The Warrior Vampire (40 page)

“I think we should leave him here.” Luz was the only one of them willing to make a decision that wasn't swayed by emotion. “He's volatile, Naya. I know you hear it.”

“I'm fine.” He wasn't. Not by a long shot. But he also wasn't going to sit here and wait in the car like a kid while his mate went on without him. His gaze focused on Naya and she returned his stare. She could hear the turmoil, the darkness, that swirled within him. He couldn't fool her if he tried. And yet he said the words, “I'm fine,” once again hoping that she'd at least hear reassurance in his voice. He would never,
ever
hurt her or anyone she held dear.

“He's okay,” she said without breaking eye contact. “Let's go get your sister.”

The building couldn't have been more than five hundred square feet. Half of the space had been used for storage and the other half was furnished with a woodstove, a futon couch, and a small kitchenette. At the south end of the structure Ronan found a trapdoor in the floor. Chelle had been held underground. Trapped in dank, cold darkness like the force that ate away at his soul. His hand shook with unrestrained rage as he lifted the latch and pulled open the door.

Naya's dagger scraped against the sheath as she stepped up beside him. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, and for a quiet moment they remained still, each of them preparing for what they'd find below. One thing was certain: Whatever it was, they'd face it together, and Ronan had never been more in love with Naya than he was at this moment that she stood by his side.

“Ready?” she asked him.

Ronan gave a sharp nod of his head.

“Ready?” Naya glanced at Luz, who gave a nod as well.

The space below the house couldn't even be considered a basement. Concrete walls lent support to a dirt floor that stank with rot and mold. Luz coughed and drew the collar of her shirt over her nose. Fear and anxiety churned in Ronan's gut, damn near banishing his ever-present thirst.

“Chelle?”

His voice didn't echo in the open space. Instead, the sound died as it passed his lips, absorbed as though by a sponge.

“It's the magic,” Naya whispered on a breath. Her eyes watered and she drew her breath in tight little gasps of air. “It's so thick in here that I almost can't breathe.”

“Go back up.” Ronan urged her toward the ladder. “I can take it from here. I don't need to breathe.”

“No,” Naya panted. “We do this together. Luz? You okay?”

“I can't catch my breath.” The younger female's tone was much more frantic. “I feel like I'm suffocating, Naya.”

“Go back up and wait for us,” she said. “Take a look around the perimeter of the property; make sure we aren't met with any surprises.”

“Got it.” Luz climbed the ladder and disappeared up into the floor.

“Naya.” Ronan didn't want her down here. Not when the magic clouding the air had such a damaging effect on her.

“Quiet, you.” Her breath continued to race as Naya brought up her palm. A wan gold light glowed there, so dim in comparison to her display of magic earlier in the night. The magic leapt from her palm, bathing her body in glittering gold. Her breathing became easier and she urged him forward. “I can take care of myself. Don't worry about me.”

Oh, but he did. He worried about anything, everything, in this world that threatened to take her from him. Most of all, he worried about himself. About the darkness inside of him and the thirst that burned his throat. Of all of the things in this world that could harm Naya, he worried the most about the threat he posed to her.

“Chelle?” Naya's voice projected better than Ronan's had. Her magic, perhaps? “Chelle, can you hear me? My name's Naya. I'm a friend. Ronan is here.”

A low moan answered Naya, and Ronan's heart lodged in his throat. “Ro-nan?” Chelle's voice was weak, and in the thick of magic he couldn't discern a heartbeat. He rushed toward the sound of her voice and came to a skidding stop, the breath stalled in his chest at the sight of her.

“I'm here, Chelle. I'm here.”

 

CHAPTER

35

That bastard had kept her in a cage like an animal. Rage welled hot and fresh in Ronan's throat. It was a good thing the pod's elders had taken Paul into their custody, because that son of a bitch would've been dead had Ronan known how he'd treated Chelle. The silver bars of her cage gleamed despite the darkness, and in the center of the space a dark shadow huddled.

“You're okay, Chelle.” Ronan didn't know if his words of reassurance were for his sister's benefit or his. “I'm going to get you out of here.”

In a violent streak of darkness Chelle threw her body against the cage. Her skin sizzled as she wrapped her palms around the bars and a feral hiss escaped between her …
Jesus
 … dual sets of fangs. “Give her to me, Ronan!” Chelle rasped. As a mewling whine left her lips she reached through the bars toward Naya. “I'm starving. Starving! Let me drain her. Please.” Chelle's eyes flashed brilliant silver in the darkness. “Please. Please.
Please!
”

Chelle had become a vampire. But
how
?

“I can smell her blood. It's so sweet! I'm dying, Ronan. My throat.” She clutched at her neck and her nails bit into the skin, drawing blood. “It's on fire.”

Ronan stared, dumbstruck.

“Get me out of this cage, gods damn it!”
Chelle's enraged shriek shook the house on its foundation, sending bits of dirt and debris raining down on their heads. She began to cry in earnest, sinking back to the floor of her cell, curled in a tight ball as she rocked back and forth.

“Naya, get out of here.” The words were cinders in his throat. His fangs throbbed in his gums, anxious to sink into soft, yielding flesh. Ice chilled the blood in his veins and snaked over his skin. The mystery of his unquenchable thirst was beginning to make sense, but if Naya didn't get the hell away from him Ronan doubted he'd be able to stop himself from taking her life.

“No, Ronan. I'm not leaving you.”

“Go!” he railed. He gripped on to the bars of Chelle's cage, letting the burn of silver clear his clouding mind. “Shut me in and don't open that door until you
hear
that I'm okay. Do you understand me?”

She took a tentative step back and then another. He sent a warning through their tether, willing her to feel the desperation that consumed Chelle. That consumed him. Love wouldn't stop him if he sank his fangs into Naya's delicate throat. Nothing would.

“Okay, Ronan.” Naya continued to back away toward the ladder. “But please, be careful.”

Ronan continued to grip the bars to keep him from turning and snatching her back. Her steps were barely audible as she climbed back up into the main building, and Ronan let out a shaking breath of relief as she shut the trapdoor behind her, leaving him in absolute darkness.

“I'm going to take care of you, Chelle.” The need, the cold, harsh, undying thirst, was an echo of his twin's. Whatever that son of a bitch had done to them only served to further connect them past the bond they already shared as siblings. “I'm going to feed you.”

He refused to care for her with the damned silver bars separating them, though. Silver blistered his palm as he grabbed the antique lock that secured the door. His fangs punctured his bottom lip as he locked his jaw down, and Chelle whimpered from her spot on the floor as his blood scented the air. Ronan let out a harsh shout as he gave the lock a final hard twist and it gave way. He ripped it free and pulled open the door. “I'm coming in, Chelle.”

She twitched from her spot on the dirt floor as he took slow steps toward her. Inch by inch, Ronan lowered himself until he sat beside her. Chelle trembled like a delicate leaf in an autumn wind. Any mishandling and she'd crumple into dust.

For weeks she'd been kept in a state of sensory deprivation and starvation. Her transition had been a force of magic, not one of biology, if Ronan's assumptions were correct. And it had been violent. She'd endured the change without guidance. Without sustenance. Chelle had become as wild as any animal that roamed the forest.

Hell, as starved as she was, there was a good chance she'd drink him dry.

But she was his sister. His twin. They'd endured so much together already. He couldn't—wouldn't—let her suffer for another moment. Ronan gathered her up in his arms and rested her limp head against his shoulder. The sounds of her soft sobs speared his heart and he brought his wrist to her mouth. “Drink.”

She struck out with ferocity, burying her fangs in Ronan's skin. Like a starved animal, she tore the flesh in her haste to feed. Blood welled hot and sticky, running down his arm in rivulets as she took pull after greedy pull. She grunted, moaned, her nails latching on to his arm as she bit him again and again, taking her fill of his blood.

His head lolled to one side and Ronan's thoughts grew fuzzy. As Chelle fed, so did the cold and darkness retreat from his center, leaving behind a pleasant glow of warmth that radiated throughout his body. His world tilted on its axis and Ronan fell to the dirt floor, Chelle still cradled in his arms. She continued to feed, without even registering the shift. She needed everything he could give her. It was worth the weakness, the light-headed disorientation.

“You're killing him! Stop!”

Panic laced Naya's tone and a few choice words came to Ronan's mind, though he couldn't lend them a voice. He'd told her to stay upstairs, damn it. To not come back until she
heard
that he was all right.

Chelle was pulled from his body and shoved to the far side of the cell. She didn't move. The only sound in the quiet space was that of her racing breath. Naya crouched by Ronan's side and brought her arm to his mouth. “Drink, you silly, stubborn vampire.” He put his lips to her fragrant skin, but he couldn't muster the energy necessary to bite her. She smelled
so
good. “Damn it, Ronan.” Her infuriated tone coaxed a lazy smile to his lips. The citrine glow of her dagger pierced the inky darkness as she laid the blade to her forearm. A ribbon of blood welled from the wound and she brought it back to his mouth. “Drink. Or I'll force it down your throat.”

Gods, how he loved a forceful female.

Blood trickled over his lips, sweet and warm. He lapped at the wound with slow, languid passes of his tongue. Soon his strength was replenished enough for him to seal his mouth over the cut, and then his fangs pierced her flesh. Naya let out a slow, soft sigh that stirred his lusts as much as his thirst. Naya was brave, stubborn, strong, fierce, protective, and loyal. And he loved her so much that it hurt.

Ronan no longer felt the uncontrollable urge to drain her. Instead, he took what he needed to replenish his strength and closed the wound, lapping gently at her skin as he closed the punctures and the cut she'd made with her dagger. Through the darkness, he spotted Chelle a couple of feet away. She watched them with wary eyes that were no longer wild silver but her natural clear green.

“When you got free, I hoped you'd come back.” She still sounded weak, but Chelle was no longer manic. “Gods, Ronan. I had no idea. I knew the legends, but I didn't really believe.”

“Chelle.”
Fuck.
There were still too many missing pieces. “I don't remember any of it.”

“I do,” Chelle replied in a shuddering whisper. “I remember
everything
.”

*   *   *

Luz had almost kept Naya from going back down the ladder. And had her bossy cousin succeeded, Ronan would have let his sister drain him. Gods, what had he been thinking? His own gallant foolishness had nearly gotten him killed. It was one of the reasons Naya loved him, but it also made her want to pull out her hair in frustration.

He spoke in hushed tones with his sister like they were two kids alone in their bedroom after lights-out. Naya listened as Ronan lounged against her chest and she stroked his hair, combing the silky strands through her fingertips.

“He'd shot you with some kind of dart. It was still sticking out of your neck when his monster threw you in this cage with me. I offered you my vein, but you refused, you stubborn ass.” Well, that certainly sounded like the Ronan Naya knew. “He”—Chelle's voice hitched—“threw you in the chest first. To see what the magic would do to you. But you were already turned and when he opened the lid you were too crazed, too … strong for him to control.”

Naya's hand reflexively went to her own neck. Someone had shot her with a dart and it had wiped her short-term memory. She'd need to bring that to the elders' attention. Magic like that needed to be regulated. Paul had obviously crafted the darts from the malicious magic Naya had inadvertently been collecting for him over the years.

“He put you inside of the chest,” Ronan said. “Didn't he?”

“Yes,” Chelle replied. “The transformation was…” A sob lodged itself in her throat. “I can't talk about it, Ronan.”

Rage flared through the tether that bound him to Naya and she shared in his anger. What Paul had done was irresponsible, cruel, and sadistic. If the elders' council didn't bring swift retribution to their chieftain, Naya would.

“He didn't just put us in that chest. He took humans.” Chelle sniffed back a fresh round of tears and Naya's heart broke for the female. “He turned them into monsters and set them loose. My gods, Ronan. I don't even know how many of them are out in the world. And then”—she let out a derisive snort—“the bastard climbed right in and shut the lid. When he emerged from the chest, he'd become … I don't even know what he was. That was yesterday and I haven't seen him since.”

“The son of a bitch has been taken care of,” Ronan bit out. “He's not going to hurt anyone ever again.”