The Warrior Vampire (10 page)

He answered with a confident smile that showcased the wicked points of his fangs, “I don't mind being tied to your bed, but only if you stick around so I can reciprocate.”

The flesh at Naya's throat grew hot at the memory of his mouth on her and she averted her gaze, focusing her attention on the knife she stuffed into her boot. Wicked male. “You saw how Santi reacted to seeing you. I can't risk you being seen by anyone else.” It was best to steer the conversation away from either of them being on her bed. Tied up or otherwise. “And I'm already in enough trouble with the elders as it is.”

Ronan's gaze hardened as it leveled on her. “What sort of trouble?” The words rumbled in his chest, a precursor to a storm.

The dark tenor vibrated over her skin and Naya suppressed a shudder. “None of your business. That's what sort.”

“You're my mate, Naya.” The words slipped from his lips as though he stated something as obvious as her gender. He continued to rifle through the shelves of weaponry, talismans, and powders, and Naya slapped his hand away. “Your trouble is mine. Tell me what it is, and I'll make it disappear.”

The vampire was certainly cavalier. She grabbed two throwing knives from the bottom shelf and stuck one in her belt. “I'm not your or anyone's mate, so you can get that notion out of your head right now.”

Ronan flashed her a confident grin that turned her body traitor and weakened her knees. “My soul knows it's been tethered to yours. You're mine, Naya.”

Mine.
The word snapped the meager hold Naya had on her temper. She brought the squat blade to Ronan's throat and choked up tight on the grip. “I belong to myself.” His scent enveloped her, a bloom of rich aroma that reminded her of roasted coffee beans. It awakened her hunger, and this one wasn't for food. She pressed the blade into the flesh of his throat, nicking the skin. A drop of crimson latched on to the blue steel blade and Ronan's nostrils flared.

“I fucking love a female with a violent streak.”

He was incorrigible. Obviously any threat of violence was just going to egg him on. Naya lowered the knife and sheathed it in her belt. Ronan closed the space between them, so close now that Naya had to look up to meet his face. Gods, he was a magnificent specimen. His very presence stole the air from her lungs; his sheer size crowded her until everything melted away but him. His scent enveloped her; his gaze swallowed her. In a heartbeat Ronan had become her entire universe. A tremor seized Naya's body. From fear or excitement she didn't know.

“We've been over this, Naya. Whether or not you choose to acknowledge it, we are tethered.” He leaned down until his mouth hovered above her and his breath was warm in her ear. “Already I crave you like a drug.”

She couldn't swallow. Her mouth had gone bone-dry. And forming a coherent thought was impossible when he was close enough to touch. His tongue flicked out at the hollow of her throat and her palm came up to steady her careening world, landing on the solid wall of muscle that was his chest. Her fingers tingled with the contact and she splayed her hand out as though to touch as much of him as possible.

“So if you think for one second that I'm going to let you go out there alone without protection, you've got another think coming, my beautiful little witch.” He reached up and threaded his fingers through her hair, guiding her face up to meet his. His lips met hers in a slow, gentle kiss, and when he pulled away she could almost feel the pain that reflected in his expression. “Get used to having me around, Naya,” he said as he released his grip on her and turned away. “Because I'm not going
anywhere
.”

*   *   *

Ronan sucked in a sharp breath as he turned away. Fire raced through his veins with all of the heat of the sun in midday. A simple kiss was enough to set his blood to boiling, and it wasn't merely the beautiful female he was dying to fuck. The gods-damned blood troth was going to be the death of him. Honestly, death would be preferable to withholding himself from his mate. How could he possibly be expected to deny that essential part of their bond that demanded he touch her, taste her, sink his fangs into her flesh while he fucked her?

Even now, it took every ounce of willpower in his stores to withhold himself from Naya. She was reluctant. Stubborn. And oh, so fiery. But Ronan liked that about her. She was a challenge he couldn't wait to tackle. A puzzle for him to solve. He'd seduce her. Tease her. Discover what made her purr and relentlessly pursue her until she had no choice but to yield to him. He wouldn't be satisfied until she belonged to him: heart, body, and soul.

Siobhan would flay the skin from Naya's body if she found out about her.

On his list of concerns the vindictive dhampir was the least of his worries, and wasn't that saying something?

“Why don't you hunt in a pack?” If he didn't steer his mind from the lewd thoughts currently hardening his cock, he wouldn't be worth a shit.

Naya cocked a brow; the barest hint of a smile played on her full lips. “Only
brujas
track magic,” she answered with a laugh. “But sometimes, I take Luz.”

Ronan helped himself to a dagger from the top shelf, stuffing it into his waistband before Naya could take it away. “I just assumed that since your people are shifters, you would go out in a pack. Who's Luz?”

“My cousin.” Naya's mouth formed a petulant pout as she watched him stow the dagger, but she made no move to take it from him. Point: Ronan. He was wearing her down. “You're just going to go out like that?” Her eyes dipped to his bare chest and Ronan's abdomen tightened with lust. “You might raise a few brows running around shirtless like that. And I'm not a shifter.”

Who—and what—was this female who'd tethered his soul? She wielded magic like a witch and kept company with shifters.
Remarkable.
“The shifters employ you, then?” Ronan was determined to peel back her layers until he knew everything about her. He knew better than to assume that she was a simple employee. No hired hand would be forced into an arranged mating. “I don't need a shirt to fight,” he replied. “But if it distracts you, love, I'm sure we can pick something up for me, no?”

She averted her gaze and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “We'll find you something,” she said without denying that the sight of him distracted her. Ronan wanted to crow with satisfaction. “Are all dhampirs vampires?”

“No.” Ronan smiled at her attempt to deflect.

She snatched a Ruger from a safe that sat next to the shelves of assorted weaponry. She ejected the clip and checked the ammo before sliding it home and thrusting it into Ronan's hand. “If you insist on tagging along, you can at least make yourself useful. Or at the very least, protect yourself so I don't have to.”

Ronan stowed the weapon in his waistband, opposite the dagger. Whatever had brought him to Crescent City, he obviously hadn't come outfitted for war. Unless … had someone divested him of his weapons? A tremor of anxiety rolled through him. Gods, he wished he remembered. “I'm touched that my mate is concerned for my safety.” Naya's heartbeat picked up its pace, music to his ears.

“Don't call me that,” she quipped. “I just don't want to have to explain how a dead vampire wound up on my turf when there aren't supposed to be any left.”

Ronan swallowed down the snarky comeback that would assure their verbal sparring continued. She got his blood up with nothing more than her smart mouth. A mouth he wanted to savor at his leisure. He couldn't ignore the niggling feeling that whatever Naya hunted tonight was somehow connected to Chelle's disappearance. Ronan was a fixer. He was good at it. And if he could only earn Naya's trust, he'd take care of all of their problems and save them both a hell of a lot of stress.

Chelle…?

Gods. Chelle!

“Naya, I remember something.”

Her head whipped around, eyes wide with excitement. “You do? What?”

“I know why I'm here.” His own excitement rushed through him like a spark. How could he have possibly forgotten his own twin?

He could kill two birds with one stone by going out with Naya. She knew the town and the outlying areas. He could look for Chelle while earning Naya's trust and showing her that he was capable of protecting her. He'd prove to her that she had no reason to be wary of him. In the hours since he'd woken up bound to her bed frame, Ronan had come to the conclusion that Naya was a strong female with an even stronger will. Reliance was a sign of weakness. She was the sort of female who demanded to be treated as an equal, rather than demonstrating her superiority complex the way that Siobhan did.

He wanted Naya more by the second.

“I came here to find my sister.” The first step to earning his mate's trust: He had to confide in her.

Naya finished closing up the gun safe and the weapons cabinet and studied him, her brow furrowed over her dark eyes. “Vampires seem to be coming out of the woodwork,” she remarked. “I'd know if there was another one of you in the city.”

Ronan quirked a brow. “Would you?” He couldn't help himself. Getting her riled by challenging her authority was just too easy.

“Yes,” she said. “I would.”

“Chelle isn't a vampire. At least, not yet.” What would his sister think of his transition? He hadn't had the chance to tell her before their phone call had been interrupted. “She'd appear human for all intents and purposes. She can tolerate sunlight. Silver. She'd blend right in.”

Suspicion wrinkled Naya's forehead as she studied him. “How is it that you're a vampire and she isn't?”

How was it possible to be tethered to someone so different from himself? Someone with so little knowledge of what he was? Then again, Claire had been human when she'd tethered Mikhail's soul. You couldn't get much more different than that.

“Chelle is still a dhampir. I was only recently turned.” It was explanation enough. He would only give so much. Naya would have to quid pro quo if she wanted any more than that out of him. “She called me, said she needed my help. I left almost immediately after her call.”

“Do you remember when she called?”

Ronan racked his brain. “The tenth, maybe.”

“That was a little over two weeks ago.” Fuck it all. He'd been here for two weeks already? “I left L.A. that night and that's the last thing I remember until I woke up on your bed.”

Naya crossed the empty dining area to the kitchen bar and leaned against it, crossing her feet in front of her, one hand resting on the pommel of her dagger. “What did she need help with?”

He wanted to invite Naya's trust. Didn't mean he was willing to show his hand just yet. He wasn't ready to divulge too much about why Chelle was here, even to his mate. Just this morning Naya had knocked him the fuck out. Who knew what she'd do to him if she discovered his sister had been searching for a powerful vampire relic? “I'm not sure. Our call was disconnected before she could tell me anything. Chelle is a…”
Tomb raider–slash–Indiana Jones wannabe?
“… treasure seeker.”

Naya tightened her grip on the pommel. “What sort of treasures?”

He wondered if she ever posed a question with genuine curiosity in her tone. So far, everything she'd asked him had been veiled with an answer-or-I'll-break-your-femur undertone. “The vampire kind.”

For the most part, Chelle focused her talents on reclaiming vampire relics. The esoteric knickknacks of other cultures didn't interest her. That wasn't to say that there weren't other supernatural creatures out there who wouldn't give their left nut for what she'd been after. Namely, Set's chest.

A relic rumored to hold unimaginable power.

Power that someone as sensitive to magic as Ronan's mate would have no trouble tracking. Part of him hoped she'd lead him straight to it if it meant that he'd find Chelle. And another part hoped like hell that the chest stayed good and hidden. Naya feared unchecked power; his own state as her prisoner was proof enough of that. The chest might as well have been Pandora's box for all he knew. If Chelle—or anyone—managed to open it, all hell could break loose. Hell, maybe it already had.

His headstrong female might have been wary of magic in the wrong hands, but that didn't mean that she wasn't hell-bent on tracking it down. Protecting Naya would be problematic if she decided to hunt past sunrise. Which was why Ronan wanted to get a move on. “Don't you think we ought to—”

Icy cold crept up Ronan's torso and spread through his limbs. Naya's dark eyes grew wide with alarm and she pushed herself from the bar, her stance no longer relaxed but alert and defensive. She drew the dagger from behind her back and the blade glowed citrine bright.

“Whoa. Take it easy.” Ronan swayed on his feet and his vision darkened at the periphery. The cold that snaked up his arms and around his thighs chilled him further, as though someone had dipped him in a vat of dry ice. “Na-ya.” His tongue felt too thick in his mouth and the word slurred as he tried to push it past his lips. She approached him as one wary predator approaches another, the blade held high in front of her, ready to cut down.

A riot of color swam in his vision and Ronan's gaze darted to his arms. Color leached from his pores, running in fluorescent rivulets that dripped from his fingertips.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Either he was trippin' balls or the magic that Naya had insisted he'd stolen was making an unwelcome reappearance.

“You need to stay still.” Her barked order cut through him like a blade. She gave her head a rough shake, her brows knit together in pain. He took a stumbling step toward her and she jumped back. “Damn it, don't move!” Panic laced her tone and Ronan's own heartbeat echoed hers as the sound of it rushed in his ears.
Make it stop
. The cold was unbearable. Fire and ice at once.
Gods, make it stop!