Undying Destiny (9 page)

“You’re lying.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know that.” She lifted her chin, her jaw tight.

“There. Right there.” Kenric lifted his hand, and with one finger, traced the delicate outline of her chin. “I can see the tension.” He dropped his arm. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t appreciate being called a liar, and my past is none of your business.” The green flecks in her irises sparkled.

“I didn’t say you were a liar, only that you’re lying now. I don’t like the idea that someone hurt you.”

“This is what I’m talking about.” Her hands went to her hips, and her voice lowered to a near rumble. “I tell you nothing happened, but you won’t let it go.” She shoved at his chest. “You can just kiss my—”

Kenric claimed her mouth, breathing in her gasp. The thought of someone else touching her, hurting her, made him scream inside. He wanted to protect her. Mark her.

She moaned and gripped his biceps. Not pushing him away, but holding on for more. She opened her lips, and the sweetness of her desire flowed from her lips and tongue. Emily was fire and ice. A blistering mixture that burned him to his core.

But he’d die before he’d allow her to be hurt again, or worse, hauled into a war that wasn’t hers. A war that could cause her much more than pain.

It could kill her.

That was the very reason why he hadn’t taken a lover in centuries, and his aversion to the heightened lust for blood associated with sex. All gifts from his years spent as Marguerite’s slave.

So who was the bigger monster here? The bastard who’d bruised her? Made her fear another relationship? Or the selfish male who would risk her life to have her in his? He groaned. Torn between his rational mind and his desires. But there really was no choice.

This could go no further. The night would end exactly as it should.

With him leaving.

His cell phone chimed.

Perfect timing.

Kenric reached deep inside and tore himself away. Emily stumbled back but quickly gained her balance. After putting some distance between them, he pressed the answer key. “Kenric.”

“There’s a problem,” Elle’s soft voice replied. “It’s Markus. Arran called and said they’d had a run-in with a few DEADs. He’s missing.”

“How long?” His grip bore down on the phone. The hard plastic case popped under the pressure.

“He didn’t say. Just said to tell you and Guerin he’ll be out searching until dawn.”

“I’m on my way back. Have Guerin contact Arran and find out where he’s searched so far. The night is almost gone, and we need to make efficient use of what’s left.”

He jabbed End Call as Emily came up behind him. He didn’t need to see her to know she was there. Her warmth slid over his body, wrapping him like a hot blanket on a cold night. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nostrils. The sweet floral scent that was uniquely Emily rode the air, laced with the hint of her lingering arousal. Her very presence heated his blood and calmed his soul. Opening his eyes, he glanced over his shoulder.

“What’s happened?” She crossed her arms under her breasts.

“I’m sorry. I have to leave,” he said, reaching for the keys in his pocket. “One of my warriors is missing. I’ll call you tomorrow evening as planned.”

Kenric paused long enough to place his card on the table near the front door. “If you need me, my number is right here.”

Mid-step over the threshold, he stopped and turned, knowing she stood inches behind him. “Goodnight, Wildflower.”

Chapter Eleven

Making tracks down the hallway toward the kitchen, Kenric kept pace behind Arran.

Dawn had arrived.

The UV light forced the warriors to find shelter inside. And to leave one of their own behind. Frustration rolled off the team, swirling and surrounding them like a dense fog. The air pulsed with its intensity.

Arran’s fist slammed into the kitchen’s swinging door, knocking it open and into the opposite wall with a loud
bang
. Sitting at the center island, Michael jumped, sloshing coffee down the front of his shirt. He cursed and frantically grabbed for a towel.

With a
click
and a
hum
, the electronic darkening system went to work on the bank of windows in the kitchen and throughout the compound.

Guerin and Logan strode into the room, abusing the wood of the door with equal venom.

“I’ll take to the sky again at dusk,” Kenric said, the consolation directed at Arran, who stood with his hands braced on the back of a kitchen chair, his back in a defeated hunch and his blond head hanging. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he white-knuckled the wood. Kenric swung his gaze to Guerin before adding, “Getting an earlier start in my raven form, I’ll have a better chance at finding a clue. Hopefully, the storm won’t damage whatever trail might be left behind.” As if on cue, thunder rumbled on the other side of the shutters.

“True,” Guerin said, running his fingers through his rain-slicked hair, then turned his head toward Arran. “Arran…”

With a roar, Arran hurled the chair into the wall, silencing whatever Guerin had started to say. It broke apart, multiple pieces flying in every direction. The sound of splintering wood reverberated off the tiled floors and steel appliances.

The last piece struck the floor, leaving nothing but pained silence.

All eyes fixed on the vampire wrestling with his rage. He paced the floor, sucking air into his lungs as if it were fuel for his anger.

Minutes passed, though it seemed more like an hour, before Arran regained enough control for speech.

“I fucking hate being trapped!” His fist hammered a single blow onto the top of the island.

“We all do. But we don’t take it out on the damn furniture,” Logan said disdainfully from across the room.

“Fuck you!” Arran spun on his heels. He lunged toward Logan with fangs bared.

Kenric stepped between them.

Arran’s fierce glare met his, giving Kenric all the opening he needed. He dived in, grabbed Arran’s mind, and seized control.

“For the record, I don’t give a shit about the chair,” Kenric said with a firm grip inside Arran’s head. “But I do give a shit about my warriors tearing each other apart.” He released his mental hold.

Arran staggered. His eyes narrowed on Kenric for a moment before he recessed his fangs. Kenric rotated on his heels and faced Logan, making sure he, too, got the signal to back down.

“We’re all just a little on edge, Kenric. Sorry, man.” Logan glanced in Arran’s direction. “We’re cool. Right, Arran?”

“Ice.” Arran wheeled, giving Logan his back.

The frigid display confirmed Kenric’s suspicion. Something more churned beneath the surface between these two. Their actions spoke of two males who had an ax to grind—or a grudge to settle. When Arran had joined the Enclave ten years ago, Kenric had asked them whether they’d known each other during their early years spent in the Highlands. Both had denied it.

Getting a wolf to heel was easier than trying to get Arran to talk about his past. And all Kenric could pry out of Logan was that he’d met Arran about a century ago up north when they were both part of another colony of vampires. Logan had summarized his opinion of Arran with one simple statement: he hadn’t liked the bastard back then, and he was on the fence now.

Arran was loyal, though. Kenric had sensed that the moment he’d met him. Or he’d have never brought him on board. He couldn’t figure out what the hell had gone down between them. Neither would talk. But both men, Kenric knew, would give their lives for the Enclave.

Dropping into a chair, Kenric threaded his fingers through his hair. This was not going to work. He’d have to keep those two from killing each other long enough to figure out how to resolve the situation. He needed all his warriors fighting for the same team.

Not with each other.

“At sundown, we’ll pick up where we left off,” Kenric said. “And every sundown after that until we find Markus. It’s frustrating as hell. But we’ve done all that we can do for now.” He understood that each minute that passed without a word or a sign from Markus ate away at their hope like acid.

Markus was his responsibility.

He would search for the rest of time until he found something—anything—that could tell him what had happened to his warrior.

“Get out of here and get your asses some rest.” Kenric dismissed them with a wave. “And try not to kill each other in the meantime.” His gaze purposefully flicked between the Highlanders.

Before the last word left Kenric’s mouth, Arran was already out of the room. Logan and Guerin dispersed, grumbling something about hating this fucking shit.

“Anything I can get for you?” Michael stopped at the table with a broom and garbage bag in hand.

“No.” Kenric shook his head. “Thanks.”

“No sign of Markus?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“What do you think happened?”

Kenric glanced at Michael. Lines of worry etched his face.

“I don’t know. But you can be damn sure I won’t rest until I find out.”

…

Ten minutes later, Kenric fell naked onto his mattress and pulled a sheet over himself, exhausted from the events of the last two nights. A loud clap of thunder rumbled behind the closed shutters, while driving wind and rain pelted the windowpanes.

Hunger unfurled its claws in his gut. His fangs dropped into place. He hissed and pushed the demand to feed into submission and his fangs back into his jaw.

He should have fed while out, but he didn’t desire the anonymous taste of a stranger to ease the burn inside.

Emily’s flavor haunted him.

Unconsciously, he’d dismissed the opportunities for blood. Tonight he would have to feed, whether he wanted to or not.

His body stirred, remembering their evening together, the flavor of her kiss on his tongue. Reaching under the sheet, he wrapped his hand around his cock. He moaned, stroking himself with the memory of her scent, the taste of her skin.

Shit. He couldn’t remember being so turned on by a woman—ever. Riding the arch of his erection with his fingers, he stroked the sensitive underside of his cock’s head. A clap of thunder rattled the walls of his bedroom. He closed his eyes and lifted his hips, slowly pumping into the air. The raging storm outside matched the fierceness of his need for release.

Hunger burned like a twisting, raging fire, wrenching him back from the edge.

Kenric opened his eyes to a darkened cell, flat on his back with his wrists shackled to a wall behind his head. He shifted his legs, only to find he couldn’t move them more than an inch or two. Large cuffs held his ankles down at opposite sides of his cot.

He roared.

“Fuck!” His fangs caused the word to come out with a lisp.

His arms trembled from the time spent suspended over his head, combined with the agony in his gut for blood. He’d wither and die before he’d ever drink her blood. The putrid, hot residue of her on his tongue lingered from the last time she’d forced it down his throat.

He’d awakened in the midst of ferocious hunger, clawing at the stone behind his head. She’d slashed open her wrist and used her powers, forcing him to accept it as she jammed it into his mouth. Her psychic influence had combined with his body’s own demand for blood, and he’d swallowed.

That had been at least five days ago.

If he were older and stronger, he could try to phase the fuck out of this place. He had seen it done before. Marguerite had used that trick when she’d snatched him from the battlefield about three years ago. But she kept him starved, kept him weak, and he was as trapped now as he’d been when he was human.

She’d left him alone again to slowly build the hunger in hopes this time would be different. Marguerite wanted him hungry enough not only to feed but also to mate.

The bitch was insane.

Marguerite had apparently grown bored of him as her personal human blood supply. The night of his turning, she’d declared that his impressive mental endurance would make him the perfect vampire. A master. Stronger, more powerful mentally and physically than other males.

Hers.

She wanted him to take her as his mate.

After his transition, she’d explained that mating required the male to submit to the female. Blood, body, and soul. Once completed, the mated female would have access to her mate’s thoughts and emotions,
and
she would share his power.

Kenric had had no idea what he would be capable of in his new form, but he did understand that if the queen bitch wanted him this badly, no way in fucking hell would he ever let it happen.

“Sounds like someone missed me.” Marguerite’s voice echoed off the stone walls from the other side of the cell. The rattle of a key and the groan of the iron cell door announced another round.

“I heard your roar, darling. Are you hungry?” She trailed one long fingernail up the length of his leg and then a lazy scratch along his abdomen and chest.

She placed the lone finger into her mouth and sucked. Her eyes lingered on him through half-shuttered lids. For a moment, she appeared to savor his flavor. Then suddenly, she bit down.

Blood oozed from her mouth. A deep crimson trail flowed over her lips, down her chin, and dripped onto his chest. The ravenous beast within him writhed in agony.

Drop after drop of the hot red beads coalesced and pooled between the ridges of his abdomen. Shackled and stretched out on his back like a sacrificial offering, all he could do was grip the chains above his head in an effort to control his body’s response. His arms burned and ached under the tension. Sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes.

He’d chew his own fucking arm off before he’d beg to be fed or take her vein.

She eased the finger from her bloodied mouth. A spasm coiled in his stomach. Above his navel, Marguerite dipped into the puddle of red. She swirled two fingertips in the thickening pool. Mesmerized, his gaze followed as she lifted her hand and brought his stare to her face.

Her compulsion seized him.

In horror, he could only watch as her blood-coated fingers slid between his lips. His heart raced, jackhammering in his chest. The taste of her blood exploded across his tongue.

No! He didn’t want this. Why didn’t she just kill him?

She bit her wrist and forced it to his mouth. A wave of fresh blood spilled down his throat, choking him. He swallowed, even as his mind rebelled. His body quaked from the effects of her blood scorching his veins. His contortions rattled the chains above his head and at his feet.

Marguerite yanked her wrist from his mouth and released him from her mind. He sucked in a breath and spat. The mixture of saliva and blood landed on the lace bodice of her gown. She hissed as her hand flew from her side and landed against his cheek. The sound of the skin-on-skin contact rang off the cell walls.

“You are an ungrateful bastard, Kenric St. James. Do you know how many kill for a taste of me?”

It wasn’t a slip of the tongue. They did kill for her. Her minions battled before her to be the next male to share her bed and drink from her vein.

Slowly, he rolled his head up and faced her. He licked his lip, removing the flavor of his blood from where his fang had nicked him. Bile welled in his throat from the lust-filled, satisfied smile on Marguerite’s face.

He didn’t need to look. He knew his body betrayed him from the effects of her blood.

“Marguerite, it will never happen. You can leave me in here for an eternity to starve and rot. It won’t change a damn thing. I will never become so deranged that your blood—and you fucking me—will ever make me want to be your mate.”

Undeterred, she crawled onto his cot and straddled his thighs.

Kenric wrenched on his chains, attempting to pull himself from her, but there was nowhere to run. Her hand reached for his erection. Disgust assailed him for what seemed like the millionth time. He squeezed his eyes tight and braced for the shudder of revulsion that always came from her touch.

“Kenric, if only you’d relax and enjoy what I’m offering you, it would be so easy and so much pleasure for both of us. We’re perfect for each other. All you have to do is give yourself to me and let me walk you through the mating. All the hunger and pain would simply…” Her hand flitted in the air, “…go away.”

Like a serpent, her voice licked incessantly inside his head.

A vision of a beautiful, auburn-haired woman with hazel eyes came out of nowhere and flashed before his mind. He knew her…

This woman warmed and calmed his body. The scent of wildflowers invaded his nostrils, jarring him back to the present.
Marguerite was in his fucking head again.

He flung open his eyelids.

Rage erased the lust-filled gaze on Marguerite’s face. She’d glimpsed Emily in his thoughts.

“Who is she?” she roared and levitated from his body, hovering above him.

Her hair and gown whirled in an illusion of wind.

“None of your damn business.” He growled, and the shackles binding him dropped from his wrists and ankles. He blasted from his cot into the air, snagging Marguerite’s shoulders. With one hand securely around her neck and another on her arm, he slammed her back against the bars of the cell. His hand slid from her throat to her face. His finger dug into her flesh as he held her gaze. A low growl continued to resonate from his chest.

“You never learn, do you, Marguerite? Whether we’re in reality or your demented version of a dream, I still don’t want you. It doesn’t matter how many centuries pass. I didn’t submit to you then, and I won’t submit to you now.”

“You must need a reminder of Annice’s fate.” Marguerite’s eyes burned with fury. “I will find out who she is. Of that, you can be assured.”