The Siren Series 3: Brandon (A Siren Novel) (3 page)

Brandon

We stand in a small circle. The Mer breeder is the only one I trust at the moment.

Constantine is a proven enemy who ran with the Faction for centuries. The tales my father, Beau, and mother, Aubree, told me in my few years of childhood still ring in my ears. My gaze roves over the weapon he calls the Encourager. It’s a semi-contained coil on his back. For now.

My attention moves to Kane, a light smolder playing over his skin. I haven't seen a demonic in the flesh before, and what strange flesh it is. Pale red skin covers his body. He has dark eyes and stub horns rising out of a deeper shade of red hair. There's no way the guy could pass for human.

I retreat a step, placing the entire group of three within visual range.

Constantine's eyes narrow on me. “Druid, where do you be off to?”

I'm not interested in taking Constantine into my confidence. If the breeder who called to me in my dreams, coaxing me from the kiss of Reaper-Druid vampires is discovered by another male, I'm not protecting her by delaying here. Especially with this male.

I'm not insuring my future with her by a wagging tongue of betrayal of what my true situation is.

“We have escaped the Mer. The Faction seek easy pickings,” I explain with a shrug, using some of the old language.

Constantine's eyebrow rises slowly in question. “As a Druid male”—his nostrils flare—“who is also somehow vampire and Mer, you
should
be interested in Ember.”

My eyes go to the beautiful breeder. Her hair is silky pale blonde. The breeze lifts it as her deep scarlet eyes regard me.

“Yes, I—it is not my calling.” My gaze flicks to Kane, the demonic. “I beg no quarrel with either of you warriors. There should be no fight if I do not want the breeder. I but used you to remove myself from harm.” I shrug as though it was the most sensible thing I could say.

“Yet,” Constantine says, “you have left your coven at the tender age of...”

“I am technically around five.”

Kane blinks. “No male is at your maturation after five cycles.”

I smile, knowing this is where the part of the story goes sideways into the realm of the unbelievable. “True, but an unusual circumstance occurred when my mother was bred.”

“Ah.” Constantine folds his arms and nods in apparent understanding. “She is a pure-blood Druid?”

I nod.

“She was exposed to a pure-blood Mer?”

I say nothing, and Constantine accepts my lack of answer as assent.

“She is Druid enough to assimilate blood she does not own?”

I lift my shoulders. “We are not sure how it all happened. The Druid female is a genetic enigma.”

“But she birthed you, Druid.”

“Aye,” I say, still speaking in the old way.

Constantine cups the back of the breeder's head, sinking his long fingers into hair that holds the rare pearl-like pods of her people. Her eyes tighten imperceptibly with pain—and something else.

The sooner I extradite myself from these three, the better.

“Fine,” Constantine points his was. “I do not wish to let you go only to fight you in a future turf war, breeder bullshittery, or some such.”

I chuckle.

Constantine takes his hand from Ember, folding his arms across his chest. “Did you think I couldn't speak in the modern tongue?” His eyebrow quirks. “Though I no longer hold to Faction ways, we are a diverse group.”

I would never refer to the Faction as diverse. Maybe the other
D
word—deadly.

Kane's dark eyes track me like the enemy I am.

I regard him similarly.

I switch up my speech. “You don't consider a Druid male a threat?”

Kane inclines his head in a chin dip. “Do not interfere with the acquisition of a female demon breeder or draw a line in the sand, and we will get along just fine.”

I snort, jerking a thumb Constantine's way. “I don't think Constantine is going to let you have a turn at the Mer breeder. Just saying.”

“Though you shouldn't say.” Kane and Constantine turn to glare at each other. “Let us come to terms.”

I throw up my hands. “Fine. I've got something else I seek. The threat of the Mer is past, and I will be about my way.”

“You seek a breeder,” Constantine states as fact. “Do not give me a neutral countenance. I can smell your readiness to rut a mile away.”

Great.

“Aren't we all?”

Kane nods. “Aye. As long as you do not seek the same breeder as I.” He pivots toward me.

I stand my ground. I was trained by the most elite Druid vampires, and I'm not afraid of a demonic, either in theory or practice.

A tail with a barbed end sails up in the air behind Kane.

I swallow hard, thinking about the many spikes of that landing at my temple or anywhere else.

It'd be a bitch of a wound to heal.

“I am Druid vampire and part Mer,” I say. “I don't seek breeders of demon lineage.”

The tail shakes like the rattles of a snake then settles low behind him.

My shoulders relax.

“Good,” Kane answers.

I look first at him then Constantine. “I'm leaving.”

“Wait,” Constantine says, though I'm already halfway from the clearing, striking toward the pull of the breeder from my dreams.

“How old are you truly?”

I think of what my mother has told me. “I appear as though I'm twenty-one.”

“Are you really?” Kane asks with suspicion.

I nod. “I have lived five or six actual years, but my maturation has been greatly accelerated.”

“No shit,” Constantine says without rancor.

I think I'd like him in other circumstances. He has a sort of deft humor.

When he isn't murdering everyone.

“Yes,” I agree.

“Go,” Constantine says with a dismissive wave. “A male at my back is a threat I do not need.” His gaze flicks to Kane, whom he indicates with another wave. “I already have old rosey-red over here.”

Kane's fists clench. “Have a care, Constantine.”

“Oh?” Constantine's gaze falls on him with the weight of a brick. “Fuck off, fire dick.”

I back away since it looks as though coming to blows is in their cards. And Constantine isn’t playing with a full deck.

They circle each other, the pale breeder backing up against the nearest tree.

I slip away unnoticed.

*

My head pounds as I run through the woods.

I need to feed. In a bind, I can take from animals, but that'll eventually lead to indigestion of the worst kind. I laugh to myself.
Vampire heartburn
.

A human female is needed and fast. Usually being a Mer has its benefits: longer spans of time between feeds, an affinity for water. A number of cool things help keep my motor humming efficiently. But now?

The adrenaline in my body cools, and my fight-or-flight urge expired a long time ago.

I sense the faraway beat of the breeder who sucked me out of my home.

I could have stayed with my parents and younger twin siblings, honed my skills as a Druid vampire warrior to a brilliant point. The time would have aided me in the inevitable battles which pop up as I protect myself against interlopers.

But nothing smothers the call of a Druid female in heat. This one is cycling hard. Probably her first go.

The problem is if she's calling to me, she's being scented by any other supe with a hankering to breed. Though Reapers are plentiful enough, the ones who are breeders are more rare. They, like breeder females, must have sufficient Druid blood, and the women they seek must have enough Druid blood to be worth the effort. Human women are terrific to fuck, but no good to breed. The blood of a non-human versus a Druid female is like cheap wine compared to the finest.

But a vamp can't always be choosy.

How many times have the male vampires of my coven stressed blood importance? All the time.

My jog through the woods slows as I come to a main road.

Cars pass without seeing me because I wear black. It's not about looking cool, but being invisible to the cattle.

And there, directly in front of me, is the perfect metaphorical barn.

A low-slung tavern blinks intermittent neon light from a partly working sign onto a parking lot filled with the wayward scourge of humanity.

A vein throbs in my temple, my fangs lengthening with need. Where there is a need for blood, there is equal need to fuck.

It'll be a twofer.

I'll need all the strength I can manage. Whenever a breeder is around, there are other males to fight off, and I scent more than human blood and pussy in the vicinity.

Reapers have been nearby.

And my Druid. My heartbeat blooms faster in my chest like a horrible blossom without end.

I scan the cluttered parking lot, hitting on several possibles. I stare between the vehicles at some giggling females and zero in on the one who is fertile. They’re the best to fuck and bleed if a human female is all I can get.

Fortify first, acquire second.

I move in, putting on the persona of a confident human male like a second skin, leaving the tough edge around me.

Human woman like a man who seems dangerous.

I am not a man, but a Druid vampire.

Danger is part of who I am bred to be.

Nova

Someone's shaking me.

Hard.

My head feels as if it's wrapped in thick cotton.

“What?” I half-shriek, slapping at the offending hand.

“Nova, God—wake up!”

Ren.

My eyes spring open, the vision of Ren's face tripling.

“What? Stop—putz!”

“Okay, okay. I thought you'd never wake up.”

I throw a forearm over my eyes. “I had a shock, moron. Back off.”

“Oh?
You
had a shock? Try
me
.” He paces away from me loudly then strides back. “That's what I get for my guilt. A pack of vampires in the middle of the road, and you showing up in the seat beside me out of thin air!”

My arm falls, and I crack open an eyelid. “Listen, thank you for being there at the right time, right place, ʼkay?”

He hunkers down on his haunches, and his hand circles my arm. “Listen, Nova.” His hazel green eyes meet mine. “We've known each other for a long time. Hell, I got you this job with Lue.”

“Jesus, I know—and I'm so sorry.”

“Listen, I'm a Harborer, and I'm aware. But I can't always anticipate.”

A Harborer is a person who safeguards Druid witches. They were the ones who saved some of us from the Salem witch hunts. Of course, many women were killed then only because they were opinionated. Many of the victims had Druid blood, but some real witches, full-bloods, had been burned at the stake as well.

Harborers were the men made to protect witches’ identities. They’re human guards—long-lived, but human. Ren tries.

It doesn't hurt that he's a beautiful specimen of man.

Ren always keeps his distance though. A Harborer and a Druid witch aren’t allowed to be involved romantically. It's like a Catholic priest not taking a wife because somehow it distracts him from his work with God.

A Harborer guards the witch. Period.

I sit up and try not to think about Ren and how he keeps saving my ass. Or the I-want-to-eat-him mystery dream guy.

In fact, I'm trying not to think about how horny I've been lately.

Good luck with that.

It's bad news for a witch to not be discerning about who she screws. Human males are all fine to scratch that itch—I can't get venereal diseases anyway—but Grammy said I needed to save myself for a Druid male.

The question I posed was where was
he
? She had shaken her head when I asked. Like Druid females, the males are as rare as hen's teeth.

So I'm what? Supposed to hold on to my cherry until I'm nursing-home material? No.

I'm ready.

But right now, I'm surviving.

I fold my arms, scanning Ren's tiny apartment and a small giggle escapes.

“Not funny, Nova.”

He walks over to the stove, and I admire his tight ass and broad shoulders. As I take in the familiar four walls, I decide his interior decorating could use a little help.

His ancient swords and weapons hanging on the walls are somewhat medieval. Of course, Ren is three hundred years old, so it stands to reason he'd have ancient weaponry.

“They weren't just vampires,” I say.

He doesn't turn from preparing tea. His large hands wrap around the edges of the stove as he waits for the water to boil. “I was hoping you'd just say the circus came to town. That would explain the pro-wrestlers with only half their clothes on in the middle of the street.”

“Nope.”

The whistle shrills, and Ren takes the kettle off the stove top. He carefully pours scalding water into a ridiculously small cup before he pivots with the grace of a dancer and brings me the delicate cup and saucer. It seems so small in his hand.

He sets the tea on a low, beat-up coffee table and folds his tall frame into the broad, overstuffed chair opposite me. His long arms follow the back of the chair, and he exhales in a rush. “So… Reapers?”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

“Figured.”

His expression falls into grim lines. “It's time, Nova—past time. It was only a matter of
when
you’d be in cycle for some supe to scent you.

“Not any supe—Reapers. Grammy told me—”

His full lips thin. “She never left the safety of her home. Nova, she was
not
the spell weaver you are.”

I duck my head, my hair falling forward to hide my sadness over Grammy's death. It's been six years, but still feels so fresh.

Ren leans forward and I look up, his intense stare capturing my gaze. “I know that, Ren.”

“No disrespect to Hazel, but she didn't need the guarding you do.”

“Where's Grammy's guard now?” I’ve always wondered, but I never asked.

Ren's gaze slides to the left. “Guarding another Druid.”

Looks like evasion to me.

His eyes move over my body. “Are you hurt?”

“No! I'm fine.”

The silence is heavy between us.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I know it was a shock.”

His stare accuses me. “I give you a ride home for a reason. We had a near-riot inside the tavern, and suddenly you'd left...”

“I left because they were throwing food at me.”

Ren's lips quirk.

“Not funny, asshole.”

He laughs from his belly.

Dick.

I toss a pillow at him.

His hand snaps up and catches it.

Ren leaps over the table, and I squeal. He wraps his arms around me. “Don't move, Nova, or I'll have to smother you with the pillow.”

Our eyes are inches away from each other. Heat beats between us.

“You're not a very good guard.”

Emotions wash over his features. “No,” he says in a curt word of dismal agreement.

“Please... ease me, Ren,” I whisper, thrusting my aching breasts against his chest.

His forehead touches mine. “I have taken a vow. You of all people know how serious it is. I am to protect you until such time as the Druid male who is your other half enters your life.”

“I don't care about him!” I say loudly.

Where the hell is he anyway? Hello!

What I
do
know is I'm so horny, I hurt.

“You will care.”

I reach between his legs and find the proof I'm looking for.

“Don't,” he groans. “This isn't you right now. You’re cycling—ripe for breeding. I am… This isn't my role.”

I squeeze his length, and he's off me and across the room in a flash.

A Harborer has super-speed, strength, fighting prowess, and—I look closely at my guard of eight years—a huge dick.

Ren turns his head away. “Don't look at me like that, Nova.”

“How?” I ask, knowing damn well how I'm looking at him.

We stare at each other across the small living room.

He grabs the keys to his car and reaches the door in three strides. “I'm going out.”

I sit up on my knees. “You mean you're going to go fuck someone.”

Ren plows his long fingers through hair colored like dark honey.

We’re always honest with each other.

“Yes.”

He walks out, slamming the door behind him.

I've pushed him, made him edgy and in need. So he'll go out and hump some bimbo and come back a satiated and less pissed off Harborer.

I'll be the same—a sexually frustrated, out-of-work Druid witch.

*

I move to each window and the one entrance, finding them warded to the hilt.

Bastard.
I kick the door.

I shouldn't be mad at Ren, but I can't help getting a visual of him banging some chick while I sit here like a little kid in time out.

Ren kept me in my exhausted sleep until he could squire me in here, get the place on lock-down, and make sure I was okay.

I pushed it, and he took off.

Now I have nothing to do.

I open all the cupboards. Bare.

Because I don't have any money. And now Ren won't either because I made that douche's hand disappear.
Whoops.

I try to feel bad about it, but I can't. I want to set up a psychic shop or something, but Ren says no because it doesn't keep a “low profile.” Better to “disappear” me in an entry-level dive like Lue's tavern.

Too bad I
feel
disappeared.

I want to feel like me. I know the Reapers are bad. They're generally not Druid, and witches should mate Druids, end of convo.

So why did it feel so good to kiss the Reapers?

The mystery of my life.