Bloodright (9 page)

Lucien reached out and swiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “That will be up to you.”

She slapped his hand away. “No matter how I feel, you will ultimately find a way to force me to stay; why act like you are giving me a choice?”

“Seven days, Falon.” He turned and walked away from her, back to his pack that waited expectantly.

“She chooses Mondragon!” Lucien shouted triumphantly, more Falon was sure than he really felt. But she understood what he was doing. The pack had been bouncing between hope and despair. Their mood was literally tied to Lucien’s. If he doubted her, so then would the pack.

Loud cheers and wide smiles erupted from the watchful pack. Their profound sense of relief was palpable.

“Tonight we will celebrate the marking as planned,” Lucien said excitedly. “At first light we hunt!”

The forty or so men and twenty-odd women who made up Mondragon nodded, but looked past Lucien to where she stood by the gate. As wolves in the wild, they could detect something was not quite right with the alpha pair. Falon’s heart went out to them. Here in the comfort of their home they were not the vicious rebel pack they were made out to be. Lucien for all his anger and kicking up dirt had not only their love but their respect. They trusted him. And as they stared at her, she wanted them to trust her, too.

But a part of her held back earning that trust. Because if she had her happily ever after, it would not be with Mondragon’s alpha, but Vulkasin’s.

Four

LIVID THAT HE had given Falon an out when she had chosen to stay, Lucien fought to mask his anger as he strode through his pack. He grit his jaw so hard he almost cracked it. He was a fool!

Falon was headstrong and passionate. If she could find a way back to Rafe, she would promise her soul to the devil to have it. She stayed because of Rafael! Not for him, not for the pack. He should just tell her to go now. What difference would seven days make?

But he couldn’t. Her decision to stay, regardless of why, infused the pack with joy. He would not take that away from them. Not until he had to.

Cold resignation settled in Lucien’s heart. What would be would be. If Falon left at the end of the week, he would mark another, more willing mate within hours. The time had come for Mondragon to rise above the ashes.

“Lucien?” Talia said, coming toward him.

She sensed his anger and knowing Talia, she knew nothing was set in stone. He did not want to talk about it. Lucien shook her off. “Leave it alone.”

“Why did you give her an out? We need her to stay.”

“I will not force her to stay!” he bit off, turning away from her. He turned back to the pack and singled out Joachim, his sergant at arms. “I have a need for sport, brother. Bring me Wrath.” Lucien called to him as he strode toward the back of the warehouse. “Then armor yourself and three others of your choosing.”

He needed to fight. Too much roiled inside of him. Anger, vengeance, frustration, fear Falon would walk out the front door, and an ache in his loins that no amount of fighting would relieve.

Lucien rarely lost control, but in the last several days, he had been pushed beyond his level of tolerance. He had nearly killed his brother, had a mate forced upon him, then because the thought was abhorrent to her, she tried to kill herself rather than be with him. And he had saved her! Then all but forced his mark on her. Never mind her body called to his: her mind did not. And her heart? Her heart was locked against him. He scoffed. Her heart did not matter to him; he’d long ago stopped caring about feelings. Not heartfelt ones. He had loved and lost once. Vengeance drove him every second of every day since. But now that that vengeance was his, why did his anger still roil? And why had he challenged Falon to leave a second time?

“Fuck!” he yelled, punching the air. Was it because his pride could not handle the fact that Falon did not want him? That despite his possession of her body, her heart cried out for his brother?

And what had he done to warm her to him? Pushed her until she could no longer resist. He was not an animal. Lycan, yes, but he had supreme control of his beast. Never had he forced a woman in his bed. Never had a woman denied him, until today. Lucien grabbed one of the wooden dummies his pack regularly practiced maneuvers on and hurled it across the wide concrete yard. He grabbed the one next to it and chucked it against the warehouse wall.

Falon had capitulated. Just as wolves did in the wild, once the alpha chose his mate, she surrendered. She was his for the taking. It was understood, damn it! For the greater good of the pack, she answered to the alpha!

But not Falon! Oh, no, she had taunted him, had demanded he prove to her he was worthy enough to be alpha. He’d shown her he was, then she scorned him!

He swiped his hand across his chin and turned as the metal doors opened and slammed shut. Joachim strode confidently into the yard followed by three of pack Mondragon’s strongest Lycan. They were in for an ass-kicking. “Send for Talia,” Lucien called to Joachim. “You will need her when I am done.” As the words left his mouth, the metal doors opened again and Talia stepped into the sunlight.

“You are my sergeant at arms for a reason, Joachim,” Lucien said as his man tossed his broadsword, Wrath, to him. Lucien caught it and expertly wielded it in a complex combination of slices, thrusts, and dices.

He gave no warning; he lunged, catching Joachim off guard. The hefty Lycan went down with a heavy thud on the ground. The three men flanking him, pack Mondragon’s premier night guard, Darius, Barron, and Dax, hesitated. Lucien snarled, furious they showed hesitation. “Fight me for your lives, lads. If you don’t, I will kill you.”

They returned his snarl with one of their own. Joachim stood, shaking the dirt from himself and raised his sword. Four on one, they circled Lucien.

He lunged into the air and kicked Darius in the chest as he swung at Barron. Darius flew backward, Barron caught Lucien’s blade across his thick leather chest armor. Joachim and Dax rushed him. Lucien gave no quarter. He rushed them both, sideswiping Joachim with his broadsword, and leveling Dax with his fist. He turned to find all four of his men standing together. In a wall of flesh and bones and steel, they rushed him.

Subconsciously, Lucien knew he would not mortally wound any of his own, and he knew they knew it. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t push them as far as his temper would allow.

One after the other, Lucien pushed his men to their limits, until one by one they submitted to his greater strength and the fury that drove it. Long moments later, breathing heavily, he stood in the middle of his downed men. They were done. He had just begun. His anger at himself, at Falon, and at the whole fucking world raged inside of him. He looked up at the window to his room and caught sight of Falon’s flushed face. His gaze locked with hers. Regret for his earlier actions aside, the emotions she elicited from him enraged him more than his anger at the world.

He did not want to feel anything but indifference toward her. But he felt the opposite. He wanted her attention. Her trust. He wanted her a willing partner in bed. He completely understood his brother’s attraction to her. She was beautiful, proud, and strong. There was a time when he wanted to break her spirit, but he realized now that would be akin to a sin against nature. She was too special to damage. Yeah, she was something special, and he was a fool to treat her so callously. Some of his anger left him. And as much as he didn’t want her to go, he knew in his heart, dead as it was, he could not, would not smother that wild spirit of hers by forcing her to stay. He had done the right thing in giving her the choice. Now, would she stay? And if she stayed, would she understand what that meant? All or nothing, he would accept nothing less.

He crossed his sword across his chest and bowed. “I am an ass, Falon. My apologies,” he softly said but knew she could hear. She could hear him anywhere. They were blood bound.

Her eyes widened in shock. His men’s jaws dropped. Talia smiled and said, “Mark the calendar, Joachim. The day Lucien Mondragon apologized will go down in the Lycan annals as the day hell froze over.”

“I am not above apologizing when I am wrong,” Lucien said, scowling at his cousin. He swiped the sword blade across his right thigh, removing some of the dirt and grime.

“Are you implying that today is the first time you made a mistake?”

He looked up at Falon, who still stared at him as if he were mad, then sheathed his sword and looked back at Talia. “Yes.” He strode toward his men, who were still lying on the ground rubbing their battered bodies, and extended a hand to one after the other, helping them up.

“Take the night off,” he said to his guard. “You deserve it.”

The five pair of eyes surrounding him opened wider in shock. Lucien strode past them and said over his shoulder to Talia, “Take the black duffel bag of clothes in my downstairs office up to Falon.” He yanked open the metal door and walked into the building.

“What clothes?” Talia said, hurrying up behind him.

Without looking at his cousin, Lucien said, “The ones I purchased for her.”

“When did you have time to go shopping?”

Lucien stopped and turned around so fast, Talia bumped into his chest. He set her away from him and scowled. “Last week.” From the moment he tricked Falon into trading blood with him in his brother’s bedroom last month, Lucien knew come hell, high water, and the Blood Law, he would have her. He had been patient and played his hand, and for his cunning, had won the prize.

“You were that sure of yourself?”

“When am I not?”

Talia shook her head, smiling. “Never. But? How did you know what to get? When have you ever shopped for a woman?”

Lucien snorted and turned toward the metal stairway leading to his rooms. “I’m not a caveman, Talia. Now, please, just do it, and don’t tell her they’re from me. Tell her you sent the betas out this morning for the clothing.”

FALON STOOD IN shocked silence and watched Lucien help his men up, and then Talia followed him into the building. What had just happened? First Lucien tells her she can leave; next he almost kills four of his men in a fit of fury when she chooses to stay. And then he apologizes to her? For what? The rough sex? For turning her life upside down and inside out? Shaking her head, she moved away from the window. Was it a backdoor ploy to get her to stay, or did he truly regret marking her?

She rubbed her fingertips across the tender spot on her neck. She could have done without the mark, but the sex? It had been—Her blood pressure shot up a dozen points. Hell, it had been crazy. He had not taken what she was not willing to give. Dear Lord, what was she going to do? Guilt flooded her. Rafael knew the second Lucien entered her. Did he know she enjoyed it? Her cheeks flamed hot. He must hate her right now.

She could walk out that door, and Rafael would sleep better knowing she was no longer with Lucien. But what about her? By accepting Lucien’s mark, she accepted him and his pack. Despite the feud, Mondragon was family now. She was safe here. And, she had a place here if she wanted it. All she had to do was assume it. That meant rising above her own wants and desires, and acting like the alpha she was. Her feelings for Lucien aside, Falon had no desire to live in the human world again. Slayers were everywhere, and even if they were not, she identified with the Lycan part of her. It was who she was, what she was, and it was where she wanted to stay.

If she were completely honest with herself, she could make a list of reasons why, even had Lucien not marked her, why she should stay. She understood the fine line between love and hate. Lucien could not hate his brother so viciously if he had not loved him so deeply. And buried beneath all of his smoke and fire, there was no doubt in Falon’s mind that Lucien still loved Rafael. With each step Falon had taken away from Lucien earlier, it became clearer and clearer to her: while Lucien was the key, she was the lock that would once again bind the brothers. If she did not believe it before, she believed with all her heart that the entire Lycan nation would succumb to the Slayers if the two strongest alphas, the alpha twins, Mondragon and Vulkasin, were not united in heart, blood, and soul as they led the charge.

Letting out a long breath, Falon sat on the bed. It would be easier in the long run for Rafa if he thought she had completely accepted Lucien. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest. No, she didn’t want Rafa to think she thought so little of their love that she would jump right into a relationship with the brother he despised. But, as Lucien proved so profoundly a half hour ago, being alpha was not about doing what you wanted for yourself; it was about doing what was right for the pack. For nearly sixteen years Rafael had done what was right for himself. Now it was time he do what he was born to do: produce the next generation.

A lump clogged her throat at the thought of Rafa making love to another woman as he had made love to her. She squeezed her eyes shut blocking out the vision of Rafa marking his next mate as he thrust into her.

Shaking the visions from her mind, Falon stood and peered in the mirror above the low dresser attached to the armoire. “Pack first,” she whispered. She would stay here regardless of her feelings. Was she alpha enough to do it?

The door abruptly jerked open and Lucien strode in. His golden eyes glowed furiously.

Her mood shifted seamlessly into provoke mode. “So much for the contrite Lucien,” she taunted.

Lucien strode past her and placed his sword back on its wrought-iron hanger above the table grouping. As he turned, he unbuttoned his shirt with short angry motions. Falon’s eyes widened. Blood and sweat glistened on his chest, obliterating his unusual tattoo from view.

“You were cut?” she asked surprised. She had watched the entire fight and not once had Lucien been touched.

He dragged the shirt from his torn torso. The muscles in his arm flexed and bulged as he rolled up the dirty shirt. He tossed it into a small trash can by his desk. “Not by a blade.” He turned and Falon gasped. Thick rivulets of damp blood ran like tributaries down his back. From the base of his neck and arms all of the way down to the dip at the small of his back and, she was sure, farther down, his skin was ripped to shreds.