Destiny Unchained (6 page)

A strange feeling hit him deep in his gut. Fear. He
sucked in a breath. He was afraid for Natalia. If this werewolf was
playing with her, and he’d already captured her once, what would
happen if he did again? Visions of Natalia strung up, gutted,
tortured, flooded his mind. He shook his head, forcing them away.
What business was it of his what she did with her life? He would
follow her closely, for now. He would use her skill and knowledge
to kill the bastard stalking his territory. When the task was done,
he wouldn’t think of her again. She was a puzzle, yes, but not his
to solve. Not his to protect.

He shifted in his seat. His muscles twitched,
unsettled about the Slayer, confused about his feelings for
Natalia. He needed to run. Tires screeched as he spun the jeep
around and headed the opposite direction toward one of his favorite
spots to let loose some steam.

This wasn’t the first time he pondered how Laurel’s
death tied into who he was meant to be. If he even believed in fate
and destiny and all that shit. He wasn’t convinced he did. The
supernatural world was full of mysticism and mumbo-jumbo. Having
been raised by a traditional Orthodox Christian mother outside of a
pack, his views differed from his counterparts. Though she was a
werewolf, she’d lost the ability to shift after becoming pregnant.
Still, she helped him through his first change when he hit puberty.
His human father died in one of the many wars that plagued Eastern
Europe when Cristian was young. At age thirteen his mother sent him
to live with his father’s brother to learn the blacksmith trade.
Though his uncle wasn’t a werewolf, he taught Cristian how to be a
man.

When he died Cristian mourned the loss almost as much
as he’d mourned Laurel’s. After a few years of wandering among his
uncle’s human clan, he found he needed a pack to belong to. Like
most werewolves, he craved organization, family, hierarchy. The
werewolf population was booming in Romania at that time. It wasn’t
hard to find a pack that would accept him – a strong young wolf
with skill in blacksmithing.

Now, three centuries later, he could recognize
Laurel’s death for what it was. Escape from a life not meant for
her. Could it be that fate, or destiny or God or the fucking
confusing-as-hell universe, had someone else in mind for the mate
of an alpha? Any one of his pack members would die for him – and
wasn’t that a messed up truth – yet he’d been battling feelings of
loneliness for the past few decades. Funny how isolated he felt
while being surrounded by people who respected him. But love and
respect were not the same. He longed for someone to know him
intimately, even his weaknesses and flaws. As Sorin reminded him
countless times, he could never appear weak. It’d grown into such a
burden he could hardly bear it any longer.

And Laurel…they’d been mates, yes, and their bodies
and souls cried out for one another. But even she had needed his
strength. Not only because she’d been a born submissive, passive
and dainty, but in those times, women depended on men for
everything, including their survival.

He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t have to be
big, bad protector. Or passed off some of the responsibility to an
equal, someone who wouldn’t stab him in the back for pack rank.
Sorin was the closest he had to a true friend. He understood
Cristian like no one else and Cristian trusted him with his life.
But he was a born beta, and a political mastermind at that. He
would never accept the share of power Cristian wished he could
develop with someone.

His jeep bumped down the dirt road leading to one of
his favorite places in the park. The tourists flocked to the
geysers – with good cause – but it was the smaller things he found
beauty in. In the backwoods, farther than roads and trails dared to
go, beyond the polluted air and noise, was where the night came
alive with a wildness that both calmed and excited him. That was
where the magic took place. And damn him for wanting to share it
with a certain headstrong vampire.

Natalia shot up in the bed with a gasp. After she did
a quick scan of the room and realized she was alone, and safe, she
exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Cristian was gone. Or had
last night been a dream? Maybe she hadn’t almost passed out in his
jeep then been carried inside and tucked into bed like a child.
Yes, a nightmare. Perfectly logical.
Hello denial, thy name is Natalia.

She sighed and rose from the bed to find her clothes.
A lone piece of paper on top of the dresser caught her attention.
She picked it up.

We have much to discuss. Meet me outside the tackle
shop two blocks to the west at sundown.

It was signed by none other than her personal
werewolf stalker from hell. She sighed. Nope, last night hadn’t
been a dream. But if he thought she would show up just because a
note bid her to, he was out of his damn mind.

Half an hour later she was showered and dressed in
black leather pants, a long sleeved black shirt, and biker jacket.
She kept her wardrobe sparse when she travelled. Extra clothing and
weapons she usually stored in the pack on her bike. Thankfully,
she’d left her clothes at the motel before taking off that evening.
Too bad she hadn’t stashed her weapons there too.

So she hit the streets of Rider’s Landing to search
for new ones to replace her stolen ones.

Located so close to a National Park, she expected at
least one store to carry weapons and have late hours. As she
scanned the lit-up signs, some busted from a dwindling tourist
economy, her mind wandered to the werewolf who’d offered her
weapons from his pack.

She shook her head. A werewolf offering a vampire a
favor? Ridiculous. Didn’t he hear her when she said she killed his
kind? Come to think of it, why hadn’t he traded her for the bounty
while she was weak last night? A hundred grand was a large sum of
money. She sighed. If he had some kind of puppy-dog crush on her,
she would stab herself with a stake.

As if her thoughts conjured him, his scent hit the
air and she whirled around to face him.

“Tackle shop is the other way, Talia. Did you get
lost?”

She turned and walked away. “Sure. Let’s go with
that.” He strode to her side, keeping pace with her easily. “What
do I have to do to get the message into that thick head of yours?”
A head covered in
beautiful, golden hair
. Damn her traitorous mind. “Engrave
it on a plaque? Hire a plane to write it in sky letters? I don’t
work with werewolves!”

“I got the message. I’m just choosing to ignore
it.”

She walked faster.

“We need to trade information.”

“I told you everything I know.”

“But I didn’t tell you everything I know.”

She studied his face. What could he possibly know
that she didn’t? “Go on.”

He shook his head. “That’s not how it works. I want
something from you and you want something from me. We
negotiate.”

“Negotiate?” That word wasn’t in her vocabulary. She
took what she wanted, when she wanted it.

He arched a brow. “Do you even know what that
means?”

Desperation. “What I want from you doesn’t come at a
high price. What do you want from me?”

“A partnership.”

“Forget it.” She stopped at the corner and turned in
a circle. The werewolf could’ve made himself useful by pointing her
toward a weapons shop. But he’d probably want to barter for that
too.

She turned down Sycamore and kept walking.

“So you hunt rogue werewolves?” her stalker
asked.

“Yes.”

“Who do you work for?”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Please don’t force
me to say something cliché like, ‘if I tell you, I’ll have to kill
you.’”

He accepted her non-answer with a nod, but pursed his
lips as if holding back a smile. “Do you even know the difference
between pack and rogue?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday.”

With a sly smile, he asked, “When were you born,
Natalia from Castile?”

Her shoulders stiffened. So that part wasn’t a dream
either.
Gods, I
practically told him my life story!
She exhaled a breath,
careful to keep her tone neutral. “Trying to get to know me?”

“Would you blame me?” He shrugged then inched closer,
his arm brushing up against hers. She threw him a glare. He ignored
it. “You’re a beautiful and intriguing woman.”

“There are other beautiful and intriguing women,” she
said. “And drunk too. Right through that door.” She pointed across
the street where the thudding rock-and-roll blasted out of a small
pub.

“Natalia.” He grabbed her wrist, stopping her
mid-step. His voice was low, his eyes warning. “Enough of the
games.”

She tried to pull from his grip but he held tight.
“I’m not playing games. Not only do I work alone, but I hate your
kind. What part of that don’t you understand? I will never partner
with you. Leave. Me. Alone.” There. She couldn’t make it any
clearer than that without resorting to violence, though she hadn’t
ruled that out entirely. Her eyes narrowed at the hand still
holding her wrist.

“I will,” he conceded and released her. “But first
you’re going to take my weapons graciously.”

“No –”

“Shut up and listen to me.”

He didn’t put a lot of power into the words. Then
again, he didn’t need to. His mere presence oozed unwavering
authority.

“There’s nowhere to get weapons this late at night.
Take what I offer and you won’t see me for two days.”

“Two days? You forget you have no bargaining power
with me. I’m not pack.” Nor coven. Nor team. Nor group, nor gang,
nor crew.

“No, but you’re in my territory.”

What was with werewolves and their damned territory?
“For fuck’s sake,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “You must’ve
missed a spot when you pissed around the border. I didn’t realize
you owned the whole damned state.”

One large stride and he stood inches from her face,
his palm spanning the width of her lower back. He lowered his head
and whispered in her ear, “I do. And I own Montana, too. So if
you’re thinking about following the Silver Slayer north, get used
to seeing me. I have no intention of giving up just because a
cocky, reckless vampire is scared of a little teamwork.”

The Ice Queen veneer was finally starting to crack.
He could see it in the fiery flame in her eyes.

“Get your hand off me,” she said, barely more than a
whisper. “Before I bite it off.”

He grinned. “Go right ahead. But I should warn you, I
bite back.” To make his point, he nipped her earlobe.

She scrambled back, her brows drawn in confusion. “I
can’t believe you just bit me.”

He laughed. She was going to be fun to play with.

“Look. I don’t have time for” – she waved a hand up
and down his body – “whatever this is. I’ll take your fucking
weapons if it means you’ll leave me alone.”

He ran a finger slowly down her neck. She stepped
away with a grimace, but not before a small shudder shook her body.
He smiled. “Finally, some sense. And all I had to do was bite you
to get here.” His grin widened. “I’ll have to remember that.”

With a scowl she turned and walked back toward the
tackle shop. “Time’s wasting, werewolf. Move your ass.”

Grin still in place, he followed her, secretly
thanking God she didn’t make it around the next corner where Dick’s
Sporting Goods’ neon lights illuminated the darkness.

“So how did you come to hunt this particular
werewolf?”

“It’s an assignment. Just like any other.”

He didn’t sense any deception, but to be sure he
said, “Of course. Now tell me the real reason.”

She sighed. “There’s no personal connection if that’s
what you’re thinking. He didn’t kill my lover, or torture my
parents or anything dramatic like that.” She turned around to meet
his gaze. “I kill things. It’s what I do.”

“You mean you follow orders.”

“Because I want to.”

“If it involves killing werewolves, I’m sure you
do.”

She shrugged. A flicker of frustration made his teeth
gnash together. The Captain of Non-Answers; that was her. “Down
here,” he said, turning down the lonely unlit alley. He’d parked in
back of a shoddy brick building. Sneaking around at night with
weapons stashed in his trunk, he felt a little like a thug at a
swap meet.

Her eyes darted around the parking lot before she
sidled up to his jeep and stuck out a hand, palm up.

“You don’t waste time, do you?” He popped the trunk.
“All right. Take what you want.” The trunk revealed a selection
that rivaled Dick’s, only instead of shiny new weapons, his were
stained with blood, rust, and other things he didn’t care to
identify. She dove in without hesitation and emptied almost half
his stock, slipping each weapon into her clothing. It was the
hottest damned thing he’d ever seen. He had the urge to lay her
across the hood, slowly remove every stitch of clothing, disarming
her as he went. No, he’d leave the thigh holsters on.

When she was done, she looked him over then said,
“Well, thanks.”

She turned and walked away. Out of his life.

He smiled. So she thought.

He called after her, “See you in two days,
puiule
.”

“Shit,” Natalia murmured, placing a hand over the
wolf’s fading heartbeat. Cristian was going to be heartbroken. Her
own heart clenched before she caught herself. Why should she care
about Cristian’s feelings? Or about the dying wolf? The body
stirred under her hand. She absently stroked it. True it wasn’t a
werewolf, and natural wolves were no enemy of hers. But did she
care more because Cristian cared or did Cristian’s affections
change her enough that caring suddenly came easy? Or would she have
cared for the dying beast, with or without Cristian’s care for the
wolves?