Oycher: Vampire Werewolf Menage (Sanibel Immortals), page 4
“Werewolves,” Sage asked, yanking the blade now buried into mortar between bricks, “warning the Gryphs out of Fort Myers?”
Oycher closed off all the mental chatter before he rolled in low, pebbles and broken glass imbedding into his leathers. “Can you blame them?”
“Not unless they hit me.” Sage scissored his legs and spun over, landing on a squat. He scanned the adjacent rooftop. “You sensing the Master Gryph yet?”
“Still a cold trail,” Oycher said, wiping away the crust of blood from his already healed temple.
“The Pack male’s on the next roof somewhere past that elevator bulkhead.”
Oycher knew exactly where Terje was even without the aid of scent or mental images. He released a string of blistering profanities. “He’s fallen.” Because there was blood. So much blood filled Oycher’s head, his stomach howled and his fangs dripped in frenzied anticipation. He materialized right next to the dying male with Sage fast on his trailing mist.
“Ah,” Terje groaned, his head lolling to the side.
Sage kneeled next to him, lifting Terje’s chin with two fingers. “He’s nearly decapitated, just another slice or so to the left and he’s not coming back.”
Oycher flicked through Terje’s mind. “Dammit, he’s not picturing his attacker.” Just the luscious female, her mouth smiling in invitation as his hands molded around her pink-tipped breasts. “I can’t get a visual.” Except the one making his cock as hungry as his fangs. Who exactly was she? And why should her scent and image stir his inner Vojak like a furious storm on the horizon?
Sage bit into his wrist and placed the opened wound on the werewolf’s mouth. “Drink.”
Terje’s eyes flickered behind his lids, his nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. He latched onto Sage’s wrist, shuddered faintly, and started working his throat. After a few minutes, his swallowing grew stronger and he moaned.
“We’ll call for pickup.” Sage jumped a little. “I think he’s coming around. He just fucking bit me.”
Oycher leaned in to gather a whiff of scent other than blood and pain. “Same weird smell that was on the female.”
Sage nodded. “I noticed.”
Oycher drew it in, trying to place it. On the edge of Terje’s shoulder he touched upon the female - Highland nights beneath the stars, his cock moving between silken thighs on a bed of crushed blooms. So Sage had found her curious? Oycher would have to agree. A rush of lust slammed his gut as hunger crawled up his spine, but this wasn’t blood lust. Oh, this was something far different. If only he’d found the mixed blood instead of Sage, he wouldn’t have followed protocol and turned her over to Pack so quickly. Or at all, the way he was feeling. Because, now, the werewolves had undoubtedly hidden her deeper, piled mountains of security on her. “You’re not going to call for pickup. He's going to find his way back to Sanibel Island, all on his own.”
Because an unknowing Terje Arud would lead Oycher right to… her.
Chapter Four
“We have no other choice but to place Isladora under your care,” Dax Jordan explained.
“She was first captured at the local, human university in Fort Myers,” Seanmháthair Eir argued, staring at her laptop screen. “Why even keep her on Sanibel Island, a stones throw away from where those flying reapers abducted her?”
“The Pack is strongest in Southwest Florida. Isladora deserves the topmost protection we can offer. That’s where you and I come in.” He placed the flat of his hand on her computer, closing the screen, his eyes flaring cerulean with his rising Alpha Beast. “Make her feel welcome inside and outside of this complex.” His voice a booming thunder in the solace of the library. “Put her with a male at all times.”
Eir leaned back in her chair, lifting her hand to her throat. Dax Jordan was one of Alpha Jordan’s few brothers. His power as Territorial Alpha over the state of Florida topped the Pack pyramid, which meant only a few males outranked him. Isla would consider him freakishly menacing, if it weren’t for his extraordinary looks: his hair the color of the sunrise in Capri, his eyes the blue of faraway skies long forgotten. His mouth sculptured and cruel and entirely kissable, he stood as formable as any ancient gladiator, though he wasn’t battle weary or savagely scarred. No, he was flawless, at least as far as she could see.
“With all due respect, Alpha, by her mere presence here, you’re endangering us all,” she shot back, a line forming between her perfectly plucked brows.
Dax stilled. “You’re saying rumors are rampant.”
“Did you expect vampire mercenaries to swoop inside the Dynasty Empire and collect a female not belonging to Pack, to the tune of ten million dollars, without anyone discovering what she truly is?”
Isla looked away from them, down at her wrist, where she studied the blue lines beneath her pale skin. Why had genetics predisposed her to such a rarity? That her blood fed Dynasty Vampyrs, the royals, the first family of all vampire lines.
Head down, eyes staring beneath his blonde eyebrows, Dax growled in the way of werewolves, “How far have these rumors traveled?”
“Far enough that it’s only a matter of time before the whispering of her whereabouts starts in Prince Volos’ court.”
His canines lowered. “Those bloodsuckers have no right housing and then feeding from an abducted female.”
“She wasn’t a Pack female at the time she was kidnapped, not that might makes right, yet that’s how vampires have seen the law for centuries. They take what we haven’t yet found. Otherwise, without Donors, Dynasty Vampyrs would not survive.”
“I don’t have a problem with that part of the deal.”
“Nor do I, but why should we risk everyone here for the wrath of the very prince of vampires?”
“Volos isn’t stupid enough to challenge Pack over one female.”
Eir gave an exasperated sigh. “Werewolves are possessive of their appointed mates.”
“We’re celestially mated,” he stressed. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Vampires, however, feel that possession for whatever or whomever they want.”
“Common knowledge.”
“Whomever Isladora fed inside those limestone walls of the Dynasty will hunt her.”
Isla pressed her face on the slats, staring through the railing at them. She’d fed so many vampires inside the Dynasty, she couldn't picture a specific one coming after her. On that, she wouldn’t agree with Eir.
“Sire,” Eir asked, “how long do you think a spoiled member of the vampire monarchy will wait, enduring humiliation of losing a living possession of Donor blood, before summoning Prince Volos’ Lovci to hasten pinpointing Isladora’s location? Tonight’s fiasco with the Gryphs was a warning of darker times to come.”
“Like I said, keep a male on her at all times and no Lovec will touch her.”
“With all due respect, take her to another Pack,” Eir persisted. “Try Scotland or Norway.”
Isla’s hand went directly to her pocket where she kept the Vojak’s dagger. Flicking her finger over the bejeweled handle, she wondered if any immortals could truly die by its blade.
“Scotland or Norway?” Dax’s lip curled as his shoulders pulled back, the muscles beneath his shirt rippling. “Exactly why should I take orders from you? Has your position in the hierarchy of this Pack changed?”
“Of course not, but when has my say over this complex ever been ignored?”
“Just because I’m not agreeing with you doesn’t mean I’m ignoring you.”
Eir’s voice grew quiet with fear. “Never have I dealt with…with a female under this roof, and a Donor to boot.”
“If we have our way, more Donors are coming to this island, male and female. We’re going to find any unknown mixed bloods before these Lovci do. Our numbers may be far lower than the vampires are, but we will rectify this unpardonable blight. It begins here. It ends here.” He drummed his knuckles on her desk. “So you’d better get used to it.”
“And the Youngling males are to get used to it?” She gripped her hands, twisting them. “You understand how males are at this age, particularly at twenty-two,” Eir whispered low, a flush spreading across her cheeks. “Presently, we have thirty in this building alone. You’re forcing cohabitation under my roof, and these males aren’t human. They have unimaginable needs.”
Dax leaned across the desk, placing a hand over both of hers. His thundering voice reduced to a low rumbled purring. “What needs do you speak of?”
That gave her pause. “Well.”
“I’m sure Isladora’s exhausted,” Dax added without an ounce of subtlety.
“Pardon me.” She shoved her chair away from the desk and made her way to the door. “I-I need time to find Isladora accommodations.”
“That’s simple enough, you will place her in my old rooms.”
Eir’s startled gaze moved back to him. “In the middle of the Alpha Hall?”
“The one and only.”
Her hand shook, when she gripped the doorknob. “I’ll have to move your little brother.”
He smiled knowingly. “You just do that.”
With slumping shoulders, she pushed through the threshold. “Anything else, Sire?”
“My office will be the first to hear of any problems.”
“Of course, good evening.”
“I’m glad we understand one another, Seanmháthair Eir.”
When Eir left the library, Isla took a moment to study the broad expanse of Dax’s back. The way his long muscles moved beneath his shirt. Her mouth grew dry right before she experienced the urge to bite him.
Hard.
His head lifted slowly, until his eyes met hers dead-on. She scooted back under the desk, trying to slow her breathing, and blend into the high-loft’s darkness. In the next second, she watched his bent knees appear before her. Then his bulging arms and mammoth torso followed. Pureblooded werewolves could disappear and reappear in another spot at will. She’d never be able to do it.
Dax dipped his head beneath the desk, his eyes lighting the shadows between them. They sat quietly for a moment, staring at one another. His elbows perched atop his knees, his hands dangling between those hard-toned thighs encased in jeans.
The Pack males who’d accompanied Dax had moved her meager belongings from Haley’s apartment. Now she understood why. And she had to remind herself this was all temporary, that one day soon she would immerse herself in human life and no immortal would find her. So until she didn’t need Pack protection, she wouldn’t shoot off her mouth.
Finally, she broke the silence, “You knew I was listening the entire time.”
“Perhaps you don't understand what a werewolf can do.”
“Sure, I do.” She pushed her hair from her face. “You’re a bloodhound.” He raised a brow at her analogy. Though born of the moon, werewolves never walked on all fours or sprouted fur as human legend dictated. No, they were far scarier than anything a human mind could imagine. During mid-transformation, they half-released their Beasts, erupting canines, expanding their already incomparable frames, and protracting claws the equivalent of hooked daggers — claws meant to behead any immortal with the single swipe of a hand. In full transformation? She hadn’t a clue, and Isla wanted to keep it that way.
He reached out and placed a hand on her knee, the magic beneath his touch a swirling power that oddly felt like home, though she grew up entirely in the human world. “Isladora, if I had not distracted Seanmháthair Eri, a rare pureblood female, with my handy Druid spell, she would have found you in all of two seconds. Remember that for future reference.”
“You shouldn’t have dumped me in the commissary.” Isla noticed the reflection of her glowing irises flash blue across the planes of his cheeks. “Do you know how many males were breathing down my neck? They were staring between me and the steaks on their plates, as if they couldn’t choose.” She didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. Yeah…probably offended.
“I can’t blame them.” Inhaling deeply, Dax ran his hand gently down the top of her thigh. “Your scent is lovely.”
Her leg quivered beneath his touch. “Tasty, you mean.”
“No, lovely,” he corrected.
“H-have you heard from Terje?”
“We’re looking for him. I know Terje personally. I have faith he’ll show up. Now, come on out of there.” One hand wrapped around her thigh, the other found the crook of her elbow. In a blurring movement, he settled her on a velvet covered window seat overlooking the Gulf of Mexico.
She looked through the glass. The moon wasn’t full, though she sensed it coming. And wasn’t that weird? “So, I guess you’ve separated me from the only real friend I’ve made since coming to Pack.” The thought of living alone in an all male complex made her stomach ache, and she hadn’t yet spent the first night.
“Only by living arrangements, all the Younglings inside this complex should hide your scent better.” His expression softened. “So those who choose to ignore your Pack marking will have a harder time finding you.”
She rubbed the top of her head, where a Druid spell had been placed, a claiming mark from Dax’s brother. She couldn’t see a thing when she looked in the mirror, although Isla was assured it was there.
Hesitating, he added, “And under male protection, you can go out again.” Dax lifted a long strand of her hair and sniffed it.
This wasn’t supposed to be her life, where she would ask for permission merely to drive down the street and have a drink with a friend. Still…“I guess that’s a better deal than living inside the Dynasty Empire.”
A small nod from Dax. “I consider it very much my business that you’re hiding a game plan.”
How did he know? “A game plan?”
“You are waiting for the dust to settle.” He studied her in a way no one ever had. “You want to save money, scout out a new place to relocate far, far away from here.”
Some werewolves could scent deception, so she treaded carefully. “I’d thought about it after I’d first arrived.”
“I hear underworld blood slaves would sell their souls to be sold to Dynasty Vampyrs. But I’m sure you’ve weighed the risks of running away from those who will protect you, at all costs.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “I’ll need your phone.”
She handed it over. “Why?” The warmth of his hand covered her fingers, and all her thoughts led to Terje slipping his fingers inside her panties and spreading her lips wide.
He inhaled sharply, lowering his face and grazing his teeth across her chin. “You’ll have to use the house phones, so Pack can monitor you.”
She heard a distinctive crunch. A chill slammed her maelstrom of eroticism. “You crushed my phone!”
“It would only take you answering a single call from any skilled vampire, and then he could mist to your location.” His hand faintly brushed the side of her breast, and the eroticism rushed back as though it’d never left. “Your scent is growing stronger, blossoming, very… interesting.” Dax took ahold of her arm and set off for the upper corridor leading to the stairwell. There was no mistaking his arousal, his hard ridge blatant, but he didn’t appear to be embarrassed to walk around with it.
Her skin burned again, for a few seconds, like she’d been out in the sun too long. “What are you doing?”
“Leading you to the Alpha Hall,” he explained. “Eir probably misted there and kicked my brother out of his room by now. You need your rest, Isladora.”
Shadows whirled by as they ascended metal spiraling stairs, and tiny hairs stood on her arms. “Your little brother’s going to hate me for taking his room.” They passed a large painting of a male who looked like he could be Dax’s brother, but he was dressed in regency attire.
“Don’t you understand that you’re precious? My brother and the other Younglings here will be the first in line to kiss your perfect derrière.” With an all male chuckle, he added, “That is, if you're offering it.”
“I’m not offering it,” she griped, wishing her bra would stop abrading her hardened nipples.
“All joking aside, Isladora, I’d like to give you more than a reason of protection to stay. As your Alpha, I’d like to see you actually involved in Pack.”
“I’m working for a Pack owned establishment, and you’re putting me smack in the middle of an all male werewolf complex. What more do you want?”
“My wants have nothing to do with Pack needs.” He turned around three steps above her, staring down. “You were finishing a degree in special education when you were abducted.”
Another wedge of her life stolen by horrid immortals. “Yes.”
“What if you could handle special needs of a different kind, right here?” He blasted her with a movie star smile. “Would you be interested?”
He was calling her bluff, trying to keep her grounded when she wanted to fly away from Sanibel Island one day soon. “Spell it out for me and maybe I’ll consider it.”
“First,” he said, trailing a finger down the front of her throat and pausing on the pulse point too many fangs had pierced. “You’re going to have to get over your aversion to all things vampire.”
Chapter Five
After dismissing Sage to Sanctuary, Oycher guarded Terje for the four hours it took him to regenerate from his nearly fatal injuries. The smell of the remaining blood from nearly an entire night of blades passing between werewolves and Gryphs blazed his veins, and if he tried to feed, he’d probably tear off his prey’s head upon first touch of fang. Worse than that was the bone shattering pain of his nuts. If forced to choose between sucking and fucking — though he often multitasked - Oycher would easily turn away the fresh copper tang of life with his next heartbeat.
Simply put, he needed release.
It took another full hour before Terje ended up at a miasma-cloaked complex in werewolf territory, where Oycher knew only werewolf Younglings were housed — all male. If Pack had hidden the female among all those purebloods…Oycher smiled. He’d never backed down from a challenge, and he wasn’t starting that bad habit tonight on Sanibel Island.
