Ruling Fire (Bad Boys Of The Underworld Book 4) (3 page)

With what?
She looked around her, but there were no weapons. She could hit him with a metal chair, for all the good it would do. She dragged herself over to the security guard’s desk and opened the drawer. Her hand fumbled around in the dark until she grasped the scissors. Very few immortal beings could be killed with scissors, but they were better than nothing.

She made it back to the window just as the beast grabbed Brock by his shirt collar and threw him against a Hilo forklift thirty feet away. He landed with a loud thud on the hard plant floor. A low sound of grief emerged from her throat and the monster turned to look directly at her.

Fear clawed up from her stomach as she suddenly felt nauseous. Pitch-black eyes stared at her across the plant. Those eyes told her everything she needed to know about the monster. She knew exactly how to kill him and even had bullets that would do the job in her backseat. She also knew that she would never live long enough to make it to her car.

The myotis had her in its sights and it was only a matter of time before he pounced. A particularly vicious creature, they were known for their strong family ties and their love of sirens. Namely, raping and eating sirens.

Not willing to just stand there and wait for her death, Elsie ran. Her heels slowed her down, but that wasn’t what made her fall. A cold and leathery hand gripped her arm and smashed her into the nearest wall. Unlike Brock, she was only tossed three feet, but the impact still echoed through her entire body.

As her rubbery legs gave out, she started to slide to the floor, but that cold hand was back. This time, it wrapped around her throat and lifted her until her toes just barely touched the ground and most of her weight rested against the hand that held her captive.

As her lungs fought for air, her hand tightened on the scissors. With one forceful thrust, she stabbed them through one of the beast’s black eyes.

To her horror, he didn’t even flinch. Black blood flowed from the wound as he tossed his head back and laughed. His free hand pulled the scissors from his eye socket and more black sludge leaked out.

The smell was so pungent that Elsie was almost glad she couldn’t breathe. He brought the black slime-covered scissors close to her face, and fear overcame any bravery she had. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and looked away.

The slime was cold as the scissors were pressed against her cheek. “What’s wrong, pretty lady?” He ran the scissors down her face and neck. He pressed the edge into the delicate skin of her neck but didn’t break the skin. “You can dish it but you can’t take it?”

He moved the weapon farther down, pushing against her breast and stomach until the now warmer blade rested against the bare skin of her thigh. The implications of what he intended rocked through her. “Please,” she creaked out. Humiliating tears fell down her face to mix with the trail of his dark blood against her pale skin.

He lowered her half an inch, but it was just enough for her to rest her weight on the ground and gasp in air. His deformed face leaned in close to hers, and a raspy tongue that felt like sandpaper licked up her tears. “Keep crying, pretty lady. I love the taste,” he whispered against her ear; she cringed at his foul breath.

The scissors were raised, gathering the skirt of her dress as the sharp and dirty blade approached the top of her thighs. Unable to hold back, Elsie pushed against him with all the strength she could muster as a scream ripped free from her throat. The beast didn’t budge, and his lipless mouth curled at her misery.

As any remaining hope left her, a sharp piece of metal was stabbed through the beast’s shoulder and he was ripped away from her. As the myotis fought to remove the pipe, Elsie steadied herself against the wall. Brock stood in front of her, but it wasn’t the Brock she remembered. Blood covered half of his face, making it unrecognizable. Claws had replaced his fingers, and his mouth protruded forward an extra inch. Large fangs pushed past his lips as a continuous growl emitted from his throat.

Werewolf
. Before she could take in any more of the transformation, he turned away from her and charged the myotis. Despite the pipe, the myotis was still strong and dangerous. Even worse, he was almost impossible to kill.

Except for the cursed bullets in her car. Elsie flipped off her heels and ran for the parking lot. The sounds of the fight raged behind her, but she didn’t look back. “Hold on, Brock. Just hold on a little longer,” she muttered as she reached the car and wrenched open the back door.

Her hands shook as she grabbed for the pistol and bullets, kept in two separate boxes under the driver’s seat. A birthday present from her stepfather. She silently sent out a thank-you to him as she loaded the gun with the cursed bullets.

Before she had the last bullet in, she turned to walk back into the plant. Considering the myotis wasn’t on top of her, she was reassured that Brock was still alive. She walked in the door that had been blown off its hinges when the fight originally spilled into the plant.

The magazine slid smoothly into the handle, and she pulled back the top to load a bullet in the chamber. She softly stepped into the plant and saw Brock and the beast brutally pounding on each other. She couldn’t see who had the upper hand; the blows seemed to be evenly vicious. Seeing Brock holding his own against a myotis was shocking, to say the least. She had worked alongside him for years, never suspecting the brutality hidden underneath his designer suits.

No time to think about it now.
She knew she should aim for the leg or the arm. Where there was one myotis, there were more, and they would be out for blood if he didn’t return. At the moment, logic was not working for her. All she could see was his evil smile as she screamed against him. All she felt was his sandpaper tongue scraping against her tears.

As Brock was pushed away, she raised the gun and unloaded five bullets into the beast’s chest.

CHAPTER THREE

“Elsie!” She shook at the sound of Brock’s voice. How many times had he yelled her name?

He walked up to her cautiously, and Elsie realized she was pointing the gun straight at Brock. She lowered the weapon and flicked the safety in place.

Brock was back to normal. Well, he didn’t have claws or fangs anymore. He was still covered in blood, and his fancy suit was destroyed. Normal.
Right.

The myotis was motionless at Brock’s feet. “Is he dead?” She couldn’t bring herself to poke him to find out.

“He’s very dead,” assured Brock. “Let’s go talk somewhere.”

“Great,” she muttered. “That means I’m dead too. Fuck!” She turned away from Brock and stormed back to her car. How long did she have until his clan found her? A minute? A day?

She had to get moving. Pack up some stuff and make a run for it. She had some savings and Rebecca had connections. She could camp out with the vampires in Canada until the heat died down. Which would never happen. The myotis clans never forget.

“Elsie, we need to talk about what you saw.”

“I need to get out of town before his family tracks me down. I suggest you make yourself scarce too.” She was the one who pulled the trigger, but who knew how a vengeance-crazed mama myotis would be?

She jumped into her driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition as she shut the door. Brock was there before it closed. “We need to talk about what I am,” he said.

Elsie rolled her eyes in frustration. She was going to die and he was worried about his secret werewolf identity! “Good-bye, Brock.” She hit the gas and drove off, leaving him in the dust.

The drive home was a blur of broken traffic laws and thoughts of how the myotises would kill her. When she pulled up to her small town house, her heart sunk when she saw her mother’s Mustang parked outside the front door.

For one, she didn’t want her mother in danger. Secondly, she looked terrible and her mother would point it out incessantly. Her sweat had flattened out her hair, and her new dress was streaked with myotis blood and dirt and grease from the plant floor.

To top it all off, she had abandoned her shoes when she fled the plant. As she stumbled up to the door, barefoot and gun toting, her mother opened the door for her. Rebecca’s jaw dropped so far down it almost touched the grass. “Elsie Daisy Handeland, what did you do?”

Etta looked equally shocked. “Are you okay?”

Elsie stared at her sister but didn’t answer
. No. Nothing was okay.

Elsie was rather curious as to how her mother got into her home, considering she knew the doors were locked, but when she had learned that her stepfamily was an integral part of the vampire monarchy, she stopped questioning the small and strange things her mother did.

“I killed a myotis. I think his clan is going to hunt me down and I need to leave.”

Her mother scoffed. “Ridiculous. You are Roman Entin’s daughter. They wouldn’t dare touch you.”

Elsie shuddered at the memory of just how willing the myotis had been to touch her. “I am not about to start a war. I just need to get out of town and lie low for a while. Besides, I’m his stepdaughter.”

Rebecca shook her head. “You know Roman loves you like one of his own. He and Thomas have always considered you girls family.”

Elsie glanced to Etta just in time to see her look away and blush. Thomas had more than just “brotherly” affection for Etta, but she passed him over for a vampire on the high council instead of one whose only claim to power was his father’s position.

“Mama, you know I consider them family too. That’s all the more reason to avoid any confrontation. I don’t know what I would do if either of them got hurt on my account.”

“No daughter of mine is going to get murdered by a barbaric bunch of batboys!”

The doorbell rang before Elsie had a chance to calm her down. Everything went quiet as the three women looked to the door, almost expecting myotises to kick it down. “They probably wouldn’t ring the doorbell,” murmured Elsie.

Even so, her cowardice was proved by her inability to walk to the door. Her mother sighed. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes.” She pulled open the door and outside was a bloody and dirty Brock.

Elsie’s eyes widened.
No, no, no, no, no.
Brock could not be in the same room as her mother.

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed as she scanned Brock from head to toe. “Hello there. Elsie didn’t mention she was having a gentleman caller.”

Brock’s own eyes narrowed as his nose twitched. His grimace told her he was scenting something he didn’t approve of. Determined to avoid a brawl, Elsie pushed past her mother. “This is just my boss. Get your mind out of the gutter, Mama.” She grabbed Brock’s hand and pulled him into her home. Normally she would scold him on her front lawn, but considering she expected assassins to show up at any moment, the kitchen seemed like a much better idea.

He tightened his grip on her hand and the size difference became evident. His long fingers and thick palm engulfed her smaller hand. She looked down at the contact and saw that his fingers were covered in black.

Made sense. He had used claws as a weapon, so there would be blood on his hands. Because of the whole werewolf thing.

She pulled her hand away once they reached the kitchen, but he didn’t let go. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“My family is powerful. We can protect you.”

Elsie rolled her eyes at the echo of her mother’s words. “There is no protection. I grew up listening to horror stories about what myotises do to their prey. Tonight only proved that I was right to fear them. I need to get as far away from here as I can.”

Finally something clicked for Brock. “Where did you get that gun from? I heard myotises are hard to kill.”

“I’m a—”

“Siren,” hissed the unfamiliar voice from behind her. Elsie screamed and jerked around.

The myotis stood at the entrance to her kitchen. How the hell had it gotten in her home?

Brock pushed himself between Elsie and the newest monster. Two more of the monsters appeared behind the one who spoke. The ability to teleport had not been included in the stories she was told as a child.

“This is between you and me,” said Brock, sounding like the biggest idiot she had ever met. She should say something—admit it was her who did the killing. But her fear paralyzed her tongue and kept her speechless.

“You might have his blood on your hands, but we know who the true killer is.” It was the same one who spoke earlier. Two more appeared and Elsie’s chances of survival were dropping by the second.

Her mother and sister ran in from the living room, but two of the monsters grabbed them.

“No! Please! It was me who killed him. Take me but please let my family go!”

She moved to run to her sister, who was closest to her, but Brock stopped her with a thick arm around her waist. “Let me handle this, Elsie,” he whispered to her.

She whipped around to face him. His arm still held her and her front was pushed up tightly against him. She craned her neck back to meet his eyes. She was used to being at least two inches taller in his presence.

“Please save my family,” she whispered. Tears streaked down her face. “I’ll do anything.”

Brock said nothing as he pushed Elsie behind him.

“I was attacked for no reason by your clansman,” said Brock, as if his life wasn’t on the line.

The spokesman of the group tsked. “No excuse. You’re an experienced fighter. Surely you could’ve let him live. You just wanted to kill one of us.” The ears of the myotises around the speaker twitched, and one of the creatures started to drool in anticipation of violence. “We have a code. We have rules. He would not attack you unprovoked.”

“I am aware of your rules. My clan also follows strict rules. My name is Brock Holt. Your man attacked my woman and tried to violate her. When I was defending her honor, she shot him. From what I understand, it is permissible for a werewolf to defend his or her mate by your rules.”

Rebecca abruptly stopped struggling as a large smile stretched across her face.

The speaker let out an angry breath. “You claim this female as your mate?”

Elsie held her breath as she gripped Brock’s shirt tight enough to turn her knuckles white.
What was he doing?

“I claim Elsie Handeland as my mate,” said Brock without the slightest hesitation. Elsie rested her forehead against his back, too afraid to look up.

“In that case, you and your mate may survive. I suggest you stay far away from myotises from now on.”

A long silence filled the air. Brock shifted beneath her death grip on his formerly white shirt. “They’re gone now.”

“Elsie!” screamed her mother. “You’re hitched to the king of werewolves!”

“What?” she squeaked. Who said anything about Brock being a king? She jerked her hands away and stepped back until the counter wouldn’t let her go any farther. “What are you?” she whispered.

“I really think we should have that talk now,” said Brock.

Rebecca pushed past Brock and grabbed Elsie in a tight bear hug. “You’re going to be immortal just like me and Etta!” she squealed.

“You really are a siren?” asked Brock.

Suddenly unable to look him in the eyes, she mumbled, “That’s right, Your
Majesty
.”

His jaw clenched but he kept quiet. Luckily, Etta was there to make things even more awkward. “How long have you been working on the werewolf king? I never thought you had it in you.” The thin strain of jealousy shone through her words. This was supposed to be Etta’s big announcement. But, in her defense, it wasn’t as if she planned to be attacked and marked for murder.

Elsie untangled herself from her mother’s tight embrace and shot Etta daggers with her eyes. “I haven’t been ‘working’ on anyone. I have been working
with
Brock, who I fully believed was human until an hour ago!”

Was it really just an hour ago that her biggest concern had been her fresh nail polish smudging? At the thought, she looked down at her hands. Ha! Not one nail had chipped, even with all the ruckus.

Shaking her head at the foolish thought, her gaze made its way back to Brock. His gold eyes intently studied her every movement. “Elsie, we need to talk about what just happened.”

Rebecca and Etta stared expectantly at her. Not one to confront family head on, Elsie looked around her home. The kitchen fed into the dining room, the walls and furniture all in light browns and greens. It was meant to be soothing. A relaxing place to unwind after a hard day’s work.

Even after being broken into by her family and invaded by the bat people from hell, there was no mess. Everything was in its place, and no fight had broken any of the furniture she had collected in the two years of renting out the space.

This was supposed to be her sanctuary. Would she ever feel safe there again? “I don’t want to talk, Brock. I want to be alone.”

Her mother shot her an obviously disapproving glance and tried to mitigate the damage. “I’m sure she is exhausted from her ordeal. If you just give us a few minutes, I am sure she will talk to you.”

Elsie snorted at her mother’s delusions. “Alone means that you’re leaving too.” For a beat, no one moved. “You’re leaving
now
,” she said firmly. “I am exhausted and filthy and I am NOT marrying or ‘mating’ anyone. Everyone out!”

Finally the group of them moved to the front door. As Brock turned, she saw a nasty-looking bite mark on his neck. She wanted to offer to bandage him but bit her tongue. He was a werewolf. All he had to do was shift to his wolf form and he would be healed. There was nothing she could do.

Rebecca and Etta climbed into the red sports car. They traveled most places together because both their vampires lived in the luxurious apartments of the newly constructed Sonin Tower. Brock lingered at her porch. As Rebecca drove away, she shot one last smile and wave at Brock. Elsie shook her head. There was no talking sense into that woman sometimes.

“Will you at least talk to me tomorrow?”

“There’s really nothing to talk about,” she insisted.

“Damn it, Elsie! You can’t just pretend nothing happened.” At his shout, she jumped and took a cautious step away from him. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. “What exactly do you know about me?”

“Not as much as I thought I did,” she muttered.

“I meant werewolves.”

This was exactly the type of conversation she was trying to avoid. “Not a lot,” she answered truthfully. Had he moved closer? She could have sworn she had put more space between them. “Mother didn’t talk much about shifters.”

That was only half true. Her mother would’ve loved to talk for days about all the supernatural creatures of this world and beyond. It was Elsie who refused to listen. Etta had been a dutiful student, eager to learn from their mother and find a powerful immortal to bind with.

Elsie wanted nothing to do with the supernatural world. Until the age of twelve, she had a mostly normal life with her mortal father. Etta was only six and could barely remember the life of a normal human.