Chosen by Blood (3 page)

“ And I love her. All the more reason I’d never do something to hurt her. Ever.”

“Never say never,” he gritted, his eyes blazing furiously. “This isn’t about me wanting to fuck just for the sake of fucking. You feel it, too, Felicia. You’ve always felt it. When we met, it wasn’t an introduction, it was recognition. My soul and yours. We belong together.”

“If that were true, it wouldn’t hurt so much to be around you. You’re married—”

“To a female I love, but am not in love with. To a female who knows the difference and does not require my fidelity.” In obvious frustration, he shook his head. “Life is more complicated than a human with limited years can ever realize. We’re talking about the survival of a whole race. The vamp vaccine is destroying us, especially those with full blood. For some reason, dharmires inherit the strengths without needing the pure human blood that full vampires do. Vampire females have always been more rare, but now males of strength are of limited numbers, too. I can’t just ignore that.”

For a split second, she felt swayed by his words. By his logic. It was why she’d vowed to lie if Noella ever questioned Felicia about her feelings—fear that Noella would offer something she couldn’t refuse. Her heart jumped, urging her to open her arms to him, but she forced herself to remain still. She understood the vamp clan’s need to increase its population. She understood why Knox believed he needed to be part of that. But that was his choice, just as it had been his choice to marry Noella and, she supposed, to stay married to her.

She visibly jerked at the thought. Vamps didn’t believe in divorce. Even thinking the word in relation to Knox and Noella made her feel guilty. And foolish.

She had a choice, as well, and she prayed she was making the right one. She forced herself to whisper, “I’m not asking you to ignore anything.”

“You are,” he charged fiercely, “every time you continue to deny us because I can’t pledge you eternal fidelity, any more than I can my wife.”

Wife. Wife. The word played in her head, reminding her of who she was and what she expected from herself and others. “There is no us,” she said sadly.

“I refuse to accept that.”

“You desire me now, but you’re right—I have limited years on Earth. I need to live those years honoring what I believe. I don’t believe in—in what you’re asking me for. Besides,” she reasoned desperately, “I’m just a passing fancy. When I’m gone, you’ll be glad—”

“No.” He growled and pulled her into his arms. She saw the terror that flashed in his eyes. “No.” Before she could stop him, his mouth took hers. And it was exactly as she’d feared it would be.

Devastating.

His mouth took but it also gave. It plundered even as it cherished. His tongue rubbed hers, then retreated, mimicking a different dance and causing the music to swell even louder, until it obliterated everything but the moment.

It was heaven. The kind of heaven one only dreams about, especially when her life has been filled with fear and uncertainty and pain. The kind of heaven that a mortal can’t have.

She wrenched away and backed up, wiping her hand against her lips.

He was breathing roughly, his expression almost desperate. “You can’t run from this forever, Felicia.”

Shaking her head, she kept moving. “I won’t have to.” She tried to smile even though her lips trembled. “When I’m long gone, you’ll get to see the peace that time brings. A peace I can only imagine. You and Noella and your family will share that together.”

His muttered oath was thick with emotion—denial, regret, determination—but she spun around and ran as fast as she could toward the common area. She moved past several guests, noting that in addition to the sprinkling of humans, there were several werebeasts and werecats present. A mage entertained some children, sparking fireworks that exploded their brilliant colors across the Dome sky, illuminating all the residences protected within it.

She spotted one of the horse-drawn carriages that would take her to the departure area. Knox’s car was parked in his garage, but cars were only driven within the Vamp Dome when they were leaving or returning from outside. Sadly, however, most full vampires, who made up 90 percent of the clan’s population, were too sick to leave the Dome now.

More than ever, the Dome was fulfilling its intended purpose—protecting those Knox loved. It didn’t just shield vamps from the sun or defend them from those who wished them harm. It now provided vampires a safe haven from prying eyes and gave them something even if their bodies wouldn’t—dignity. Protecting the clan was the only reason that the Dome had been created. But maybe someday, Felicia thought . . . She turned back to take a final glance at Knox’s home and the gardens where she knew he stood.

Someday the rest of the world would go where Knox was trying to lead them.

Someday today would lead to better things.

K
yle Mahone, director of the FBI’s Special Ops Tactical Division, quietly hung up his phone instead of slamming it down the way he wanted to. He’d expected Dex Hunt to be suspicious of the Bureau’s job offer. What Other wouldn’t be? The rest had certainly proceeded with caution, asking one question after another.

The werebeast, however, had done something the others hadn’t.

He’d laughed his ass off.

Swiveling in his chair, Mahone looked out his window, clenching his fists until his knuckles were white. He’d gotten where he was by being smart, working hard, and maintaining his cool. But something about the werebeast’s taunting had hit home.

Infuriating. Smart-assed. Cocky SOB. The epithets didn’t come close to describing Hunt. Still, he was the best marksman in the nation, human or Other. He was also skilled in the martial art of Karakai, a combination of Karate and crazy-ass gymnastics the Others had come up with. That made Hunt lethal from a distance and in close quarters. Add the fact he could shift into something that would make Freddy Krueger look cuddly and Hunt would be invaluable to the success of Team Red, the FBI’s first special ops team to recruit both humans and Others. In addition to Hunt, Mahone had already offered spots to a human, a human psychic, a mage, and last but not least, a wraith.

Wraith, as in ghost. The dearly departed.

A no-longer-living, d-e-a-d person who swore like a trucker, adored ABBA, wore four-inch stilettos, and unlike the other handful of wraiths that were known to exist, refused to take a real name. Instead, she’d sworn to answer only to “Wraith” until she discovered her true identity. Her surly attitude wasn’t ideal, but she was a survivor to the extreme—incapable of being killed by any known methods. She also happened to be an expert in ammunitions and explosives.

Twenty years ago, Mahone would have checked himself into an insane asylum before admitting he believed in any of the Others, let alone a wraith. Now the future of the world seemed to rest in their hands.

Wearily, Mahone rubbed his hands over his face. According to the crazy dream he’d had two weeks ago, the fate of the world, or rather the fate of its inhabitants, actually rested more in
his
hands than anyone else’s—on his ability to choose the right combination of six individuals, humans and Otherborn, to serve on a
new
type of special ops team—a Para-Ops team.

Talk about pressure.

If it had been up to him, a Para-Ops team would have been formed years before, as soon as the President and all the Otherborn leaders had signed the Humanity Treaty. Instead, the U.S. government had left things up to local law enforcement agencies, which, while usually well intentioned, were simply unable to deal with the lingering prejudice and suspicion that naturally followed half a decade of civil war. Another five years had passed since peace was declared, yet the nation and its citizens were still recovering. Some days, Mahone doubted they’d ever find peace again. For that to occur, he knew the United States people needed help—a team dedicated to ensuring the rights of humans and Others alike, both domestically and internationally.

The dream had obviously been a manifestation of his growing unease and frustration with the President’s unwillingness to step up to the plate. But in the end, the dream had also given Mahone the cajones to force the President’s hand. Either give him the green light to form the FBI’s first Para-Ops team comprised of humans and Others, or accept Mahone’s resignation.

Now he had no one to blame but himself if the team turned out to be a disaster. Unfortunately, the call with Hunt wasn’t exactly promising and he still had one more offer to make—the position of team leader to a dharmire. And not just any dharmire, but Knox Devereaux, the son of a vampire Queen and an infamous French revolutionist human, Jacques Devereaux.

This morning, Mahone had e-mailed Knox, his message concise:
Teleport to headquarters as soon as possible. Nora will buzz you in
.

Knox’s reply had been even more concise.
Three
. For Knox, that was code for, “I’ll be there at three o’clock, you bastard, just long enough to make you squirm.”

Mahone checked the clock. Less than an hour away. Which meant Mahone needed to focus. It would be foolish to face Knox while he was still distracted by crazy dreams or a smart-ass were. Once again, he replayed the conversation with Hunt, trying to determine the point that annoyance had shifted into more.

Yes, he’d laughed at Mahone’s offer, but the werebeast’s laughter had barely died down before he’d gone for Mahone’s throat. “A team to help both humans and Others, huh? Tell me, Mahone, how many Others do you call friend? How many do you drink a beer with when you’re watching a game?”

Mahone’s answer had been in his silence, just as Hunt had obviously expected. Even so, he’d persisted, giving Hunt both the parameters of the team’s purpose, as well as a brief description of its first mission. When he was done, Hunt hadn’t been laughing, but he hadn’t jumped to accept Mahone’s invitation, either.

No, he’d said he’d think about it.

Mahone snorted and shook his head.

Think about it.
As if they weren’t discussing one of the most elite teams in the world. As if riding a motorcycle to nowhere and back was half as important as things like justice or survival, or hell, even revenge.

But it was all bullshit.

Hunt didn’t just want revenge, he craved it. What Mahone had proposed would give it to him in spades, complete with a “get out of jail free” card.

The werebeast could think about it all he wanted; in the end, he’d accept just as the others would.

Feeling marginally more settled, Mahone flipped Hunt’s file shut and secured it. He swiped his hands over his face. When a spark of memory hit him, however, he froze.

The question, virtually identical to the one posed by Hunt, drifted through his mind in a decidedly more feminine voice. Mahone frowned as he connected the voice to his dream.

How many Others do you call friend?
The question played over and over, until he finally managed to form an image of the creature that had asked it of him in the dream. A creature he instinctively cringed away from remembering.

But he couldn’t help remembering it, either.

Closing his eyes, he recalled how, in his dream, he’d dozed off at his desk. The sky had been dark. The building deserted. Then he’d been blinded by a flash of light and the sudden appearance of a creature at the light’s center. A creature he’d never seen before nor ever wanted to see again.

She had hair that was comprised of colors both familiar and unfamiliar, floating around her in undulating waves, each strand a living, breathing entity.

A face that, instead of eyes, a nose, and a mouth, had hollow, cavernous sockets, bottomless and dark, terrifying and hypnotic, yet so beautiful it had made his own life force try to push itself out of his body to get to her.

A body that, underneath her diaphanous, flowing gown was neither female nor male, but both and so much more than he could understand.

After that first shocked look, he’d turned away from her and that’s when she’d asked him, “How many Others do you call friend?” When he’d answered, “None,” too scared even to think of lying, she’d told him her intentions and lamented the failure of an ancient prophesy. She’d listened when he’d told her about his idea for Team Red. And then she’d told him to form the team, explaining in shocking detail what would happen if the team failed to serve its purpose. If Mahone failed to deliver what he promised.

When he’d asked her who she was—
what
she was—she’d merely said “a divinity.” In other words, she was a goddess. And a pissed-off one at that.

Thank
his
God it had been a dream.

Mahone opened his eyes, disgusted at the feel of sweat trickling down his temple. With a shaky hand, he grabbed a glass of water and chugged it down. Then he heard a voice, no longer in his memory but as if the speaker was standing directly beside him.

Whirling around to scan his empty office, Mahone dropped his glass and the traces of water within it poured out, staining the remaining files on his desk.

He knew instantly he’d been kidding himself. He hadn’t dreamed the creature’s visit any more than he’d dreamed the War. Instead, the living nightmare that had become his life was merely intensifying.

Falling back in his chair, he stared blankly at the water pooled on his desk, then slowly cleaned up the mess, stacking his files with precision before straightening his tie and smoothing out his jacket.

Minutes later, two raps on his door made him jump and curse. He knew immediately who was standing outside. He took a deep breath. Then another. The last thing he wanted was more drama, but he simply called, “Enter.”