The Warrior Vampire (16 page)

“Ronan?”

Her voice echoed in the enclosed space. Hand shaking, she reached up until she cupped Ronan's cheek in her palm. His skin was warm. But why had his song quieted into silence?

“Ronan.” She gave him a rough shake, but he didn't stir. What in the hell happened after she'd passed out?

Naya reached for her back, only to find her dagger gone.
Shit
. Okay, so she was trapped in an unknown location, unarmed, with a male whose status was unknown. Whatever magic fueled his song was dormant now, but it could reemerge at any moment and Naya had no idea if the notes would fill her soul to bursting or grate on her ears.

First things first, light.

She centered her focus, drawing on the seat of her power. Warmth bloomed in her palm and Naya brought her hand to her mouth, cupping it like it was full of water. She concentrated, willing the magic to pool in her palm. A soft golden glow gathered there and she blew lightly as though fanning tinder to flame.

A flash of bright white light sparked to life in her palm and Naya shielded her eyes against the sudden glare. Closed in on all sides and surrounded by stacks of wooden crates, she had to assume that Ronan had hidden them inside a shipping container. Which meant that they were still on the pier. But why? Hand outstretched, Naya wound her way through the maze of boxes to the set of double doors at the far end of the crate. She eased open one door, cringing at the groan of the metal hinges. A swath of late-afternoon light cut through the dark, sending a rush of adrenaline through her veins. Gods, had she seriously been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours?

Ronan had hidden them inside the crate to take shelter from the sun.

He'd protected her. Held her in his arms. He could have left her if he'd wanted, but he didn't. Naya chanced a look back to find him as still as death. The only indicator he was still alive—or was it undead when dealing with vampires?—was the fact that his chest rose and fell with his breath. Something tugged at her center as though a length of string connected them and she'd reached its limit. Perhaps she couldn't leave him any more than he could leave her.

Gods, what was
wrong
with her?

Outside, water lapped against the pilings. The sound put her at ease. It was rhythmic. Peaceful. Nothing like the deafening screech that had assaulted her ears as she'd fought the mapinguari last night. Without Ronan's help, it would have killed her.

Naya returned to his side, remembering the wound she'd felt just below his shoulder. Though her knowledge of vampires was nonexistent, she had a feeling that he should have healed quickly. All supernatural creatures did. She knelt beside him, her gaze drawn to the way the shadows played against the angles of his face, sharpening them. A rush of breath left her chest and her heart pounded as she brought her fingers up and traced the square line of his jaw, rough with stubble, and up to his forehead. She plunged into the thick locks of his hair, reveling in the silky texture as she brushed it off his forehead, down his opposite temple and back across his jaw, her gut clenched as the pad of her thumb brushed over his lower lip. As if she couldn't help herself, Naya leaned into him and brought her mouth to his. The kiss was soft; a feathering of contact, and a tingle of sensation traveled through her, settling low in her core.

You're practically molesting an unconscious male
.
Gods, Naya, get a grip!

She didn't want to be tied to a mate. Didn't want to be nothing more than a sock or earring—something meant to finish a pair. She wanted her own identity and the opportunity for an existence outside of her pod—her tribe—and the responsibilities that weighed her down. The world was more than a series of trails she was meant to track and police. And she was more than the magic that sang to her.

Did Ronan, like Paul, consider her to be nothing more than an object whose sole purpose was to complete a matched set?

Naya shook herself from the maudlin thoughts that weighed down her soul. Instead, she focused her attention on the unconscious vampire, snoozing the day away beside her. The gash on his arm looked pretty nasty. At least two inches wide and six or seven inches long, it had yet to scab over.

The magic that infected him lay dormant, so trying to extract it without killing him wasn't possible. She could try to heal the wound for him, though. Or, at the very least, encourage it to begin to close so that it wouldn't get infected. From her boot Naya drew a short knife. She chewed her bottom lip, worried that she'd lost her dagger during the fight. Paul would pitch a fit and Santi wouldn't be much happier. The weapon was thousands of years old. Not exactly something you could run down to the corner market to replace.

Naya sliced the steel blade across her thumb and waited for the blood to well. She murmured an incantation under her breath and willed her own magic to the surface until the crimson staining her skin shimmered with flecks of gold. Warmth radiated from the cut as she swept the pad of her thumb across the gash on Ronan's arm. This was a dangerous game she played, joining not only her blood but also her magic with his. Inescapable bonds were made in such ways, and in using her blood and magic to heal him she'd be enmeshing her life's essence with his.

He'd had her blood twice already. Did a few drops on his skin matter that much more?

Ronan's eyes came open with a flash of bright silver. Naya started as his hand whipped out with the speed of a viper's strike to take her wrist firmly in his grip. His nostrils flared with an intake of breath and his lip pulled back to reveal the razor-sharp points of his fangs. A wildness accented his features as his feral gaze lit on the blood running from the pad of her thumb down her wrist.

“What are you doing?”

Voice rough with gravel, a crease dug into the middle of his forehead as though in pain. His jaw squared as it clamped down and he drew in several ragged breaths through his nose.

“Y-your wound.” Naya swallowed down the fear that rose in her throat. Even when he was a captive, chained to her bed with no recollection of his past, she'd never seen him so on edge. His limbs shook, the intensity of his gaze burned through her, and though he held her wrist in an iron grip, he didn't hurt her. “It hasn't healed,” she continued to explain. “So I thought I should heal it for you.”

The crease in his forehead dug deeper and his tawny brows drew down over his eyes that never left hers as he brought her hand to his mouth. He dragged the flat of his tongue up her wrist, taking the rivulet of blood that lined her skin into his mouth.

A swirl of butterflies took flight in Naya's stomach as Ronan's eyes drifted blissfully shut. For a long moment he held her still, the only sound in the enclosed space that of their mingled breaths.

“I'm mad with want.” Ronan's voice pierced the silence. Warm and rich with an undertone of pain that sliced through her. “Your blood … your scent … your very presence blinds me with lust.” He brought her thumb to his mouth and Naya once again brushed the pad across his bottom lip. It shouldn't have affected her, but her own body heated as his tongue flicked out to lap at the blood.

She repeated the action, mesmerized by the erotic sight. It didn't take much to become lust-addled in the presence of such a magnificent male. Instead of waiting for him to take her blood on his tongue, Naya leaned in and licked it away herself.

It appeared that Ronan wasn't the only one struggling with impulse control. Power sparked, arcing in a current between them. A week's worth of pent-up sexual frustration exploded inside of her and Naya reached out and clawed at Ronan's shirt, desperate to strip it from his chest as she thrust her tongue into his mouth.

He released his grip on her wrist, raising his arms and breaking the kiss only for as long as it took Naya to push the T-shirt up and over his head. A faint tingle of magic feathered over her skin and a pleasant, giddy buzz settled on her brain. When it came to the vampire, common sense didn't exist. Responsibility didn't exist. Her own obligations and safety didn't exist. There was only him and her and the passion that blazed white-hot between them. Not even the unanswered questions mattered as his tongue slid against hers in a wet tangle.

She wanted to lose herself to Ronan. Give him whatever he wanted. Her blood, her body, hell, he could have her soul if he wanted that, too. Anything to keep him there with her. To have his hands, his mouth, on her. Naya straddled his lap and the length of his erection brushed against her. Gods, she wanted him inside of her. Now. “Oh, gods, Ronan.” The words tumbled from her mouth totally unfiltered: “Just fuck me already—”

Her cell phone rang in her back pocket, the theme song to
Charmed,
and broke the spell of lust that had clouded Naya's brain. Luz.
Shit
. Anxiety tied her stomach into a knot as she placed a staying palm on Ronan's chest and fished her phone out. Kisses rained down on her cheek, down her throat, and over one shoulder as he pulled her shirt to the side. His fangs scraped along her tender flesh and Naya shivered, her eyes drifting shut as she answered, “What's up, Luz?”

“What's up?” her cousin repeated, incredulous. “How about no one's heard from you in twenty-four hours, the police are investigating reports of some kind of animal ripping through the harbor last night, and there's some seriously bad juju on the horizon!”

Naya reached up to rake her fingers through her hair only to have Ronan seize it. He took her thumb—the one she'd sliced with the knife—and drew it into his mouth, sucking gently on the digit. Her pussy clenched as though the wet heat of his mouth was a hell of a lot lower on her body, and she suppressed a moan. This was not the time to realize that her sex was slick and ready for him.
But oh, gods.
His mouth felt so good, she considered hanging up on her cousin and leaving the rest to fate.

“Naya, did you hear me?” Luz sounded as if she was about to blow a gasket. Not very reassuring, considering she was usually the carefree one. “Paul's freaking out. He's sent out a search party to find you.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial hiss. “And Santi said you've got a new
pet
.”

That dirty, rotten promise breaker.
She was officially screwed.

Naya cleared her throat, though it did little to banish the thick tone of desire from her voice. “I hear you loud and clear, Luz. I'll meet you at the house in an hour.”

“Less than an hour if you know what's good for you,” Luz replied. “And you are
so
busted for not telling me about this first!”

The call went dead and Naya's eyes met Ronan's. They were still silver, still glistening with desire, but she knew that he'd heard every word of her conversation. “I need to get you back to my house. Now.”

 

CHAPTER

14

Ronan welcomed the opportunity to be found by whoever could frighten Naya into a state of panic. He'd sink his fangs in the bastard's throat and rip his jugular out.

“Ronan, get your shirt on and let's go.” Her voice elevated with each word, the pitch tightening. His nostrils flared as a wave of bitter citrus hit him, Naya's lovely scent soured by the spike in her emotions. “I can't find my dagger. I must have dropped it in the sand before I passed out last night. If I don't find it—”

“Naya, calm down.” If she didn't slow her breathing, she was going to hyperventilate. “What are you looking for?”

“My dagger.” She headed for the double doors without looking back. The sound of her racing heartbeat echoed in Ronan's ears. “It's been a tribal asset for millennia. It's a sacred weapon. If I lost it and Paul finds out he's going to kill me.”

Any male who sought to do her harm would meet a bloody end before he could even try. He reached behind a stack of crates and retrieved the weapon. It unnerved him, felt wrong in his hand. It contained magic that he didn't understand, but he'd kept it safe for her. “Here. It's not lost. Try to calm down.”

She let out a sigh of relief as she turned back. “Thank you.” Her voice shook with the words, further igniting Ronan's ire. “I was a mess last night. I'm a mess right now. My head isn't straight and I need to get it together.”

Ronan scowled. Was she trying to make excuses for what had almost happened between them? That she hadn't been in her right fucking mind? Anger welled hot and thick in his throat as he pushed himself to stand. She was his
mate
. His soul belonged to her. Whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. And Ronan was sick and fucking tired of being treated like a mistake.

Naya tucked the dagger into the sheath at the small of her back and headed back through the maze of crates to the double doors. She peeked outside and turned. “The sun's below the horizon. Will you be okay outside?”

He didn't want or need her concern. “Let's get out of here. Wouldn't want you getting caught doing something—or someone—you're not supposed to.”

It was petty. And childish. Ronan hadn't been a child for a gods-damned long time, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't come to this tiny, secretive town to find a mate. He'd wasted precious time trying to win the affection of a female who didn't want him. So she'd tethered him. So what? His priorities had been out of whack for too long. It was time to find Chelle and get his ass back to Los Angeles.

A stab of pain shot through his chest. “Kiss my ass, Ronan!”

Through their tether, Naya's hurt sliced through muscle, eviscerated bone, and settled like ice over his soul. She jumped down from the container without a thought to her own safety and Ronan swore under his breath as he rushed after her. It was at least a twenty-foot drop to the ground, gods damn it. Did she not give a shit about herself?

He caught sight of her just in time to see her hit the pier below as she let her body fall into a graceful roll. She regained her footing and took off at a sprint without even a glance back. Twilight was quickly giving way to night, and who the hell knew how many more of those creatures were hiding in the shadows waiting to tear her to pieces?