Twisted (8 page)

“Return. Dan. Found. Well. No vampires.”

That's when realization struck. His heart beat a ragged tattoo in his chest. Voice Voodoo, Mary Ann called the vampire ability to speak and manipulate. Right now, Aden was using Voice Voodoo. He didn't know how, wasn't sure it would last, but damned if he wouldn't enjoy it.

You hated when Victoria used Voice Voodoo on others.

Well, that was before.

Before you became an asshole? Power is going to your head, and if you don't fight this, you'll stay like this forever.

Great. He was still talking to himself. And wasn't
that
a wonderful development. One half of him loathed the other half of him. At this rate, he'd soon be fist fighting himself.

“Tell him to forget us,” Victoria begged. “Please.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Because Aden could use a human ally. Because having eyes and ears on the outside was a good thing. Because he'd said so. “Seth. Go.”

Seth went, leaving Aden alone with his vampires. The tiers were now overflowing with bodies. A sea of pale
faces, both male and female. There was Draven at the front, a fake smile aimed up at him.

Lauren and Stephanie, Victoria's sisters, were up front, as well. They were scowling at him. Scowls that did nothing to diminish their beauty. Both were blonde, but one had blue eyes and the other green. One was a warrior, the other a wannabe human.

And there were the silver-haired councilmen, paler than all the rest because they'd been alive so much longer and could no longer tolerate the sunlight.

Every vampire wore some type of black robe, and every slave wore some type of white robe. White and black, white and black, interspersed, hypnotizing.

Shifters in full wolf form lined the bottom of the rows, guarding their beloved vamps and watching him warily. While the vamps might follow him blindly, the wolves never would. Oh, they would serve whoever was crowned king, but he would have to work for their affection.

Affection was important to cultivate, for the wolves produced the substance that could slaughter Aden's people.

“I brought you here for two reasons,” he said, not deigning to rise. Silence greeted the announcement. “The first, to remind you that I am alive and well.”

Now, murmurs arose. Whether they were of approval or disappointment, he wasn't sure and didn't care.

“The second reason is to remind you of what I can do. Beasts,” he called, ready to make his point. “Come to me.”

Expressions morphed to differing degrees of horror. Someone whimpered. Someone else groaned. Behind him, he heard a scream. Then, shadows began to rise over a few of the vampires. A few more. More. All. Dark wings expanded, flapping, filling empty air.

Slowly those shadows solidified, becoming monsters straight out of nightmares. Snouts formed and scarlet eyes glowed. Thick, dragonlike torsos rose…rose…and those solidified as well. Hoofed feet appeared next and stomped down the steps.

Vampires screeched and scrambled away. These monsters had been inside them, but when freed, even they couldn't control them. And usually, a beast went for its host first, chomping and chewing until vampire organs were mush inside the supposedly indestructible skin. This time, the beasts raced for Aden.

He stood, cast a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure that Victoria was safe—she'd pressed herself against the far wall, her eyes wide with fear. Chompers stood beside her, clawed feet scraping at the dais as he tried to
hold himself back, his nostrils flared, his fangs exposed, his saliva blowing at Victoria with every exhalation he made.

“To me,” Aden reminded him.

That beastly head swung around, and their gazes met. Like a favored pet who knew he'd get a treat, Chompers lost his air of aggression and clomped his way over. His tongue rolled out and his tail wagged. Then Aden was surrounded, being licked and nudged by others.

Chompers shoved his way to the front, snorting once, twice. He seemed to…frown?

“What's wrong?” Aden asked him.

The beast sniffed, sniffed, and yes, he was indeed frowning.

“Do I smell different, boy?” Like a vampire?

A nod.

“And you don't like it?”

Another nod.

The cold part of Aden took offence. The other part of him, still buried so deeply, wanted to fix it. “Come on,” he said, scratching behind Chompers' ear. “Let's all go outside and play. Maybe that'll help.”

None of the vampires protested as he led the beasts outside the throne room and through the hallway and foyer. The floor shook, and the furniture rattled.
Knickknacks—probably priceless vases and things collected throughout the ages—fell and shattered.

Aden didn't pause, didn't ask them to be careful, and finally stepped into the gloomy morning, his army behind him, practically ripping the front door from its hinges as they hurried to once again surround him.

He picked up a few sticks and tossed them. Those sticks were chased and grabbed between strong jaws in seconds, then brought back to him. How surreal they must look out here, playing fetch. A true stranger-than-fiction moment.

For a while, he was able to forget his troubles. But deep down, he suspected that the moment he left this clearing, his life would change—again—and still not for the better.

R
ILEY OF THE
M
ANY
N
AMES
raced through forests, along paved, graveled and dirt roads, through neighborhoods, congested shop ways and back alleys, his stride never slowing. Not when the sun fought free of the patchwork sky and burned him despite the chill in the air, not when that same chill agonized his lungs, and not when the moon at last appeared, a half crescent of gold he
so
wanted to howl at. Hour after hour disappeared, the miles eaten up.

To distract himself, he let his mind roll with everything he'd been called throughout the years. His brothers called him Riley the Randy. Or Riley the Shut the Hell Up. Victoria had recently begun to call him Riley the Pain Who Never Lets Me Get Away With
Anything
. And it was usually said with a stomp of her royal foot.

To enroll in Aden's school, he'd taken Connall as a
last name. Connall meant “great, mighty hound” in the ancient language. Victoria had suggested Ulrich, which meant “female warrior.” One of the first jokes she'd ever cracked. He'd been so proud of her, he'd almost done it. But Riley Ulrich was a little too foreign-sounding when he'd wanted only to blend in.

Maybe he should have gone with Riley Smith. Or Riley Jones.

Some of his past girlfriends had called him Riley the Asshat. Or, his personal favorite, Riley the I Hope You Contract VD, You Rotten Piece of Shit.

His relationships never tended to work out, for whatever reason. “Whatever” was always his fault, he knew. And not just because the girls told him so. He purposefully kept himself at a distance, for their good as well as his own. He had a possessive streak that went bone deep, and if he ever decided a girl was his, well, he'd keep her. Forever.

Sure, the girls might have wanted him in the moment, or even for a few weeks or months into the relationship, but that could change. She could change.

He wouldn't change.

You couldn't teach old dogs new tricks because the old dogs just freaking didn't care to learn. Riley had
lived over a hundred years. Among humans, he was old. Therefore, he wasn't learning anything new.

Among his own people, he was still a babe, but that didn't help his argument, so he wasn't going to toss that into the equation.

Also, the girlfriend, when she truly got to know him, might not understand his lifestyle, might not like it and might decide to leave him. But if he'd taken things to the next level, it would be too late. Anyone you brought to Vlad's home stayed in Vlad's home.

Vlad wasn't calling the shots anymore, but Riley understood the reasoning behind the edict. Protection of the species. Still. By bringing someone into the fold, you opened yourself up to challenges.

Look at Vic and Draven.

Riley hated challenges. What was his was his, and he didn't share. And maybe he felt that way because he'd grown up in a pack, and every scrap of food, every piece of clothing, every room, bed and unmated female—and yes, every unmated male—had been considered community property. That had gotten old fast. So, like he'd said, he kept a part of himself distanced from his girlfriends and never allowed himself to consider one exclusively “his.”

Until Mary Ann.

Somehow she'd snuck past his defenses. Hell, maybe she'd muted them like she muted everything else. He'd wondered, finding it strange that he'd been intrigued by her since the beginning. And yeah, he'd also been panting for a little action. All that dark hair he'd wanted to fist, those so-deep-you-could-be-lost-forever eyes of fall-brown he'd wanted to search. That olive skin, pale with the slightest hint of color, he'd wanted to lick. (Hey, he was a dog.)

She was tall and slender, pretty in a quiet way, graceful in an even quieter way. Like, she might trip while she was walking, her mind lost in thought, but when she reached up to brush her hair out of her face, her fingers tracing over her cheeks and temples, she was all fluid motion, a study of sensuality.

She didn't know her own appeal, and that had been obvious in the beginning, too. She sometimes looked down at her feet, shyly kicking stones. She never purposely sought attention; she sometimes blushed. She was reserved and nervous, yet determined to overcome every test tossed her way.

At first, he hadn't known how smart she was. He'd just thought,
wow, she's pretty…and sweet…and more concerned with others than she is with herself.
But he'd learned fast. Real fast. Her mind worked at an amazing speed.
She took nothing at face value, researched everything and, though reserved and nervous, had no problem voicing her opinions with people she was comfortable with, believing what she said one hundred percent.

What's more, she told the truth, always. No matter how harsh. He admired that trait because he was the same way.

She was emotional, too. Something he was not and had not realized he liked. Until her. She wasn't afraid to cry all over him or hug him. Or to laugh and twirl around a room with happiness. Quite simply, she held nothing back. The complete opposite of him and everyone he'd ever dated, really.

She was vulnerable, and she didn't care. She just…lived.

Leaving him hadn't been about protecting herself. He knew that. Leaving him had been about protecting
him
. She didn't want to hurt him, and he got that. He did. He didn't want to hurt her, either. But separation? That wasn't the answer.

So she was a drainer. So what? They'd deal. Every couple had their problems. And okay, okay. Her problem could kill him. They'd find a solution before that happened. Guaranteed.

A rock sliced into his paw, but he didn't stumble. He
kept running, sweat dripping in his eyes. Unlike non-shifter dogs, he could sweat (among other things) as human and animal collided inside him. And sweat he did. A lot. His fur was plastered to his pelt by the time he reached the big, bad city.

Panting, he whizzed past people—all of whom yelped in shock at the large (
really
large) animal streaking by—bypassed cars and barreled past other animals. Pets on leashes, wild things foraging for food.

So many auras, each boasting colorful layer after colorful layer. One for the physical body, one for self-directed emotions, one for emotions directed at others, for the logical mind, the creative mind, the practical mind, for truth and lie, for love and hate, for passion and finally, for peace and chaos.

People wore those layers like coats. Glowing coats that broadcast their thoughts and emotions—their
everything.
Wouldn't be so bad, if each layer was a simple color from an organized chart. Red, blue, green or yellow, something easy like that. But, no. He saw varying shades of the same colors, different colors on top of different colors, colors blending together, colors, colors and more colors.

That was another thing he liked about Mary Ann. Her aura. He didn't have to waste time interpreting the colors
pulsing around her. They were too pure, too strong, each one stacked on top of the other, nothing murky or open for interpretation.

Where are you, sweetheart?

Last time he'd seen her, too many days ago, she'd been in Tulsa, Oklahoma. How she'd escaped him, he didn't yet know. One moment he'd seen her, the next, when she turned a corner, he hadn't. He'd smelled her, though. That sweet fragrance of wildflowers and honey. But just like her, the scent had faded, leading nowhere, and he'd lost her trail completely.

He would have stayed and continued searching, but when he'd called his brother Nate for an update on Vic, Aden and life at the mansion, he'd flipped. Hearing his personal charge was “crying a lot” and “shut in her room,” as well as “worked into a blood craze and threatening to damage people” had sent him into a tailspin of panic. He'd stolen a car and broken every speed law known to man to reach her.

He could have driven back here, that would have taken him only three hours, but he preferred to run in his animal form. To scent Mary Ann. To know who had interacted with her.

When he reached the street where he'd last seen her walking—smack in the middle of a busy shopping
center—he at last slowed. Horns honked, cars swerved to avoid him. He moved into the shadows, staying close to building walls. Would be a major pain in the ass to deal with Animal Control and their tranq guns.

Adrenaline surged through him, thick and potent, making his blood like fire in his veins. The sweat kept dripping from him, leaving a noticeable trail along the sidewalk. He probably smelled. Good. Everyone would stay the hell away from him.

He sniffed…sniffed…so many odors, blending together. He sorted through them, continuing to sniff…caught a hint of magic, and the hair on his spine lifted, even wet and weighted as it was. Magic equaled witches, and the witches hated Mary Ann with a murderous passion.

A coven could live here, unaware of the drainer now in their midst. Or a coven could be following her.

He sniffed, sniffed…there. The
drum, drum
of his heart increased in speed and ferocity. Mary Ann. The scent of her hadn't just lingered; it had grown stronger. She must have taken this path several times—and recently. Why? Had she run into the witches? If so, had she sucked the magic out of them or had they captured her? Or worse?

He studied the area. Clothing boutiques, a deli, cafés, a coffee shop. A short distance ahead was a hill,
highlighted by a multitude of lamps, a yellowing lawn and a tall, sprawling building. It was older, comprised of brownstone, with steepled roofs and concrete steps. A library.

Bingo. Mary Ann's mother ship.

Riley closed the distance and clomped up the steps. Closing time had already passed, which meant the building was empty for the night. He turned, sniffing. Oh, yes. The sweet scent of Mary Ann saturated the air. She'd been here many times. Researching, as her nature dictated.

What was she researching? Drainers? Even the thought caused his stomach to churn with a bucket of acid. Paper trails were a bitch, and yeah, witches tracked that kind of thing. Who didn't? They'd be on her—if they weren't already—before she could click her heels together and pray for home.

Sniff, sniff. He frowned. He also caught the scent of something, someone, familiar. Dark, a little citrusy. Familiar, yes, but not enough to immediately register a name.

Then, Riley lost the scent altogether. Cigarette smoke wafted through the air, masking everything else as it wound around him. He growled, low and throaty. He
hated that crap, and as soon as he found the source he was going to—

A dirty guy with a whiskey bottle sat behind one of the columns, the smoke snaking around him. “Here doggie, doggie,” he slurred.

Seriously?
Riley threw another growl the guy's way.

That earned him a drunken chortle. “Mean little thing, ain't ya?” Little? Hardly.
Dude, you're lucky I don't piss all over you.
Riley flashed his sharp canines and turned. He could see the shopping area he'd just left and a good expanse beyond that, rundown apartments, most likely crack houses, and what looked to be several crime scenes, police lights flashing red and blue. Beyond even that was downtown Tulsa. Lots of lights and towering buildings, both glass and chrome.

Mary Ann wouldn't have traveled so far from the library, even to lose herself in the crowd. One, she couldn't afford it, and two, information was her crack, and she'd want to be close to the source, just in case a new idea struck her and she needed a snort. So.
Cheap motel, here I come.
Riley trotted from the building, always sniffing, until he found the correct trail. There! Anticipation flooded him, and he picked up speed.

First thing he'd do when he found her was shake her. Second thing, kiss her. Third, shake her again. Fourth, kiss her again.

He was sensing a pattern.

She'd probably taken a hundred years off his life. And he wasn't grateful! Shifters didn't live forever, but they did have a long, long life, and he wanted every moment of his.

His parents had died before their time, with too many regrets. He didn't want that for himself. 'Course, they'd died in a fairy raid and not because of one little human girl who drove them crazy.

Fairies, man. They had such a God complex, always slaughtering other supernatural races in the name of protecting humans, when the truth was, they just wanted to be the most powerful beings on the block.

Kinda like Vlad, who had raised Riley. Whom Riley had always served. Until Aden had taken the crown. Then Riley's loyalty had switched, and even when he'd discovered Vlad still lived, Riley hadn't betrayed Aden. The bond had already formed.

This new Aden, though… There was something different about him, something Riley didn't like. What, he wasn't sure. Still, he wouldn't betray his new king. Once he had Mary Ann safely tucked away and
guarded, he would help Aden rediscover his old personality. Some how.

The scent of magic increased, and Riley slowed. His gaze sharpened, darting past colors, slicing past shadows. Across the street, he spotted two telling glows. One a metallic gold, the other a brownish gold. Magic.

Hello, mentor and apprentice.

His ears twitched as he listened to all the conversations around him—and even those miles away, and inside buildings—discarding idle chatter, focusing, focusing…

“—have to strike now, while she's without protection.”

He knew the voice. Marie. A witch. The leader of the coven that had come to Crossroads.

“I know. But her wards are a problem.” He knew that voice, as well. Jennifer. Also witch. The student. “We'll have to plan our strike precisely. We can't allow those wards to save her.”

Mary Ann was currently protected against death by physical injury and mind control. To bypass those, the witches would have to…what? Cause mental injury through some kind of trickery? He wasn't sure how they'd pull something like that off.