle barn. Laughter and music drifted on the cold night air and firelight
glowed through the warped boards and missing shingles of the dilapidated
structure. Glancing around the darkened scene, she tried to determine their
location. She had no idea where they were or why Desmond had rematerialized so
abruptly.

A shrill scream jerked her attention back to the barn. The
terrified cry was echoed by a chorus of similar sounds, more screams, the crash
of something wooden and then the music stopped. Dread spread through her like
ink, dark and cloying. Desmond had always insisted on discretion when they fed,
was always careful not to draw attention to themselves. His brutality at the
Levari safe house had been understandable. He’d been sorely provoked. Even the
campers had been isolated, but this barn was filled with people. He couldn’t
possibly feed from them all.

Unwilling to participate in the slaughter, she stood in the
dark, hand pressed over her heart. It was cowardly and shameful but she didn’t
know what else to do. She knew no one on Earth, had nowhere to go. Without
Desmond, she was a stranger in a strange land.

Silence spread across the scene. Even the night creatures
had ceased their chattering. She waited for Desmond to return but nothing
happened. Was he hurt? Could a group of humans have overwhelmed him? Unlikely,
but why hadn’t he emerged?

She crept toward the barn, trepidation speeding her pulse
and tightening her chest.

Desmond
?
Are you all right?

No response
.

Urged on by the deafening silence, she slipped through an
opening created by several missing boards. A fire still burned in the pit near
the center of the enclosure, creating a smoky haze. Bodies were scattered
everywhere, twisted into unnatural shapes. Each had been savaged then
discarded. Ten, twelve, no fourteen—no host could possibly ingest this much blood.
But then, not all of the blood had been consumed. The precious fluid pooled on
the ground and splattered every surface as if it had been tossed about by the
bucketful.

She licked her lips and ignored the unwanted pulsing in her
fangs. Her symbionts reacted to the smell of fresh blood without caring about
the senseless loss of life or animalistic abandon.

A low growl drew her focus across the room and she gasped.
Desmond crouched over a tangle of bodies. He ripped at the flesh with his
teeth, eyes glowing green in the dimness. Blood saturated his shirt and the
front of his pants. Was he even aware of what he was doing?

“Desmond? Enough, love. You’ve had enough.” She remained
across the room, unsure how or if he’d react to her voice.

He leapt up from his latest victims and flung himself toward
her. She screamed and turned to flee but he was much faster. He tackled her to
the dirt floor and straddled her hips, pinning her arms to the ground. He
growled then sniffed her, features contorted and unrecognizable.

“Desmond. Please! It’s Caresse, your mate. Don’t hurt me.”

Suddenly he released her arms and tangled one hand in her
hair. “Feed,” he snarled, shoving his other wrist against her mouth.

She tried to turn her head, hunger the furthest thing from
her mind. She grasped his arm with both hands, trying to push him away. It was
no use. He held her firmly, smearing her lips and teeth with the blood on his
skin. She stilled, instinct taking over as her gums began to burn.

He pushed even harder, driving her fangs into his flesh. A
violent shudder passed through his body, but she couldn’t tell if it had been
caused by pleasure or pain. Blood flooded her mouth and savage amusement
twisted his expression.

“Drink. Enjoy.”

Left with no other choice, she closed her eyes and
swallowed. Hot, rich and utterly saturated, his blood had never tasted so
enticing. Energy surged within her, rushing through her body and sinking into
her mind. She heard his chaotic thoughts and saw flashes of disjointed scenes,
echoes of all the minds he’d scanned in the past few days.

He laughed, his eyes glowing with manic intensity.
“Crowded,” he muttered. “So crowded.”

And she understood what he meant. His mind was so crammed
full of thoughts and emotions he could no longer control the disorder.

Tara’s image barreled to the surface, followed by a painful
blast of information. Caresse pushed back against the sudden deluge, strangling
her connection with Desmond until only a trickle passed into her mind.

Gradually a different image eroded Tara’s likeness. Caresse
saw a prison, complete with barbed wire fences and guard towers. Deep within
the building she sensed fear and hopelessness. They were not uncommon emotions
for such a dismal place, but what did it mean? Why was this scene more
important than all the others?

She concentrated on the emotions, trying to identify the
source. Female faces flickered within her mind, ten, fifteen, no, twenty or
more. Pale and drawn, tear-stained and miserable, they were captives, each one
being held against her will.

Pulling back from the scene, Caresse looked around,
examining the setting rather than the prison itself. Grassy plains stretched
out into the distance but jagged mountain peaks formed a solid wall along the
far horizon.

Colorado
. As if to answer her unspoken question, the
word echoed through her mind. Caresse wasn’t sure about the details but she
sensed the importance of what she’d just seen.

Desmond jerked his arm away so suddenly her fangs tore his
flesh. She gasped but he didn’t seem to notice. He growled low in his throat,
eyes narrowed and bright.

For a long time he just stared at her as if he was trying to
understand who she was and why he was crouched on top of her. Then he nudged
her head to one side and pressed his face into the side of her neck, inhaling
deeply.

“That’s right,” she murmured. “You know my scent. I’m your
mate. Your beloved.”

He held her in place and breathed in her scent, tense and
silent. Then his grip on her hair finally eased and he pushed up so he could
look into her eyes. “I will never hurt you.” His voice still had an odd rasp
and green light flickered within his dark eyes, but his features had returned
to normal.

“What happened?” She tried not to sound accusatory. The last
thing she wanted was an argument. “Why did you…lose control?”

“I was hungry.” He climbed off her and stood, not offering
to help her up. “That Vladya bitch was stronger than you can imagine. It took a
lot of energy to wipe her mind.”

“Did you intentionally wipe her mind?” She struggled up from
the ground, shaken and confused. “I thought you only wanted to know about the
message.”

He glared at her. “She’s the enemy. Why would you care about
her fate? She was a threat and now that threat has been neutralized. And the
beauty is, the attack will be blamed on Garrett, her ambitious son.”

He was right and yet this was so unlike him. The political
aspirations of his mother’s strain had caused him nothing but pain and
humiliation. He’d rejected his Strigo heritage and vowed to find a peaceful
life away from court politics and power.

Apparently that had changed when he awakened his Strigo
symbionts.

“We should get out of here,” she whispered. “Someone might
have heard the screams.”

“Doubtful, but I can see you’re uncomfortable.” He strolled
through the carnage, unmoved by the senseless waste. He knelt beside a young
man and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “This one lives alone. His
dwelling is not large but it will offer us refuge for a day or two.”

She didn’t need to ask how he knew. Apparently he’d been able
to scan his victims’ minds even during his feeding frenzy. His new abilities
should have been exciting, but all she felt was uncertainty and fear. By the
time his metamorphosis was complete, would there be anything left of the
Desmond she knew and loved?

* * * * *

Garrett clasped his hands behind his back and carefully
schooled his expression. Tara generally dealt with the Vladya council directly,
so his interaction with the five-member board was limited. Each member of the
council had been born on Strigoia Prime. Three were part of the original
rebellion which had first brought hosts to Earth over five centuries ago. Their
headquarters was in Quebec City, which meant it had taken Garrett three hours
at top speed to travel here as mist.

“I’m in the middle of a time-sensitive project. This had
better be important.” The summons had been waiting for him when he awakened
this evening. He’d been tempted to send his apologies but no one ignored a
summons from the council.

“We do not bother with incidental conflicts. All of our
issues are important.” Howard Duvall, self-appointed spokesman for the council,
sat at the head of the conference table. Garrett stood at the foot of the
table, flanked by the other four councilors. A chair had not been provided for
Garrett, making it obvious they wanted him to stand.

“Well, I’m here, so what’s this about?” He made no effort to
hide his impatience. Tara might be dependent upon the financial support of the
council, but he had taken control of his own finances long ago.

“Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday at
approximately 2:00 a.m.?”

“I was overseeing my project in Colorado. Any number of
people can verify my presence there. Why do you ask?”

Duvall slid a tablet computer across the table as he said,
“The guard on duty at the main gate reported your arrival in Vancouver at 2:11
a.m. The doorman confirmed this.”

“I wasn’t in Vancouver yesterday,” Garrett said with more
insistence.

“You were seen going into Tara’s office shortly after your
arrival. When Tara’s personal assistant went to check on her at 2:43, Tara was
found in that condition.” He motioned to the computer.

A video was on screen, ready to be played. Garrett touched
the screen, activating the video. Tara sat on the floor of her office, legs
curled off to one side, staring blankly into space.

“Her assistant tried to awaken her, as did two healers and a
physician. She is completely unresponsive.”

After sliding the computer back across the table, he looked
into Duvall’s eyes. “What does this have to do with me?”

Duvall looked at the councilor on his left and then his
right. Garrett felt the subtle pulse of telepathic communication. “You’re
denying that you had any involvement in Tara’s degeneration?”

Garrett detected a hint of disappointment in Duvall’s voice,
so he quickly took stock of the other councilors. Tension was palpable in the
room, but they didn’t seem hostile. He sensed no accusation, just anticipation
and curiosity.

Tara was, and had always been, a self-centered bitch. She
fought with everyone who didn’t bow down and worship her. These five elders
were no exception.

“The penalty for killing a highborn host is death,” Garrett
reminded them. “Why would I admit to this vile deed even if I had been
involved? Which, of course, I was not.”

One corner of Duvall’s mouth twitched as if he were fighting
not to smile. “Tara is not dead. She has fallen into a mysterious trance. No
one can predict when or if she will be functional again.”

The opening was obvious. Five pairs of eyes stared at
Garrett, waiting for him to take advantage of the opportunity. “Vladya strain
cannot be left without a leader. We must appoint someone before the other
strains learn of this vulnerability.”

“We agree.” Howard finally gave in and smiled. “Each of us
has had the opportunity to lead Vladya strain and each has preferred to remain
in the shadows. You have been schooled from birth to succeed Tara as leader of
Vladya strain. None of us expected the transition to take place this quickly,
but we are not opposed to the change.”

“You won’t be the first to hurry along the hand of fate,”
one of the other councilors said with a smirk.

Garrett squared his shoulders and smothered the question
rolling through his mind. They obviously believed he’d ruthlessly wrested
control of Vladya strain from Tara. Claiming innocence at this point would have
been foolish.

“Tara’s focus began to flounder when Prince Alexi arrived.”
The statement played into their misconceptions without actually admitting
guilt. “If you approve my succession, I will do everything in my power to guide
Vladya strain back onto a more productive, and more profitable, course.”

“Your aspirations align nicely with ours.” Duvall rested his
elbows on the table then steepled his index fingers. “However, we would like to
know the details of your current project. Tara was always a cagey bitch. We’re
hoping to have a more transparent relationship with you.”

Garrett hesitated. The next few minutes would establish the
tone for his interaction with this board. He needed to be polite and respectful
but make it clear that he would not be a figurehead. “I haven’t kept the
details from you out of spite or insecurity. The project is simply too new for
there to be any concrete outcomes. As you know, Tara intercepted a transmission
meant for the Levari Brethren. She didn’t think much about the message until it
became apparent that Rom strain had stumbled onto a similar theory. My project
is building upon their hypotheses, attempting to confirm or disprove their
conclusions.”

“That’s all well and good, but what—specifically—did the
message explain? Which hypotheses are you testing?”

Should he give them a peek behind the curtain? They needed
to believe that he was going to be more cooperative than Tara. “There is some
evidence that certain human hosts can tolerate more than one symbiotic strain.”

Duvall lowered his hands to the table, clearly suspicious of
the claim. “Is this still theoretical or has such a host been located?”