Blood Law (16 page)

His
teeth sank into the meaty part of her palm.

Her
eyes flashed open, she screamed and struggled, but he held her fast.
Immediately the copper scent of her blood rose to her nostrils.

“Shhhh,”
Lucien crooned even as he licked her hand. The tender sound contrasted with his
violence so much that she was momentarily immobilized. Eyes blazing gold, he
grabbed her by a hank of hair and forced her head back. Her blood mingled with
his saliva on his lips. He laughed at the way her gaze lingered on his mouth
and lowered his lips to hers. Just like that, she snapped to life.

She
snarled and bit his lip.

He
snarled in return, yanking her closer to him.

When
his lips took hers, Falon stiffened in his arms. Wild waves of emotion crashed
through her the moment her blood mingled with his.

Pain,
heartache, desire, vengeance, and sheer, unadulterated terror. Some of it hers,
most of it his.

Falon
twisted and pushed away, but his strength was superior. She closed her eyes
instead and focused her energy on him. She could force him from her with her
own power and pray Rafael returned in time to save her body from certain ravishment.
But she had no reason to believe Rafe would return anytime soon.

Lucien
laughed and retreated, though he still grasped her hand. He lifted it to his
lips again. Falon tried yanking it away. “No pain, my love,” he roughly said,
then licked the place where he bit her. Magically the wound smoothed over as if
it had never been there. He dropped her hand.

“Rafael
will kill you if he knows you traded blood with me. For your own protection,
let’s keep it between us, shall we?”

Confusion
stormed her sensibilities. “What do you care if I live or die?”

He
smiled a small but genuine smile. It changed everything about him. “Oh, I
care.”

Falon
had no response. Stupefied by his words, she stared at his laconic eyes.

A
snarl from the doorway broke Lucien’s mesmerizing hold on her. Gasping, Falon
saw the great golden wolf at the doorway. Instinctively, she ran toward him,
knowing he would fight to his death to protect her. She sank to her knees on
the carpet behind the beast, using him as her shield and weapon at the same
time.

Lucien
stared at them, but his focus was on the wolf. “I see your babysitter has
arrived.” His gaze met Falon’s. “Remember what I asked of you, and know this:
if you ‘blow this joint,’ I’ll find you, and you won’t like my punishment.”

He
moved past her and the great angry beast into the hallway. They both listened
to Lucien’s happy whistle and heavy footsteps as he made his way to the great
room. Moments later, the sound of his Harley revving was followed by the creak
of the gates opening. Then the sound of the engine faded completely.

FALON
HADN’T REALIZED she’d dug her fingers into the wolf’s thick, silky fur until he
took her hand in his mouth and pulled it out of his pelt. She blinked as she
attempted to process what had just happened.

Rafael
returning injured—stabbed.

Lucien
throwing down a bargain to prolong her life.

The
bastard biting her. She clenched her fist, knowing if she told Rafael, he’d do
something stupid, like get her killed quicker. She’d wash her hand with acid if
she had to.

And
then . . .

She
looked down at the wolf. He was so big, his head almost even with her chest.
And those eyes. She stared at them. They were so much like his master’s.

Falon
closed her eyes for a moment and slowly inhaled, then exhaled.

Just
like his master’s! If she didn’t know better, she’d swear . . . But no. She
laughed, recognizing she sounded more hysterical than amused.

In
that instant, she knew how Alice in Wonderland had felt when she fell down the
rabbit hole. Except this wasn’t some twisted fairy tale—this was her life. And
Lucien wanted to end it. Soon. And Rafael seemed perfectly willing to allow it.

But
she wasn’t going to make it easy for either of them.

She
exhaled and flexed her fingers. Her life might suck, but she was far from ready
to hand it over to some dude who thought he was God. His brother could go to
hell, too.

Falon
opened her eyes to find the damn wolf watching her again. It even looked like
it was grinning, as if it knew exactly what she was thinking. To make matters
worse, it turned to look at the bed as if to say, “Let’s hit it.”

She
shivered and her nipples hardened. She was emotionally exhausted and starving
to death. “I’m not sleeping with you, if that’s what you think.”

He
growled and nudged her with his big snout toward the bed. When she resisted, he
herded her as if she were a spring lamb toward the huge four-poster. He leapt
up ahead of her. Although it was so faint she wondered if she was imagining it,
she heard a slight whimper escape the great beast. He immediately growled as if
to cover it up.

Intrigued,
Falon moved to the edge of the bed. She reached out a tentative hand and
touched the top of his head. If a wolf could groan, this one did, and damned if
it didn’t seem like he rolled his eyes as well. She couldn’t tell if her touch
pleased or frightened him. As if he had anything to fear from her. “It’s not
like I can hurt you, you brute.” Using both hands, she pressed them into the
fur just below his neck until she felt the powerful muscles bunch beneath her
hands. Slowly, she moved her palms to his great shoulders, feeling for a wound.
As her hands traveled down his sides, then to his belly, he growled low in his
throat.

She
froze. His big head was only inches from her. His eyes piercing. Her heart
thumped in her chest. Once again, the expression on his face was so dynamic, it
made him seem human. “You’re losing it, Falon,” she muttered just as he licked
her cheek with his big tongue. “Argh!” She swiped her hand across her face.
“That was disgusting!”

He barked
at her and then gingerly rolled over to his side. Immediately, she saw the
bloody fur. “Oh, you’re bleeding!”

Gently
she climbed onto the bed. As she did, she looked at him, afraid he’d bite her
hand off. He laid his big head down on the pillow and closed his eyes, his big
tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

Warm
sticky blood met her fingertips when she probed the wound. It was deep, but as
she looked at the wolf, he remained dead still. If his wound was not tended,
infection would set in. And even if he let her take him to a vet—she snorted at
the thought, earning her a withering glare from the wolf—he seemed beyond that
right now.

He
turned and licked the hand that pressed against his wound. A warm fuzzy feeling
washed though her. She pressed her hand more firmly to the cut. Not knowing
why, Falon closed her eyes and concentrated all of her energy on her hand and
the damaged flesh and organs beneath it. The wolf continued to lick her hand in
long, wet stokes. Her body warmed. Her skin tingled. Energy shot from the
center of her being to her arm, then to her hand, heating it to painful.

The
wolf’s head jerked up and he shifted, preparing to stand. “No,” she breathed,
“Stay.” Something was happening here, Falon thought. Even now, she could feel the
wound beneath her fingers closing up.

He
didn’t lie back down again, but he stilled. Her hand heated hotter. She could
feel the heavy whoosh of blood in her veins. In one abrupt jolt, it ended.
Falon slowly opened her eyes and looked at the wolf. His hooded eyes gave
nothing away. As if he deliberately tried to keep his emotions in check. Jesus!
He was a dog. He couldn’t think or feel like a human. Falon looked down at the
dried blood. She poked the area with her fingertips. It was body temperature warm.
No fresh blood, no gaping hole. Just smooth furred skin atop thick, corded
muscles. She looked at him in wonder.

“Did
I do that?” she asked in disbelief.

He
nuzzled his side where the wound had been then looked up at her as if
ascertaining for himself that she had the power to heal. She didn’t believe it
herself, but this wasn’t actually the first time . . . She thought back to a
kitten her last foster dad had thrown out of the car widow as they drove down
the street. She’d pissed him off because she had defended her foster sister
when he had wrongly accused her of breaking his fishing pole. Hours later when
they returned home, Falon snuck out and found the battered little thing in the
gutter. He was alive. Barely. She’d cupped the small fur ball in her hands and
prayed that it would miraculously heal. She was answered. It had scared the
hell out of her, but she was grateful. She was young when it happened and had
truly believed it had been divine intervention. But now . . . She looked at the
wolf and where the wound had been. He looked the epitome of health. She had
healed him.

The
wolf growled low and looked at her, cocking his head as if to say, “I don’t get
it.”

“I
don’t either,” she murmured to herself, feeling out of sorts and confused. What
was next? Turning dirt into gold?

He
responded with a big sloppy lick across her face.

“Argh,”
she said wiping her face on a nearby pillow. “I told you not to do that!” He
licked her again.

Wanting
some time to herself to process everything that was happening to her, Falon
moved off the bed and gimped to the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and
locked it. She sat down on the toilet, dropped her head into her hands, and
rubbed her eyes. Her life had done a complete flip since she first laid eyes on
Rafael Vulkasin. Her emerging powers excited and scared her. But just as
mysterious and amazing was Rafael’s pull. She couldn’t deny it, wasn’t even
sure she wanted to. He was the most exciting thing that had happened in her
life. Because of him, extraordinary things were happening around her and to
her. Rafael had sparked whatever it was in her that had been pressing for
release for so long. Intuitively she knew that without him, her powers would be
useless. She looked down at the wolf’s blood on her hands.

She’d
healed him! She looked down at the cast on her leg and then at the closed door,
thinking of the wolf beyond. His master healed her terrible wounds. But he was
some—something not of this world. She knew it the moment she saw him. The way
he fought Conan all doubled-sworded and walking on the ceiling. Who did that?

Was
the brother the same? She rubbed her hand where he had bitten her. If she
could, she’d cut off her hand! What did his bite mean? Was it his way of
marking her? If he was going to kill her, why did he bother? The answer was
simple: Rafael. He did it to taunt his brother. She’d be damned if she’d be
used to bait the man who saved her life. Falon turned the water on as hot as
she could stand it and scrubbed her hand until it bled.

Then
she turned her attention to her ankle. If she could heal the kitten and the
wolf, why not herself? Falon plopped back down on the toilet and pressed her
hands to the cast above her broken ankle. She closed her eyes and concentrated
just as she had on the wolf. Nothing. She concentrated harder. No heat emanated
from her belly to her hands. She opened her eyes and scowled. Maybe because of
the cast? Or she simply did not have the power to heal herself. Her scowl
deepened when she opened the bathroom door to find the wolf staring at her,
wearing that irritating wolf smile.

She
gimped past him, the day’s events and her lack of food taking its toll. Her
knees wobbled, and she was beginning to see black spots. She grabbed the edge
of the oak dresser, closed her eyes, and slowly gauged her breathing until the
dizziness passed. Once composed, Falon turned to the beast and said, “I’m
getting dressed and going downstairs to eat.” She dug through Rafael’s drawers
again and pulled out another pair of flannel jammy bottoms and instead of a
button-down shirt, she grabbed a black sweatshirt that came down to her knees.

The
wolf stood at the open door waiting for her. She was beyond hunger pains. Her
body was numb. Carefully, she hobbled behind him down the stairway and into the
great room.

Her
nose twitched at the latest assault of scents. Sex, hot and heavy, hung like a
blanket over the area. How had she missed it earlier? Because Rafael was not
with her? New savory scents of something wonderful cooking wafted from the
kitchen. Fleetingly she wondered how the little brunette was. She would ask
after she gorged herself.

Falon
stopped in mid-step when she realized dozens of fresh eyes stared at her. Not
the same folks who were present earlier, but some of them she recognized from
the night before. A harsh shiver tattooed down each vertebra of her spine
ending at the small of her back, where it dug painfully in. She was not welcome
here, not by them and maybe not even Rafael. The collection of men and women
looked normal, like everyday working folk. They looked like she felt. Tired,
wary, hungry. And desperate. Of what was their desperation born? Hers was
survival. Could it be that they shared more than the roof over their heads?
Were they forced to be here, too?

Feeling
self-conscious under their cool, guarded stares and even a few glares, Falon
reached for the wolf beside her, digging her fingers into the thick fur of his
neck. He growled low and menacingly at the group. Their trance shattered.
Immediate chatter and movement ensued.