Blood Enchantment (8 page)

They lock gazes. Cradling her face with his hands, Scott begins to rock inside over and over. She meets his every thrust. Gradually, her pain eases, and he feels her excitement.

“Close,” Julia breathes against his neck, her pussy makes a single tight fist around him, and Scott's head tips back in frozen ecstasy.

He releases inside her, pouring his seed, his love, and his soul into her depths.

Julia's cries of pleasure are salve to his battered nerves.

The soul-meld tightens like a perfect knot, and their eyes meet, bodies joined.

“What's happening?” she whispers, locked against him, their bodies in perfect synchronicity.

Then the tingling begins, sweeping over them both like a live wire. Lights flash, and Scott groans as a second release pours out of him and Julia gasps in surprise as her release follows his.

Scott feels true fear—his and Julia's—co-mingled in a new way. On the heels of the best sex of his life, Scott blacks out.

Adi

Adi can't believe she can be in this much pain and still be live.

Nope. She's
going for it.

That fucker Slash!

Her tears burn when they meet the healing wounds of her face.
Males suck.

Her eyes close for a second. How could those Were beat her and bite her boob?

How could Slash—how could they
be
what they were, and he just shove her away like a regret?

Adi thrashes through the woods, uncaring about the limbs and small branches snapping back. She takes the abuse without flinching or protecting herself.

She could give
less
than a damn.

Adi wanted Slash and he crushed her spirit. That jerkoff Tramack was all about getting to poor Tessa. He wouldn't have returned to give them another beat down.

Adi slows, finally becoming aware of something other than her bull-in -a-china-closet march through the woods.

A high-pitched keening reaches her ears.

She looks behind her. Slash is back there, legs not working.

Get the fuck out
, he told her.

Right.
Adi sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing the soft flesh thoughtfully. She turns
. Maybe I'll just go back.

The memory of Slash's eyes hating on her halts her in her tracks.

No. He didn't want me.

The keening grows louder. Adi strains toward the sound.
What on earth is that?
She moves cautiously to the edge of the forest and pushes the last of the limbs aside, gathering her ragged clothes against herself.

A red guy is clutching his dick, howling.

Well, that’s unexpected.
A rash little giggle slips out. She's never heard the sounds he makes before. The high-pitched agony isn't natural.
Of course, losing your dick might kick that right along.

Adi doesn't recognize him. But she recognizes the female Were in front of him—the new chick, Tessa.

The guy does a slow revolution, still clutching his package.

Her keen eyesight takes in something that goes plop on the ground.

Oh my, is that his—?

Adi covers her mouth to stifle more inappropriate laughter.
And here, I thought the day couldn't be salvaged.

Adi lets the branches fall back. Shit has gone
down
. She is
not
getting involved in whatever this new shit storm is. Though the compulsion to keep looking is like fire ants crawling over her skin, Adi runs along the small corridor of woods that almost touch the mansion. She'll get her stuff and make her way back to the Northwestern. Lawrence and Manny are dead. Her brother Joseph is also gone.

She's a nobody. Nobody's sister. Nobody's pack member. Nobody's mate.

Adi leans against the last tree. It's branches reach toward the edge of the huge Victorian. She angrily brushes tears off her sore face.

I can go back to the Northwestern
. Everyone who was important is gone. And the worst male, Tony, is done being him.

No one to fear. Nothing to lose.
Adi turns around in the direction where Slash was.

And no one to keep me here.

*

Slash

“This sucks,” Slash comments dryly.

“Yeah. Accept the help. By the time we get back to the mansion, we can get you patched up better. That healer, Cynthia, she can fix ya.”

Slash has no feeling in his lower back and upper thighs. Each minute crawls by as Truman walks him back toward the Victorian. They have to stop every few minutes because Truman's basically dragging him.

“Look at that,” Truman says.

Slash spots Tramack and several Were swimming in their own blood one hundred yards or so from their position.

Good.
Slash finds the energy to smile.

He has trouble concentrating when the scent of his female is thick in his nose.

But the enemy is in sight, and she is not. The knot of anxiousness in his chest loosens. It looks as though his scheme to assure her safety was successful. Slash's eyes narrow. “That's a demonic.”

Truman shakes his head. “It's
something
. I didn't know what they were until that battle by Region Two.”

Slash says, “I forget you were changed late.”

Truman nods absently. “Yup. Really not up to speed on the different species. However—” His chuckles abruptly. “There's definitely no shortage. Vamps, fey, shifters galore. Demonic, and can't forget our hosts, Blood Singers.”

Speaking of which, the Singers are closing in around Tramack, who lies in a steaming pile of his own guts.

Perfect.

Slash releases a tense breath.

Adi is safe.

The demonic appears to be searching the ground for something of vital importance. Slash throws back his head and laughs when the demonic finds what he was looking for.

“Ouch,” Truman mutters.

Slash's mouth twists. “Losing your cock would be a grievous problem, my friend.”

Truman gives him a narrow look. “Do we have time for comedy?”

Amusement is in short supply, and Slash’s day has been so dark, he can only reply, “Always.”

“Uh-huh. What about your girl?”

“Long gone, hopefully in the opposite direction.” That’s Slash's most fervent wish. He can track her easily once he's on the mend.

“You're not concerned?” Truman pulls a face of disbelief.

“More than I can say.” Slash smacks his upper thigh, not feeling the blow. “But there's nothing that can be done. I can't protect her in the state I'm in.” His voice shakes with rage. “And I can't tear the beating heart out of the male who hurt her.”

Their eyes land on Tramack.

Several Singers—obviously not of angelic blood—haul the demonic up by the armpits as he makes pathetic sounds of injury. Slash spies a twisted car door covered in blood at his feet.
Odd.

Slash sneers. “We need to get over there and tell them what's happening.”

“What's
happening
is Julia, Scott and Victor are unaccounted for, and that dog will say he was after his rightful mate. The Singers won't get embroiled in that little mess,” Truman says.

“What?” Slash roars, tearing away from Truman and promptly falling on his ass.

Another set of Singers swoop in and latch on to Tramack as he looks up from the ground.

“Maybe they'll toss those lovebirds into the same cell?” Truman muses.

“Doubt it.”

Slash turns in Truman's direction. “Where is the Rare One and her soul-meld?”

His eyes find Tramack again as he waits for Truman's reply. Slash would kill him twice if he could walk. To hell with the ramifications of his packmaster status.

Truman shrugs. “They were here—then gone.”

Slash frowns. He knows Julia, a little. Even though she's a Singer and not a female of his kind, she does not impress him as a flighty female. His knowledge of their kind is limited.

A scream from the direction of the mansion scatters his thoughts. Slash's nose tells him it's not Adrianna. Nonetheless, adrenaline surges through his system.

“Come on, stubborn Red.” Truman hauls him to his feet, and tossing him on his back, he melts to wolfen underneath Slash, racing to the mansion.

*

They burst through the doors, and Truman lets go of Slash.

Slash slides off his broad back, hitting the door jamb and clutching the deeply profiled wood trim.

His nostrils flare, hitting on a scent. The only scent.

Adrianna was here.

The knowledge of her absence affects him deeply, and his wolf howls to be within her presence. His wolf doesn't think; he only feels. And right now, he's kicking Slash's mental ass for the blow-off he gave his mate.

It's for her own good,
he reprimands the beast inside.

Still, Slash feels sick that she’s gone—and u
nprotected.

You're best isn't good enough, Slash.

Cynthia, the Singer and part-Were rushes into the parlor. She slips and falls on her butt with a yelp.

Truman is suddenly there. He grabs her arm. “What?” he bellows in her face.

She's pale, her face pinched, void of any real emotion, except one.

Slash's nostrils lift.

Her fear rolls over him like a wave to shore.

“Truman,” Slash cautions in a low voice. “The female isn't in her right mind.”

Truman scowls at Slash.

Slash sweeps a palm toward her feet. They're slick with blood.

Truman’s eyes bug then go hard and flat. His fists clench.

Slash realizes the expression is his “thinking cap” look, the same one he probably wore when he was a cop.

He picks up a shaking Cynthia and brings her to Slash.

Her green eyes flutter, rolling up into her head. “Jason,” she manages, before passing out in Slash's arms.

“Wait!” Slash barks at Truman. He whirls.

“I can't defend her!”

Sharp lines of determination settle into Truman’s face. “And
I
don't know what's down that hall that scared the bejesus outta her.” He stabs a thumb at his chest.

Moon.

“Fine,” Slash hisses. “Hurry up. My mate is somewhere, and a crazy Alpha from the Western is making up whatever tale he wants while I can't feel my fucking
back
.”

Truman and Slash lock eyes. “Okay, hang tight.”

He doesn't have to tell Slash to protect Cynthia. Slash gets it, however, in his semi-paralyzed state he's a weak choice. But like Truman said,
he
has to see what the danger is. Slash's role as a male Were has never been confusing to him. That there are males who would abuse their precious females—or any female, for that matter—confounds Slash. It also makes him deeply angry.

And rage is always close to him, waiting. Slash is hardwired that way.

Cynthia's sleep is unnatural. Her face looks unanimated rather than peaceful in his lap.

The time rolls out. Though only ten minutes have passed since Truman went to inspect what new horrors lay down the hall, it feels like a thousand years. Each step Adrianna takes from his side is a small knife in his heart. His only consolation is that Tramack is here, and she is putting distance between herself and the Were who harmed her. Slash suddenly smells Cynthia's wakefulness and glances down.

“I couldn't fix it,” Cynthia whispers.

“Fix what?” Slash asks softly, as though speaking to a child.

“Jason.”

Slash stiffens, slapping a palm on the floor and lifting them both upright.

Cynthia sits up, notices she's on his lap, and gingerly climbs off.

“Don't leave,” he says, remembering Truman's words.

She wipes a tear from her face. “No,” she breathes out in a pained gasp.

“What's wrong with Jason?”

“Something…” Cynthia covers her face with her hands. “Something killed him.”

If he hadn't been Were, he would not have heard that last.

Slash flares his nostrils. The stench of death reaches him easily. Beneath that, he smells blood and brain matter.

Slash hates to hear about the death of a solid Were. While he didn't really know Jason Caldwell, he did know Jason was volatile, but not mean-spirited.

This would not bode well—losing Jason so closely with the loss of Zeke. A bad trend had begun.

Jason had been threatened on many occasions to leave or force an ultimatum on the Rare One.

Slash understands. He could never share Adrianna. However, Were are a different species from the Singers. Apparently, Caldwell did not feel the same. Maybe he was human for too long. Maybe he was too much Were.
In death, it no longer matters.

Gently, Slash asks, “What killed him, Cynthia?” It's never
who
in their world.

Shaky hands fall to her jean-encased thighs. “I don't know, but whatever it was, I couldn't heal him. There was no chance. None.”

Slash isn't a soft, comforting male. But her needs are not complicated. Even an idiot Were like him, one who callously gets rid of his mate, can show mercy. “Not your fault,” Slash manages to murmur. “Couldn't have saved him.”

She nods absently, as though she’s merely placating him.

Truman jogs into the room, sliding to a stop in front of them. “You know?” he asks, looking between them and ascertaining that Cynthia must have conveyed the details of Jason's death.