Captiva Capitulation (32 page)

“He’s going to make it,” he spoke evenly. “Maestru will attend him.”

“I think they killed Bane,” she sobbed brokenly.

“I just left him,” his voice dropped an octave, in a lulling cadence. “Bane’s gonna be fine, too. Trust me to take care of things. Drop your head and rest. Do it for the baby.”

The scene grew smaller and smaller, her eyes becoming heavy-lidded. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t put me to sleep,” she grumbled at her werewolf male, the one who just accomplished something incredible, though she wasn’t exactly sure what that entailed other than saving Sixten.

“It’s over,” he whispered as he ran through the marsh. “Maestru’s got this.”

Just like that, the flames left the beach, and so did Blythe.

Two Weeks Later

Rock and Ryan released collective breaths, evidently, both deciding their words wouldn’t help their friend right now. Rock knew humans had to take their bandages off slowly, living in bitter pain awhile before they moved on to greener pastures. That’s what Dakota needed right now. And he’d be damned if he was going to stand in front of her mortal way of thinking. She would heal by her human processes. Nevertheless, he hated it, and if she were to ask for his help or even his opinion, he wouldn’t hold anything back. He hadn’t held back when Dakota called Blythe this morning, after finally coming out of her coma. Dakota was freaked out, finding herself housed in a mausoleum, and wanted help in getting home.  At Blythe’s insistence, he drove Sixten’s car to Maestru’s house, absconding with a horrified Dakota while the Master was at work. The whole thing went down like a bank robbery with him driving the getaway car, complete with a harried vampire housekeeper chasing  them all the way to the drive.  He sincerely hoped that Maestru wouldn’t behead his servant when he arrived home, after finding Dakota had left his care slash gilded cage. But he couldn’t worry about that now. Ryan, on the other hand, appeared nervous, staring over his shoulder at the smallest of sounds, gritting his teeth so hard that Rock thought his friend's fangs would fly out of his mouth at any second.

Running a palm over a large piece of sheetrock bolted to the front bay window, she said, “When mom took off, my first real job was trimming our store windows for the Christmas Season. Snow didn’t fall, but Christmas was Christmas to me, you know? Sure, it was hot as hell around here. Tourists loaded every beach, searing their skin in coconut oil.” Her hand arched up, her index finger pointed inside the window as if she could see through the plywood. “But I refused to put glue-formed sandcastles and those tacky, painted sea dollars next to a miniature Santa riding a jet-ski while hauling Mrs. Claus in her red bikini.” She drew in a shaky breath. “No, not me, I’m a Florida Cracker through and through. And with teenage rebellion, I always insisted that this place wasn’t a tourist trap.” She took in another breath, this one deeper. “But it
was
a tourist trap…always. And Dad wouldn’t have had it any other way. He loved talking to
all
the people from all over the world who came through here.”

That was good to know, Rock hoped Dakota was as open-minded as her father was. Since Maestru hadn’t wiped her memory, she carried
all
her memories, especially the ones from the night she was attacked. She knew that he had saved her, yet,
as far as she knew
, Rock was another vampire. No faction could out one of their members and live to tell about it. Worse, if a member of one faction revealed a member of
another
faction, that supernatural died for his transgression. Brutally. So Ryan hadn’t spilled the beans about werewolves.

Ryan had the key in the new lock, turning. Sure, neither needed it to gain entry, only Dakota did, and she required an aspect of security. So that’s what Ryan gave her, before he said, “Let’s see what needs to be handled inside, okay?”

With a shake of her blonde head, Dakota followed behind him. Two seconds later, she drew in a gasping breath. “This place is gone…just destroyed.” Ryan draped an arm over her shoulders. When she stiffened, he pulled away with a muttered sorry.

Rock hadn’t been inside this place in a while. However, he remembered the nostalgia it once held of simple things from decades ago. Stepping over shattered, crystal knick-knacks, he followed the whitewashed, maple shelves lining forest green walls, all trimmed with tobacco-brown crown molding.

Rock knew that Ryan rented this particular building to Dakota’s father for years, was part of his Six Feet Under block of restored, industrial brownstones he’d invested in when he left his youngling status. Without a doubt, for the past year or so, Ryan had allowed the rent to slide when the Sox’s spring training arena left downtown Fort Myers and relocated by the largest commercial Airport. After the new facility opened, most downtown stores had quickly faltered. For a mortal, Dakota’s father was business savvy, but he wasn’t immune or prepared for such a drastic and sudden change. If it weren’t for Ryan’s leniency, Dakota’s dad would have lost his shirt, considering his inventory consisted mainly of baseball souvenirs. Ones he could no longer move,
especially now
.

Another gasp left her, this one sharp as a razor’s edge. “Is that…
blood
?”

“Yeah,” Ryan whispered, not elaborating.

An exaggerated, antique register stood atop a shattered display case. Glass was everywhere. Trinkets sprinkled about, and the surrounding wood now stained rust in random places. She walked around, standing behind the golden register standing wider than her fragile shoulders. She started to touch the nickel-sized keys, hesitating. “This was in our family for generations.” At her sudden recoil, Rock stepped behind her, following her line of vision. On those keys dripped blood, lots of it. Strangely, it had congealed,
not dried
. But it was shifter,
definitely
shifter blood.

Habaline blood was hard to clean. Its alien properties clung, as if it could survive death, even though its bodily host remained long dead. Rock knew this particular blood belonged to Sixten’s brother, Rave, since Sixten had killed him here. Inhaling, Rock drew in all parties with his breath. Vojaks were here, possibly one other shifter, and Maestru.
Oh
, Maestru had been here quite a lot, and very recently.

“We can clean it up, Dakota.”

“How stupid of me,” she said on a humorless laugh. “I’m thinking of all this superficial shit while my father remains in critical care, recovering from a stroke. Or maybe not recovering since the doctors can’t figure out why he’s not waking up!” She slammed her fist on the counter, a shard of glass immediately embedding into her hand. Ryan turned away, a slow hiss leaving his body. Her head snapped up. No doubt, Ryan was fighting within himself. How could he not? Fear and fresh blood wafted before him, kicking in the inborn predator that made his very fabric.

“He’s not going to hurt you, Dakota,” Rock murmured softly, walking her to the back and flipping on the bathroom light. For her sake not his, since he could see exceptionally well in total darkness. “Think about it. Has he ever bitten you?”

“Not that I know of,” she said.

“I have
never
bitten you,” Ryan said from the tiny corridor separating the storefront from the back, a steel edge to his voice. “Dakota, do you remember anything about your mother’s family?”

“Why?”

Rock would take that as a serious no. Smartly, Ryan didn’t press the issue, muttering ‘nothing important’. “I’ve got the shard out, but this needs a stitch or
four
, sweetheart.” Rock said, redirecting her thoughts. “Unless…”

“Unless?” she asked.

“Well,” he explained carefully, “since you now understand what Ryan is, you could ask him to seal it up for you.” Pressing harder with the last of the paper towels, he continued, “He has special enzymes in his mouth, healing ones, which would enable you to avoid the emergency room or a clinic.”

“Special enzymes, huh?” She stared at his reflection in the mirror, her eyes zeroing in on the very tips of his canines. Although they had not lowered by any means, she immediately spotted the difference. “How did I miss this, for years? And why are you shifting the responsibility to Ryan? Just like my body, my blood isn’t good enough for you, either?”

“I’m not what Ryan is,” he said quietly, knowing he couldn’t avoid this conversation any longer. Dakota fooled herself for years, thinking she was in love with him. Never once had he led her on or returned the sentiment, but that didn’t change the course of her actions, nor her heart. “Ryan…if she doesn’t want you to help her, I think you should wait outside while Dakota and I clear the air.”

When Dakota opened her mouth, Ryan cut her off, “Actually, I’m leaving. If you must know, short of her dying, I can’t help her anyway. Besides Dru, there’s only one vampire in our Coven who can give me permission to touch her blood, but I'd rather not ask him.” With that, he misted away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rock replied, “He would have to sip some of your blood during the healing process, while working the enzymes through your flesh.” Fear flashed behind her eyes, but he went on, “Apparently, he’s not allowed to, for whatever reasons, so end of story.” Rock’s shoulders bunched. Maestru had placed a heavy hand on Dakota’s life, including ownership.

“Whatever,” she said defensively, pulling away from him and placing pressure on her hand. “Say whatever you need to, get it over with.” Glancing up, her expression relaxed when she fixated on the ceiling. High above, a milk glass pendant light glowed with curved sides etched in a traditional floral pattern. He would place a hefty wager that it came from her mother’s house. “Say what you need to,” she repeated, “so I can have this hand seen about by a
human
.”

If she expected him to be insulted, it would take far more than disgruntled words from a frightened and exhausted human. What jacked him up was the pain she felt. Hell, he could smell her distress. It coated his tongue in sharp undertones similar to freshly opened turpentine. Consoling words or gallant actions couldn’t stop her suffering. All Rock could offer her was the truth. So that’s what he went with. “Listen, Dakota.” When she made to pass him, he blocked the door, shamelessly intimidating her with his size. “Seemingly, you’re meant for
another male
.”

“Another male,” she reiterated.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I’m a Werebeast.” He watched her blink a few times, and then her eyes widened in realization.

“Were…beast, uh, w-werewolf?” she squeaked.

With a slow nod of his head, he stayed quiet, allowing Dakota’s mind to rattle it out a bit. The mortal brain was slower, not stupid, just stumbled around on the uptake before it accepted anything significantly important.

“You are saying you’re a werewolf,” she repeated, her mouth opening and closing a few times. “P-prove it.”

He rubbed his chin, his whiskers rasping in the tiny room. “Considering your elevated adrenalin spiking your heartbeat, I think you’d better take me on my word.”

“N- no,” she said, holding up her bloodied hand to point an accusatory finger at him. “I want to see you go wolf. If I see it, I’ll…”

“Accept it?” Rock finished for her, realizing she was remembering something horrible. Perhaps, the way those fucking Habaline slash Species fed from her outside of Six Feet Under. But he wasn’t into giving humans heart attacks, chiefly Dakota. “I don’t go wolf, as you say.”

“Then how are you a werewolf?”

“When’s the last time you’ve seen a werewolf?” A question that was clearly meant to be rhetorical, he didn’t wait for her reply. “Folklore paints us as furry, four-legged canines. Not so, except for the canines.” Opening his mouth, he forced his Beast to lower its piercing teeth.

“Like a vampire,” she whispered in awe.

“Not a vampire.” He nearly snapped, but contained himself. “Stop shaking, Dakota, the only blood I savor is my mate’s,” his voice softened.

“You have a mate?” She backed away, pressing herself against the wall to put maximum distance between them.

“Yes, and I wanted you to hear it from me.” Again, she blinked several times, not in an effort to understand but to stop tears. “A werewolf’s mate is fated. Deep breaths, Dakota.”

“Don’t patronize.”

“I’m not,” he soothed, reaching under the cabinet to find her more paper towels. She really needed to get that hand fixed. Finding a half roll in the back, he immediately tossed it in the trash since something mysterious dampened it. “Blythe is mine. We found out a few weeks back, after you were unconscious.”

“
Blythe
…so she and Sixten?”

“Are still married,” he continued, “and Kash also mated her.”

“The four of you.”

“The four of us,” he repeated, “and she’s pregnant. Our relationship is common in our world, Dakota. And she misses her best friend.” When she didn’t say anything, he gestured to her hand. “If you won’t let me drive you to get that seen about, can I call Dr. Holt for you?”

“I’ll go to the walk in clinic,” she replied. “Is my car still out back?”

“No. Take Sixten’s,” he answered, reaching inside his pocket for the keys, “for as long as you need it. We’re going to help you, you know, with money…a shoulder to lean on…any heavy objects needing lifting.” He smiled faintly. “And if you could swing by Captiva Island on movie night, I could use a break from watching chick flicks.”

“Right now, I cannot take in all of this. I just need some alone time to think.” Dakota tried to smile back, but she couldn’t. “I mean – I woke up after
weeks
and found myself in…”

“A haunted crypt,” he suggested.

“Something like that,” she mused. “I guess I owe the…the vampire t-thanks, whoever he is. For some reason, I don't recall him.”