The Warrior Vampire (19 page)

“You're dead!” he seethed at Ronan as he brought the weapon high above his head, ready to strike.

Fuck. A. Duck.
This was her fault. If she hadn't given in to her passions like some sex-starved teenager, this never would have happened. Ronan would be tucked away at her house and she'd be getting an epic ass chewing from the elders.

“Joaquin, stop it!” She turned and grabbed his arm, but he shook her off as though she were nothing more than an insubstantial fly.

Ronan didn't share in Naya's concern. His eyes glowed like moonlight and he crouched in a defensive stance, his fangs bared. Joaquin's speed was impressive as he launched his body at Ronan in a graceful arch. Impressive, but Joaquin was no match for a vampire.

Ronan caught him in midair and slammed him to the ground.

Never one to cower, Joaquin rocked on his back, kicking his legs up to propel himself upright. Sand kicked out from under his feet as he dug in, charging for Ronan with his dagger drawn. The two went down in a tangle of limbs and a cloud of sand. Their movements were nothing more than a smudge of color against a dark backdrop, leaving Naya no hope of entering the fray to break up the fight.

“Ronan, stop it!” Her plea fell on deaf ears as he landed a wicked right hook to Joaquin's face.

A flash of blue winked from Joaquin's stolen blade and Naya's stomach did a backflip as Ronan batted the weapon away. He was stronger than Joaquin. Faster. But Ronan's size and bulk of muscle made him less limber and Joaquin was able to outmaneuver him more than once. The tiny hairs on Naya's arms and the back of her neck prickled as though in warning of a coming storm. Electricity charged the air until she swore she could smell the ozone in the distance. Her eyesight blurred, and the sound of the fight faded to the back of her mind as her ears were filled with staccato notes, wild and raucous, so sharp and disjointed that goose bumps rose on her skin.

No. Gods damn it. Not now!

Malicious magic leached from Ronan's pores, covering him in a vibrant war paint. A shout of unadulterated pain shook the pier above them on its pilings as Ronan threw Joaquin from his body. Joaquin landed thirty feet away, sprawled out on the sand face-first. Fear gripped Naya, chilling the blood in her veins as Ronan went to his knees, his head clutched firmly between his hands.

Without a thought to Joaquin's well-being, she rushed to Ronan's side, collapsing beside him. The music was deafening, drowning out everything around her until she was overwhelmed and disoriented. She had to do
something
. The magic was volatile and, if left to run its course, would mutate him into a creature that Naya would have no choice but to kill. No way was that going to happen. She closed her eyes, centered her focus—

The click of a hammer engaging caused her eyes to fly open in an instant. She turned to find Joaquin standing above them, Ronan's gun drawn and pointed at his head. Joaquin was all about pilfering weapons tonight.
Bastard.
Before she could think it through, Naya drew her own gun and leveled it at Joaquin's face. “Drop it,” she said, as cold as ice. “Or I'll drill a silver round straight into your brain.”

 

CHAPTER

16

Apparently Christian wasn't the only one trying to get his hands on Gregor. If he was still in the city, like McAlister thought, the son of a bitch was certainly laying low. Christian had been tracking the berserker warlord for a little over a week and had yet to find a sign of him or any of his kinsmen anywhere in L.A. If the bastard knew what was good for him, he'd have been tucked away in the Highlands of Scotland by now, licking his wounds and devising a plan to get back in the Sortiari's good graces. As it were, he'd face a harsh punishment if Christian managed to get his hands on Gregor. The Sortiari didn't take betrayal lightly.

Christian watched the woman with interest. She was any hot-blooded male's wet dream: tall, lithe, dressed in leather and lace with a river of curling black hair and creamy porcelain skin. Her green eyes were like emeralds, sparkling in the low light of the club. Heads turned when she walked by, both male and female alike. The attention meant nothing to her. She obviously knew she was the shit. He could get behind—on top of, under, beside—a woman like her.

He kept his distance as she made the rounds. So far, she'd beat him to anyone who could be considered a potential contact, and the proprietor of this particular club happened to be a mage who kept a finger on the supernatural goings-on in the city. This was the third club she'd been to tonight, and those she spoke with treated her with a certain level of respect or even reverence. Who was she? She looked like a fucking porn star and good enough to eat. But Christian doubted it was celebrity status that elevated her in the opinions of those she interacted with. An aura of lethal power surrounded her, and he knew by the hard expression on her face that she demanded obedience.

Damn.
What he wouldn't give to be brought into line by such a woman.

His skin prickled and Christian leaned back in his chair, letting the shadowed corner swallow him. The woman turned, her hawkish gaze drilling into him. Her irises flashed with silver and Christian swallowed down a groan. Not a woman. Dhampir if he had to guess.
Fuck.
So much for stealth, she'd probably been aware he was tailing her all night.

McAlister had warned Christian that the vampire king would want to see Gregor and all of his kinsmen dead. It served to reason, what with the berserkers nearly wiping out the entire vampire race. So who was she? She didn't look like the type who took orders from anyone. An assassin, maybe. Hired help so that Aristov wouldn't have to get his hands dirty. A trait all of those in power shared. Why bother when you could send someone else out to do the grunt work?

The female's gaze locked on Christian and she stood, unmoving. Those around her gave her a wide berth, and still as a statue amongst chaos, she stared as though she could see straight through him. But rather than unnerving him, Christian found the attention electrifying as a tingle raced down his spine and settled low in his balls.
Hot. Damn.
Her full lips curved into a disdainful smile as though she'd sized him up and found him to be … uninspiring.

Awesome.

He took a sip from his Jack and Coke and dragged his gaze away from her. It took a serious fucking physical effort. The female was a high-powered magnet and he was nothing more than a helpless hunk of metal. He kept her in the periphery of his vision, watching as she continued to chat with this person or that for a half hour or so. Christian took note of several sets of silvery gazes scattered throughout the press of people, one of them belonging to a mammoth son of a bitch sporting dual sets of fangs. Vampire. And definitely not Aristov. Looked like the orphaned king wasn't wasting any time in repopulating his race. Which meant that Christian needed to get a move on if he wanted to get his hands on Gregor before the berserker's enemies did.

*   *   *

Jenner tossed back his drink with a scowl. Siobhan was supposed to be leading them to Gregor, but all she'd managed to do so far was ask a few random, useless questions. Finding the berserker had taken a backseat to a more important quest: finding Ronan.
Jesus fucking Christ.

Not only was Siobhan wasting Mikhail's time; she was also wasting Jenner's. Sunrise was a good six hours away and he didn't want to spend it following her all over the gods-damned city. His throat burned with thirst and his body ached with the need to fuck. If he didn't find a female to service him soon, he was going to crawl right out of his fucking skin. But until the would-be dhampir queen exhausted her efforts for the evening, Jenner was obligated to keep an eye on her.

“You're wound tight as a spring, Jenner. What's the matter? Has soullessness got you down?”

The pain-in-the-ass female in question sauntered up to him with feline grace, a wry smile painted on her dark red lips. She made no secret of her disdain for vampire-kind, and Jenner refused to take the bait.

“What do you want, Siobhan? I'm busy.”

“Yes,” she said with a sneer. “You certainly look it.”

He wasn't in the mood to deal with her haughty bullshit tonight. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a female with short blond hair and a pert ass that was barely concealed by the skirt that skimmed her upper thighs. Easy access and less time wasted getting undressed. Their eyes met and she smiled.
Promising …

“How is it that Ronan has suddenly vanished into thin air?” Her tone rang with accusation and Jenner tried hard not to roll his eyes. The female had a one-track fucking mind. “He's not answering his phone, and no one seems to be very forthcoming in providing his whereabouts.”

Ronan hiked an unconcerned shoulder, his gaze still locked on the blonde at the far end of the club. “Did it occur to you that maybe no one actually knows?”

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. “No.”

The blonde's fingers flirted with the hair that brushed the back of her neck. Her eyebrows rose in question over brilliant blue eyes as she inclined her head toward the back of the club where the restrooms were. An invitation? Jenner gave a nod of his head.
Hell fucking yeah.

“Where is he, Jenner?”

He dragged his attention back to Siobhan and let out a sigh. “No fucking clue.” That was the truth, too. He suspected that Mikhail knew, but if he did, he wasn't letting the cat out of the bag.

Siobhan studied Jenner, her nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly as she scented the air. She'd know he spoke the truth and he hoped she'd leave him the hell alone and go back to her coven for the rest of the night. Because he had better shit to do than follow her around.

“Don't forget who pulled you out of the gutter and gave you a home, Jenner. You owe me at least some small amount of allegiance. He'll check in with you if he's at all concerned about keeping his business afloat. I want to know when he does.”

It was true that Siobhan had given Jenner shelter when he'd had none. Station when he deserved none. And yes, the female had introduced him to Ronan and Jenner's relationship with the male had changed his life. But Jenner had sworn an oath to his king. No amount of past loyalty would sway him from that.

“I suspect that Ronan will call when he's damned good and ready,” Jenner remarked. “Not much I can do about it, though.”

“You know that I treat my friends well. But my enemies get exactly what they deserve.”

If she thought idle threats would spur him into action, she was mistaken. “Everyone knows that, Siobhan.”

She smiled as though it pleased her to have her reputation confirmed. “And in the interest of friendship…” Her gaze roamed to the back corner of the club. “There's a werewolf on the prowl. I'm not sure if he's following me or you. I just thought you should know.”

Jenner thought he'd smelled wet dog. The male watched them with interest from his shadowy corner, his posture relaxed. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

With their many loose ends currently dangling in the wind, it was hard telling what the werewolf might be after. The Sortiari's reemergence in the city had stirred up a hornet's nest of activity. Mikhail would want to know about it no matter who the male was tracking. Werewolves were territorial. Even more so than vampires. If a pack had moved into the city, it could have some political impact. If the male was a rogue—meaning he had no pack—it could be even worse.

Males without allegiance were dangerous no matter their creed.

“I'll keep an eye out,” Jenner said. “And my ear to the ground.”

“Thank you, Jenner.” He had no idea if Siobhan assumed he was speaking in regard to Ronan or the werewolf, but Jenner didn't much care. And humbling herself by showing appreciation was about as transparent as a Ziploc bag. Over Siobhan's head, he watched as the blonde took off toward the back of the club. Time for him to make an exit.

“You have an escort tonight?” Siobhan rarely went out alone, and though Jenner knew she could take care of herself, he didn't want her alone in case the werewolf's intentions weren't so innocent.

“Carrig is with me.” Her narrowed gaze followed Jenner's and a sly smile stretched her lips. “Have a good night.”

“Go home, Siobhan.” Jenner brushed past her, anxious to relieve the ache that had settled in his throat as well as between his legs. “There's no need for you to stir up any trouble tonight.”

He didn't wait for a response. Instead, he let his dick lead the way as he plowed through the crowded club to get to the blonde. The door to the women's bathroom swung open and she slid inside, and Jenner picked up his pace. Gods, his throat was on fucking fire. His sac felt like someone had secured it with a drawstring and pulled it tight. The unending feeling of emptiness stole over him, filling him with a desperation that caused his heart to pound in his chest and his stomach to knot up.

Unconcerned with the crowd of females loitering in the space, he shoved past the door. He beelined for the blonde and hoisted her up on the counter, his mouth ravaging hers with a fierceness that left the tang of blood in his mouth.

The tiny skirt hiked up around her waist as she wrapped her legs around his torso and Jenner reached between them, a groan of pure relief rumbling in his chest as his palm found her slick and heated sex. He twined his fingers in the short strands of her hair, jerking her head back as he buried his fangs in her throat.

She came in an instant, her cries echoing off the tiled walls as he drank from her.
Gods damn it.
She'd be through with him before he even got started. And despite the blood that flowed over his tongue, quenching the fire in his throat, Jenner knew that it wouldn't be enough to satisfy him. It was going to be another long fucking night.