Rise to Submit [Rise of the Changelings, Book 4] (Siren Publishing Epic Romance, ManLove) (2 page)

“He says Mom is doing a lot better. She isn’t waking up screaming any longer,” Dorian said solemnly. “But she is still worried sick about me and Ian.”

“She’s your mother,” Rick replied gently. “She’ll always worry about her sons.”

“Any word from Nate?” Dorian asked. He had been asking the same question once a day for the past four weeks. Again, Rick shook his head. He prayed Nate found Ian before he left Shelton or Dorian was going to go crazy. His mate blamed himself for Ian’s depravities as it was. No matter how much Rick tried to convince him that he wasn’t the one who got Ian hooked on vampire bites, Dorian wouldn’t listen.

He also tried to explain to his mate that Ian’s involvement in the BDSM lifestyle wasn’t about wanting to be beaten—Howard, Dorian’s father had tried to talk to Dorian about it as well—the guy wouldn’t listen.

Rick wasn’t sure what would make Dorian see that Ian wasn’t a depraved man, just someone who was lost and needed help. Dorian was usually an open-minded person, but when it came to drugs and BDSM, the man was as stubborn as the day was long. With the war going on, Rick had to pick and choose his battles. Fighting with Dorian about Ian was something Rick was not going to do.

He just hoped one day Dorian changed his mind. Losing a brother by death or by disownment was something no man should have to endure. But if Dorian kept up with his views, there was no way Ian would stick around.

That was if they found the man.

“Shit,” Freedman said from the driver’s seat. His features turned hard as he stared into the rearview mirror.

“What?” Rick asked as he glanced in the side mirror to see a dark-blue pickup truck behind them, full of gun-toting men. “Breed Hunters.”

“Looks like it,” Freedman said between gritted teeth. The human soldier turned right on the next side road ahead of them.

The pickup also turned right.

Everyone in the vehicle, with the exception of Freedman and Dorian, was changeling. Rick was the most wanted man in America and had numerous alleged charges against him. Freedman was considered an enemy of the state when he killed the leader of the Death Squad, Middleton, and then defected to the changeling side.

Mason was wanted for bombing a college in Georgia—which he did not do—and he was being hunted down by a group of Breed Hunters who were hired by his father.

And everyone in the truck was wanted for killing the infamous Death Squad. Jayson, one of Rick’s former employees, had gotten away when the battle had taken place, and Rick knew without a doubt the little fucktard had told the proper authorities that Rick had accomplices. Jayson may not know who everyone was in Rick’s group, but if they were caught with Rick and Jayson identified them, they were dead men.

Hell, they were already dead men, so it didn’t really matter, now did it?

“They’re speeding up,” Freedman warned as his knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.

Rick glanced in the mirror again to see Freedman was right. The pickup was gaining speed, getting closer. “Arm up, ladies. It looks like we’ll be fighting our way out of this one.”

The pickup moved into the opposing lane and pulled up next to them. “Pull over,” the passenger shouted to them as he pointed to the side of the road.

Sasha, who was sitting behind Freedman, rolled his window down and shot the passenger in the pickup. The man slumped back into the truck. Rick knew that there was no reasoning with Breed Hunters. There was no talking their way out of this. When they found out Rick and his group were changeling, it was over.

The Breed Hunters would kill them without hesitation and with no mercy.

Freedman sped up, trying to outrun the pickup. Bullets could be heard pinging off of the Excursion, but Freedman pressed on. Sasha leaned out of one back window, Dorian out of the other, shooting at the pickup when the blue truck got behind them. Rick rolled his window all the way down and slid halfway out, praying a long hanging branch didn’t knock him from the truck.

He had Freedman’s M-16 in his hands as he opened fire. He made sure he was aiming over the roof of the truck so he didn’t hit his mate who was right next to him. Mason, Benito, and Miguel had opened the window on the back hatch and were emptying their rifles into the pickup as well.

The pickup swerved, the front left tire exploding, and then the blue truck careened down a small embankment. Rick slipped back into the truck and settled in his seat. “We need to get ghost before they call for backup.”

“I swear if I get shot one more fucking time, I’m going to blow something up!” Omar shouted as the scent of blood filled the interior of the truck.

Freedman hit the brakes, the ass end swerving as the truck came to a halt. “Take over,” he said to Rick as he jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran toward the back of the truck. Rick ran around the front and hopped into the driver’s seat. As soon as Freedman climbed inside, Rick took off.

“Sasha, stop the others from shifting,” Rick warned. Changelings, no matter how good their intentions were, shifted when they smelled blood. Their baser instinct was to hunt that which bled. It didn’t matter if it was another changeling. Their instincts took over and clouded their judgment.

He heard a loud yowl and then all fell silent. Sasha had given his warning, and Rick was damn sure the others would listen. The man might be a pain in the ass most days, but he wasn’t one to tussle with.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Freedman called to Rick.

“Just a flesh wound!” Omar snapped indignantly.

Rick ignored them as he drove hard and fast, taking the back roads and heading toward Colorado to hopefully help the tigers save the weregeese in time.

Pushing up from the ground, Ian swayed and had to use the building to steady himself. He glanced around and saw that there was nothing back here but a Dumpster, trash littering the ground, and a homeless person slumped over at the end of the alley.

What in the hell was he supposed to do? He had nowhere to go and not a stich of clothing to put on. The wind picked up, making him shiver even harder. Ian wrapped his arms around his waist and wondered how he was going to get out of this mess. As his mind cleared some more, the small vampire’s words sank in.

Feeding frenzy.

Ian jumped when he heard a car backfire somewhere off in the distance. It only reminded him that he needed to get away from the club. But where could he go? He began to walk down the alley, toward the main street. Ian really, really didn’t want to wander the streets naked, but he didn’t have a choice. If he stayed around here, Newman would find him.

The sad thing was, he couldn’t even get mad. Ian had brought all of this on himself. There was no one to blame for what he was going through but his own damn stupidity.

It was pitch dark out, and if Ian had to guess, around one in the morning. The streets would be deserted this time of night, but Ian didn’t want to take a chance on anyone seeing him without any clothes on. If the cops arrested him, Ian knew he would be in a world of trouble. He was Dorian Campbell’s brother. Dorian was on the top of the most wanted list from what Newman had told him. They would use Ian to find Dorian.

Ian couldn’t allow that to happen.

The drunk moved around a little and then looked up at Ian. His pitiless eyes raked over Ian’s naked body as he began to sit up. Ian backed away. They locked gazes and a lascivious gleam appeared in the drunkard’s dark twin orbs. Ian knew the man did not have good intentions.

“Street boy?” the man asked as he swayed to his feet. His voice was rough and raspy, and there was a brown paper bag in his hand. Ian guessed it contained a bottle of some kind of rotgut wine. “I normally leave you fellas alone. But I must say, you are one
fine
-looking piece of ass.” The man licked his lips. “How much?”

Ian backed up until his back pressed into the Dumpster. He quickly tamped down the scream that nearly escaped when his wounded back met cold metal. “I’m not a street boy.”

The man licked his lips again, showing a row of rotten teeth, and Ian felt the bile rise to the back of his throat. Even if the man wasn’t wearing clothes that looked as if they had never seen a washer, the guy’s stench alone made Ian want to bend over and be sick.

Ian stumbled away. The frigid cold began to rack his body as he searched for a doorway, a haven, something to get him out of the chill and away from the club. But he couldn’t find anywhere to hide. There wasn’t even an alcove he could crouch down in. Ian was so lost, so afraid, and it didn’t seem like his situation was getting any better.

A sob tore from his chest, even though he knew he didn’t have a right to cry. This was his fault. He hugged himself tighter as he gazed at the open street and then back down the alley. He was going to have to leave. He was going to have to walk the dark and deserted streets naked, cold, and with nowhere to go.

“There you are.”

Ian looked behind him to see Newman standing in the club’s back entrance. The red irises could be seen all the way down the alley where Ian was standing. His lungs forgot to work. His heart was racing so fast that Ian felt light-headed. He couldn’t let Newman take him back.

He didn’t want to die.

Feeding frenzy.

Ian heard a door slam shut. He quickly looked to the street to see a hulking man heading his way. His jade-green eyes were locked onto Ian, and he wore a menacing snarl on his lips. Ian took a step back until he remembered Newman.

Ian wasn’t sure which option was worse. The man coming toward him was colossal. He had to weigh at least two hundred and fifty pounds, and it was all muscle. Not even his sandy-blond hair helped him look friendly.

Ian glanced back at Newman to see him walking his way. He was stuck between a vampire, who wanted him dead, and a stranger who wanted…Ian wasn’t sure, but from the dark and deadly expression on the man’s face, it couldn’t be good.

Ian took off from the alley, running down the deserted street, away from both men. But it wasn’t as deserted as he would have wanted it to be. There was a couple walking toward him. The woman looked at him and her eyes grew wide as the man grabbed her and pulled her aside. Ian raced past them, running as fast as his feet could carry him.

He heard tires screeching and knew the stranger was coming after him. Ian glanced over his shoulder and then ran into a wall. He hit it so hard he bounced backward and slammed into a trash can on the curbside.

He could hear the vehicle coming to a halt and the door slammed again. Ian pushed to his feet only to see Newman right in front of him.

It hadn’t been a wall.

Ian had run right into Newman.

“You can’t get away from me that easily.” He reached for Ian, but the stranger appeared at Ian’s side. Ian backed away when the two started fighting.

This was madness.

He was screwed, screwed, screwed.

Fuck.

There was nowhere for him to run. There was no place he could go for safety. He was out on this street in the dead of night, running from a vampire and some sort of pervert. The hulking man had to be a pervert. Who else could he be? Ian didn’t recognize him. Being naked on the street must have caught the man’s attention.

Ian was getting what he deserved and he knew it. If he had never gone to that party so many years ago, he wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Ian rushed down the sidewalk, quickly making his way to who knew where, but it was in the opposite direction of the two people after him.

His stomach was knotting with fear as he tried not to look back. If he looked back, Ian just might scream.

This was a nightmare.

If his parents could see him now, his mother would cry until she was old and grey, and his father would probably kick his ass until Ian lay bloody and crumpled on the ground. His father had never raised a hand to Ian before, but hell if this situation didn’t call for it.

Ian turned, unable to resist looking behind him.

The two were gone.

He slowed his racing feet, his eyes scanning the area. They did not just disappear. Newman wouldn’t give up that easily. The vampire was hell-bent on dragging Ian back to the club.

And then he saw the outline of red eyes coming toward him. Ian spun around and slammed into a concrete trash can on the curbside. He howled out as the pain shot through his knee. But Ian didn't have time to shake it off. He had to keep moving. He tried to limp as fast as he could, but he knew it wasn't going to be fast enough.

As he stumbled across the street, a red Yukon slammed on its brakes right in front of him, the headlights blinding Ian.

The same stranger who had come after him by the alley got out of the truck.

Ian turned to run, but the stranger grabbed him before he could get away and shoved him in the back of the Yukon. Ian cried out when a slim woman with short black hair and chartreuse eyes blazing with anger grabbed him, pulling him inside. Ian fought to get free, but the door slammed closed and seconds later they were hauling ass down the street.

“Let me go!” he shouted as he tried to twist out of her arms. His backside felt like the wounds were reopening as he flailed on the floor of the truck.

“Settle the hell down, Ian,” she said as she pinned him to the floor of the truck, only exacerbating the pain by a hundredfold. “Stop fighting me or you’ll force me to knock you out.”