Venators, page 17
Grey jogged after her. “Please, I just need some water—”
A figure stepped out from one of the doorframes. Grey skidded to a stop, coming nose to nose with Tashara, the succubus.
“Well, well, well,” she purred. “Surely you were told to stay in your room?”
He was hit with a wave of desire so heavy he could barely think, almost forgetting why he was in the hall in the first place. “Y-yes,” he stuttered, trying to keep his eyes on her face and away from the tantalizing neckline of her dress. “I . . . I was looking for some water.”
“Water?” Tashara smiled and stepped forward, pressing against him. “I can offer something much better than that.”
Grey’s brain screamed at him to run, but his body had a mind of its own, bypassing logic, and he melted. Tashara sighed. Her eyes glowed brighter, and then she kissed him.
With the touch of those lips, a heavy, pulling sensation encompassed him, seeping through the pores of his skin. Deeper it moved, rooting out his center and yanking until he thought his very soul would escape though his mouth.
His head was fuzzy; thoughts would no longer formulate. She ran fingers up his arm and over his chest. Unwanted touch.
Or was it?
Realization snapped through him like a bolt of lightning, bright and fast, leaving behind a seared warning. She was feeding on him.
“No!” Grey jerked away.
So weak.
He bent over, taking heaving breaths, but stumbled forward on weighted limbs. Propping himself up with hands against his knees, he tried desperately to formulate any mental picture besides the one there now. But the voraciousness of the craving that accosted him was stronger than any narcotic, and he floundered.
She moved for him again, but Grey refused to look up, staring instead at the succubus’s feet. It was the only safe place he could think of to put his eyes. But then the dress she’d been wearing slid over her legs like liquid silk and pooled around her ankles. He averted his eyes as quickly as he could and stared dry mouthed at the glittering puddle of red on the floor, his hormones racing. A groan resonated from deep within, animalistic in its need.
Tashara gave a small giggle and stepped closer.
He closed his eyes.
She placed her hands on his upper biceps and pushed him up straight. But the moment her fingers touched him, his life force began flowing out, and he understood how a man could stand here and die . . . with pleasure pulsating through him.
It was a predator of the most dangerous kind that made you want to die.
“You are strong,” she murmured.
She was so close. He waited, blind, his breath wheezing out in terrified bursts.
Velvety soft fingers ran up the back of his neck, and more of his energy willingly leapt to her.
“Please,” he whimpered. “Stop.”
She reached his hair and flattened her fingers, putting pressure on the back of his head and sliding up over his skull.
Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad.
What!
His eyes flew open. She smiled wickedly. He had to get control of himself, but a single thought now occupied his mind, placed there by Tashara. It worked like a parasite to push all other thoughts away. Because of it, his traitorous body remained, willing to die. But there was one thing, one group of memories, that not even her powers could twist into something beautiful.
The last working part of his mind settled on the one image that killed all desire instantly. His darkest moment. It was buried in the furthest recesses of his mind for the damage it did any time he brought it into the light. The desire fled like rats from a sinking ship, and he shakily stumbled away from Tashara.
Her eyes rapidly dimmed, and she tilted her head to the side, examining him. “You’ve been hurt. Badly.”
Grey flinched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie. It doesn’t suit you.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
Tashara smirked before breaking into a grin that tumbled into delicate laughter. “On the contrary. You resisted me after I had already begun sucking the life from you. That tells me more than you can imagine.” She leaned back into him, lips parted.
With a start, Grey jerked his head to the side, and the kiss landed on his cheek. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands. The ugly memory was still playing in 3-D, full color, and optimum resolution. Nausea washed over him. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“If I was, you’d be dead.” She licked the edge of his ear before whispering, “I can make it all go away, you know. The pain, the betrayal, all the memories. I can give you such fantastic feelings, ones you can’t even imagine, and everything else will just . . . wash away.”
“I don’t want it to go away,” he ground out. That might be a lie. He wasn’t sure. He’d given it hours and hours of thought, and though he wasn’t grateful for the excruciating pain, he wasn’t naive to the strength and compassion it had built within him. To eliminate it was to eliminate part of who he was.
“Are you sure?”
“I want to keep it from happening to someone else.”
“Ah, this is about the man and his family, isn’t it?” She stepped back and stared at him with a look he couldn’t decipher, but it was softer, more human. “I must admit . . . I have a touch of empathy for souls such as yourself.”
Grey looked at her incredulously. Souls such as her were why souls like him existed!
She sighed. “To use your own words, you don’t know anything about me, Grey.”
He retreated several steps. “I’m going back to my room.”
“If that’s what you wish. But I was going to offer a bit of help, if you’d like to stay just a moment longer.”
His suspicion was so intense the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “Help? Why?”
“You may call it an apology.” She smiled. “There are two reasons why the council would never sanction a mission of mercy such as this. One, the man didn’t have any money. In light of the decree, they’ve become very particular about who receives help. And two, the head of that clan is named Cashel. He’s been threatening to take on the council for years, and now he has enough strength to do it. Dimitri is terrified. One wrong move, and he could have the strongest werewolf clan in the land scaling the walls. Sure, most will die, but when the survivors of that pack get their hands on him . . . Well, Dimitri will be wishing they’d just torn his head off and mounted it on a spike.” She stalked forward and pressed her lips slowly against his cheek.
“Enough!” Grey pushed her off, careful to only touch the tops of her shoulders. “Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Very good.” She nodded with approval. “You have a mind of your own. That’s more than I’d hoped for.”
He was not going to continue the conversation like this. He put his hands on his hips, simply because they needed somewhere to go, and twisted partially to the side. “Tashara, could you put your dress back on?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Please.”
She exhaled, then sashayed past him, taking the long way to her clothes. Grey settled his gaze on the thick mahogany beams that ran the length of the ceiling as a workable distraction.
“I’m sure you were warned about the council,” Tashara said. “Tate is much smarter than my comrades give him credit for. The corruption runs deep, and loyalties run shallow. Don’t trust anyone.”
“Including you?”
“I’m dressed now. You can stop staring at the ceiling.”
Grey looked down with hesitancy. He’d been instructed to become friends with her—she might have information they needed. He’d anticipated it would be hard, but having her this close was more difficult than he could’ve possibly imagined.
“You’ve passed the first test, but where trust is concerned, that depends on you.”
His mouth fell open with indignation. “This was a test?”
“And not your first.”
“You could’ve killed me.”
“As we’ve already discussed, if I wanted you dead, you would be. You’re strong, but you needed a minute to find your resistance, and I offered that minute. Had I come on full force, you wouldn’t have survived.”
They stared at each other, but while his glare was all anger, hers danced with amusement.
“Tashara?”
“Yes, Grey?”
“If you want to be ‘friends’ . . .” He shook his head, trying to clear it. Her influence was still making him groggy. “Don’t ever do this again.”
There was silence for a moment. Her smile dropped but was quickly replaced with calm satisfaction. “You’re different than I expected. I have hope for us.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Conditionally, yes.” She ran a finger down his cheek. Having pulled back whatever magic she’d flexed earlier, it felt no different than a touch from any other inhumanly gorgeous woman. “Betray me, Grey, and all promises are void.”
“Understood.”
“Good.” She turned to go.
“Tashara, I have to help them.” He was desperate. “What can I do?”
She turned slowly. “The woman and her son?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” she asked, honestly curious.
Because he would have done anything for someone to have saved him. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
She evaluated him carefully. The predator was gone, her demeanor softer, stance passive. She folded her hands demurely in front of her. “I believe you mean that. But be warned: not everyone on the council will be pleased with your feelings. You will need to learn some performance skills, darling, for your safety. Right now you wear your heart on your sleeve. The weapons room is located past the kitchens. Within you will find silver-tipped battle gear. Without training, I don’t believe you stand much of a chance, but I have a suspicion that help may be waiting for you there as well.”
“Thank—”
“One more thing. My room is on the third level, last door on the right. To offer a sincere and proper apology for forcing you to relive what you just did, I’ll leave something outside to help. It’ll be in a red bag. Don’t let anyone see you.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me now—you’ve yet to survive the night.” She stepped forward and put her hand on his chest. “And I truly hope you do.”
“Grey!” Verida’s shrill voice came from behind him.
Tashara’s smirk returned, and she offered a playful little wave before sauntering off. Grey watched her go until Verida stepped up next to him.
“Are you all right?”
“Um, yes,” Grey said, but his voice shook from exhaustion. “Yes, I’m all right.”
Verida rubbed at the lipstick on his cheek and then grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. “What is wrong with you? I explicitly told you to stay in your room. You could be dead right now!” She pulled back and looked at her hand, slowly rubbing the fingers together that were coated with red lipstick. “I . . . But . . . You resisted her. How?”
“It doesn’t matter. I have to find the weapons room.”
She scoffed, placing her hands on her hips like a mother staring down a three-year-old. “I don’t think so!”
Grey proceeded to tell her everything Tashara had said, including the offer of a little red bag. Verida leaned in, listening intently, eyes lit with curiosity.
The Gift
Rune balanced on the very edge of the bed, toying with the rich satin overlay. It was late, and she’d had an incomprehensibly long day, yet sleep was as far away as home. She’d never seen a man die before.
Silen’s voice was in her head, stuck on repeat. “Let them see what they’re agreeing to.”
She did not agree. But what choice did she have? It’s not like she could politely decline the offer and request they send her home. They would have no use for her. One way or another, she’d end up dead.
Dead, like the man in the dining hall. Carried out of the council house by Tate. Dead.
Bolting off the bed, she crossed to the window without a purpose, just an undeniable need to move. Fight or flight, with nowhere to fly.
Rune yanked back the bulky drapes, looking for an escape from these four walls. But the candles that flickered around the room denied her, transforming the window into a mirror. A reflection stared back, wide eyed, haunted, and barely recognizable. She was struck with the fact that she had never been in a situation bad enough to cause this particular expression to cross her features.
The fear so plainly splashed across her face only frightened her further.
Anxious to be rid of the reflection, she nudged a hip against the drapes and leaned forward, pressing her nose to the glass and cupping her fingers around her face. The outside air burrowed through. It iced the sides of her fingers while the heat of her breath fogged up the pane. She pulled back, shifted to the right, and tried again, holding her breath this time.
The world came into view. This land was so different from home. There, they always had artificial lights, whether from the neighbor’s porch bulb or a glare from the convenience store at the end of the street. Frankly, she’d always liked it. Yes, it dulled the stars, but it also pushed back the terror of the unknown. Here, there was nothing. Only the inky paint of an all-natural night, brushed over by the haloed touch of the moon—its dimmer light would never penetrate all the corners and alleys and dark places of this world.
The absence of sound buzzed strangely in her ears. No hum of car engines or that distinctive noise tires made as they rolled over wet pavement. No doors slammed outside, and gone was the jingle of dog tags.
This silence was a beast unto itself.
A giant black shape swooshed toward her, barely discernible against night’s camouflage. She recognized it only a moment before it crashed into the window with a loud thunk. Rune jumped back with a shriek.
The black bird’s wings slapped against the pane as it fought to get its claws around the small ledge. Once secure, it deliberately moved in, close enough that the tops of its head feathers brushed against the window. Rune couldn’t shake the feeling that it somehow knew the glass was reflecting back the inside light. Its beady eyes found her; then it cawed and shoved one foot against the glass. Something hard and metallic clanged.
Wrapped around three scaled, avian claws was a silver chain holding a familiar-looking pendant.
She gasped. “Ryker?”
The bird leaned closer, looking straight into her eyes, its own bright with intelligence. Her hands trembled as she slowly reached out for the latch. It watched her movements carefully, twisting its head to the side in evaluation. She was almost there when it cawed again and flew off.
“No!” She pressed her palms against the window, fumbling with the small gold latch. It finally yielded, and the thick pane pushed outward. There, coiled carefully on the ledge, was the necklace—the other half of her yin and yang. She brought it inside, examining it as she absently pulled the window closed with the other hand. On the top of the black swirl was the nick from when Ryker had dropped it down the disposal on accident. On the bottom was a smear of dried blood.
It wasn’t speculation anymore. Ryker was here. She clenched her fist around the necklace. The metal of the chain was freezing, and it bit into her skin. Finding the pain appropriate, she clenched harder, seeking a twisted sort of penance. “I’ll find you. I don’t care how long it takes.” Pressing her fist to her lips, she murmured, “I swear.”
But to keep that promise, she needed help. Verida had to see this.
Striding across the room with Ryker’s pendant clutched in her fist, she pulled open the door and peeked around the corner, wary of running into Shax. A whispered argument floated toward her. Verida and Grey were standing in the hall.
Rune slipped out and headed straight for them.
“You don’t even know what’s in the bag!” Verida snapped. “It could be a trick.”
“You don’t know either,” Grey argued. “Maybe it’s exactly what we need.”
They stood nose to nose, yelling at each other in the loudest tones Verida deemed safe.
“What bag?” Rune interrupted, joining them.
Verida sputtered in exasperation. “And what are you doing out here? I gave you both strict instructions not to leave your rooms!” She looked to the ceiling, muttering to herself. “It’s like I’m not even speaking.”
Grey focused in on the silver chain in Rune’s fist. The metal gleamed in the lamplight. “What’s that?”
She opened her fingers. “It’s Ryker’s. A large black bird just dropped it off on my windowsill.”
“A bird.” Verida reached over and picked it up, holding it high to examine the spinning pendant. She gave it a quick sniff and wrinkled her nose. “Goblins. Are you sure this is his?”
“Yes.” Tears welled in Rune’s eyes, and she rubbed at them with the back of her arm. She didn’t like crying. “They have him.” Watching the pendant twist in Verida’s fingers irritated her. She snatched it back, closing her fingers protectively around it. “I can’t just stand here and do nothing.”
Verida pressed her lips together so tight it looked like she was trying to keep back Niagara Falls. “Both of you in here—now.”
Pushing open the door to Rune’s room, Verida shooed them both in with agitated waves. Once the door was shut safely behind them, Verida turned, nose crinkling as she opened her mouth with what was sure to be a tremendous lecture. Rune braced for it, flinching in advance. But nothing came. Verida’s nose stayed crinkled because she was looking around the room in utter distaste.
“You can’t be serious.” Verida walked over to the bed and picked up the corner of the velvet-and-satin coverlet like it was a dead rat, holding it at arm’s length. “We need to talk to the council about your accommodations.”
