Undying Destiny (18 page)

Kenric’s voice dipped into a grave tone. “I had to turn her.”

“She’s okay with that? That’s what
she
wanted?”

“Of course, it’s what she wanted,” Kenric blasted into the receiver. His free hand ran through his damp hair while his feet continued to tread the room. “You think I would have done that to her without consent?”

“No, man. Don’t get me wrong. I just know Emily is… She’s special to you. And I don’t know what I would have done in the same situation.”

Kenric stopped and leaned back against the wall, pressing the heel of his hand to the incessant throb at his temple. The back of his head bumped the wall with a hollow thud.

“Let’s just say this is a night I wouldn’t want to live through again.” Kenric swallowed hard, forcing the knot in his throat back down his esophagus. “About the scene. I need you or Logan to get over to Ocean Ave. Emily’s car is in a parking lot there, a blue Corolla. Looked like it’s next to a coffee shop. I need that scene scrubbed clean. Bring the car back to the compound when you’re done and make sure you have Emily’s personal items.”

“Consider it done.”

Elle’s voice called out for him from the bathroom.

“I need to take care of something. Ring me when you have everything completed.” Kenric hung up, already in motion back to Emily.

He stepped into the doorway, and Elle looked up from the side of the tub. “I could use some help getting her dressed and into bed.”

Kenric stood spellbound, his gaze fixed on the beautiful, pale woman lying naked in his tub. His heart kicked in his chest. Thank God this was what she’d wanted. His meager existence would have shattered in that parking lot tonight if he’d had to watch her die in his arms.

“Hey, Kenric,” Elle repeated, louder this time, grabbing his attention.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Chapter Nineteen

The hot richness of the female’s blood flowed over his tongue and warmed his veins. Markus pumped twice more into the fishnet-and-leather-clad prostitute bent over the seat of his Ducati. Releasing his fangs from her neck, he reared his head back and groaned.

Sated for now, Markus slid from her and stuffed a Ben Franklin into her cleavage. He tucked himself back inside his pants before easing her around to face him. Dirty blonde curls hid her eyes. He brushed the tresses from her face, tucking them behind each ear. Her unfocused, glassy blue gaze searched his face. His hold on her mind distorted her ability to focus. A tipsy little grin curled the corners of her mouth. He chuckled. Her brain was on the vampire joyride of its life.

Markus leaned in and tended to the wound with his tongue, making sure the bleeding stopped prior to setting her on her way. With the small amount he’d taken, she would feel no ill effects. The bite would heal within twenty-four hours, leaving no sign of him. Until then, he planted a memory of a middle-aged customer with a kinky obsession, encouraging her to cover the mark.

His cell phone buzzed.

The hooker slid past him, shimmying her skirt into place. Her full rear jiggled with each rock of her hips as she swayed in her black stilettos.

Markus couldn’t resist. He slapped her behind as he pulled out his cell. She squeaked and whirled back around.

“Watch it. That’ll cost ya extra.” She winked, giving her gum a smack.

Markus growled but pulled back on any further exchanges. He’d already set memories in place.

“Yeah?” he belted into the phone, half listening to whoever the hell was on the other end. The sway of the ass moving away commandeered his gaze.

“I need you both back at the compound.” It was Guerin.

Arran stepped out of Tail Spin’s back door, passing hot stuff on her way back in.

Markus dragged his attention back to the conversation. “What’s going on?”

“There’s been a DEAD attack on Kenric’s friend Emily. He sent me to clean up the scene. I need you both back on premises. Kenric has Emily at the compound, and we need you there for security.”

“She’s alive?”

“Yeah.” Guerin hesitated before adding, “He turned her.”

Markus snapped his phone shut at the same moment a sharp pain pierced his brain, staggering him.

“What the hell’s wrong?” Arran’s voice penetrated the thick mental soup of anguish inside his skull but sounded a mile away. Markus pressed the heel of his hands into his temples and braced himself against the seat of his bike. His head was seriously jacked up.

The intensity eased to a pulsing ache.

He lifted his eyelids and forced a smirk. “I’m good, just a damn headache that’s been giving me hell off and on ever since I took that fall.”

“Well, you look like shit.”

“Yeah? Well, kiss my ass.” Markus threw up his middle finger for good measure.

“Sorry, think that’s been taken care of already. Besides, you’re not my type.” Arran swung his leg wide to capture his ride between his thighs. “Was that Kenric on the phone? I heard you ask if she’s alive. Who’s been hurt? Is it Gabrielle?”

Arran tried to pull some kind of worried-comrade bullshit, but Markus had known him too long. Elle was a hell of a lot more than a fellow comrade to him.

“No. Kenric’s female, Emily. DEAD attack. We need to head back.”

…

Not since he was newly turned had Kenric fed on this level, this fast. His head rushed from the overload. Striding into his room, he pulled his leather jacket off and rolled his shoulders, feeling hot and overstretched in his skin.

He found Elle at Emily’s bedside, bathing her forehead with a washcloth. Beads of sweat covered Emily’s face. She moaned and gripped the blanket covering her.

Easing down onto the other side of the bed, he lifted Emily’s hand, wrapping his own around it. She shivered with fever, her hand a heated torch in his palm. The vampire antigens were in full attack mode, re-creating her. She thrashed and cried out, her spine arching from the bed. Her body needed more of what he provided.

“Gabrielle, thank you for taking care of her.” Kenric glanced in her direction. She lifted her gaze from Emily, concern and worry wrinkling her forehead and lingering in her eyes. “I need you to leave us alone now.”

“Are you sure?” Her voice was shaky, hesitant.

He nodded.

“By the way, I bandaged what looked like a burn on her thigh. I’m sure once she completes the transformation, it’ll heal completely. Do you want me to come back in a little while and check on you both?”

She wanted to help, but there wasn’t anything she could do now. He had what Emily needed, and he would be here to ride it through with her.

“No. I’ll call down if we need anything.” He removed the washcloth from Emily’s forehead, wiping the droplets of perspiration that rolled from her temple. “Inform the others not to disturb us. It may be a day or two before you hear from me. In the meantime, I will need you to contact Emily’s employer at Elizabeth Bay Memorial. Tell them she’s been injured and may be out indefinitely, and that she’ll contact them personally as soon as she’s able.”

“I’ll take care of it. But before I go, Guerin asked me to make sure you got this.”

He lifted his head.

She held out a handbag in his direction. “It’s Emily’s.” She glanced down at the item in her hand. “Guerin had to collect the things from her purse off the seat of the car and the floorboard.” Elle skirted the bed and handed it to him. “There’s something in there he felt you would want to see.”

He stood, took the purse, and pulled it open. Lying on top of her wallet was a dark vial of what looked like blood. He lifted it from her purse and peered at the label.
John Doe ER 11/10/11.

His gaze fell to the shivering woman in his bed. The center of his chest twisted into a painful constriction. The undeniable implications behind her having the vial bombarded him.
Not Emily.
Kenric couldn’t go there—didn’t want to go there.

No, no, no…

Betrayal
.

Yet the word with its ugly connotation slithered through the recesses of his brain. A spasm seized his gut as if the world had just sucker-punched him in the midsection. Kenric didn’t want to believe it. Their history—the way she’d touched him, cared for him, and him for her—demanded he give her the benefit of the doubt. But since when in his life had anything ever ended with a happily ever after?

Damn, he sounded like a cynical son of a bitch.

But why else would she have kept his blood? The last time they’d been together things had not ended well. Yet he’d never thought of Emily as a vengeful person. Besides, she would have had to have retrieved the sample before that night.

“Kenric…?” Elle’s voice collided with his reeling head.

Without a glance in her direction, he ordered Elle from the room. “Leave us.”

He dropped onto the side of the bed and stared at the evidence in his hand. What had she planned to do with this? How could she…?

He wanted answers.

Only Emily held them locked inside, and they would not be forthcoming for many hours. Until then he had no choice but to believe there had to be another reason beside the obvious one hammering around inside his head. The turning was in motion, and there would be no stopping it. He’d started it, and he would see her through.

Kenric shed the remainder of his clothes and slid into bed beside her. Emily moaned, tossed a slender arm over him, and sighed. His warm body had to feel wonderful next to hers. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Maybe he was a damn fool, but no matter what her intentions were, he couldn’t decelerate the changes occurring inside her. He cared for her, a hell of lot more than he wanted to wrap his head around, and until he could hear her side of the story, he’d give her the benefit of doubt.

“I’ve got you, Wildflower. I’m not going to leave you.”

“No. Daddy, please. Don’t leave me,” she mumbled. “It’s dark in here. I promise I’ll be good. Daddy!
Daddy
!”

Her head rolled back and forth against him. Tears streamed down her face while she pounded on his chest.

“Shhh—It’s okay. Emily, it’s okay.”
What kind of hell tortured her dreams?
He realized, at that moment, how little he knew about her past. He stroked her hair, attempting to soothe her. “I’m not leaving you.”

Her tears slowed, and she snuggled against his chest. Somehow, his comfort must have gotten through. He shifted, pulling them both higher up on the bed and into a partial sitting position. She needed another feeding.

This time, Emily took to his wrist with little coaxing. Her lips sealed around the wound and nursed hungrily at the flow. A spark of desire leaped through his vein and burst into a raging flame, threatening to consume his control. Air staggered from his lungs. He gripped the blanket with one hand and stuffed it between his body and Emily’s.

This was going to be the longest forty-eight hours of his life.

Feeding and sex.

Each one intensified the need for the other. A large part of the reason he’d kept his sexual desires caged for so long. He never wanted to succumb to what he’d witnessed in Marguerite’s dungeons. He never wanted to become someone who was maddened by sexual bloodlust. As a master, losing control would make him a danger to everyone around him.

After a few more pulls that distorted the line between pleasure and pain, he removed her from his vein. She appeared at peace for the moment and settled down at his side. Her body glowed, satisfied with its feeding.

Moments later, her breathing returned to a more natural rhythm, and her temperature dropped from its fiery state. It wouldn’t last long, though. A temporary reprieve for what was yet to come.

With her sleeping peacefully, he had time for a quick shower. His body reeked of sweat and blood, and he couldn’t shake the throbbing reminder between his legs. He needed some relief. The second he slid from the bed, she moaned and rolled into his warm spot.

He brushed a damp lock from her cheek. “What made you take that vial and hide it from me?” There had to be a damn good reason. Please, let there have been a damn good reason. Otherwise… He didn’t want to consider the alternative. The thought of her betrayal threatened to shatter him.

Leaning over, he placed a kiss to her tousled mass of curls. His shaft flexed toward her with a mind of its own. Yeah, he needed that shower.

Ten minutes under some cool water did help. He smelled a lot better and had gained some semblance of relief. Well, at least his erection had gone down. For now.

Rubbing his hand across the rough stubble of his chin, he thought about a shave, but the moment he reached for his razor, Emily’s scream pierced the room. He barreled into the bedroom.

“I’m on fire!” Her gaze found his, and her look of panic ripped him apart. “Kenric, what’s happening to me? Dear God, I’m burning up inside.” She clutched her stomach and doubled over. “Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick.”

He dashed for the nearest trash can.

Chapter Twenty

Kicked back with his boots propped up on the conference table, Markus tossed his dagger into the air. The silver blade flipped end over end as Guerin and Logan strode through the sliding steel door of central command.

The chill on Guerin’s arrival said he’d shelved his easygoing nature for the night. In its place, he wore the lethal aura of a pissed-off three-hundred-year-old vampire. Dressed in dark leather, Guerin matched his killer attitude; even his eyes glowed red. An unnatural sight beneath the sheen of brown hair turned black from the rain.

He took his seat at the head of the table in Kenric’s absence.

The focus of Guerin’s sinister eyes tracked Arran as he pushed away from his computer and joined them. “I’m sure Markus has filled you in on what happened tonight to Emily Ross.”

“Yeah, I heard. That’s fucked up.” Arran switched his gaze from Guerin to Logan, who’d decided to prop himself against the smooth cement wall. Neither warrior twitched under the heat of each other’s glare. Markus stayed out of range, glad he hadn’t been the one to put the stink in Arran and Logan’s shit.

“What I didn’t get into over the phone was that Kenric believes it was a deliberate hit since there was a recent threat made on her life.”

“Son of a bitch!” Logan bit out.

Markus dropped his boots to the floor with a thud.
Damn.
Only yesterday had Kenric mentioned her to them.

“Kenric suspected she might be in danger from Marguerite.” Arran pulled up a task chair. He spun it around before straddling the seat and leaning over the back. “He filled me and Markus in when he asked for backup at the hospital.”

Guerin worked his gloves from his hands. “What I can’t understand is how in the hell they located her so fast in order to pull off an ambush on her way to work?”

“Where was she when she got hit?” Markus palmed the hilt of his dagger. Uneasiness slid through his limbs. Why was his gut crawling because of a woman he didn’t know?

“That’s another reason we believe it was a deliberate hit. The DEADs were completely off their usual hunting grounds. They ambushed her about three hours ago near Magnolia Island. Right outside a coffee shop on Ocean Ave.”

The dagger hit the concrete floor with a clatter. The street sign of 21st and Ocean glared in Markus’s head.

“Hey, watch it with that blade,” Arran snarled beside him. “You take out my foot, and I’m going to show you how a Highlander deals out payback.”

“Fuck you.” Markus scooped up his dagger from the floor. Three hours ago. That’s when he’d been there. Blood pounded at his eardrums. Why hadn’t he sensed that DEAD hit? Images of an auburn-haired woman clutching a bag and running in the rain toward her car flashed across his mind’s eye.

The pain that tortured his skull seized his chest, going slice and dice on his heart and lungs. He had to get out of here.

Now.

Or suffocate.

He jumped to his feet. His chair whirled and slid back, slamming into the pool table. All heads swiveled his way.

“I gotta go.” Markus forced the three words out of his throat and made for the door.

As he rounded the table, Guerin lunged to his feet. “Where the hell are you going? We need you here tonight. Logan and I still have patrol.”

Air. He needed air. Needed away from here. He rubbed his temples and kept moving. His damn head hurt. Pain. The fucking pain wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Markus!” Guerin’s bellow echoed across the expanse of the room.

Markus willed himself to stop.

“Where you’re going is more important than your duty here?” His commander’s question trickled into his brain and battled with the mixed-up shit swirling in his mind. Markus pivoted slowly on his heels. Guerin’s dark eyes narrowed on him, waiting for his answer.

And he gave him one.

“Yes. It is.”

Markus lowered his torso over the fuel tank and throttled down hard on the grip of his bike. The wind fought to tear him from his ride. The speedometer read one hundred ten miles per hour. Rain sprayed his visor, blurring the road at his wheel. Oncoming headlights formed starbursts of colored lights on his wet face shield.

He didn’t give a flying fuck.

Better off dead.

They’d all be better off if he’d eat some serious-ass pavement and fry with the sunrise.

He was a traitor.

During the last hour since his realization that the auburn-haired girl was Emily, the seal on his duality of memories had cracked open. The images spilled into his conscious mind like some cancerous sludge regurgitated from hell. He remembered. Remembered it all.

Such a sick SOB.

He’d followed Kenric to Emily’s at sundown, completely covered in leather and a black-out helmet to combat the lingering rays of the sun. He’d waited all evening for them to part.

Trailing Emily hadn’t been hard in her aged sedan. She’d been an easy target, alone late at night in an empty parking lot. One phone call was all it had taken to have the pair of DEADs lying in wait for her.

He’d done some vile things. Images from his time spent at Marguerite’s lair flickered across his mind’s eye.

Sick, depraved things.

Flashes of him in various stages of sex and bloodlust gripped him. Multiple bodies, male and female, writhed against him on a floor littered with white furs.

They had stroked, licked, sucked, and fucked. Him and everyone around him.

Markus shook his head, trying to knock the degrading images from his mind. His rear tire slipped on the wet road, but he countered the effect with little effort, bringing it back under control.

Wind and rain beat at the sleeves of his coat and ran down his back, finding their way under his shirt. Spider veins of ice formed at the edges of his field of vision, but he didn’t feel the cold. Strange.

He really should be cold.

Maybe it was because the last shred of what held him to his humanity had severed. Broken by the vampire his leader knew all too well: Marguerite.

What she’d left behind he didn’t recognize. Markus worked his throat, trying hard to swallow the acidic taste of self-disgust threatening to choke him.

A horn blared, jerking his attention back to the road. Throwing his body to the right, he willed his bike around and away from the blinding, fragmented prisms of color.

Somehow, he avoided the head-on collision. The pissed-off sound of the horn blasted into his ear as it passed him. Breathing hard, he geared down and popped his visor.

Too late.

He leaned hard into the sharp turn of the road, but his rear tire lost its traction. The bike spun out from beneath him.

The force of the crash sent him flying. Time slowed to a crawl, and the world went mute.

Suddenly, the ground sped forward and slammed into him with a lung-exploding force.

Sound returned at a full-volume blast.

He tumbled down the embankment. Tree limbs and loose gravel chewed at the leather covering his arms and legs, ripping it apart and peeling back his exposed skin. A blow to his back brought his momentum to a halt. He lay on his side, sucking hard to feed the rush of adrenaline. The stench of burned rubber and gasoline filled the air and stung his nostrils.

Markus lifted his eyelids and groaned at the unnatural arrangement of his right leg.
Dammit!
He was still alive and conscious. This had to be somebody’s idea of a sick fucking joke. Not one damn branch had pierced his heart or removed his head, taking him out of his messed-up life. Throwing his head back, he raged into the blackness.

Inch by inch he dug his fingers into the soil and pulled himself along on his stomach. Every breath felt like muscle gliding over shards of glass.
Damn!
He must have blown every rib on his left side.

Getting into a sitting position was a maneuver born in Hades. The metallic taste of blood flowed into his mouth as he brought his leg forward. The bottom half of his calf dangled at a grotesque angle. A jagged piece of bone protruded through what remained of the leg of his jeans.

With the last vestige of strength left in his body, he reached for his wolf form. Fuck his clothes. No way in hell did he have the strength or desire to undress in his messed-up state.

The crack of bones shifting into place, along with the sound of tearing fabric and popping threads, echoed through the trees. Markus howled from the morphing of wounded flesh and bone. A necessary marathon of endurance. With the shift came a swifter tide of healing.

Black fur sprouted from his pores and spread across his extremities. He rocked up and onto four solid legs, whirled about, and leaped deeper into the unfamiliar woods, leaving the shredded remains of his life behind.

In his head, he ran into the night with no general direction or purpose.

Deep inside his gut, a different story unfurled. It knew exactly where his paws took him.

Mud caked all four limbs when he exited the dense cover of trees onto the shoulder of a dark paved road. God only knew how long he’d run. His sides sawed in and out. He snorted and twitched his ears as clouds of vapor curled from both nostrils.

Fur receded from his muzzle, and his limbs elongated. Uncurling his spine, he braced his stature on two legs. He rolled his newly re-formed shoulders and sucked in a deep, pain-free breath.

The road sign to his left read HWY 505 SOUTH, below it, mile marker twenty-five. A single mile from Marguerite’s lair.
What the fuck?
Who are you kidding, asshole? You knew where you were heading the moment you walked out on the Enclave
. He whipped around, one foot back into the underbrush, and phased.

His feet settled on the hard-packed dirt of an empty driveway as a dingy white Victorian porch came into view. Taking the steps two at a time, he headed straight for the front door.

He didn’t knock.

Enrique could kiss his ass.

With his mind clear for the first time in days, he had to face her. Face the reality of what he’d become.

Markus sauntered naked into the candlelit foyer and straight for her receiving room. She might kill him for his arrogance—hell, he wished she would—but he seriously doubted she’d dare.

He held the key to what she wanted most.

He heard several sharp intakes of breath the moment he threw open the double doors. Before he could blink, Enrique appeared before him and wrapped his hand around his throat.

“I don’t believe you’ve been announced, minion.” Enrique sneered with a shiny white display of fangs. “An ill-conceived move like this could have the unfortunate effect of death.”

Markus pulled back his lip to unveil his own set of sharp teeth. “Something tells me,
minion
, that you won’t risk pissing off the mistress by killing her new play toy.”

Enrique’s face twisted, and his eyes lit with seething anger. Enough rage, Markus knew, to be a formidable threat. Instead, Enrique shoved him into the room.

“Well, if it isn’t my handsome Enclave warrior come to pay me a visit.” On her chaise, Marguerite rose from the lap of one of her half-naked male slaves. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Markus planted his feet at the base of her platform.

Enrique’s fingers dug into his neck. “Kneel before your mistress.”

“I’d rather stand.” Markus cocked him a sideways glance.

Pressure landed on his shoulders, driving him to his knees. He swallowed back a grunt as his hands saved his face from eating the floor.

“I’d rather you kneel.” The threat contained in Marguerite’s words was unmistakable.

Guess he’d fucking kneel. He eased his head up and rolled back onto his knees. In his periphery, Marguerite’s commander stood to his left, his arms crossed over his chest, weapons galore strapped to his body.

“Much better, slave.”

He’d pick his battles.

“Did you come for your reward, minion? My commander tells me your mission was a successful one with Kenric’s newest, or shall I say
former
, bedmate.”

Marguerite glided down the steps before him. Her silver gown parted at her thighs with each step, offering him glimpses of her bare pussy. Hot blood engorged his cock. Oh, she knew how to play the fucking game well. Pun definitely intended.

A rumble vibrated in his chest.

By sheer will alone, he pulled his gaze away from the show. Her lips curled into a slow smile. She could see his arousal, and he smelled hers.

Her feet touched the wood floor, and she lifted her hand to her neck. Without hesitation, she dragged one hooked claw across her flesh. A swell of blood rose along the open trail.

A ribbon of red flowed down her pale white skin and disappeared into her cleavage.

The rich and heady scent of her blood short-circuited his brain. He groaned, his gut a wretched coil of hunger, of need.

“Come, Markus. Come to me, and let me show you how delicious it can be when you make me happy.”

Her words crawled inside his head and seeped into his veins. His cock jerked as the pressure within his balls shot to an aching overload and the whore took him to the brink of release. He coiled his fists at his side.

It wasn’t enough.

Dear God, he was so lost.

He lunged and grabbed the blade sheathed at Enrique’s thigh. With both hands wrapped around the hilt, he drove the serrated end straight for his own heart.

“No!” Her single word filled the cavernous space.

Every muscle locked.
Fuck!
The blade ceased in its path, the biting edge of the tip burned in his flesh. Yet he lived. The bitch wouldn’t let him die.

Deep inside, the remaining piece of his soul that belonged to the Enclave cried out.
Forgive me, my fellow warriors.

She’d won. He’d failed to take his life. There would be no going back.

He couldn’t resist her. Drinking from her black well had fed the stain on his soul—renewed its vigor.

She owned him.

And God help him, but he
wanted
her.

And in a way, it was a release. He didn’t have to fight any more. The choice had been made, and he wasn’t the one who had made it. He’d been spawned from the seed of evil, born and bred to become a killer. Even though he’d tried with the Enclave, for the last few decades, to become something more, as a bit of redemption for the crimes he’d committed while human, a part of him knew this was inevitable. Sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy.