Black Fallen (4 page)

At least five chuckles fill the dojo. Freaking mind readers.

Don’t be silly. You’re good for many, many things to me, soon-to-be Mrs. Dupré.

I shoot a glance at Eli, who is merely staring at me. One dark brow rises.

I fight a smile and shake my head.

Just then, Ginger and Lucian step back into the dojo, and the sparring continues.

I soon see that Gabriel was, in fact, holding back a little with Ginger. I knew it.
Although I do think she could’ve probably rendered him headless if they weren’t on
the same team. But when Gabriel and Lucian spar, it’s a little more intense. They
spar in human form for only a few moments—long enough for us all to see Lucian not
only can handle his own, but also watch our backs. Then he morphs into his wolf form
and, man, it’s . . . breathtaking to watch. Midnight black, he lunges straight at
Gabriel, and Gabriel hurls him across the dojo. All the way across it. My mouth drops
open. Literally. I feel a finger at my jaw as Eli gently forces my mouth shut.

Noah and Darius spar. Darius, shirtless and a six-pack you could thump a penny off
of, amazes me almost as much as Noah does. Both fight in martial arts form, both equally
strong. Only Noah can jump. Abnormally high. Moves fast as lightning. Something extremely
sexy about a man who can kick so high, his legs are nearly split in half, like scissors.

Noah throws me a grin. Darius takes him out. Flat-out. On-his-back, on-the-mat out.

Next, Victorian and Jake go at it. Both are vampires, and both are exquisite fighters.
Jake is a lot older than Vic, though, and his experience shows. Each throws the other
across the dojo, and each leaps high into the rafters above. And despite Victorian’s
looks—he is almost painfully beautiful, in a polished, aristocratic way—he can morph
into one freaky-ass, scary vamp. And there’s not a single bone in his bloodless body
that is scared of anything or anyone. Neither morph, though, but rather keep to hand-to-hand
combat. Both are pretty intriguing, to say the least.

Sydney and Gabriel take the center floor next, and Gabriel shows Syd no mercy. I mean
zero. He charges her relentlessly, and without flinching or shying away—not even once—Sydney
charges back. She, like Ginger, is petite and blond, and while not as innocent-looking
as Ginger, she does move with a certain grace that is pretty interesting to watch.
She lacks the sweetness Ginger still has, too. Like me. Syd is rough around the edges,
yet cultured. Classy.

And she can kick some immortal ass, if I ever saw it.

Gabriel grabs Sydney, her back to his front, and has a choke hold around her neck.
I swear, I blink, and when I focus, big-ass Gabriel is flying over Sydney’s narrow
little shoulders. Gabriel lands on the mat with such force, I feel the floor shudder
beneath my feet.

The look on Sydney’s face as she looks down at her mentor is one of smugness. Pride.
Serious accomplishment.

Totally priceless.

Next up, Eli and Darius. Now, I’m completely biased when I say Eligius Dupré is a
vision of beauty when he is in the heat of battle. Well, maybe not. He’s the sexiest
otherbeing alive, and of that I’m 100 percent positive. But he’s a machine when he
fights. And he’s totally terrifying when he morphs. He and Darius are apt opponents,
and they spar for several moments before either is struck. With my eyes I follow Eli’s
movements, watch his muscles tighten when he moves, and once I focus on his face,
I’m lost. Such fierce intensity, vigorous determination. He makes sort of a . . .
I don’t know, a growling face. Teeth bared, brows drawn. He looks vicious.

“Riley,” Jake says, calling a halt to Eli and Darius. The WUP leader smiles at me,
and it’s not a pleasant, welcoming, friendly smile. Rather, it’s one of . . . anticipation.
“You’re with me, girl.”

Eli walks by me, leans down, and kisses my cheek, and at the same time slaps me on
the ass. “Go get ’em, Neo,” he whispers.

I grin. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” I answer. He’s referring to my
Matrix
-like fighting skills, no doubt. I have to admit, my new powers are freeing. It’s
hilarious to think I’ve traded my thigh-high leather spiked boots, fishnet hose, and
plaid miniskirt for Lycra and Nikes. But I have.

Eli grins, and I continue on to the center of the mat. Jake is waiting. He wears a
T-shirt and black training pants and is barefoot. His long black hair is pulled back.
With his green-eyed gaze, he studies me as I move. Follows my every step. I take in
everything about him; weigh him as an opponent in as little time as necessary. I profile
him, so to speak. I focus solely on Jake. I block out everything, everyone in the
room, and channel all of my thoughts, my senses on just him. The room blurs. Only
Jake is crystal-clear in my vision. Everything he does, voluntarily, involuntarily,
is magnified. He blinks once, and I hear his lashes brush his cheek. Jake’s body relaxes.
His muscles flex at his jaw. His nostrils flare as I draw closer to him. Head slightly
lowers. Fingers flex. Then his body leans ever so slightly toward me and goes rigid.

Just as he lunges, I leap upward and over him, landing soundly and in a crouching
position behind him. Jake whips around and meets my gaze.

“Nice,” he says, his voice low, even. “Verra nice—”

I dive toward him and have my legs wrapped around his neck, and we’re falling to the
mat before he finishes his sentence. We both hit with a thud. Jake’s trapped in my
leg lock.

Eli lets out a whistle. I know it’s Eli because, well, I know his whistle. I don’t
spare him a glance, though, because despite my little victory over Jake, I don’t trust
him for a second.

I’m on my back in less than a second. Jake is straddling me, my arms pinned above
my head. Just that fast, it happens. The room tilts; my vision blurs even as I stare
up into his face. A smile touches Jake’s lips, and I know he knows exactly what he’s
doing. My new gift. The one I can’t quite control yet.

I am Jake . . .

The night is verra dark, and cast in an insipid flush by a thumbnail moon. Shadows
extend in awkward lengths along the barren road. It’s damn cold outside, and the stark
moors are no barrier for the harsh Highland winds. His horse stamps against the gales,
mayhap anxious to reach a nice barn filled with hay. Even through the thick, coarse
wool of breeches and a heavy coat, the chill seeps deep, through each bloody layer,
far into his bones. He canna recall the last time he was warm. Verra likely ’tis when
he last lay next to his wife. Elizabeth’s image comes to mind, her long midnight hair
trailin’ over skin so pure and white it nearly glows. Her eyes, large and green, are
filled wi’ love for him and their three bairns. ’Tis the image that keeps him goin’.
Keeps him warm enough.

He’s no’ far from home—mayhap a league, just over the next hillock. Jake nudges his
mount onward, and they pick up speed. At once he sees a red-orange hue plumin’ in
a flickering cloud. Far in the distance, in the direction of his home. On the next
gust of wind, the acrid scent of smoke reaches his nostrils. His insides freeze and
his heart leaps. They’ve no neighbors. Jesus Christ. It has tae be their home.

Jake sinks his knees into his horse’s sides and tears across the moors. Fear clasps
his insides. Closer, closer, they grow, and ’tis only when they’re no more than a
score of minutes away that he’s swept off his horse.

Only then does he hear them.

They’re all around. They’re above.

Stunned only for a moment, Jake pushes hard to his feet. His heart pounds against
his ribs, and it’s then the screams reach his ears. These . . . men—there are five
in all—they stand round him, circling. He breaks hard and tries tae run past them,
toward his family, his burning house. One grabs his shoulder and flings him harshly
tae the ground. The air whooshes from his lungs. He’s lying on his back when the one
who flung him walks toward him, placing a booted foot upon his chest. Young, smaller
than Jake, and with the palest of skin, his gaze holds and locks.

“They’re already dead,” he says bluntly.

“Nay!” Jake forces the words out of his mouth. He tries to shove the foot off his
chest, but he can’t budge it.

The man laughs. “No need to try heroics. It won’t work for you”—he glances off toward
Jake’s home—“or for them.”

Jake growls. “You killed them!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. Still, he can’t
move. Grief and anger choke his words. “Why?” He thrashes about, trying tae remove
the man’s foot. “I’ve got tae get them!” Jake yells.

“Oh yes,” another, in the shadow, says. “He’ll be quite an addition.”

“Aye,” yet another agrees. “His size alone makes him worthy.”

All at once, the men disappear, save the one pinning him to the ground, and a cacophony
of beating wings fills the night air. Jake canna tell if ’tis the wind or if they’re
flyin’. They canna be flyin’. They’re just men. . . .

“Ah, good man, we’re much, much more than mere men,” the one holding him captive says.
“As are you.”

Frozen in place by the man’s single foot, Jake stares with hatred into his emotionless
dark eyes. There is no way he can possibly know what Jake is. No one does. Not even
his beloved wife. Centuries ago Jake was sworn to secrecy. The rest were slain. He’s
the only one left. “I am going to kill you,” Jake says, his voice eerily calm.

With one slender hand, the young man leans down, grasps Jake by the throat, and removes
his foot and lifts him straight off the ground. “I know what you are,” he says, his
voice even. “Because ’twas I who slaughtered your brethren. You’re immortal.” A slow
smile stretches across his face. “And now you’ll become one of us.”

In less time than it takes Jake tae blink, the man transforms. No longer a man. Sharp
teeth drop from his gums into long, pointed shards; his lips pull back into an exaggerated
grimace. His jaw extends. And his eyes are now merlot red. Jake knows what he is.
His brethren hunted them long ago.

Vampires.

Tightening his grip around Jake’s neck, Jake gasps for air. His limbs are paralyzed
and he canna even strike out to defend himself. And in his next breath this monster
has ripped open Jake’s shirt and exposed his chest. He sinks those sharp fangs straight
into Jake’s heart. Intense pain rips through his body, and blackness begins to suffocate
him. Jake allows it.

The last things Jake hears are their voices. Their laughter. But he doesna understand
what they’re saying. In his recent memory he retrieves the sound of his children,
his wife, screaming. They’re dead. He knows he’ll never see them again. A pain much
worse than the physical one his body is experiencing takes over. Fills his mouth,
his eyes, his soul, with an acrid blackness. And then he remembers no more. . . .

“Riley?”

My blurry vision clears and I stare up into the modern-day face of Jake Andorra. I
understand him a little better now. My arms are above my head, pinned by his extraordinary
strength. He is smiling, proud that he’s pinned me so efficiently. Rendered me helpless.

So he thinks.

I’ll go easy on him. Sort of. I mean, he says he knows what I’m capable of, yet he
shows no fear. Mocks me, even, with that silly grin. Dares me with that eye twinkle.

My stare fixes on Jake, and I concentrate on what I want his body to do. I tell Jake
what to do. With my mind. Like before, everything around us goes silent. Turns hazy.
Only Jake is in focus. I stare, concentrate, targeting his mind. It’s like being in
a dark, winding tunnel. He’s at one end. I’m at the other.

Balls, seize like you’re being squeezed between a pair of vise grips. Breath, catch
in throat. Eyes, widen. Pain, take over until I say stop.

Jake releases me, grabs his crotch. His breath catches and a little squeak emerges.
His eyes widen, and he rolls right off of me. Groaning in pain. Clutching his ’nads.

I bask in the glory for only a second or two.

Pain, stop.

Immediate relief eases the lines of pain on Jake’s face. His body relaxes. A stare
of intense curiosity and admiration fills his eyes. “That,” he says, pushing up and
standing to face me, “was impressive. Dirty, but impressive.”

Drop to your knees and freeze.
This is directed at Noah, who has eased up behind me, ready to grab me. He never makes
it. Noah instantaneously drops to his knees behind me. Frozen in place.

Tell me I’m a goddess.

“You are a goddess,” Noah says involuntarily.

Chuckles fill the room.

And say, “I’m such a ding-dong.”

“I’m such a ding-dong,” he says.

Now it’s all-out laughter filling the dojo. I cover my mouth, trying be serious. Kinda
hard when a centuries-old vampire is on his knees, calling himself a ding-dong.

Get up.

Noah shakes his head and stands. Only then I notice everyone else staring at me, wide-eyed.
Noah drapes his arm around my shoulders.

“Pretty sick trick, babe,” he says with a grin. He gently cuffs my jaw with his fist.
“Glad you’re on our side.”

I can’t help but smile. It
is
a sick trick.
Thanks, Julian Arcos. Word.

I notice Gabriel has his cell phone to his ear. He speaks in a low voice, then puts
the phone in his pocket. “De Barre and Conwyk are close,” he says to Jake. “We’re
ready for the swords?”

“Aye,” Jake answers, and as the others talk in groups, Jake inclines his head toward
the far wall. “A word?” he asks.

I feel Eli’s gaze on mine, and I look at him. He’s standing next to Noah. I smile
and walk to meet Jake. I already know what he wants.

Jake looks uncomfortable. With his arms folded over his chest, he bends his head close
to mine. Green eyes—eyes I now know have seen more than their fair share of pain and
heartache—study me. Hard.