The Warrior Vampire (5 page)

“Dude. You were about five minutes away from getting an armed escort over here whether you wanted one or not,” Luz said as she skipped down the front steps to where Naya leaned against her car. “What in the hell are you doing out here,
loca
? You're staring at the front door like you're trying to blow the building up with your mind. Wait.” Luz grabbed Naya by the arm. “You can't do that, can you?”

Naya laughed as she pushed herself away from the car and peeled Luz's hand from around her forearm. “Not yet,” she said as she headed for the front steps. “But I'm working on it.”

Luz snickered beside her, an aura of lightheartedness surrounding her slight frame. Naya loved her cousin, but sometimes the girl was too much. She was still more interested in sowing her wild oats than honing her skills. “Let's go out tonight,” she said as they reached the front door. “There's a new club that opened in Redding I want to try and I need a wingwoman.”

“I have no desire to drive four hours just to scope out a club. Take Santi,” Naya suggested, and paused before she turned the knob. Something within her resisted every time she came here, as if urging her not to cross the threshold. “He'd be a great wingwoman. Er, man.”

“Santi?” Luz said as if Naya had asked her to go out with her father or something. “I want to give the impression that I'm
un
attached. Come on, Naya. You know you want to go. You're wound so tight you look like your string's about to snap. You could use a little play.”

Naya took a deep breath, turned the knob, and opened the door. “I live vicariously through you, Luz. You get enough play for the both of us.”

“Seriously, Cuz, you suck. You act like you're a thousand years old already. You gotta flaunt it while you've got it,
chica
. Would it kill you to go out one freakin' night?”

Naya stopped dead in her tracks as Paul stepped into the foyer. She looked him straight in the eye for a brief moment before averting her gaze to the floor. It killed her that tradition dictated she should lower her eyes in his presence, but the tribal elders—all male of course—had no intentions of jumping into the twenty-first century. The Bororo men weren't without power. As shifters they could assume an animal form at will, but as far as
magia
was concerned, their males were impotent. For as long as their people had lived, certain Bororo females had possessed the ability to bend and manipulate magical energy. Naya and Luz were two of very few women left with that power. It made them special, revered among their people. But Paul and the other tribal elders still considered them beneath all males. And that was something that had stuck in Naya's craw since childhood.

“If I'm not mistaken, you're late for a training session, Luz.” Paul's deep voice resonated with a rumbling growl. “José is waiting for you in the basement.”

A cold lump settled in the pit of Naya's stomach. Out of all of the tribal elders, José was particularly sadistic. She'd trained with him when she was an apprentice and the bastard had gotten off on inflicting as much pain as possible. One of these days, she'd turn the tables on him, just to see if he could take what he dished out. A shadow of apprehension passed over Luz's expression, seeming to echo Naya's thoughts. José was an asshole and Paul knew it. Gods, how she hated tribal structure.

“Paul, you should let me train Luz.” Naya chanced a look straight into the chieftain's eyes. “I can teach her just as well as José can. Probably better.”

“Cállate!”
Paul ground out with a slash of his hand. “Naya, you're not here to give orders. Luz, get your ass down to the basement. Now.”

Luz took off at a trot, reminding Naya that no matter how cocky her cousin acted, she was still very young. And Paul could be downright scary when he wanted to be. “I'll be down as soon as I'm done here!” Naya called after her cousin. No way was Naya going to let Luz take José's abuse all afternoon without backup. Naya might not be a great wingman when it came to partying, but in a combat situation she was the best wingman you could get.

“You coddle her,” Paul said with a disdainful curl of his lip as he turned and led Naya out of the foyer. “In the end, you're not doing her any favors.”

“José is a bastard and you know it. The least you could do is assign her to another instructor.”

Paul pretended to ignore Naya, which was nothing less than she expected, and she didn't waste her breath by trying to bait him into answering. If Paul wanted to ignore you, nothing short of poking him with a hot torch would get his attention. As she followed the high-and-mighty chieftain to whatever room he'd planned on meeting in, Naya couldn't help but wonder what the place looked like before the large house had been renovated to accommodate office space. It had probably been beautiful in its time, the floor plan open and inviting, furnished with gorgeous turn-of-the-century pieces. But now the rooms were too small, the hallways dark and foreboding, and the staircases sinister. Shadows dwelled in every corner, the light not quite penetrating, and the doors that led to the other office spaces were closed and locked, making Naya feel more than a little claustrophobic. She hated coming here, hated it right to the marrow of her bones, and Paul knew it. He'd made her come here to exercise his control over her. To remind her that no matter what she thought to the contrary, she was nothing more than a tool at the elders' disposal.

He took her to the back of the building and into the largest room besides the attic and basement. This was where the tribal elders met, made decrees, and decided the fates of their people as if they were all too stupid to think for themselves. Seated at a half-moon-shaped table, backs straight and expressions severe, were the rest of the elders. Naya tripped on her own feet as she walked through the door, and her jaw dropped in shock. What were they all doing here? A gathering like this only occurred when there was big business to discuss or if someone was in deep shit. And since Naya couldn't remember any big business coming up that pertained to her, she had to assume that the elders had gathered because she was about to get her ass kicked.
So
not good. Her heart raced as she took a seat opposite the gathering of males. Did they know about Ronan? Holy shit, she hoped not.

*   *   *

For the second time in the past twelve hours, Ronan woke up feeling like he'd been ejected out of the business end of an elephant. Though his mind was clearer now, he still couldn't remember what had happened the night before. She'd said that he'd told her he needed to protect her. From what? Had he known she was his when he tackled her to the ground last night? Was something after her? After them both?
Fuck.
She'd knocked him out and walked right out the gods-damned door. He had no idea where she was. He might not know anything about her, but she was his mate. She'd tethered his soul to hers. And it was his responsibility to keep her safe.

His muscles twitched involuntarily, causing his concentration to flag as the realization that he was still bound overcame him. Ronan tensed as he pulled the chains securing his wrists to the headboard. He inhaled sharply at the bite of pain. Though the silver had weakened him, he should have been able to at least bend the frame with his physical strength alone. So either his devious female chained men to her bed on a regular basis or she'd fortified the frame with a magical enhancement to prevent him from breaking free.

His female.
Gods, even now the truth of it was a fist to Ronan's gut.

From the moment she'd tethered him, his body had turned traitor. His cock ached with the need to be buried inside of her and his fangs throbbed in anticipation of breaking the flawless skin at her throat. No matter what she thought to the contrary, he didn't know her name—had never seen her before—and yet she belonged to him. It was curious that she seemed not to recognize their tether. To her, he was nothing more than her prisoner.

Ronan thrashed against his bonds, welcoming the burn as the silver seared his skin. He needed to find her. Go to her. Make some sort of sense of why his soul had tethered itself to this unknown female who brazenly took a vampire captive. And he needed to know why he was here—wherever the fuck here was—and why. So many answers just out of his grasp, and worst of all, he had to relive the feelings of helplessness and anxiety he'd long ago put behind him as he lay here, chained and at someone else's mercy.

Did Mikhail know he'd left? Jenner? Ronan's stomach knotted up to the size of a baseball.
Fuck it all
. Did Siobhan?

He'd sworn a blood troth to the dhampir in exchange for a codex that had helped Mikahil unravel the mysteries of his mate, Claire. At the time, the bargain had been more than worth Ronan's while. He enjoyed bedding Siobhan well enough and he'd needed the codex. Now that he'd become tethered, his troth was at the very least problematic. If he so much as let another female touch him with intent, Ronan's blood would boil in his veins. Sex wasn't just off the table; indulging would literally kill him.

Ronan pulled on the chain once again, a forceful jerk borne of anger and his mounting frustration. A roar of pain built in his chest, but he held it in as the silver sizzled against his skin. The bed frame creaked under the strain. He pulled harder. Blood trickled down his arms and blisters marred his skin. The frame gave way, another inch.

Letting his arms fall back, he gave the chain some slack. Ronan drew a deep breath into his lungs and clamped his jaw down as he propelled his body up and forward. Damned near blind with pain, weak and shaking from the silver's effect on him, he fell back onto the pillow panting. He'd loosened the frame another inch, though.

On and on it went for a good half hour. Ronan steeled himself for one last tug. Blood stained his arms and his lip where he'd bitten down again and again. The scent of his own blood gnawed at him, further igniting his thirst to the point of frenzy. Something dark and foreboding rose up inside of him, sending icy tendrils through his bloodstream that spread out through his limbs. It awakened something primal within him. Wild. And with a shout Ronan propelled himself forward one last time. The frame groaned before it gave way completely with a hollow
pop
. The chain swung free of the broken metal bar and Ronan set to work freeing his legs in the same way, this time rocking backward as he jerked his knees up toward his chin.

His body grew damp with sweat and his breath sawed in and out of his lungs with his effort. The chill that overcame him caused Ronan to shiver, but he soldiered on until the bars at the footboard gave way and his ankles were just as bloody and ravaged as his wrists. He was free, though. More or less. He'd never been so gods-damned thankful for mobility.

Though his mate had been clever to use her magic on him, she'd been irresponsible in leaving the key to his cuffs behind. The weight of the chains was immense as Ronan reached up to rub at his bare arms. He couldn't seem to banish the chill that settled over him like an early-winter frost.

Need … blood.

Rage and mindless thirst overrode even his need to escape his prison. He wanted to rip, tear, savage the nearest available body.
Kill.
He wanted to hunt like a beast in the forest and take down his prey. Glut himself on his victim's blood and do it all over again. He'd never in all of his existence—even after his turning—been so gods-damned desperate for blood. The memory of the female's scent, clean and sweet, invaded his senses, and Ronan's fangs throbbed painfully in his gums. He stumbled to the dresser as his vision clouded and fell against it as his knees gave out beneath him. His hand searched blindly over the surface of the dresser, knocking over jars and a heavy mortar and pestle as he groped for the key.

There!

He scooped it up into his grasp, breath heaving in his chest. His vision continued to haze, darkening at the edges as his head swam with confusion. Where in the hell was he? How had he gotten here? It was so fucking dark he could no longer see. The smell of mildew and dirt invaded his nostrils. And with the damp air, the sharp tang of magic burned his lungs. What in the hell was happening to him? Gods, he was so, so
hungry
. His stomach
burned
with hunger.

Like a rag doll, Ronan toppled to the floor. The carpet did little to cushion his fall as his head smacked smartly on the floor. His limbs ached with cold and his teeth chattered as a violent tremor shook his body. The darkness pressed upon him taking him deeper, further away from reality. As he gave in to the force that steadily pulled him down, down, down, fiery dark eyes and creamy tan skin flashed in his mind's eye.

Naya.

Her name is Naya.

 

CHAPTER

4

Naya sat in her car, staring at her house, the only sanctuary she had, in a daze. Her cell phone buzzed quietly in the holster on the dash, the display flashing: “Luz.” Naya had promised her cousin she'd check in on her when she'd concluded her meeting with Paul, but after being faced with all of the tribal elders in what she could only describe as an ambush she'd fled the moment after they'd delivered their mandate. Too shocked to stay long enough to check on her cousin's welfare. Some mentor she'd turned out to be.

Gods. Mated?

They might as well lock her away in a dungeon somewhere. Or just get it over with and kill her. Her life was over now anyway. Of course she'd known that eventually Paul would try to pair her off. But never in a million years would she have thought it could happen so soon.

You will be mated to Joaquin.
The sound of Paul's voice as he laid down his mandate still bounced around in her head.
On the night of the blood moon, you will give yourself to him.