The All Encompassing: Shifter MC Novel (Pureblood Predator MC Book 1) (41 page)

The lioness growls in Tamara’s throat. A predator queen. The sound makes me shift, ever so slightly, against my chains. The Night Stalker still prowls through my blood. A gift from my Lord of Night. Perhaps he has not abandoned me completely. Perhaps there is hope—

Carlos says very slowly, “How do I gain this one’s loyalty?”

“That’s the easy part,” Tamara says. “You let him be what he is. A killer. What does every killer need?”

“Victims.”

“Yes. A kill list. Beginning with your enemies here in Mexico City. The longer the better.”

“Perhaps I
should
have married you.”

The woman laughs. “It’s too late now, Emperor Carlos Collazo. You were too cautious. You failed to stake your claim.”
 

***

I wake in silk sheets. Naked. Healed. In a large room lit by a single candle flickering in the corner. The walls lined with gold-framed paintings. The windows covered in thick red drapes. The furniture gleaming and gilded. A room created to display great wealth. The air reeks of scented smoke and slightly decayed flowers. The room, so different from my cell beneath the Cloud Temple, makes me oddly afraid.
 

I could lose myself here, among such miserable finery.
 

“Good morning, my smoking hot demon,” Tamara purrs.

I whirl, my fangs and claws springing out. She’s lying beside me, naked as well, her body covered in a white silk sheet so thin it’s transparent.
 

“You fucking whore,” I say, seizing Tamara’s throat and pulling her face inches from mine. “You betrayed me to your kind!”
 

Tamara’s eyes go grey-black as she thrashes and flails against my choking grip.
 

“You deceived me,” I whisper, twisting so I’m on my knees, my weight pressing the foul temptress’s head into the silk pillows. “Now I offer you…”
 

Tamara paws at my arms, swats at me.
 

Black blood speckles her lips.
 

Not long now. Not long and I free her to the Night Lord.
 

“Place me on the reed mat, O night lord, Wind Lord, Lord of Blood…” I pray as I press my forehead to the offering’s.
 

Her scent, heavy with terror, floods my nostrils.
 

Only a few more moments. The sacred freedom draws near.
 

“Do you seek release?” I whisper.

Tamara nods. Her eyes glaze over. Soon she’ll look at me with gratitude for the freedom I provide. But this time I won’t see her eyes when the Night Wind arrives to collect her. I have a special death planned for the temptress. The woman who drew me from devotion.
 

I have a gift from the Spotted Stalker who roams in my blood.
 

I kiss the offering once, slowly, on the forehead, then lean over her and open my jaws wide enough to stretch across the top of her head. My fangs dig into her skull, the lower fangs just above her eyes and the upper fangs near the back of her head.

A trickle of rich black blood runs down the offering’s face.

The woman offering freezes, paralyzed with terror.
 

The Spotted Stalker kills like this. Places his prey’s skull between his powerful jaws and bites down, his teeth crushing bone and piercing deep into brain, killing almost instantly.

This is my gift to the seductress. The agony of my fangs squeezing her skull until it cracks and buckles and bursts open like a melon, then my fangs slipping into her brain, then nothing but the wind whispering through the jungle canopy, calling her cat home.

The female squirms beneath me.

She misjudged me. I am not her bloodmate.
 

I will not bow to her or the one she works for.
 

She underestimated my devotion to the One I Am Slave To.
 

Overestimated her foul power over me.
 

A deadly mistake.
 

Tamara’s skull cracks.
 

Her hands graze my skin like helpless birds fluttering from their nest.

A little more now. Just a little more bite.

I hesitate, hold her beneath me, feel her blood-life leaking onto the silk sheets.

The woman who freed me from the cage.
 

The woman who nourished me with her black blood. The woman who fucked me.

Oh Lord of the Night Wind what is happening to me? What is this foul sensation in my heart? Why can’t I…why can’t I…

I am lost.
 

I open my jaws, release Tamara’s throat and shriek, “You deserve this death! The Night Lord demands I deliver the whore—”

But I won’t offer her. Won’t murder her. I can’t.

I am lost.

Tamara draws a long, tortured breath, swats at my chest, tries to buck me off but I hold her firm, then I raise my hand and smack her across the face and for an instant I’m certain I’ve killed her, and a rush of sharp guilt and loss and self-hatred slams into me, and I press my face into the offering’s soft shoulder as tears burn hot down my cheek.

Tamara takes another halting breath, then begins laughing.
 

I don’t understand.
 

“Your
whore
?” Tamara says, laughing and crying at once. “I’m your
bloodmate
, you fucking fool. You marked me, remember? I’m yours. So have me, killer. Take me. Let me feel—”

I slip down, grip her thighs, part her legs, marvel at the sight of her perfect pink cunt, then thrust my hard cock deep into her.
 

“Yes!” Tamara screams. “Take your mate. Fuck your mate raw, my killer. Fuck me and fill me. Please.”

This one,
I think as she wraps her legs around me,
this one is mine and mine alone.
 

The Night Lord can bleed whoever he desires.
 

Except this one.
 

I kiss Tamara’s ear, down her neck, run my lips across her hard nipples as I fuck her, feel her cunt tighten around me, feel this woman who saved me, feel this togetherness that I’ve never named or known, and a part of me realizes this is weakness, this need, and another part wants nothing more than to be like this, naked and close, with my bloodmate at my side for the rest of time.
 

Tamara lifts her hips to me, clenches my flexing ass and pulls me tight so my cock is planted as deep as it can go. She’s moaning, her eyes misted, her lips swollen and red and as I fuck her I watch her…she’s lovely, I think it’s the first time I’ve truly seen her beauty, her blond hair curling around her shoulders as she pleads and moans for me, her pale, smooth skin glimmering with sweat, and I realize how miserable my life has been until this moment, wrought of loneliness and despair I mistook for devotion and faith, and I know I would forsake him, my god, the One I Am Slave To, O Night Wind, O Wind Lord, O Lord of Blood.
 

I will forsake you if my bloodmate asks it of me.

And maybe I already have.

My come builds slower than it did in the penthouse, deeper, with an aching sting that radiates from my balls, through my hips and deep into my belly, and when I come I press my face to Tamara’s breasts and scream, begging her to love me, this stillborn, this waste, and after we finish we lie together, gasping, our blood hot and murky with sex, the scent of our mating strong in this prison-room of wealth.

“You can stop calling me that now,” Tamara says, stroking my thin black hair.

“What?”

“The offering. I offer myself to
you
, Rodas. Not to your Lord. Whoever the fuck he is.”

“And to no one else?” I ask, peering into her shining eyes.

“No.”

I think on this for a minute, then say, “I heard you. Talking to your Keeper. Carlos Collazo? You were engaged to be wed. I was awake when you spoke to him.”

“I know you were awake. Why do you think I spoke so candidly? Carlos is not my Keeper,” Tamara says, slipping out from under me, rolling on her side and propping her head up on her elbow. “I bow to no one.”

“You believe in nothing?”

“I believe in strength above all else. Weakness disgusts me.”

“Carlos is strong. I scented the animal in him. He bleeds black?”

“Yes. Carlos was strong in a world ruled by weak Skins. But now? Everything’s changed. Carlos Collazo is a street thug done good. He’s crass and crude and short-sighted. His kind come and go. Even now he has to throw money at his army to maintain their loyalty. If the drugs stop moving the money stops flowing and Carlos is dead. His reign is rooted in money. The least trustworthy of sources. He aspires to real power, but he’ll never attain it. Real power requires charisma. Class. Intelligence. You have to make your subjects believe kneeling to you is in their best interest, even when it clearly isn’t.
Especially
when it clearly isn’t.”
 

“This Carlos. He is a…Lord?”

Tamara sighs. “You’re powerful, Rodas, but you’re a fucking child. This world you’ve stumbled into…it’s not as simple as you might hope. There are no Lords here. No Keepers to deliver your daily offerings. You have to seek the offerings yourself. You have to become your own lord.”

“With your guidance.”

Tamara smiles, kisses my cheek, my neck, down across my chest, over my nipple.

“I heard you convince Carlos not to kill me.”

“Oh, he still intends to kill you. I convinced him not kill you
now
.”

“What does he want?”

“What everyone you meet wants. To use you.”

“Do you…want to use me?”

Tamara stops kissing me. Lifts her head. Stares into my eyes. Bites her lower lip. Gives me an expression I don’t recognize, halfway between anger and tenderness.
 

“Of course,” she says after studying me for a long while. “I’m like everyone else. You must remember this. Always.”

“How will you use me?”
 

“I will have you murder the Cartel’s enemies, like Carlos and I planned. I will have you labor to build an empire in Carlos’ name. Then I will have you murder him and take his place.”

“And after? When your enemies are all dead? You will murder me as well?”

Tamara pauses. “That was the plan, yes. Until a few minutes ago.”

“What changed?”

“I got another taste of that perfect cock.”

“What?”

Tamara bursts into mocking laughter. “Oh, nevermind. I’ll always have enemies, Rodas. Which means I’ll always have need of you.”

“I see.”

“Do you? Really?”

Tamara resumes kissing my chest. She moves lower, across my stomach, mumbling something I can’t hear. I lay my head back on the too-soft pillow and stare at the gilded gold ceiling. This wealth. This pleasure. They are both weaknesses. They are new, and so interesting.
 

But already I feel my disgust at these weaknesses growing—
 

“I wonder how long it will take for you to develop a sense of humor?” Tamara says, running her hands across my stomach. “You’re so…somber. Grim. Life’s way too fucking senseless not to enjoy the humor, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“No. You don’t. That’s what makes this so wonderful. You need me, Rodas. You wouldn’t last a day alone on the street, no matter what powerful blood pumps through your fucking jaguar veins. And me? I need you as well. Your power. Your strength. This is how partnerships are born: from mutual need. Maybe one day this will change, and you’ll no longer need me, or I’ll no longer need you. But for now? Yes.”

“You think I’m stupid.”

“Is an infant stupid? No. An infant is
inexperienced
. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t know who you are.”

“True. I have a life beyond you. I have several lives, in fact. In one life I’m lying beside my gorgeous new bloodmate as a Stricken woman, my cunt sore and dripping, a sleek lioness thrashing beneath my skin, contemplating a massacre of Mexico’s elite. In another life I’m the well-paid American political connection for one of the largest and most feared Latino drug cartels. In another I’m a patriotic Yank, loving housewife, doting mother of two young girls, and daughter of a U.S. Senator in a border state. I am all these things. And none.”

“That sounds…like your life is a lie.”

“No. My life is several lies.”

“Then who is the real you?” I ask, putting my hands on Tamara’s shoulders to stop her kisses. “Who is my true bloodmate?”

“What is real, Rodas?” Tamara fights free from my grasp and kisses the tip of my cock. I tremble as her warm lips graze my skin. “Does that feel real?”

“Yes,” I say, very quietly. “I believe that is real.”
 

“Good. Trust in that. Trust your fucking
instincts
. Trust the animal predator. The rest will fall into place. I promise.”
 

I think on her promise which was not really a promise for a moment, then say, “You have children? And another mate in the life of lies?”

“Of course. Is that a problem?”

“I don’t…think so?”

“I don’t love him, if that means anything.”

I want to tell her it does mean something. But I say nothing.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Tamara says, sitting and digging through the drawer beside the bed. “I managed to grab a few things before the Cartel’s paramilitary goons whisked us from that penthouse prison. Close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes? Why?”

“It’s a game, silly. Do it.”

I close my eyes.

“Now lift your hands. Palms up. Both of them. There. Good. Now open your eyes.”

In my left palm is my deer’s foot. In the right my smoking amulet.

Tamara looks at deer’s foot with disgust. “Hideous thing, really. Lets not bring it to bed again.”

I stare into the smoky black amulet. There’s an answer hidden there, long forgotten.

“They mean something, don’t they?” Tamara asks.
 

“Yes.”

“Want to share?”

“No.”

Tamara’s lips tighten. “Fine. Suit yourself. Keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine.”

Tamara turns on her side, facing away from me. I’m relieved to be left alone. The room is huge, paneled in shining hardwood with brass trim, but I find it hard to draw a full breath. Glimmering crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling.