Demetrius (21 page)

“Callista!” Was she buried by tons of dirt? He strained against Rourke—still no use.

Wildflowers wafted over him, helping him forget the pain lancing his body. Along with the smell came a feeling of rightness, a sense that the source of the tantalizing scent belonged to him and only him.

“Sorry, I wanted to make sure the dirt didn’t extinguish the blaze before it destroyed his body. I don’t think McFeely will be coming out of there, either.”

Demetrius and Rourke both twisted around. Callista stood behind them, her hair covered in dirt and debris, her face red from the heat of the fire and wearing a triumphant expression. Rourke finally let him go and he tried to get to his feet, only making it as far as his knees.

Rourke grabbed Demetrius’ wrist and began picking the lock, using the small blade.

“Where’d you get that?”

“A little blonde vampire shoved it into my hands before Draken noticed her.” Rourke freed his arm and dropped it, muttering an apology when Demetrius winced as his arm swung limp. “Want me to deal with that before I get to your other cuff?”

“Sure, why not.” Demetrius dreaded what came next, wished it was as numb as the rest of his arm.

Rourke struck fast and brutal. The head of his humerus slammed back into the socket, Demetrius threw his head back, gritting his teeth against the simultaneous pain and relief. He rocked on his knees, willing himself not to pass out. He made it through the demon’s torture and escape, he wasn’t planting his face against the ground now.

Callista knelt in front of him, flung her arms around his shoulders. He rested his head against hers while Rourke worked on his other cuff.

A sulfur tang filled the air. He jerked his head up and searched the woods.

He heard the click of a trigger and grabbed Callista to cover her with his body. Rourke dropped his arm, doing the same to protect her. They weren’t fast enough. She cried out, a wooden shaft buried into her side.

The Circle, or their lackeys, must have been in the trees, probably drawn by Draken’s death. They didn’t need Callista anymore, her life was worthless to them, but she’d ruined their plans and they wanted her dead.

Zoey appeared in front of him, providing cover. Grunts echoed from the darkness around them before Bishop stormed out of the trees.

“They got away,” the big blonde said.

Zoey turned to Demetrius bent over Callista. “Why are you still here?”

“I can’t flash with this metal shackle still around my wrist. Take her back, get that arrow out.” He was probably too weak to help anyway. Demetrius shoved his arm at Rourke who went back to picking the lock.

Callista reached for him. “Not until you can—”

Bishop flashed away with her before she finished her argument.

“She’s a crafty one.” Zoey scanned the trees, keeping watch over them. “Got out of her room without being noticed and destroyed a window getting outside to flash. Had no idea where the fuck to look for her, or you, until I got a text twenty minutes ago with directions here.”

Demetrius collapsed back, pulling Rourke with him, earning a dirty look from the male. “She did all that? I guess she’d been sneaking past her father for years.”

“And she was almost gone when you found her at Mundoon’s.” Rourke gave his shackle a tug, then Demetrius heard a click before it fell free. “Damn locks are getting more intricate. I need more practice.”

“Who are you going to find to practice on?”

Rourke ignored him. People found themselves cuffed around Rourke…for various reasons.

His friend grabbed him around the shoulders. “Let’s get you fixed up, boss.” He flashed them back to his compound.

Chapter Twenty-three

Rourke took them to the infirmary. Zoey appeared within seconds. Demetrius heard Callista arguing with Bishop.

“Callista,” Demetrius croaked. Damn, he was worse off than he thought. He sounded like he was going through puberty again and that shit wasn’t fun the first time around.

“Demetrius!” She rounded the curtain partition.

The arrow shaft had been pulled from her side. Her hand pressed over the wound, stemming blood flow. She’d heal soon with a decent blood meal.

Unfortunately, he had none to spare. He hadn’t fed in days and his injuries, while not life-threatening, gathered strength in number.

“You need blood.” She stood next to Rourke who hoisted him onto the table. He tried to shrug the male off, but Rourke was immovable when he wanted to be. Which was always.

He gave up with Rourke and lay flat on the gurney. They had no physician on staff. Or in the entire vampire race. Vampires died, or regenerated. Few saw the need for an in-between.

Zoey’s blood tinted the air. She was at his side shoving her wrist in his mouth. The instinct to fight it was too strong, especially with Callista nearby.

Callista’s eyes glowed as she looked from Zoey’s wrist, to her face, back to her wrist. She didn’t like what she saw. There was a war within her. He needed blood and she had none to give and she fought against the impulse tackle to Zoey for helping.

He gagged.

Rourke’s hand hovered by his nose, ready to suffocate him until he swallowed again. Callista bit her own wrist and held her hand against Zoey’s to mix their blood.

And what do you know? He swallowed.

His stomach lurched, but he swallowed again. A faint hint of sulfur tinged her blood, but in the short time since Draken had been dispatched, it had faded a great deal. Good to know she wouldn’t have to bleed out like Biggie had warned them. With Draken’s death, the taint had left her blood.

He took a few more pulls, only enough to speed healing. Turning his mouth to the side, he lifted Zoey’s hand away but kept hold of Callista’s.

“Do you feel it?” he asked. “The draw of the true mate bond between us?”

He felt the tension in her hand before he saw it on her face.  

“Leave us,” he ordered to the others in the room.

Rourke was gone before anyone else even moved. Only a swinging door marked his exit. Anything with feelings drove the male away. Zoey gave Demetrius one more evaluation to determine he was healing adequately before she nodded to Bishop and they left.

“What is it, Callista?”

She meant to deny anything was wrong, but instead said, “I care for you deeply. I just don’t know that I’m not ready for another bond.”

He struggled to sit up. Blood had replenished him, but he was still in the painful phase of healing. His left arm and shoulder would hurt less if it needed to grow back entirely. His torso tingled from where each stab wound mended from the inside out. “We’re true mates.”

“I was bound to another for two-thirds of my life until tonight. I despised you for the last year, until a week ago.” She blew out a breath and slumped her shoulders. “It’s been a lot, fast.”

Demetrius dropped her hand. Since he’d met her, his whole world had revolved around freeing her, saving her life. Everything he’d ever done was to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. He felt like it all had been so he could save her. He slayed her demon, she was supposed to be his. “It’s been fast for me, too, but I’m not running from you.”

“I—This isn’t the time, Demetrius. We had a horrible night, a stressful week. We need to heal. We can talk about this later.”

“You’ll still need my blood to heal.” Then she’d see she had nothing to fear from him.

“I’m healing well.” She blushed. “I’ve fed enough the last couple of days.”

There was something more she wasn’t saying. “Callista…talk to me.”

Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she contemplated her words. “You’ve had over a century. You’ve been free...to have experiences. A lot of them. I had to sneak and hide almost my entire life. Binding myself to someone right now isn’t my first priority, even if that someone is you.”

No words. He had no words. Never would he have thought
his mate
wouldn’t want to be, well, his mate.

Zoey burst through the door. “D, the Synod caught wind of what went down. They called session and said you’d better show.”

“Ten minutes,” he snapped.

“D!”

“Ten. Fucking. Minutes.”

Her look said he owed her, and she’d be ruthless calling the favor in. “Fine.”

Alone again, he asked, “What now?”

“I need to go home. Figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life. Get the mansion ready to sell because I can’t afford to live there. Did you clean it for me?”

“Bishop and Creed took care of the destruction your father’s death caused. It seemed right. Everything he did was because he loved you.”
Like I do
.

“What will happen to you?” She caressed his face, caught herself, and dropped her hand.

“Dunno. I’ll tell you after session, if you still want to see me.”

The adorable little crease between her brows teased him. “Of course, Demetrius. I just need time to figure out my identity.”

“Your identity is my mate.”

Her expression chilled. “That’s all I’ll be to anyone. Demetrius’ mate. The one who was bound to a demon. You need to get to your meeting, Demetrius.”

She wasn’t budging and she was right—his time was up. Standing up he saw how filthy he was, covered in mud and dried blood. It’d have to do, and if it bothered them, the Synod could suck it. “You should stay at my place. You may still not be safe at home.”

“I’ll be careful,” she replied.

“Is that part of the new you, keeping your distance from me?” Okay, he was being a dick.

She tilted her head at him, disappointed in how he was acting.

Likewise. “Good-bye, princess. Call my people when you get hungry. You’ll have to take the drug to fulfill your needs with someone else.” He barely remained civil saying that last sentence, thinking about her trying to override their connection. But if you love something, set it free, and all that shit.

She started to say his name, but he limped out the door without a last glance.

Chapter Twenty-four

Demetrius barged into the session room. “Welcome, Demetrius,” John Knight said wryly. He was the hybrid representative on the Synod, and Alex’s older brother, but his demeanor was calm confidence instead of cocky exuberance.

The room was protected with both shifter and vampire wards to prevent unwanted entrances. Monthly sessions included any member of their races who wanted to attend. Grievances were aired during that time and it gave him a fucking headache. Their weekly sessions were private though, and this session was extremely confidential.

“I was told
immediately
.” He probably shouldn’t begin with so much vitriol, they were likely pissed at him as it was. Demetrius managed to walk with a solid stride to his standard chair before collapsing into it.

“Let’s talk demons.” The male shifter rep, Russo Demke, got straight to the point, as always.

“Things escalated before I could bring the situation to your attention.” It was partly the truth.

“Good try, Demetrius.” Sylva seemed meek, but she was tough as nails and hated putting up with bullshit—especially from males. She also detested him. “You missed our last session without a word. You’ve known about this for long enough to approach us. But in standard Demetrius fashion, you thought you’d take it all on yourself.”

“It didn’t involve shifters or hybrids at first. We had our suspicions after we destroyed Sigma, but no proof.”

“So you’ve known about this for over a
year
?” Sylva looked at him like he had three heads, and they were all ugly.

“Our government is in its infantile stage, our hold fragile. I wasn’t going to drop a ‘demon’s might be messing with some vamps,
buuut
I’m not sure.’ We were investigating it. Dark arts haven’t been knowingly practiced for ages. Not since those witch trials put the fear in all of us of getting set aflame for acting weird.” It was before his time, but the practice had understandably taken a steep decline since those days.

“Your parents? Are they alive? Their hired help was frantic about the attack when they called us about what they saw. News has quickly spread.”

Just what he needed. He didn’t need anyone finding out about Isabelle, questioning her existence, contemplating her usefulness.

And shit. How were his parents? They were still alive when Draken knocked him out.

“The Devereuxes are healing.” Zoey put him at ease. At least about that. “The Circle hoped to force them into being hosts while Draken kept Demetrius busy, but our arrival put a stop to that.”

John, in his laid back manner, reclined in his chair, arms crossed. “So, do we have any, what did you call them...hosts?...alive?”

“The demon didn’t survive.”

“Demon, or a host?” Sylva snapped. “We don’t want half-assed information. We can’t stay strong with half the story.”