The Warrior Vampire (31 page)

If they hurt Ronan, she'd make them
all
pay.

 

CHAPTER

26

Christian stared up at the night sky, the moon heavy and round above him. It would be full in two nights' time, and after that he'd succumb to the change until it began to wane once again.
Fuck the moon.
Fuck this gods-damned curse that he couldn't escape. And fuck the bloody fucking animal that squatted under his skin, always present in his mind no matter if the moon was full or nothing more than a sliver hung high above his head.

Two nights left to find that son of a bitch traitor Gregor and Christian was no closer to pinning down his location than when he'd started.

Fuck.

He scented the air, disappointed to find it devoid of the dhampir's delicious jasmine aroma. Who gave a shit about finding Gregor when he could watch her tight ass and the sway of her hips hugged in the tight leather pants she had a penchant for wearing?

Just thinking about her raven hair and supple curves made his cock hard.

The hulking vampire who never seemed to be far from the female was flying solo tonight. What was he to her, anyway? A bodyguard? Lover? A territorial growl rumbled in Christian's chest. The thought of any male touching her perfect body made him want to break something.

Jesus, obsessed much?

The night was quickly turning into a bust. Christian checked the scores for the USC game on his phone and cursed under his breath. He's missed the spread by three motherfucking points. One gods-damned field goal and he was out five grand. With a growl he tossed back what was left of the whiskey in his glass and slammed it down on the bar. Perfect ending to a shitstorm of a week.

He watched as the vampire made the rounds. If he was the dhampir's lover, then he was definitely playing the field.
Asshole.
The male was big enough to break Christian in half, and he wasn't exactly petite. Again, the thought of the vampire rutting on the dhampir sent Christian's blood to boiling.

Fuck this shit. I'm outta here.

Christian threw a twenty down on the counter and pushed away from the bar. If tonight's activities followed the trend, the vampire would be chasing pussy until sunup. All of this was a monumental waste of Christian's time.

The night air helped to cool his rising temper as he stepped out of the club, and Christian took several cleansing breaths. A faint scent piqued his curiosity, a deep woodsy musk.
Gregor.
Or at the very least a berserker. Christian took off at a clip, tracking the scent out of the club district. Ten blocks passed under his feet and he continued on, his attention focused solely on his quarry. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalk, but Christian kept to the shadows. He sidestepped a group of humans who were a little too drunk for sure footing, and stepped into an alley to keep from being knocked on his ass.

“McAlister must be desperate to send a tracker after me.”

Christian was snatched by the collar of his shirt and whipped around. Gregor took hold of him by the shoulders and slammed him into the alley wall with enough force to crack the building's façade. His head knocked against old stucco and Christian let out a grunt.
Fuuuuck
. He was strong, but an angry berserker could put Christian on his ass without batting a lash.

“Take it the fuck easy,” Christian said from between his teeth. “He doesn't want you dead. He wants you back.”

Gregor chuckled. A cold, emotionless sound that got Christian's hackles up. “Sure he wants me back, but not before he teaches me a lesson for my disobedience, right?”

Christian shrugged. Well, gave as much of a shrug as one could while pinned against a wall. “You know how the director is. His pride took a hit when you left. He's gotta get a piece of it back. Doesn't mean he's not willing to let bygones be bygones. The Sortiari is always looking at the bigger picture, right?”

Black bled into Gregor's eyes, inky tendrils that swallowed up all of the color. It was fucking chilling when berserkers gave themselves over to rage. Even his wolf crept deeper into his psyche as though to take cover.

“They're nothing without their army,” Gregor replied with a derisive snort. “And McAlister is an impotent coward.”

True.
Christian wasn't going to argue that point with him. “Wouldn't you rather be the right hand of Fate than another one of their targets?”

Gregor's eyes narrowed as he studied Christian. There was no use in trying to gauge his loyalties. He was a private contractor and McAlister had him by the balls.

“The Sortiari's plans no longer fit into my agenda.”

“What does that matter?” Christian had one job, and that was to bring Gregor in. He doubted McAlister would care how he got it done. “Why not use their resources to get what you want? You play nice with the director, knock some heads when he asks you to, and continue on the path you're already on. Wouldn't it be easier for you to accomplish your goals if you're not looking over your shoulder all the time?”

Gregor slammed Christian into the wall, rattling his teeth. Gods, that fucking hurt. Berserker strength wasn't anything to scoff at. “Let's get one thing straight, werewolf. I'm not afraid of the Sortiari.”

“Why would you be?” Tough to sweet-talk a male with the disposition of a badger. Why couldn't McAlister have sent Christian after the sexy dhampir? He would've liked the opportunity to sweet (or dirty) talk her into compliance. Still, he wasn't throwing in the towel yet. “I'm just saying. The Sortiari is after you; the vampires are after you. Why not knock one enemy off your list?”

“So now I'm the Sortiari's enemy?”

Fuck my life
. How did one reason with a mindless beast hell-bent on violence? “Don't be thick, Gregor. You're an
asset
. I'd be willing to bet McAlister will turn a blind eye to your extracurricular interests as long as he gets you back.”

Gregor snorted, his lip turned in a sneer. “And what's in it for you if I come crawling back?”

Another debt forgiven, as usual.
“Money.” No use lying; the berserker would smell it on him.

“Is that all?” Gregor did nothing to hide the disgust in his voice, but what did Christian care? There were worse sins than selling one's services for a few bucks. “So, you sell your skills to the Sortiari. Why not sell them to me?”

Gregor's grip eased up and Christian eyed him warily. He never said no to money, but he wasn't sure if he wanted any part of the vendetta that had supposedly caused Gregor to break faith with McAlister. “What would you need me for?” Christian was a damned good tracker, but there wasn't anything he could offer Gregor that the bersker couldn't do himself. The bastard definitely had one up on him in the strength department.

“A diversion. Maybe. I'll let you know.” Gregor pushed away from Christian and turned to leave.

“What about McAlister?” No way was Christian going to let the berserker slip through his fingers. It would be his ass otherwise.

“I'll pay him a visit,” Gregor replied. “On
my
terms. Don't worry, wolf. You'll get your paycheck.”

Thank. Fuck. With the tanked USC game, he'd need the cash. His debts were starting to pile up and he wasn't interested in going on the run. Not again.

The black faded from Gregor's eyes and the aura of violence that enveloped him mellowed. He flashed Christian a cocky grin before taking off in a smudge of dark shadow. Fast. Strong. Deadly with a temper that ran south of hot
all the fucking time
. Why would Gregor possibly need a diversion?

Did it really fucking matter as long as Christian got paid?

*   *   *

With the werewolf gone, Jenner finally felt as though he could relax. Or relax as much as his desires would allow. It wasn't unusual to encounter a rogue every now and then, but this one kept popping up wherever he—or Siobhan—was. And Jenner didn't believe in coincidence.

“Jenner,” a smooth female voice purred from behind him. “I was hoping I'd see you out tonight.”

A smile grew on his face and he caressed the point of one sharp fang with his tongue as he turned to face Isla. The female looked good enough to eat in a flimsy white tank that gaped at the sides, revealing the lacy turquoise bra beneath and a skirt so short it was almost criminal. He'd be willing to bet she was going commando tonight. He could set her on top of his cock and go to town right here and now if he wanted.

And Jenner was sorely tempted.

The dhampir gave him a flirty smile, revealing the petite points of her fangs. His cock twitched at the sight. He hoped that she was hungry tonight. She swayed on her feet as she leaned in toward him, and her pupils were blown. It was a little early in the night for her to be so far gone. Drugs and alcohol had little effect on Jenner since he'd been turned. The only downside to his transformation. Now he found his highs by glutting himself on blood and burying himself between some female's thighs. Just as fun, though the downside was waking up the next morning with a clear head and even clearer memories.

Addicted to blood and pussy and willing to do or say anything to get it. Gods, he was as pathetic as any junkie.

The scent of Isla's arousal was almost too delicious to resist. But the female wasn't in any state to make a logical decision, let alone get her ass back to the coven. She'd become one of Jenner's frequent bedmates, but even so, he wouldn't take advantage of any female too fucking high to remember what had happened between them. She was Siobhan's responsibility and it made his gut churn with anger to think that the female was too fucking obsessed with Ronan's whereabouts to give a single shit about those under her care.

Who are you to condemn someone for their obsessions, asshole?

His own had mastered him from the moment Mikhail had turned him. “Are you alone tonight, Isla?”

She pursed her lips and they turned up at the corners coyly. “Yes. But I bet I could get Marissa to join us. I know you like her.” Isla reached out and rubbed her palms over his chest. “Just say the word.”

Jenner grabbed her by the wrists. He resisted the urge to pull her to him and bury his face in her fragrant throat. “Not tonight, honey.”

Her bottom lip trembled in an almost pout. “What about Carrig? I heard him tell Siobhan that he wanted to have a go at you.”

Carrig was one of Siobhan's lovers and everyone knew that the male's tastes ranged wide. Any other night, Jenner might have taken Isla up on the offer, just to see if mixing up his routine would do anything to quell the never-ending want that ate him alive. But knowing the werewolf had been following him again prevented Jenner from taking it easy. The male's constant presence could mean danger for Mikhail, and despite Jenner's own needs, protecting his king was more important.

Jenner released his grip on Isla's wrists and tucked her under his arm. “Come on, I'm taking you back to your coven.”

“But it's early!” Her petulant tone made Jenner feel like a scolding parent.
Awesome.

“You need to sleep it off, sweetheart. Siobhan wouldn't like it if she found out you'd let yourself get out of control.”

Secrecy was paramount in their world. Getting too high, too drunk, too whatever opened the door for mistakes to be made. For secrets to slip. And Siobhan didn't spare the rod when it came to punishing the members of her coven.

“You're not going to tell her, are you?” Isla's horrified tone made Jenner feel bad for having scared her.

“I'm not going to tell her as long as you let me take you back so you can sleep it off.”

She relaxed against him and Jenner led the way through the club. He got points for not being a selfish bastard when the opportunity presented itself, right?

*   *   *

Jenner couldn't be happier to no longer be living with Siobhan's coven. For a group who considered themselves royalty in the dhampir hierarchy, he couldn't understand why they insisted on living as squatters in the condemned building. It wasn't as though they hadn't done what they could to make the space not only livable but also comfortable, but it was sort of like putting lipstick on a pig. Not the best use of their time and resources in his opinion.

After he tucked Isla into bed, Jenner tried to make as hasty a retreat as possible. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of another of Siobhan's interrogations. He still had no fucking clue where Ronan was or when he was planning on getting his ass back to L.A. The fucker needed to get back, too. Not just because of Siobhan, but because they had a shit-ton of work backed up and Jenner couldn't do it all alone.

“She won't remember in the morning, but she owes you one.” Carrig stepped out of the shadows toward Jenner. “Little twit doesn't know when to stop.”

Jenner gave the male a blank stare. Isla was young and careless but no twit. “Yeah, well, she's home now and won't be causing any trouble. That's all that matters.”

“Any word on Ronan?”

Was there anyone in Siobhan's coven not burning the midnight oil to track him down? “No. And like I told Siobhan, I suspect he'll be back when he's gods-damned good and ready.”

Carrig shrugged as though he could care less, and Jenner figured the male hoped Ronan would stay away for good. Being Siobhan's lover carried with it a certain station. With Ronan out of the picture, that made Carrig her main consort.

“Thanks for bringing Isla home,” the male said, and headed down the hallway.

“Yeah, no problem,” Jenner replied under his breath.

Tonight was officially wasted. Sunrise would put him down for the day, leaving him aching with a hunger he couldn't sate. A thirst he couldn't quench. For the first time in the weeks since his turning, Jenner was starting to think that the only thing to give him peace would be a Sortiari stake through the center of his heart.