Bozena and Sveta (Neuripra) (19 page)

Those teeth are like fucking talons.

Stop thinking about Jowendrhan. You have to get dressed and wash the scent of Jo off.

I hate that he bit me and kissed me, embracing me, guilting me on a round trip, without my permission. He never asks for consent. He made me pregnant without warning me. How the fuck was I supposed to know the pill is ineffectual against vampyre swimmers?

He, however, knew exactly what he was doing. Every step of this journey with Jo has been against my will. All I agreed to was becoming a vampyre and a night of passion.

Deluded, stupid, still desperately naïve when it comes to the manipulation of these ancient supernaturals, I walked right into his sordid cellar, trapped.

And now he's trying to trap me again by dangling Trixie and Rion in front of me as bait.

Fuck!

Screw you, Jo! Fuck you for fucking me! For fooling me once. I won't let you fool me twice.

*

Sveta:

As awkward as this is, I will never rest if I leave without broaching the subject with her.

“Zaria?”

She looks at me, startled. She's been deep in thought since Venix left. “Hmmm?”

A heavy sigh drops out of me. Steeling myself, I sit upright, healed and ready for round two.

“
Zaria, I want to talk to you about Božena.”

“
What about her?” she says, with an edge to her tone.

“
You're her sister. She's had a really hard life and could use an ally other than me.”

She scowls at me, “I don't like her. And I still have a hard time accepting my mama cheated on my tata, with a slakax of all things.”

“Slakax are impossible to resist,” I smile, staring at her pointedly.

“
Truer words have never been spoken,” pipes in Zauran, reaching out and covering her hand with his.

Aisyx sprawls further on the couch, saying, “Zaria, stop being a bitch. You don't even know Zena, so you can't judge her. It wouldn't kill us to have a meal together sometime.”

“Plus it looks like she's going to become family at this rate, so maybe getting to know her sooner rather than later will make life easier for Sveta, and us,” Zauran smiles lustfully at her, indicating
us
with a waggle of his finger.

“
Fine! But if she's half as dead inside as I think she is, I'm not bending over backwards for her. We all have family we don't like, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt...” She looks at me, “For you. I'm doing this for you.”

Hopping up, I slant over and give her cheek a kiss, “Thank you darling. I knew I could count on you.”

I hitch my thumb behind me with a jab, “I have to get cracking, there's a Ghost waiting outside begging for me to open that throttle up and ride her breathless.”

Zauran stands, giving me an unexpected hug, thumping my shoulder, “I'm proud of you brat. Welcome to the alpha family.”

It chokes me and I thump him back, too moved to speak.

You would have rivaled Ryan with that alpha plyx display. You are one bad-ass motherfucker.

Ryan is our oldest brother, and our king. The praise doesn't get any higher than this.

Laughing, I look into Zauran's opal green/blue eyes, “Remember that the next time you decide you want to kick my ass.”

“Fuck off already,” he smiles, punching me solidly in the shoulder.

I salute them, pivoting and almost leaping to the front door with the freedom in my veins.

I did it! Now I just have to get my girl and heal her.

Nothing can tear us apart now.

It's late, the night is advancing, and I feel bad for keeping my lady waiting. I'm going to have to ride like a tornado to get there before nightfall.

If she's even still there. Fuck!

I could have made a date for tomorrow, but last night was our breakthrough and I was excited to complete what I'd started.

As long as the demons are there with her, she'll be fine.

I should have brought my phone.

Fuck.

Fear advances, ripping through me, and the foolishness of leaving her at Pravus without a guard dawns on me.

I didn't even ask my neuri crew to keep an eye out.

There are murderers running rampant through Belgrade and I put her in a vulnerable situation.

Panicked, I gun the Ghost, scarring an arc over the earth, wrestling onto Zauran's drive and hitting the tarmac.

Fuck! Zena, please be safe. I'm sorry angel! I'm coming!

Venix kept me here too long.

Gnawing doubt burns bile up my windpipe. His agenda is something I'm still not sure of. I have a bad feeling about him.

But right now I have thirty minutes of traveling ahead and twilight is already deepening the shadows. By the time I get there it'll be dark.

She is going to be so pissed!

Chapter 22

Božena:

The pyrotechnic display happening in the heavens reminds me of spiritual warfare. It's as if the light is loudly defending its domain from the invasion of darkness, attacking it with booms of war and explosions of plasma.

Ozone sears every time the sky gods shout and hurl fire across the night. Their anger is so absolute it rumbles, pealing a looping battle cry through the unnatural silence between launches of electricity. It charges the air with static, filling my sinuses with the distinct redolence of hail and frost. Wind knocks around me, demanding entrance and battering trees.

Multiple strikes split the sky like a snake attack, spitting silver venom into the air and lashing those awful fangs into its clouded victim. It's relentless, just like a viper protecting its territory.

We should be protecting our territory like that. Sveta should be saving me from Jo like that.

Glowing white teeth bite into the night, sharp and pointed, forcing the night into pieces, shattering all calm and inducing panic and fear. Every jagged spear is accompanied with the low long growl of a vicious weather god.

The air smells like wet wood fires and heady mulch. It's crisp and earthy. The scent of hearth smoke is comforting and makes me long for a warm room in front of a roaring fire.

Slanted rain slashes the darkness, sluicing erratically with every buffer of wind. Rolling thunder never stops and water falls so hard and relentless it sounds like someone left a faucet running. It's cold tonight and I huddle deeper to hide my nose behind the warm scarf.

With a club of heavy metal thunder pounding a lovedrum behind me, it's poetic when chrome thunder roars up in front to spotlight me in a headlight. It winks asleep and a broad shouldered man stands from it, blending into the night with a black leather jacket smudged in the downpour.

White lightning stabs a tantrum into the unsuspecting night, turning the man into a god as he swaggers up four steps to obscure the deluge bulleting down.

The danger beyond the parking area is no more than a blur hazed with my condensing breath; the gutters overhead spill a waterfall straight down behind the tall biker.

It falls, a sheet catching bubbles of light in water droplets, twinkling a frenzied glitter dance and announcing the sorcerer in front of me with thunderous applause. The storm is so loud it's deafening. Every smack of discipline into the night is harsh enough to make me flinch; that lightning is laying into the dark with a vengeance. Even if we wanted to converse it would be pointless. We'd have to shout at each other through loud-hailers to be heard over this din.

The Vila sky gods seem to approve of his darkness burning with fiery seduction. It's hard to hide my grin from perceptive eyes when they start misting with a sunset flambé.

Giving him the disinterested flint glare, I look away, ignoring him. I choose to feign absolute captivation by the sky roaring down around us like a foaming devil, stranding me in a wet and slick manmade cave with a neuri hottie.

Dripping leather steps closer, splattering water crystals when his arm comes up to support his weight against the wall at my back. Curled over me he demands my attention with intimidating proximity, and I can now see a whole lot of fuck all with his chest and shoulders blocking my view.

Fresh cologne mingles with the damp spray bouncing off every surface and is magnified by it. Obstinate, I stare at his chest, knowing that jacket will be cold and could saturate my woolen jumper and scarf in a nanosecond if he gets any closer.

The zips are so silver they mirror the lightning splicing the night. Beyond him it cracks whips at the darkness for being too quiet and obedient. Lightning is loud, angry, dangerous, unpredictable.

It's teaching obedience a lesson. Stay silent and pay the price.

If you get angry shout it out, work it out, burn whatever stands in your path and bury it in mud.

Mulling over the choice, I decide to challenge his stare with my own, drawing on my defiance to stare him down in mute disdain.

His expression is bemused. A smile twitches the corner of his mouth, pouting a full bottom lip while his eyes strip me down to nothing more than a smile and two nipples.

He has always been able to do that. In just one look you know he's already got you bent over the kitchen counter, riding you to daybreak. No one can deliver an 'I'm going to fuck you' stare, like Sveta can.

Biting, clenching my teeth, I force my laugh to hide back inside my chest with an accelerating pulse. It's beating so fast I know a collision is in the cards for me tonight.

The roads are wet and perilous; the weather unpredictable and dangerous, the thunder so loud it could hide Satan's screams of agony. It's just me, and a man, on a cold shadowed step in the dead of night. Every flash of light roars another threat into the dark, daring the planet to deny who's more powerful in this standoff.

There's no one to save me.

I couldn't outrun him if I tried. I'm not strong, or tall enough to whip his ass, and the neuri dust that flicks off his eyelashes every time he blinks is already working its magic on my ability to breathe without artificial respiration.

Two demons are inside, testing the sound system. I have a hunch they live here, or it's their portal to netherworlds of pain and angst, of damnation and justice... all I know is they won't hear me if I run, scream, bite, or fight.

The suave bastard in front of me bunches muscles when he supports his weight on two hands, changing and adjusting polarity to maneuver. He unzips his jacket, slowly, pulling my attention downward with the motion.

Typical.

He's such a poser. It's pissing down like a woman with heartbreak and this pretty boy isn't even wearing a t-shirt to stay warm.

Sucking my cheek in to prevent a smile, I drag my attention back to eyes of hellfire. Swirling tangerine iridescence they clear to flint for a moment, the seduction brimming in them is so dark and elicit I can already hear myself screaming his name.

The sky ratchets up another notch, beating heaven's drum with booms of anticipation. It's a voodoo beat pumping bombs of light and sound, demanding we dance. Like a hundred thousand feet stomping in the Colosseum, nature's drummer starts a death metal drum roll and the clouds roar with thunder.

The audience demands more.

It's as if one look from this biker inserts a key that unlocks all resistance, simultaneously incarcerating every defense and the ability to think coherently.

Lucid be damned, if those eyes are anything to go by, that's a promise I want to see him make good on.

Lifting my chin, I raise my eyebrows, giving him the '
don't be such a wuss and make a move already
' challenge glare.

The sky explodes, shaking the rafters and gusting warnings at us, ravaging its rage into our makeshift cavern.

It elicits a shiver, drawing me closer to the heat emanating off his body. It's a drowsy heat, the kind that lulls you into false safety before it scorches a brand into your eyelids.

Teasing, he stands perfectly straight, siphoning frigid air out of the night to channel at me with his movement.

Abandoned, cold, I watch him stalk away, thrusting carnal red doors open and strutting that sexy swagger into the chasm of darkness.

Wet leather sucks on his legs and a strong hand fans water off his short hair. He glances back with naughty eyes, expanding his ego when he discovers my gaze is stuck to long legs capped with blunt biker-boots.

The doors swing closed, shutting me out and blinding me from his glorious masculine safety.

Alone, worry scores fear down my spine like icy slime. Shivering with the creep, I bolt with a crack of synchronized lightning into the club still thick with smog from the smoke machine.

*

The Murderer:

I just found her, advancing with stealth, ready to appear behind her, grab her and vanish, when the bike breaks the moment.

Damn him!

Lifting my gaze, I inhale heavily.

The night promises death and pain.

It smells of anger and vengeance.

And... what's that?

I don't believe it! They're coming!

At last!

Hardening with lust, I discard the chase for the slakax. I'll get to her later. And if not her, the oldest. I wanted the oldest but she's not been in Belgrade for weeks. I keep searching, appearing in Pravus in flashes, trying to locate her, without avail. I've been to every Pravus on the planet and the bitch is nowhere.

But this... now this is too amazing... they come!

*

Božena:

The doors blast a breath of bitter air at me as they swing shut. It's the last stand of the weather gods denied the encore they wanted.

A song without lyrics rattles the chairs with a demanding drumbeat. It's a complete paradox to the weather raging outdoors.

The lingering blue haze inside Pravus adds to the atmosphere of the music, which feels like an Arizona desert billowing dust across a lone highway melting in arid heat.

Sweltering hot, like the man discarding his leather jacket while he walks through lingering mist to the dance floor.

Every movement ripples muscles into sharp ridges and tight bunches. The intricate knot-work hidden by his perfect skin captivates me, and I pause, breathing in the ambiance and perfection. Naked to his hips, I feel like a voyeur witnessing something I should never be tempted by.

And it is tempting. Very.

The southern style twang of the guitar changes to a grunge of ache, grinding chords through the mirage. Strange lights lining the bottom of the dance floor illuminate sporadically with the beat, hopping back and forth with tantalizing provocation in a line dance of suitors desperate to impress.

The guitarist manages to communicate a dare, frustration, sliding down metal strings to force his instrument to sing with anguish. It feels secluded, isolated, lonely.

It strands Sveta and myself in the powdery steam hovering a foot off the floor, shrouding us with mystery while we're cocooned by the raw power of a guitar gritting its teeth, chanting, chewing, spitting chaw, and somehow managing to give a wicked wink of invitation to my heartbeat.

My chest feels the excitement building with the instrumental tune. My worries flee. It's just the two of us. Perfect. In every way.

Sveta pivots, planting his feet and loosening his knees, swiveling hips slowly in time with the music, rotating abs into a frenzied keyboard of writhing shadows and muscle.

I can hear the tumbleweeds scrolling down the song's highway, straight into a dingy bar where horses are fettered outside and dusty boots scar wooden floorboards.

A polite man with a cheroot for company watches from a corner and tilts his hat, half in greeting, half in a bid to reclaim his privacy.

I can picture it all as if I was smoking a cherry cheroot and listening to spurs twang their jangle up stairs to the second level. The level currently held hostage by the shamanic neuri, Sveta.

It's the symphony of a rodeo cowboy, tired after a long hard day on the ranch, going someplace secluded to sit at the bar only to be lured from his rest by spilling cleavage and salacious smiles.

Climbing riffs singe need into the air, slipping anticipation down the marrow of my bones, making me watch the sexy apparition and expect a grand finale with the crescendo piquing the airwaves in a scream, shrieking a guitar for a split second in a squeal of triumph. It wrestles humans into submission, a victor with a primal language that pulls you into a story sung with an electric guitar.

Then it relaxes again, back into the gait of a plodding horse, a tired rider, a neuri dancer lost in his own world, my world, my very own warrior sliding through shadows and lights to tease me into dark desires and slippery seduction.

Doing what I do best, I ignore the wet skinned rider and move to the bar to get tequila.

The music's put me in the mood for Mexican fire.

When I've had a drink I'll give my vice a little ego stroking.

Smiling to myself, I'm tempted to offer the lone dancer a wink, but change my mind.

I think I'll make him work for my attention tonight. He was late.

Removing my scarf, pouring the shooter, I lean my back up against the bar, hooking my foot on the metal rung lining the base, watching Sveta who is drenched from a downpour but now looks like a man who's been in the harsh heat between dusty plains all day and is covered in the slick strain from his day's labor.

It doesn't take a lot of imagination to picture him hauling hay bails, wrestling with a bull, testing his might against a boulder fallen down the wrong side of a ravine to block the road.

Chasing liquor to scorch down my throat, burning inside me all the way down, I slam the empty glass onto the counter and hook my thumbs into my jeans, wishing I was wearing a peasant skirt with a red hibiscus flower tucked behind an ear.