A Vampire To Watch Over Me [Vampire Coven Book II] (5 page)

A furry, snow-covered creature stumbled into the cave. It looked half frozen. It was on all fours, sort of, crawling and squirming towards the fire. It looked like a polar bear cub. Laken looked past the cave door, there was no mother following it. Laken would be doing it a favor by killing it, the poor creature must have been abandoned because of its deformity. The meat would be welcome back at the coven.

The small snow-covered beast collapsed onto its side near his feet; Laken crouched beside it. It was the oddest cub he had ever seen; there was no face. The fur was pulled down tight, frozen in clumps to its body. There were no front paws and mangled-looking flat arms. Laken fisted part of the fur where the head should have been. He was startled to realize it was a hood, not just a flap of hair. It was a coat—it had to be human. With all the fur and pelts covering a human in the freezing vast land it was hard for a vampire to, at times, differentiate between the smells. Ice-dwelling humans rarely washed, it was dangerous to be wet in the ice-covered land.

Grabbing the front of the frozen, sodden garment Laken ripped it straight down. Whatever it was it was in distress—the scent was the same in any creature. He was right—it was human, as no blood and guts spewed forth when he ripped the garment. Laken expected to find a male hunter, but a little female was huddled inside; her hands and arms were wrapped around her chest. Her eyes were closed. Laken thought if he were human he would have had a heart attack.

“Nanya?” he whispered.

But that wasn’t possible, Nanya had died sixteen thousand years ago. Laken picked the woman up and placed her down near the fire. She was muttering incoherently. Laken stripped her naked, ripping the rest of her clothing from her as quick as possible. Her furs and underclothing were wet and icy, and of no use. She was covered in a multitude of bruises that looked hideous against her pale flesh. He piled warm furs overtop of her. He picked up a slender foot and rubbed his hands over her trying to improve her circulation. Her lips were blue. Laken thought for a moment to get her back to Caine but was afraid she wouldn’t survive the flight. Her heart rate was too sluggish, her breathing slow and shallow.

At the mouth of the cave, the snow was falling in sheets. She was already so cold. Laken built up his fire; he needed to warm her insides slowly. There were partitions to contain heat he hadn’t bothered with before; he now scrambled to place them front and back. Laken then searched his pack and produced a large tin cup. He filled it with snow and stuck it near the fire; if she didn’t rouse, he would bathe her body in heated water inch by inch.

Laken then sat back on his heels and just gazed down at the beauty lying motionless. Her resemblance to his sweet Nanya was uncanny. Long raven black hair haloed her face. This woman’s face sported a nasty mark—someone had hit her. She was the same height but his Nanya had been thinner—frail. This woman didn’t look frail, just beaten. It was as though time tumbled back and Laken was with Nanya in the furs.

Beautiful full lips, so much like Nanya’s, begged to be tasted and warmed. Her delicate white throat was exposed and Laken could smell the sweet-as-nectar blood flowing in her veins. It was the same as Nanya’s—her blood type, rare. Although, after a thought, Laken realized most blood types were rare these days. Each blood type was like the offering of a different meal. But the O negative blood was so special—it was a universal gift that could be given to any other negative blood type. It was a special individual who gave of themselves and could not take of any other—only their own. Their good doctor would be pleased with this newest addition as he was when discovering O positive blood—another universal donor. Humans with those blood types were coveted, and Laken reveled in his discovery.

Laken could hear her blood flow increase as she warmed. The smell grew more intoxicating as her heart beat faster. That single humming organ was a vampire beacon of life. Immortality was just a taste away. Laken gave himself a shake, he was no novice vampire. A rule of Tavish’s was never to kill a breeder female. Laken had disobeyed Tavish once and Nanya had paid with her life.

The woman’s eyes fluttered like a wounded butterfly. Laken smiled at her, he knew she would be terrified of him. He was six feet four and well-muscled. Ginger had called him roguish with his dark-as-night hair and dangerous good looks. More than likely, the woman was used to men covered from head to toe in fur. In Laken’s attire, she would be able to see his well-contoured muscles. The sweet little female before him would undoubtedly plead for her life in her terror. Laken would soothe her fears. She opened her mouth as he grinned down at her. Poor little imp, so delicate and harmless. Laken wondered if she would sound like his Nanya. Her voice had been music to his ears—sweet and kind, a tinker of a stunted sweet bell that made you want to listen.

The little Nanya look-a-like sat up then hunkered into the furs. She noticed she was naked. She narrowed her incredulous eyes onto him and Laken waited for her pleas for mercy.

“What the fuck did you do with my clothes, asshole?”

Laken couldn’t have been more surprised if she had clocked him—then she proceeded to do so. A tiny fist smacked him on his chin like a pro boxer. She cried out then swung at him with her other fist. Laken was quick to dodge the new assault; she’d break her hands on him. The sweet little thing rhymed off some very not so sweet profanities.

Someone needs a potty mouth date with a bar of soap
.

Laken grabbed her wrists and pushed her back into the furs. He sat over her chest while she struggled and screamed.

“Get off me, fat ass,” she howled.

“Settle down,” Laken commanded.

“Oh no, you don’t tell me what to do!” She screamed in his face. “You took my clothes. All men are the same. They make dumb rules and break them and twist them. Don’t you dare tell me I committed treason by being naked when you did this.”

“Ah, running from a reign of tyranny? Or did they kick you out?”

“I left. Give me my clothes. You will not cast me out naked into the storm as they would have.”

“Dirty bastards,” Laken said, then chuckled. She was a hellcat. “Relax, spitfire, I won’t toss you out.”

Laken climbed off of her. She snatched the furs up over her bared breasts. Her knees pulled up under her chin and she shivered as she struggled to sit up. Laken had no clothing to give her, nor any food. Laken hadn’t expected a human to fall into his lap. Normally it took great skill in locating them in the twisting labyrinth of polar caps. He reached over and tested the melted snow. The water was a little warmer than tepid.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked.

“Maybe. But I’ll decide.”

She was oozing petulance. Laken couldn’t decide if he should laugh or spank her. But he could see through all her bravado she was indeed scared. She was alone with a man in a cave—and naked as the day she was born. Though he did find most ice dwellers’ furthest fear was rape—especially when sex was considered treason among humans. Many of the younger ones had no idea what sex was. Laken also knew many ice dwellers considered a woman found outside to be guilty of some act of treason. Something very bad must have happened.

“So you’re a law-breaking rebel, huh?” he teased.

“Screw you.”

Tempting.

“My name is Laken. I won’t hurt you.”

“You won’t all right. I’ll bust your chops, asshole.”

Charming.

“Spitfire, you’re about as frightening as a kitten.”

“What’s a kitten? I bet it’s a massive creature with fangs and red eyes?”

She looked so hopeful Laken laughed. “Something like that.”

She looked pleased. “My name is Honor. I won’t hurt you again as long as you behave.”

Seriously?

Honor reached a tentative hand out to grip the tin cup handle. He noted she favored a hand. Her knuckles were red, but that could have been because of the freezing temperatures. Her hand shook as she gripped the object and her heart rate increased; she was experiencing certain duress. After an initial taste, she chugged the water like a dehydrated camel. Her other hand wrapped around the warmed cup seeking the heat. Her eyes drooped and she looked exhausted. Laken could see she struggled to keep herself upright. She was weak; her body weaved back and forth now that her initial burst of adrenaline was stymied. Laken wondered just how far she had traveled.

“Why are you out here alone?” she asked and then yawned. “Were you cast out?”

“No.”

Laken felt sad. He was remembering Ginger at her questions—his reason for being out here. The first time Ginger had found gray in her hair she had cried. She was never able to breed. It was her only regret. Laken hadn’t really minded. When a woman was breeding and nursing, a vampire wasn’t able to feed from her—too hormonal, and a vampire could already be unpredictable. He would have missed her taste. Laken was always somewhat possessive of his charges. It seemed he now had another to fill the void for a while.

When Laken looked over at Honor, she was curled on her side sound asleep; the tin cup had rolled from her grasp. Laken put another two furs on top of her, wrapping her well against the cold and settled down beside her. Even a vampire needed rest. Laken would run out of wood before morning, he would have to look for more in the early hours. But something told him to be watchful. Ice dwellers didn’t give up their females easily. This bit of fire fluff was perfect breeding age. If her tribe came looking for her they would do it for one purpose. To kill her. There wasn’t a hope in hell of that occurring with Laken as her new protector.

Chapter 3

Honor’s eyes fluttered open; she lay awake wondering where she was. She looked around the strange cave. Overhead, the ceiling was rock, not ice. Furs were piled onto her. She could see her breath, her nose was cold. She remembered the night before, stumbling in, frozen. Honor had never been in a blizzard. She had heard of them, heard howls as they whipped their way through the ice tunnels. It was as though the world had a life of its own and she was exposed and vulnerable to its whims.

Snow magically fell from the sky out of nowhere, it was frightening. It had covered her body as she batted at the fluffy stuff, thinking she was under element attack, but the strange happening wouldn’t let up and she couldn’t outrun it—it seemed to follow her as though she were its prey. Shards of frozen ice had beaten at Honor’s eyes until she could hardly see, the wonder of her eyes were now that they could be so defenseless and exposed. Her fingers and toes had been without feeling once the paining had stopped—she didn’t know what was scarier. Her lungs ached, never in her life had she been so cold. There had been no shelter, no way out of the terrible vast land. Honor had always felt alone in the ice dwelling, this was a different type of alone. It was cold and empty.
Lost.

In desperation, Honor had dropped her weapon, pulled her hood over her head and her arms through her sleeves trying to cuddle her body. Through a small slit she thought she saw an ember make its way skyward. She knew she must be hallucinating, but she had to try; she was dying. The whole idea was to show she could make it on her own.

Her mind had spun as she stumbled along. There was no turning back, Talek would allow Dylan to kill her, Honor knew it. The idea was so saddening. Betrayed by people she had grown up with. The law was stupid. Why couldn’t they see how blind they were? With their minds set, there was no room for compromise. Without compromise, a law wasn’t a law—it was fascism. Honor just wanted to be touched and loved and held. Noticed. The only time she was noticed was when Dylan was slapping at her for swearing. He had been using her as a punching bag since she could remember. He didn’t like it when she learned to fight back.

Why couldn’t there be good touching in her world, not just hurtful touching? Not all contact led to sex. She had kissed Peter and she wasn’t pregnant. Honor knew that. A simple hug didn’t have to be abhorrent. How did they even know if she was capable of carrying? Just because she was female she was damned on a maybe. It was all so unfair. The word ‘family’ had meant something at one time. Family was love. Talek declared they were all related—family, and yet there was no love. Honor couldn’t help but think there had to be more.

Honor sat up, wincing at her protesting muscles. She had never run for so long—then walked, then crawled on her agonized knees. She had fallen so often on the hard ice she could see huge black marks covering her skin. She wasn’t used to seeing her nude flesh and the horrible dark marks were painful and strange. When she touched her face, she winced. Her jaw ached. Ice dwellers, at least the women, were fairly stationary; they didn’t go out to hunt. The kills were brought back mostly gutted unless they had been outdistancing a snowstorm. Honor never remembered a time she felt so physically exhausted. She shifted and groaned; her whole body felt beaten.

The man, Laken, was nowhere to be found. Honor knew she hadn’t imagined him. She was naked, covered in furs. The cup was full again and sat by the dying fire. It wouldn’t hurt to drink it. It was then Honor noticed her pile of clothes. After glancing about she rose, ignoring the pains in her blotchy covered legs, and hurried over to snatch them up then raced back to the furs and draped them around her. The icy ground beneath her feet was painful. Tiny stones dug into her tender flesh. Her jaw already shook with cold.

Honor was dismayed to see the sodden mess of furs and leather was ripped beyond repair, even if she had carried something to repair them with. What was she to do? She couldn’t stay naked; she had to keep moving. The men from the ice dwelling would come for her. Honor was no idiot and didn’t doubt it for a second. She was screwed.

“Damn, damn, damn.”

“You have been damned, it was unanimous, you treason-committing bitch,” came a voice at the entrance of the cave.

Honor stilled. She looked up at the four of them. Dylan was leading the pack. They looked like wolves—the white furry creatures the men brought back skinned with their fangs still intact and their merciless stare. Dylan had his cocky gaze—the one he had worn since she remembered. The bastard thought he was better than a girl, he had been taught as much because he could hunt; he had been taught a woman was a useless liability. Honor knew better, a woman was just as important as any male. She wouldn’t succumb to repression any longer, the world, the sun, the moon, belonged to everyone—life and hope belonged to everyone.