Captiva Master - Vampire Warewolf Menage Six Feet Under Series Book 4)

Captiva Master

Six Feet Under Book Four

Talyn Scott

Titles by Talyn Scott

The Fanged Romance Novels

Sanibel Heat

Sanibel Burn

Sanibel Sizzle

Sanibel Seduction

And the upcoming Sanibel Alpha

The Six Feet Under Novels

(The Six Feet Under Series is written in sequential order)

Captiva Captive

Captiva Craving

Captiva Capitulation

Captiva Master

Copyright © 2013 by Talyn Scott.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s rights. Purchase only authorized additions.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Title Page
Titles from this author
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Author Contact

Note to readers
: The Six Feet Under Series is written in sequential order, starting with Captiva Captive. To allow the reader a better perspective, Captiva Master, the final novel in this series, begins the morning
before
Maestru finds Dakota in her father’s store (where we left off in Captiva Capitulation). This novel is erotica and contains mfm, mild bondage, and spanking.

Chapter 1
Captiva Island, Florida

Dakota’s mind remained in an obscure haze, though the pain in her body had certainly disappeared. “I want you to live,” said that voice again,
his
voice. So compelling, seductive, deadly...she whirled, hopelessly searching for him. His voice drew closer. “Dakota, I must confess that all things in a vampiric world require payment. Nothing is free.” Suddenly, she felt him over her, his massive body cradling hers, his nose pressing against her throat. After a sharp inhale, he murmured, “And even in my position of authority, I cannot absolve you of this Blood Debt, though these grossly unfortunate circumstances were not, by any means, your fault. But when is life ever fair? I’ve never once known it to be, and I have lived far longer than you have.” Groaning, he pulled away from her throat. “I’m afraid you are in more danger than any human female alive. Because, in my mind, you are mine.”

Dakota fought to rise to the surface, yet she still couldn’t see a thing. He continued, piercing her mind with his possessive authority as his fingertips smeared something coppery and salty across her lips. Releasing a pensive sigh, he shifted his body, his silky hair caressing her face. Even in her midnight haze, she sensed a connection between them. “Dakota, how you survive in your new world depends on your ensuring strength and resolve. So when I come to collect my Blood Debt, and I will, remember to say no,” he cautioned her, the words threading through her subconscious. “Will it work? Probably not, but do it anyway.” She felt him pull away, leaving her cold, lifeless limbs without an anchor. “My innocent Dakota, never, ever allow this Coven Master to drink from
you
.”

Somehow, the word passed her lips, “No!”

“Mistress?”

A woman’s soft hands clasped her shoulders, though Dakota recognized a wealth of restrained power behind the touch. She wasn’t human. Could this woman be the same as those who had attacked her in the alleyway behind Six Feet Under, gorging on her blood until she felt her life slipping away? “Don’t touch me!” Just like the rest of her body, her eyes were stiff, hesitantly rolling beneath her lids. She worked them hard, willing them open. Only to meet a strangely exotic face staring down at her with noticeable concern. The woman had removed her hands, though started wringing them nervously as she cautiously stepped to the foot of the bed.

Speaking in an accent Dakota had never heard, she promised, “I won’t touch you. Please drink.” She gestured toward the bedside table.

Dakota turned her head, keeping the woman in her side vision, and noticed a goblet had been filled with water. She raised her hand, noticing the weightless, gossamer sleeve on her arm glistening in the sheerest ivory. She drank deeply, soothing her parched throat. She then refilled the glass twice more, emptying the accompanying pitcher quickly. She moved her legs over the bed, dangling them from the edge of the mattress. “Where am I?”

“In the Coven Master’s lair, uh, home.”

Coven Master? Was he the faceless man from her dreams? Dakota pushed her feet against the rug, standing tentatively. “Lair or home, which is it?” To her relief, she could walk. Her body wasn’t weak, but impressively strong and very much alive.

“Home to you, I suppose,” the woman responded, gasping aloud when Dakota made her way to the largest window and drew back the thick, velvet curtains.

When the sun hit her, she turned her face away, the glare scalding her eyes. “How long have I been here?”

“Several weeks,” she answered without elaboration.

“Weeks?” Half opening her eyes, she forced herself to try it. When she did, she was only mildly hit with the ocular pain. She searched quickly. From her viewpoint, Dakota could see that she was on one of the islands. To the right, she stared over the tallest palm fronds and found the intricately colored roof that could be Renee Shirley’s house. Dakota had worked with her at Six Feet Under until Renee married. “I’m on Captiva Island.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Where is this Coven Master?” She turned and searched for a phone, hoping the man wasn’t anywhere near. “I need to make a call.”

“He is…working.” With obvious reluctance, she pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her uniform and handed it to Dakota. “Please, use mine. Though, may I implore you to wait until the Master returns before you make any of these calls?”

Master and mistress, such formalities in this home, she thought. Then Dakota reminded herself that she had no clue of the protocols between house servants and their wealthy employers. “Nope.” She punched in the first number that came to mind. A familiar voice answered right away. “Blythe, oh, Blythe, it’s
me
. I’m at this house on Captiva and…you know?” Astonishingly, Blythe knew Dakota’s whereabouts and said Rock was close by, could be there in less than five minutes. “Yeah, tell him to pick me up, please.” She searched the generously sized room finding wall-to-wall Gothic furnishings, and she guessed the pieces weren’t reproductions. Unfortunately, she didn’t spy any clothes. “I’ll be ready.” Somehow. “Bye.” She’d walk out the door in this ridiculous olden gown if she had to.

“Please, I beg you to wait until my Master can come home and discuss your leaving here.” The woman kept her distance. “You’ve been quite ill.”

“Bathroom and clothes,” Dakota demanded, understanding she was being rude, but she knew this woman was a blood drinker, could somehow smell it. In fact, her nose could detect scents she’d never encountered. Maybe she’d hit her head during her attack.

The woman gestured to adjacent double doors at least twelve feet high, explaining the closet was inside the bathroom. She barreled through, stopping for a brief glance at her reflection in the long mirror. “I look like me,” she whispered to herself, noticing her dirty blonde hair was more than a few inches longer. “Weird.” Peering in closer, she studied her eyes. They were the same blue color with the strange flecks she hated. However, her skin was extraordinary, so extraordinary; in fact, she couldn’t see her pores. “What am I doing?” she growled at herself, shifting back into high gear.

Dakota thought better of shutting the doors behind her, didn’t want to be ambushed when she walked back into the bedroom. Hurriedly, she made her way to the closet, finding it stocked with a wide assortment of women’s clothing. She wondered if she could find a size eighteen in this bunch. Swiftly, Dakota started picking through hangers, finding tags on everything in… “Oh, my God, size eighteen!” Dare she look at the shoes? She picked up the first shoebox holding a pair of sandals. “Size ten,” she whispered warily, realizing this was too much of a coincidence, especially since these shoes, like the clothes, were unworn. She tossed several more boxes to the floor, all size tens. Dakota fisted her shaking hands.

“May I be of assistance, Mistress?”

“Why are you calling me mistress?” She finger combed her hair, wondering how it wasn’t a greasy blob, after pulling the weightless gown over her head.

“You…are a guest here.”

She snagged a cotton pullover and drawstring shorts. Perfect. Dakota put them on in record speed. “Not buying that answer, sister,” she snapped, her voice carrying a strange undertone, almost melodic to her own ears. Planting her butt on a cushioned stool, she speedily laced up running shoes.

“You…are the only mistress this house has had.”

“The house or the man who owns the house?” Right then, she heard a truck roar into the driveway. Let it be Rock and not this Coven Master! She got her answer when the woman inhaled sharply and planted her arms on either side of the closet door. To Dakota’s side, she noticed a slim, paneled door. She pushed on it and was surprised at her strength, literally smashing her hand through it. Barreling over the debris, she made her way into an adjoining bedroom. This room held a scent she found distinctly familiar. The Coven Master’s bedroom, it must be. The sound of a blaring horn lit a fire beneath her feet, and she shot through the hall, jumping down the twirling staircase in dizzying speed.

Amazingly, the woman was already at the front door, pleading for her to stay. Rock leapt from the truck, his teeth shining in what looked to be the morning sun, and the woman was shrinking away from him in abject horror. With a menacing growl no human could ever duplicate, Rock picked up Dakota and belted her in the passenger’s seat. In more blurring moves, all tinged with blue, he slid behind the steering wheel and spun them out of the long circular drive.

Leaning her head against the headrest, she gasped. “Nice ride.”

“It’s Sixten Kovac’s, but we share.”

“Saying thanks is a little lame for this, but I can’t kiss you since I haven’t brushed my teeth in I don’t know how long.”

Laughing in that rumbling baritone she’d enjoined for years, Rock said, “Believe me, Dakota, your teeth have been brushed daily.” A relaxed sigh left his chest, even though they were driving in breakneck speed. “I’m so glad you’ve come around. Blythe’s been frantic.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, placing her trembling hands under her thighs. “I remember you saving me from those things.”

“They were shifters.”

Dakota fought not to touch her throat, remembering she hadn’t spotted any scars when she glanced into the bathroom mirror. “I have many questions.”

“Let’s get you away from the islands, feed you, and then start answering those questions,” he said. “At least, the ones I can answer.”

“That bad, huh?”

Downshifting, he turned left onto the causeway that led to Fort Myers. “Not as bad as it could have been.”

Yeah, it was bad. Ten minutes of silence passed. Not exactly silence, she was working on slowing her breathing, and he was giving her time to adjust. Dakota studied his profile a long minute. “Hey, you cut your hair.” It wasn’t just Rock’s brush cut altering his appearance; he seemed more relaxed now, peaceful. Considering that he was driving the getaway car, his entire demeanor was oddly composed. When he didn’t say anything, she offered, “That was dumb…I start rambling when I’m nervous.” What did he have to tell her?

He looked sideways at Dakota. “I know you do. But I’m here to tell you that everything is going to be all right, honey.”

The hospital’s roof came into view. “You aren’t taking me to the hospital, are you?” she asked in bewilderment. “I feel fine.” Maybe a touch different, however, medical attention wasn’t required.