Blood Enchantment (18 page)

Tessa walks to his broad, bare back. The Lanarre provided clothing when he conceded their capture to Ospere, but the athletic pants don't fit him, and he never put the shirt on.

Laz runs warm
. She stifles a laugh.

Tessa swallows the ball of desire lodged in her throat by all that the pants showcase.

“I smell your lust, Tessa,” he comments in a low voice.

She stops walking. “How?”

He slowly turns to her. The wounds of his face are now scabbed. “I am demonic.”

Right. I guess lust is their biz.

“Ask me why those things are not the cause of my emotion? The fluctuation of my form is not caused by those extenuating circumstances. I have excellent control of the cloaks I choose to wear in this realm.”

“Why is—” Tessa takes a deep breath. “What is causing the emotions.”

Red water rushes through the air, and Laz suddenly stands before her.

She gasps.

“What is that?” Her voice is shaky.

Laz palms the side of her face. “That? That is my essence. What you have seen thus far is not all that I am. This is only part of what it is to be demonic.”

Tessa gets ahold of herself. “What's made you emotional, Laz?”

Soft red moves under the surface of his skin like subtle blood. His hair darkens to gold. The flash of his tail spins above them, seemingly rotating with his thoughts. His eyes darken to gray licked by pewter.

He feathers a fingertip across her cheek, trailing his touch along her hot skin.

Tessa sighs.

“Proximity to my Redemptive.” Then his lips are on hers, and Tessa's questions melt to what he's doing—and what she'll allow.

Scott

They're quiet as they ascend from the bunker. Julia's anxiety scoops out Scott's guts.

All he can do is fall harder into her.

He couldn't wait to have sex with Julia and get it out of his system. Scott figures there's nothing more unnatural than not bedding a soul-meld. Now he has.

And if anything, his attachment to her is tighter. The connection is not like the noose married human men joke about, but a net of love and protection. Its weight is heavy.

Maybe it's because of that spore. The thought of having to go to the sithen and worry about Julia's safety causes the Combatant inside Scott to rise. He beats the primal reaction down with a mental club. He can't be busting his form every time he feels threatened. He has to actually
be
threatened. None of the Combatants had known what having the Rare One present would be like until Julia was among them. Then their role wasn't just theory anymore, wasn't fun and games, but something real.

Swaths of light pierce the dim interior of the cylindrical ascension as it marks they're progress.

Finally, they reach the top, and Vic gives a hard twist of the spinning handle, lifting the portal.

“This is it,” Julia says.

Scott doesn't reply. He feels the sludge of her anxiety, and he knows what awaits above.

Chaos.

*

Victor pops the hatch and slowly rotates on the top of the ladder rung like a human periscope. His eyes meet Scott's, and he gifts him with a slightly bemused shrug. “Everything appears normal.”

“Nah,” Scott says. “Get your ass out of my face, Vic.”

A smile flashes across his perfect features, and he hops out the top then holds out his hand to Scott. He slaps his palm into Vic's and exits. His eyes scurry over the surfaces in search of Jason's remains.

Every bit of metal sparkles. The hatch is clean and pure.

Scott opens his senses for danger. His nostrils flare. He's no tracker, but he can smell death underneath the obvious taint of cleaning chemicals.

Scott suppresses his obvious relief and bends, easily lifting Julia from the dark hole of the bunker, and her gaze skips over everything his eyes just touched.

Large liquid-topaz irises trace the spinning inset knob that opens the portal, the rim of aluminum that circles it, and the timer that is no longer counting down the hours. The floor that surrounds it is polished and glowing; the rug that covered the portal is absent.

Of course.
There's no way to clean what happened to Jason from fabric. At once, an image of the flail-type appendage the demonic swept into Jason's head rises like an unwanted mirage, and Scott shuts his eyes against it.

He can handle the visual, but he doesn't want Julia getting an echo of his thoughts.

Her exhale speaks of defeated relief. “I-I guess Jason's gone. Really gone.”

Scott doesn't have a reply that's not painfully obvious or redundant, so he just pulls her against him, smoothing his hand over her hair.

Victor's eyes meet his over the top of Julia’s head. His relief mirrors Scott's own. Neither felt that Jason was anything but a way to fuck up the Region. Caldwell thought about numero uno. His human origin always got in the way of what needed to be accomplished with their people. Caldwell meant well. Scott even believes he loved Julia—in his way. But it wasn't a selfless love. There were conditions.

True
love doesn't have conditions. It loves without strings, unwinding toward infinity by faith alone.

He kisses away Julia’s salty tears then tilts her face up with his hands. “It'll be okay.”

Julia nods. “I have you.”

“Absolutely.”

Her smile is watery but it's there, and Scott'll take it.

“Jules!”

They whirl at the sound of Cynthia's voice.

She flies at Julia, and they embrace. “I'm so sorry, baby.” Cynthia steps away, fat tears rolling down her face. “There was nothing we could do, Jules. I'm so glad you're safe. We didn't know where you guys had gone to.”

Julia nods. “Tell me—is…”

Scott hears the click of her throat, and his own constricts with the overflow of emotions he feels from her.

“Is everyone okay?”

“Well—short version? Yeah. Mostly.”

Julia searches Cynthia's face, slightly chalky and tight with what Scott believes is the stress of Caldwell's death combined with wondering where the hell everyone was. Her six inches of dark-blond roots add to the scene of survival. Who has time for looks when everyone is just surviving from one island in an ocean of disaster to the next.

I'd really like to catch a fucking break.

“What's the long version?” Julia asks with a catch in her voice.

“You know…” Cynthia's intense green eyes search Julia's face, and Scott doesn't exhale in disgust—even though he knows full well what's coming. “You know that ʻPeterʼ isn't Peter, right?”

Julia nods. “Praile.” Her voice is like a whip, and Scott strokes her arm. He summons comfort and allows it to pour over her like warm water. Julia's lips part, and her head tips back. “Thank you,” she breathes.

“Welcome.” Scott kisses the top of her head, and Cynthia's eyes track their interaction like a hawk’s.

Cynthia folds her arms, eyeing them up. “Okay. So I see some stuff has changed.”

Julia's face turns pink, and love swells within Scott. He hates the new feeling of vulnerability. But when Julia turns to him, he feels the tug of the soul-meld, and its presence eases him.

There's worse things.
Scott's just not used to feeling emotionally fragile.
Fuck.
He takes Julia's hand, tugging her away from the portal and the scene of Jason's death.

“Yes,” Julia says, letting Scott lead her down the corridor to the parlor and the adjacent open entryway.

Cynthia walks alongside, trying to catch Julia's gaze and bring her back into the conversation. “I'm
not
being judgy.”

“I know,” Julia says, giving her a quick look. “But Jason's dead.”

Their eyes lock, and Victor chooses that moment to silently leave. Scott would like to do the same, but Julia needs him at her back. And he's not going anywhere when he can sense how uncertain she is.

“Where—what did they do with his body?” Julia bites her lips, but tears slip out, trailing down her face.

“Ah, Jules, don't cry.” Cynthia grips her shoulders. “He did the right thing. You're the queen and everything, and he took Praile's murdering ass out of the equation of hurting you—or whatever wonky plan the demonic had.” Her eyes meet Scott's. “Jace knew that Scott would protect you—love you.”

Julia nods, tears dripping off her chin.

Scott restrains himself from swooping in there and hiding Julia. She has to face this sadness so she can move beyond it.

Her inhale is a rattle of anguish. “I know.”

“We've buried him.”

Julia nods. “I want to visit his grave.” She looks at Scott.

What can he do? Julia needs the closure.
And whatever—Caldwell's dead.
Scott can afford to be gracious.
Barely.

He understands he's got a dickhead attitude. It's a hard thing to help when his soul-meld had that prior connection. Scott will have to just work on it. Every day.

“First,” Scott interrupts, and Julia quickly wipes her face, trying to be brave. Making the mark.

He smiles at her then gives Cynthia a narrow stare. “Where is the fire prick?”

Cynthia's laughter fades when she realizes the conversation might be too somber. “Fire prick—Praile—disappeared when someone bigger and badder came along.”

Scott frowns.
Great, that's what we need, another fucking scenario of bullshit.

Cynthia scans his face. “It's okay.” She waves his concern away. “It was some Lanarre prince dude, and he was all focused on getting ahold of his
chosen
.”

“His which?” Julia asks, her brows meeting in concern.

“It's that Tahlia girl. You know—the Were who speaks like she's from medieval Europe?”

Julia's smile is fleeting. “Yes, I remember—she and Tessa.”

“Well they're splittsville.” Cynthia makes a whistling noise and Scott smiles. “And,” Cynthia rolls her eyes, “They were riding shotgun with Laz.”

Scott sucks in a breath.

Cynthia looks between the two of them. “He's a demonic, too.” She taps her chin. “I don't know about the fire prick part with him, though. But Praile
was
pretty pissed about him taking off with the Were girls.” Cynthia shrugs. “Not my issue.”

He snorts. Scott doesn't like the presence of two demonic. Hell, he didn't like any of it. He thought the demonic were done with after the battle at Region Two. He was wrong. Those two sniffing around makes it clear that was only part of it. Julia is the key.
As usual.
Scott and the remaining Combatants aren't going to make it easy on Praile or any demonic.

“So he's gone?” Scott says.

Cynthia nods. “For now.”

“Are my sister and brother okay?” Scott ruthlessly regulates his body's response. Julia doesn't need his anxiety on top of what she already has. He aims to offer emotional protection along with physical.

“Yeah, we're all okay. But there's this really crappy packmaster from the Western that's jonesing to go after Tessa…”

“No,” Julia says, eyes slightly wild. “She didn't want to mate with him. Tessa
told
me that. It's why she was trying to leave with Tahlia.”

“Ah!” Cynthia says loudly, snapping her fingers. “Drek! That's the guy who was the Lanarre prince. Man—did he put a kibosh on old Tramack. What a ham-fisted fucker he is.”

Julia blinks. “What do you mean?”

Cynthia leans forward, and Scott is dying for her to see the point through. He's anxious to explore One and make sure it's secure against Praile and others who would try to harm Julia.

“Tramack missed Tessa by inches, thanks to Laz. And once Drek and his buddy found out Tahlia was gone, they took off. But I'm pretty sure that Drek showing up made Praile beat feet outta here. And us Singers were so blown away by all these weirdos showing up and swinging their dicks around, there was just kinda numb reaction.” She spreads her hands away from her body.

“So the Lanarre guy is gone, and the Were females and Laz—the other demonic, also?”

Cynthia pushes her untrimmed hair behind her ear. “Yeah.”

“Where's Slash?” Julia asks suddenly.

That's a great question. Slash is a non-Singer Scott would love to have on their team. He's level-headed.

“He's gone after Adi.”

Julia crosses her arms. “What happened to Adi?”

“That's a long story.”

Julia looks to Scott. “I have time.”

No we don't.

But Scott listens anyway, growing more troubled by the second. Scott winces as Cynthia explains that Slash forced her to leave.

Scott understands his desperation exactly—better to eat crow later than have a mate subjected to death or a fate worse than death. The entire story makes Scott glad One isn't farther south.
Nothing but a bag full of assholes for Were down there.

“So Slash is in pursuit of Adi?” Scott asks.

“Yeah, he had to heal up here first. They'd paralyzed him.”

Scott shakes his head. “Fine. Tell me this jerk is in our jail?”

“Sure—he is. But Slash isn't a Singer. It's been explained to me that we can't involve ourselves in Were politics. Their bullshit against him and Adi? We can't punish that.”

“That's stupid,” Julia says.

They have plenty to concern themselves with just being Singers, so Scott's okay with the problem passing them by. “I agree, but we're not in a great position to throw our weight around. We have the demonic who seem to be bent on coming after you. We have low numbers of Singers, and a lunatic Were packmaster that's after an alpha female Were who's not interested in him and another Were female who's looking at an arranged marriage.” Scott plows his fingers through his short hair.
This is a mess.

Cynthia nods. “Yeah. Maybe you can put the fear of God in him. Discourage him from going after Tessa. After all, his goons worked Adi and Slash over. Right after they mated, by the way. Super-uncool.”

Julia's face scrunches with a look of disgusted horror.

Scott can't imagine what he would have done if someone had tried to hurt her after their first time together. Probably would have pulled their arms and legs off one by one.

A vague smile seats itself on his face.

Julia frowns. “What are you thinking?”

Oops, a bit too much emotional blow back.

Cynthia smiles. “Probably the same thing any red-blooded male would be thinking if a bunch of thugs tried to spring in on them after a roll in the hay.”