Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply (22 page)

I gasped.

We stared at each other, and I knew my eyes probably held the same glazed passion as his. I certainly
felt
dazed. My knees dug into the furs as I rode him.

Then, next thing I knew, Drake grasped my waist and lifted me off. He lightly tossed me to the side. I landed on my stomach. He was breathing hard, and now I heard him growl.

Excitement raced through me. And maybe a little fear, too.

He got behind me, lifting my hips, and slid his cock between my thighs, penetrating me.

I leaned forward on my elbows and let him take me.

For the longest time, our harsh breathing echoed in the chamber. Sweat beaded my spine and dripped off my temples, and still he pumped into me, and he was hitting the sweet spot just right.

I felt the rise of another intense orgasm.

“Drake!”

I fell over again, into the sparkling bliss, and as my orgasm pulsed around his cock, he gave a strangled cry, penetrated me deeply, and came.

I almost expected him to howl.

But he didn’t.

I don’t know how long it was before he slipped out of me and we both collapsed onto the furs. He lay beside me, rolling to his side, and leaned up on his elbow. He brushed a lock of hair away from my face.

“How are you?”

“Really, really well,” I said.

He grinned.

Then we heard a noise.

Blue and green sparkles rose from the four corners of the bed and wound into one long ribbon that flowed toward the wall. As soon as the magic made contact, we heard a pop, and a sliding noise—stone grating against stone.

We both sat up. The wall facing us had opened, revealing total darkness. No torches magically lit up. Since the opening was quite large, I couldn’t imagine it was another hallway, so it was probably another room.

A hissing noise erupted from the endless dark.

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

We both scrambled up, grabbing at our clothes. Drake got completely dressed before I’d even shimmied my pants on. Talk about supernatural speed. Sheesh.

I got my pants buttoned and zipped and my bra snapped. I couldn’t find my socks, so I decided
Screw it
and shoved a bare foot into my hiking boot.

The hissing noise got louder and louder.

And then . . . the creature emerged.

Dove

P
atsy and I had returned to the bed-and-breakfast and now sat at the table in the kitchen of perpetual food. Lenette had made mini quiches and finger sandwiches, along with tea, coffee, and some kind of magical lemonade I was fairly sure I wanted to marry. Then Lenette had disappeared, muttering something about husbands and Laundry 101.

I poured my second glass of lemonade. “So what’s the deal with Karn? Why is he so grumpy?”

“Karn is damaged,” said Patsy.

Sitting at the table to the left of me, she reached out and chose a peanut butter cookie. I liked Patsy for a number of reasons, one of which was that she wasn’t a nibbler. She took real bites and enjoyed her food like a regular human being. Well, like a vampire-werewolf, I supposed.

“The vampire who made him didn’t do the job right,” continued Patsy. “He was an inquisitor . . . you know, those Italian priests who tortured people accused of heresy.”

“I know what an inquisitor is,” I said.

“Well, that makes one of us,” muttered Patsy. “He shouldn’t have survived, but he did. The thing is . . . Karn doesn’t have the full skill set. He can’t glamour at all. Anyway, he caused a huge problem for vampires and humans alike . . . apparently he was really good at his job of torturing poor folks. The vampires got tired of his shit and hunted him down. He was busy burning a village at the time, so they shoved him into the nearest fire. Everyone thought he was ash.” She sighed. “But he survived and just went to ground. He popped up a couple months ago. Just as crazy and mean as before, and two hundred times more pissed off.”

Yeah, yeah, fascinating stuff. If Karn wasn’t such a dickhead, I would probably be interested in his take on the Inquisition. All of these vampires who’d been walking around for thousands of years had seen history unfold. No guesswork needed. But getting the historical 4-1-1 wasn’t my priority. I eyed the quiches.

“What do you think’s going on in the pyramid with Moira and Drake?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” said Patsy. “I’ve given up trying to figure out the why and the how of the world. I just try to keep my head above water and try not to kill anyone.”

Coming from anyone else, that last declaration would be an exaggeration. But from a supernatural being, it was probably truth. “You . . . uh, feel murderous impulses a lot?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But then I remember I love my kids, and I go have vodka instead.”

I laughed.

Then a huge spray of red sparkles exploded next to me.

I dropped my quiche and stared up at a really pissed-off Karn. Fear shot through me like a cold, sharp spike.

“What the fuck?” Patsy exclaimed.

Neither of us had time to do anything else.

Karn put a hand on each of our shoulders, and in the next instant the world tilted and went black.

•   •   •

“Hey, kid. You okay?”

I woke slowly to the soft voice of Patsy calling to me. Metallic clanging rattled into the headache crawling around my skull. I tried to raise my arms to rub my temples, but I couldn’t move them.

My eyes fluttered open.

“Dove. You alive?”

I groaned as I moved my head, trying to find the source of her voice. She was about three feet or so away from me, chained to the wall.

Then I realized that I was pinned to the floor with the same kind of chains.

“What the hell?” I murmured. I had very little range to move, and when I did, the chains scraped the concrete floor. I shuddered. It was like someone was scraping the inside of my skull with a dull blade.

“They’re magicked,” said Patsy. “I can’t use any of my vampire powers.”

I was able to bend my head a little more to look at her better. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been in worse circumstances,” said Patsy. She glanced down at her belly. “But not with a passenger on board.”

Despite Patsy’s bravado, I could see that she was pale—paler than usual. Worry wormed through me.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” I asked.

“The old Thrifty Sip,” said Patsy. “He really knows how to treat a girl . . . sticking us in the basement of a burned-out convenience store.”

“How did Karn get through the maxi-pad thing?”

“I don’t know,” said Patsy. “Obviously he figured out a way.”

I didn’t want to think about what Karn was planning. He hoped to use me to ensure Moira’s cooperation. Patsy was queen of the vampires, probably the most valuable kidnap victim on the planet.

“Okay, you can’t use your powers, but can you still leave your body?”

Patsy arched a blond eyebrow. “Can I do what now?”

“I read Theodora’s book. She said the vampires of Amahté’s line could do soul travel like he did.”

Patsy shook her head. “I have no idea. I’ve never tried it.” She stilled. “Someone’s coming down the stairs.”

Seconds later, Karn arrived, looking as smarmy as usual. He came alone, no minions needed, apparently, and stopped next to me. He crouched down and tapped my neck with his forefinger. “Your friend has something I want,” he said. He gave me a cold smile. “And so do you.”

Moira

I
stared at the monster scorpion that crawled out of the dark and paused in front of us, its pincers clacking and its feet skittering on the stone floor as it danced, trying to decide which of us to eat first.

“A scorpion? Really?” I asked, lacing up my boot as fast as possible. My heart raced, and adrenaline roared through me. “Dove would just die.”

Drake, standing a few feet from me, glanced over his shoulder, shooting me a look of profound disbelief. “
Dove
would die?”

“She loves those goddamned
Mummy
movies, including the
Scorpion King
one. She’d be in heaven right now.” I was chattering idiotically, I knew, but I was having a hard time getting my other boot laced because my hands were shaking so badly. “Do you have a sword?”

“Yeah, but I left it in my other jeans,” said Drake. His voice was so heavy with sarcasm, it nearly crushed me.

“Why the hell didn’t we bring any guns?”

“Ruadan recommended against it.”

“Well, he’s stupid.”

“Agreed,” said Drake. “Any other ideas?”

“Stay away from its ass—that’s where the poison is.”

As if to punctuate my warning, the scorpion propelled itself forward—
skitter, skitter, skitter
—and waved its deadly tail around.

I screamed, left off tying my boot, and leapt off the bed on which I’d been sitting.

The sharpened tip of the tail slammed into the stone.

The bed exploded, and the destruction echoed harshly in the chamber—like a thousand gunshots.

Stone and furs flew everywhere.

A statue of Bastet, mostly intact, rolled toward me, and I picked it up and wielded it like a baseball bat.

Drake’s response to facing a monstrous poisonous creature was to take off his ragged shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled.

“These are my only clothes,” he said. “If I shift while wearing them, they’ll be destroyed. And I’ll have to walk around naked.”

“I don’t see the downside.”

He barked a laugh as he yanked off his boots.

The scorpion apparently didn’t like the idea of a werewolf striptease and scurried toward us, wielding that stinger like a cat-o’-nine-tails. It was going for Drake, so I ran forward and slammed one of its pincers with my Bastet statue. The beast made a horrible, trains-braking-on-metal-track noise and reared back.

I ran toward the other side of the room, and it followed, still screeching and skittering, and now aiming those claws at me.

“Are you insane?” yelled Drake.

“Clearly,” I yelled back. “Hurry up, wolf boy!” I whirled around, which the scorpion didn’t expect, and bashed the other pincer.

It screamed in that same horrible metallic way, moving back just a little, and then its stinger sailed toward me. I scurried backward as fast as I could, but I tripped on one of the broken stones and went down hard on my backside. My lungs felt like they’d collapsed and pain shot up my spine. My gaze was riveted on the stinger, on the sharp, ugly death headed straight for me.

A fierce, aggressive howl cut through the room, and the ferocity of the sound impressed even the scorpion, especially since a huge black werewolf landed on its back and began tearing at its head. I knew a few awful facts about scorpions because I’d had to deal with them on dig sites. Several pairs of eyes were located on the head, and that was the only spot on its armored body vulnerable to real damage.

Even though my body ached from its violent fall, I managed to scramble to my feet. I picked up my handy-dandy statue and backed up, trying to figure out how I could help Drake.

The scorpion was thrashing back and forth, trying to use the violent movements to knock Drake off its back. It was also coming at him with its pincers, but not quite reaching him.

Drake was definitely going for the eyes, and being rather successful. I had an iron stomach—archaeology wasn’t for sissies—yet witnessing a werewolf viciously take out a scorpion’s eyeballs was . . . well, gross . . . times one thousand.
Blech!

Blinding the damned thing didn’t seem to be slowing it down, though. It got more pissed off, and more desperate, and more erratic.

I didn’t know what to do. I felt helpless as hell.

The scorpion’s belly was plated, just like the rest of it. But as it moved, I could see the ribbons of scales reveal soft pierceable flesh. If I could get under there, time it right, and use every ounce of strength I had, I could potentially puncture something vital and kill this thing before it killed us.

Drake yelped as one of the pincers made contact, forcing him away from the head. He slid down the back, growling and barking.