The Warrior Vampire (6 page)

But my job…?
Naya had barely recognized the sound of her own voice as she dared to question the chieftain. Once she was mated to Joaquin, she'd be forced to forfeit her position as the tribe's
bruja
.

Luz will become the tribe's
bruja
.

She's not ready!
Naya had blurted.
You'll get her killed throwing her into the field so soon!

Your opinion means nothing to this council,
mujer
.
Paul had spat the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. He'd never had respect for any female, and referring to Naya simply as “woman” was his way of devaluing her.
Bastard.

She'd been forbidden to speak after that. One thing that guaranteed to make Paul crazy-pissed was having his authority challenged. By anyone. Insubordination from her was a hundred times worse. In the thousands of years her people had walked the earth, through the many countries, cultures, and generations, one thing had always stayed the same: The men retained all of the authority. It didn't matter that their women possessed the
magia
and the power to seek it out.

In the quiet of night, away from listening ears, her grandmother had told Naya that's why their males could shift. They resented their females for being so close to the gods and their power and so the first Bororo chieftain in his jealousy and rage had killed a jaguar and consumed its heart while it still beat, thereby joining their forms forever. The ability to shift had been passed to his sons and so on and so forth from that moment on.

Naya didn't care about the whos, hows, and whats of their history. But, damn it, it was about time the elders abandoned their antiquated ways and took a leap into the twenty-first century. Being what she was—being able to do what she did—should have made Naya feel special. But all it made her feel was
trapped
. Her magic wasn't respected. Her abilities weren't revered. She was a
possession
. No better than the dagger at her back. She was a tool for someone else to use and direct and put upon a shelf when she wasn't needed anymore. Today Paul had taken the first step to shelve her. And she doubted that Joaquin would be anything other than thrilled about his father's proclamation. She'd never felt so invisible. So … inconsequential.

She couldn't just sit by and do nothing while her fate was dictated by the tribal elders. Didn't she have a say? Why would they want to put her out of commission so soon? She'd done a great job over the past decades since her mother had passed. And Naya was a far better enforcer than her aunt Marcella had been, perhaps only rivaling her own mother in skill. The steering wheel creaked in Naya's hands as she gripped it tighter, visions of her future as an obedient mate tightening around her like a noose.

Naya closed her eyes and focused her thoughts inward. If she continued to think about what had happened her energy would become volatile, and she wouldn't be worth a good goddamn to anyone if she wasn't centered. A heaviness settled in her limbs as she meditated, a peaceful urging toward calm and focus that she welcomed. She hadn't rested in almost twenty-four hours, as she'd been too uncomfortable to let her guard down with a volatile vampire chained to her bed. Gods, she was tired.

The tinkling chimes of magic stirred her senses, caused the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck to stand on end. Wild, unfocused, the song lashed out at her senses, grating on her ears like metal scraping metal. Her eyes watered and her chest tightened until she couldn't take a deep enough breath to fill her lungs. Without thinking she snatched her sheathed dagger from the cubby in the center console, and it warmed her palm through the leather as though in warning.

“Shit!” Naya blinked to clear her vision. She threw open the car door, barely taking the time to slam it behind her as she ran for her house. Two at a time, she hopped up the steps to the front porch. Her hand shook as she fumbled with her keys, and after the third try she managed to slide the key into the lock. Tendrils of dread spread like poison through her bloodstream as she eased open the door and stepped into the living room.

How in the hell was he awake? She'd infused the
encanto el dormir
with her own magic, making it more than strong enough to keep a coven of vampires good and unconscious for another four or five hours. She'd been right to consider him a threat. Naya had underestimated his strength, and that bothered her more than anything. With the quiet steps of a hunter, she padded through the sparsely furnished living room to her bedroom. She pulled her dagger from the sheath. The blade pulsed, the citrine glow spreading over Naya's hand and wrist. It could sense whatever magic Ronan had stolen as well, and she knew by the way the handle warmed in her palm that the dagger was hungry.

She wrapped her left hand around the doorknob and took a deep breath. The sour taste of regret settled on the back of her tongue as she thought about what she was about to do. Whether he had no recollection of what had happened the night before or not, Ronan was a liability. She'd been anxious to unravel his mystery. She needed to know why his song could be so crude and ugly one moment and so breathtakingly beautiful the next. She wanted him to tell her how he knew her name and why he thought she was in danger. The male was a walking contradiction. A puzzle she longed to solve. None of that mattered, though. If the magic took him and he became a mapinguari, she couldn't allow for him to be loosed on the city. She had to neutralize him before he managed to free himself from his bonds. She turned the knob. The music changed, no longer wild and volatile but sweet with tinkling notes that caused her heart to swell in her chest.
Damn it
.
What a waste.
She was about to silence that beautiful sound forever.

*   *   *

Ronan stood with his back suctioned to the wall.

He'd felt her presence the moment her car had pulled up to the house, waking him from endless darkness. He blinked away the fatigue that pulled at his lids and worked the key, releasing his ankles and then his wrists from the manacles. He couldn't even take the time to appreciate the relief of being rid of the accursed silver. What would happen when she walked through the door? Would she finally run that scary-ass dagger through his heart? He felt like fucking shit and he wasn't even sure if his sorry ass would be worth a damn in a fight.

Guess you'll find out soon enough.

The doorknob turned slowly and Ronan tensed. His concentration was divided between controlling his mounting bloodlust and getting ready to neutralize the threat about to walk through the door. He'd feel a whole hell of a lot better if he were armed with more than his fangs, but there was nothing to be done for it. A low growl built in his chest. The feeling of vulnerability triggered an instinctual need to protect himself and his lip curled in a snarl.
Gods damn it, calm the fuck down.

A sliver of light shone through the cracked door and cast a long, bright gash across the dark brown carpeting. She led with her hand, dagger extended, and Ronan suddenly felt the urge to chide her for coming in that way. What was she thinking? An attacker could easily disarm her and leave her defenseless. Ronan reached out and grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her with ease. With his free arm he seized her around the waist, pulling her tight against him. It didn't take much effort to pluck the strange dagger from her hand when she was immobilized this way. Something she should have known had she been half as badass as she'd pretended to be.

With a quick flick of his wrist Ronan sent the dagger flying to the far end of the room. The blade lodged itself in the drywall and he hoped it stayed there. He didn't like the way it felt in his hand, the warmth pulsing from the handle like a heartbeat. His captive's ribs expanded under his arm as she took a deep breath, and he slapped his hand over her mouth to stifle her building scream. “Quiet.” His mouth brushed the delicate skin behind her ear and Ronan's thirst blazed hot in his throat. “I can snap your neck with little effort. Don't make me do it.”

She stilled for a moment as though she'd decided to play nice. But then she dug her teeth into Ronan's hand and bit down on his fingers,
hard
. He pulled his hand away with a yelp, shaking out his hand, surprised she hadn't bitten through the damned bone. And she didn't stop there. The bite was nothing more than a distraction, and she used it to her advantage. She threw her elbow into his stomach and Ronan grunted as she slammed her back into his chest. It put him off balance and he stumbled, his head knocking against the wall with a thump. Wow, that so didn't help the steady throb that made him think his brain was trying to escape his cranium.

Okay, so he
might
have underestimated his mate's fierceness in battle. But at least now the odds weren't tipped in her favor. He was free, she was disarmed, and despite the fact that he was still weakened from the silver, he had one up on her in strength. Problem was, he wasn't interested in hurting her. “Calm down!” he barked as he tried to catch his breath. She kicked her leg straight back, catching him in the knee. “Damn it, stop!” he shouted from between clenched teeth as he braced himself against the wall to keep from buckling. She reared back, slamming the back of her head into his face. The cartilage in Ronan's nose popped and a sticky trickle of blood ran down and dripped from his upper lip. His fangs throbbed and the scent of his own blood threatened to send him into a frenzy. “Naya! I said, stop!”

They both froze, and Ronan wasn't sure which one of them was more shocked. He released his grip on her and swiped at the blood trickling from his nose as the cartilage healed. That was her name: Naya. But how in the hell did he know that?

“I knew you were lying to me!” Naya seethed as she rushed to the wall where he'd thrown her dagger. Ronan wondered at the hurt in her voice. As if she couldn't believe he'd betray her. Perhaps she'd recognized their tether after all? She pulled the dagger out of the drywall and muttered almost to herself, “I should have taken care of this last night when I found you in that parking lot.”

If she wanted to continue to fight, she couldn't possibly have felt their bond. Then again, maybe she was the sort of female who liked to play rough. A thrill chased through Ronan's blood as he tried to clear the haze of lust that settled on his brain. The situation had gone from zero to FUBAR in less than a second. He needed to contain her, to calm her down. He could've fought back, but what would that accomplish? One of them—more than likely Naya—would get hurt. That didn't mean he wouldn't defend himself if need be. Ronan could handle himself just fine, thank you very much. He leaned against the wall, watched as she advanced on him, dagger in hand, a look of pure malice on her beautiful face. This was a female who dealt in violence. Dangerous. And fucking
hot
. He had no intention of dying, though. Not today, anyway.

“Let's pick up where we left off, huh?” Naya leveled the tip of the dagger so it hovered over Ronan's heart. “Why are you here and how do you know my name?”

The time for playfulness and charm had long since passed. If Ronan didn't want the situation to escalate he had two options: One, he could disarm her yet again and show her just what it felt like to be bound in silver against her will. Or two …

With the speed of a cobra's strike Ronan seized the dagger from her grip and pulled her into his embrace. Practicality took a backseat to need as his bloodlust mounted, his desire for the female in his arms building to a fevered pitch. The scent of her blood drove him mad, her unyielding body held tight against him an unspoken challenge. She was an untamed thing, caught in his arms, and Ronan was determined to master her.

Her palms found his chest as his mouth descended on hers. She shoved at him before her fingers curled, her nails biting into his flesh. A flash of heat stole over Ronan's skin and he welcomed the burn that complemented the sting of Naya's nails. He flicked out with his tongue at the seam of her lips and she went liquid in his embrace, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss as she gripped at his shoulders to pull him closer.

His cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat and his fangs ached in his gums. The more he gave himself over to his lust, the hotter his blood coursed. Fiery heat licked up his spine, lashing out over his flesh like a whip. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind. Ronan held Naya, cupping the back of her neck with his palm. The tenuous grip he had on his control slipped another notch. Her scent was heaven. A rich bloom of tropical flowers, rain, and sunlight.

If he didn't taste her, he'd go out of his fucking mind.

He broke the kiss only to bury his face against her throat. Naya stiffened in his arms and he reached up, stroking gently over her jaw with his thumb. Too far gone to bloodlust for more than that single act of gentleness, Ronan jerked her T-shirt aside and buried his fangs into the tender flesh where her neck sloped down to meet her shoulder.

Ah, gods!

From the first deep pull on her vein he was lost. Thick and sweet, her blood spilled over his tongue, a heady nectar that had no equal. He wanted to glut himself on her blood. Lap every last drop from her skin. An almost inaudible sigh escaped Naya's lips and she once again became pliant against him. Her hips rolled into his and Ronan's sac tightened. With a grunt he shoved his free hand between them, plunging past the waistband of her pants and underwear to cup her heated sex in his palm. Her slick arousal coated his fingers and Ronan worked his fingers through the swollen folds as he continued to drink from her.

This was dangerous ground. Her touch on his bare skin was heaven and hell all at once. Once he crossed the line, gave over to his lust, the blood troth would put him in his place. Heat like the fires of fucking hell would swelter in his veins. He'd risk hell and all of its fire for the female in his arms, though. A hitch of warm breath caressed Ronan's cheek and a low, drawn-out moan that ended on a gasp when the pad of his finger circled her clit.