Wolf's Fall (9 page)

“I know I can trust you to carry out my wishes,” he said gravely.

Jinn nodded. “To the letter, Master. I won't fail you.”

“See that you don't. And keep your involvement a secret, for now. No need to tip our hand too soon.”

“As you wish.”

“Let us rejoin the gathering. Separately, of course.”

“Yes, of course.”

Resisting the urge to shake his head, the vampire left the Sorcerer standing in the path and made his way back to the stronghold. He could practically feel Jinn's eyes burning a hole in his back, his devotion palpable. Yes, that was what love did.

It left you alone, and miserable.

With any luck, for Jinn that message would hit home far too late. After he'd served his purpose.

Nobody noticed when he slipped back into the
party. Nobody particularly cared about his presence. But that would change, and they would all wish they'd paid more attention.

Especially when he and his men laughed at their screams and bathed in their blood.

*   *   *

Carter trailed a finger through the red liquid on Nick's bloody back and brought it to his lips. Tasted. Nick fought to remain conscious. Knew he'd have to fight to survive what was still to come.

“Delicious blood. Born shifters taste so exquisite, not even the finest red wine can compare to the full-bodied richness.”

“Get off me, you freak,” Nick hissed, yanking against his bonds.

“Don't be so dramatic. After all, you're going to love the next part.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Remember what I said before? Your mate loved what I did to her. . . .” Darrow moved close, into his captive's back. Ran a palm down his shoulder and side, rested his chin at the crook of his prey's neck as a lover might do.

“No,” Nick whispered. “Don't.”

“Oh, yes. I'm going to feed from you, wolf. And you're going to love every moment of it . . . right until you breathe your last.”

“You twisted motherfucker—”

Nick's words were cut off as Darrow struck, sliding his fangs into the curve of his captive's neck. He cried
out, his body tense . . . and then he relaxed, letting out a hoarse moan. At last, he was defeated. Broken.

With a dark laugh, Darrow pulled their bodies together tightly, Nick's back to his front, and began to feed slowly. With long pulls and the occasional lick, nuzzling his prey's neck, then repeating. His captive sank further under the wicked spell, unable to stop what was happening. Past caring.

Seduced.

“You're mine now,” Darrow murmured against his skin. “Say it.”

“I'm yours.”

“What do you want, wolf?”

“Drink from me. Take it all.”

“Patience. I'll do as you wish. After we've enjoyed this fully.”

Nick jolted from the nightmare, heart thumping in his chest, slick with sweat. No, not a nightmare—the
memory
of what Darrow had done to him. Day and night, the horror never left him. The shame.

The shame most of all, because he'd given in. His worst enemy had seduced his body, fucked up his mind. Even though he could still see Calla's stricken face at the waterfall days ago, even though he wanted to make it right, this was the reason he couldn't.

He didn't know how to get past this.

After taking a few deep breaths, he settled in
again and tried to sleep. It was a long time coming, but eventually he slid back into dreams.

The mountain fortress trembled with the onslaught.

Acrid smoke clogged his lungs and his nose. Fire surged to the ceiling, consuming everything it touched with its greedy fingers. All around him, death and destruction rained down, claiming his men. His friends and allies.

Calla? Where was she?

“Calla!” he yelled. “Calla!”

If she'd fallen, too—

“Noo.”

Nick came awake again, and sat on the side of the bed. Running both hands through his sweat-soaked hair, he blew out a tired breath and tried to make sense of the vision. Or was it simply a nightmare?

Usually, he could tell the difference. But not this time. That was probably because even though he was a PreCog, his gift didn't extend to being able to see his own future—only that of those around him.

Calla's future intersected with his, so perhaps this was why he'd been given a glimpse of hers. Was this the fate that awaited his mate if he didn't get his act together? For her to be lost to him forever?

Or was his stress simply manifesting itself in his dreams? He wished he knew.

A glance at the clock showed it was just after five in the morning. Early but not so much that he cared to fight for sleep any longer. Rising, he padded naked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water was getting hot, he brushed his teeth. Then he stepped under the spray and groaned as it pounded on his sore muscles.

He ached from the punishing workout he'd given himself in the gym the evening before. He'd hoped to exhaust himself into oblivion, but it wasn't to be. Now the water made him think of Calla's sleek, naked body under the waterfall and his cock lifted to half-mast. The memory of her spread and ready for him, of sliding himself deep into her channel, wrung a groan from his lips.

What would it have been like if he'd allowed her to claim him? That was such a natural step for Bondmates, and his wolf rumbled in agreement.

Taking his steely rod in hand, he relished the feeling of the water cascading over his dick as he stroked. In his fantasy, Calla faced him and pressed her breasts against his chest, a gorgeous water nymph ready to take him to heaven.

She kissed his lips, tangled her tongue with his. His palm worked faster, his cock swelling as he pictured her attentions moving to his jaw. His neck.

There, she teased his skin with the tip of her tongue. Just there, over the vulnerable artery. One
fang grazed the spot where she would claim him—

And her body became hard. Male.

Carter.

Fear seized his chest and he gasped, opening his eyes as his erection suffered a swift death. As dead as he would have eventually been in Carter's hands.

Disappointment enveloped him like a shroud. He couldn't even fantasize about what should be a beautiful act between mates without the awful memories ruining it. For a moment, he rested his head on the tiles and tried to get his shit together.

He would put this behind him. Things
had
to improve, right? Getting out of the shower, he dried off and dressed in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, and headed for his office. The kitchen staff wouldn't have breakfast ready to serve until six, so he had plenty of time. Maybe some paperwork would provide the distraction he needed.

Halfway there, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling out the device, he scowled at the screen. Damien, again. What the fuck did that asshole want, and so early in the morning? And why the hell didn't he just take the hint and fuck off?

But no. It was like some Mexican standoff. Damien was determined to speak to Nick, and in turn Nick was equally as determined to ignore him. As he tucked his phone away again, guilt
pricked his conscience. He
had
told his brother, or implied, that he would at least try to be open to communication between them, perhaps reconcile someday. That couldn't exactly happen if they didn't speak.

Yeah, he'd call Damien later. After paperwork. Phone calls. Breakfast. Scrubbing his toilet.

In his office, he proceeded to tackle some of the tasks awaiting his attention. There were more shifters on the way to Sanctuary, being sent by Grant. They needed more beds in their empty rooms, so he set about ordering those. Next was a report Grant had e-mailed him about rogue vampire activity, which had decreased with Carter's death but was still problematic. The report contained surveillance on where a few known pockets of them were hiding, and Nick made notes, planning for the team to make several strikes in the coming days to eradicate them.

Then there was another report on human hunters, who killed innocent vampires right along with the bad ones. The bastards were vigilantes. Radical, dangerous. They caused more problems than they solved, leaving vampire families torn apart. Activity involving hunters had increased by leaps and bounds, and Grant wanted to know the source. So did Nick.

Reports on the hunters' various locations weren't as numerous, which was frustrating. The fuckers were good at lying low.

His stomach rumbled and he closed his laptop, heading for the dining room. A few of his team were already there, loading their plates with pancakes, bacon, eggs, and sausage. The cooks here rivaled the best ones at any great diner, and this pack of hungry wolves rarely missed a meal if they could help it.

Spotting Hammer, he joined him at a table. The big man eyed him as he took a seat, grabbed a plate, and began loading it with food.

“You look tired,” Hammer observed. “Not much sleep?”

“None to write home about.” He didn't get into why. His friend didn't ask.

“So, what about that meeting Tarron held with all those fancy-ass vampires? Think anything good will come of it?”

Nick shrugged and slathered butter on his pancakes. “Hard to say. The name of the game is to have something everyone else wants. With that bunch, it's the power of sheer numbers. Everyone wants that, and they can give a measure of safety to each other. Maybe it'll work.”

“If one coven is under attack, the rest will come to help? Right.” He snorted, clearly skeptical.

“That was the agreement they made. We made it, too. Though I hope we never need to test their honor.”

“Yeah.”

“Any word on Tom?” Nick asked. Their
inability to reach the former mechanic was becoming a cause for concern, and his friend's next words did nothing to alleviate it.

“None. In fact, I was getting ready to tell you that Rowan and Aric made a trip to his apartment in Cody, and he didn't answer the door. They made the decision to gain entry, and found that his furniture and other household items are still there, but a lot of his clothes are gone.”

“He could've taken a trip.”

“Maybe,” Hammer said. But his frown indicated he didn't necessarily agree.

The topic was dropped when Jax and Micah joined them and sat, muttering their good mornings, and then diving into the food. They talked for a while about mates, babies, and Sanctuary, until Micah looked at Hammer and changed the subject.

“So, you knit, right?”

Hammer eyed Micah, as though determining whether the guy was making fun of him. Some of the others gave him no end of shit about it, despite the fact that he could take any of them apart with his bare hands if he wanted.

“Yeah. Why?”

“My granny knitted.” Micah paused. “No offense. Not saying only grannies knit, man. Just heard you did and it got me curious about why you do it.”

Hammer paused. “Stress relief.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Helps clear my mind of all the bad shit. You should try it.”

“Hmm. I'm not very talented with things like that. You know, making stuff.”

“You don't have to be.” Hammer shrugged. “Read the directions. It ain't fuckin' rocket science. Then you'll be able to give useful gifts, especially when your friends start having kids.”

Jax grinned. “Is that what you've been doing? Making baby blankets?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Nothing, Hammer. That's just really cool.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Hammer spoke one word. “John.”

Whoa. Nick's mouth fell open. He couldn't believe Hammer—John—had finally opened up. Would the rest of the team get what a monumental act of trust this was for the former agent? Activity around them stilled as the others listened, and Jax frowned at John, chewing a piece of bacon.

“Say what?”

“John. That's my name,” he said quietly. “Former FBI special agent John Ryder, reportedly deceased. And it needs to stay that way, if you get my drift. Spoken outside of these walls, that name could get my ass toasted.”

Nick grinned. That was probably more sentences strung together than anyone on the team
besides Nick had ever heard him utter. John—he could finally let himself think the man's real name so he didn't accidentally speak it in front of the others—had finally decided to let his team into his world.

Jax's bacon dropped to the plate. “Wow, man. That's just . . . I'm honored you decided to trust us with sensitive information like that.”

There was a general round of agreement, and John simply flashed a quick grin.

“Yeah, well, I know you've got my back.”

And that was it. No fanfare, though the news was cause for a bit of excitement in the building for the rest of the day. Rowan enjoyed smugly informing everyone she had already known, because John had told her months ago. Clearly, they all needed to get out more.

For a while, John's revelation served as a distraction from how badly Nick missed Calla. Being away from her, his wolf grew more anxious with each passing day. Keeping the beast's foul temper in check was a daily struggle. As a man, he wanted to get to know her better—her mind and heart, not just her luscious body. What time they'd spent together wasn't nearly enough.

And yet. She was a vampire.

The memory of Carter's seduction weighed heavily on his soul. The vampire had tortured him as well as fed from him, and the events were stuck on a horrible loop in his head.

“Stop it, you pussy,” he muttered, shoving from his office chair.

He needed to clear his head of the bullshit. Get some perspective. He went straight to his quarters and changed into some loose basketball shorts and a T-shirt. Then he made his way to the gym, strode inside, and picked up a basketball from the rack.