Zane’s Redemption (29 page)

Z ran between him and his target, tripping him just as he reached her. As he fell, he snatched her and brought her down with him. She landed next to him, and he didn’t waste any time pinning her down in the snow. Portia wouldn’t feel the cold at her back, just as he wouldn't have. Not only was she dressed in a warm jacket, her hybrid body tolerated extreme temperatures as well as his vampire body did.

Stretched out above her, his head close to hers, he issued his demand. “Now for my prize.”

“What prize?” She gave him a coquettish smile that he hadn’t seen her use on him before.

Oh yes, she was getting more confident each minute, and he liked it. She would be a strong partner, somebody to keep him in check. And he knew he needed that if he wanted to keep the darkness at bay.

“You’re my prize, didn’t you know that?”

She giggled uncontrollably.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Z. He’s tugging at my leg. I’m ticklish.”

Zane turned his head to find the dog happily pulling on the bottom of Portia’s pants, alternately licking the skin underneath and biting the fabric.

“Z! Get lost! Get your own girl. She’s mine!”

When he turned his head back to Portia, he collided with her gaze. “If I’m yours, does that mean you’re mine?”

Her voice was like a soft trickle that slowly but steadily slid along his skin to pool at the base of his spine.

“I’m yours, baby girl, like it or not.”

“Like it,” she whispered and lifted her lips to press them against his mouth. They were cold, but within seconds they heated and the now-familiar hunger for her came back in full force. His fangs lengthened instantly, and his cock hardened further, wanting to claim her here and now.

The sound of a car’s tires on the snow made him interrupt the kiss. “Company,” he murmured, quickly darting a look behind him before he rose, pulling her up effortlessly to stand next to him.

The kid getting out of the beat up Honda wore a hideous red jacket with the emblem of the pizza joint in the village embossed on the cheap fabric. He slowed his step up the porch when he noticed Zane and Portia approach from the yard, the dog barreling toward him.

“Pizza delivery,” he announced the obvious.

“I’ll get some cash,” Zane told Portia by his side and rushed ahead.

“I’ve got some here,” she called after him, making him stop.

Having reached the pizza delivery guy waiting on the steps, Portia dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet. Zane watched her as she paid for the pizza.

When the guy handed her the flat box, she set her wallet on top.

“Thanks!”

“Bye guys, enjoy,” the kid called out and rushed back to his car, limbs shaking from the cold.

Zane reached for the pizza box, wanting to carry it inside for Portia, when Z ran excitedly around Portia’s legs, barking, and clearly smelling the food. Portia took a step forward, but stumbled, narrowly avoiding stepping on the dog.

Her hold on the box faltered for a split-second, tilting it and making the wallet on top fall onto the snow-covered porch.

“Z!” Zane admonished.

“He thinks he’ll get some of the food!” Portia added as she bent toward the wallet.

“I’ll get it, baby girl.”

Zane crouched down and pulled the wallet out of the snow while Portia walked back inside, the over-excited pup on her heels. The wallet had fallen open in the middle, revealing one compartment that contained a couple of credit cards, and the other side with a photo.

He wiped the snow off it, revealing the photo fully.

His heart stopped. Suddenly, everything blurred. Nausea overwhelmed him as his knees buckled. He braced his hand against the door frame to prevent himself from falling. The acrid stench of death and misery filled his nostrils and clamped an icy hand around his heart.

“No,” he breathed, trying to make his eyes refocus. But no matter how much he tried to wish the picture away, it was there to stay, mocking him.

An older version of Portia smiled at him, the family resemblance evident. She had gotten her looks from her mother. Nothing from her father, not the eyes, the nose, or the chin. That’s why he’d never seen it, never could have guessed.

But he had to be her father. There was no other reason why Portia would carry a photo of Franz Müller in her wallet.

“Zane, you’re letting the cold in,” her angelic voice called out from inside the cabin.

His throat constricted, preventing him from responding.

He’d made love to the spawn of Franz Müller, the man he hated most in this world. He’d thought himself in love with his daughter. Only minutes ago he’d dreamed of a blood-bond with her, a union for eternity.

His hands shook with rage at the injustice of it all. What had he ever done to warrant this? To fall in love with a woman he could never allow in his life? Because all she represented was evil. Nothing good could come from a man like Franz Müller. Whatever he touched was evil. His seed could only create evil.

“Aren’t you coming?”

Portia stood at the door, her gaze suddenly dropping to the wallet in his hands.

“Oh thanks …” She paused. “Those are my parents.”

Slowly, like the killer he was, he lifted his head and perused her. Even now that he looked at her closer, he could see no resemblance between her and her father.

“What’s wrong?” Worry laced her voice.

“Is this your biological father?” he pressed out, pointing at the picture and holding onto the last straw, hoping against all odds that she wasn’t his daughter after all.

“Of course, why?”

A wave of pain crashed onto him, turning into rage. And as he’d taught himself in the years of waiting for his revenge, he stilled his body and let all emotion drain from it. All that was left now was eternal coldness. He felt the chill of it physically, and it was all that would protect his heart now, a wall of ice.

Before him stood the chance to hurt Müller in the most cruel way possible, to take his daughter from him, to make her suffer. His claws emerged, and his fangs lengthened as he tried to hold the beast in check.

A flicker of fear crossed Portia’s features, and instinctively she took a step back. “What’s wrong? Is somebody out there?”

He shook his head slowly and deliberately. “No. We’re alone.”

He was alone with Müller’s daughter. His gaze zeroed in on the rapidly beating pulse at her neck. It wouldn’t take much to rip her throat out. She would struggle, but he was stronger. Müller had made him stronger. It was all Müller’s fault.

“Your father is Franz Müller.”

The gasp that escaped Portia’s lips, lips he’d kissed only moments earlier, was barely audible. Her head went from side to side, silently denying his claim.

“No,” she whispered. “No.”

Her eyes darted back to the photo in her wallet.

“It’s him.” Zane didn’t recognize his own voice. It was that of a stranger.

“You must be wrong,” she begged, her eyes filling with moisture, the mouth widening in disbelief. “It can’t be him. No, it can’t be Müller. My father’s name is Robert Lewis.”

But her words did nothing to change the facts. He never forgot a face. And Müller’s face was imprinted on his mind. It had haunted him for over six decades. Now Portia’s face would haunt him equally.

“A name means nothing.” They had all changed their names: Brandt and the others. Just as Zane had laid his own name to rest.

“You are Müller’s daughter.”

Evil by birth.

The killer inside him demanded satisfaction. The evil Müller represented had to be annihilated, destroyed, killed. Zane balled his claws into fists, trying to hold back the rage that threatened to overtake him.

“Zane, please. You scare me.”

He flashed his fangs, and this time it had nothing to do with desire and passion. “You should be scared. Nothing good comes from a man like Müller. His seed only produces evil,” he spat.

Panic settled in her eyes, eyes that now brimmed with tears. “But we love each other. You love me.”

Zane let a bitter laugh escape his throat. “Love? You think I could love the daughter of the man who stole my life? Who killed my sister? You took everything from me?” His voice boomed through the night.

“But—”

“Get out! Get out of my cabin!” How long he could keep the killer in him leashed, he didn’t know, but it wouldn’t be long now until he lunged for her and took the life that her father owed him.

“Get out of my life!”

Like a frightened doe, Portia stared at him, her lips quivering, tears streaming down her face.

“RUN, don’t walk!” His clenched fists came up of their own volition, ready to strike. “Run, before I kill you like I’ll kill your father.”

Zane squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, holding back the urge to hurt her and in turn to hurt Müller. When he opened his eyes, Portia ran past him out the door and into the night. He forced himself not to listen to the sobs that tore from her throat, not to inhale her scent that wafted past him. Not to run after her and hold her back. Not to recant his words and tell her he would never hurt her. Because he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t. Inside him, the killer lurked, waiting for his prey, angry at being deprived of his revenge.

With the last bit of his humanity, he’d battled his inner demon for supremacy, and allowed her to escape, but if she ever crossed his path again, she would be as good as dead. Just as dead as he was now.

He turned his face toward the dark winter sky. “What have I done to you to deserve this? You’re a cruel God!” he cursed. A God who’d shown him what love was and then taken it away in the next instant.

Zane felt the darkness encroach. This time, he didn’t fight it. There was no reason to. He’d lost everything that had ever meant anything to him. Now he’d lost Portia and his only chance at love. The darkness might as well take him. Maybe it had always been his destiny, and he’d simply not wanted to see it.

He was a killer who lived only for revenge, and he would take his revenge.  He would kill Müller now that he knew where to find him.

Chapter Thirty

Her lungs burning from exhaustion, Portia still didn’t slow her run. She had to get away from Zane, from the truth and the pain. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, but she paid them no attention. She couldn’t have stopped them just as she couldn’t have stopped a waterfall from breaking over the crest.

Zane had to be wrong. She couldn’t be Müller’s daughter. A monster’s daughter. The monster who’d done unspeakable things to Zane and the other prisoners. Her mind didn’t want to acknowledge that somebody close to her was capable of such cruelty. Least of all the man who’d sired her, her own father.

She shook her head, strands of her hair catching on her damp cheeks.

Shivering, she remembered the look on Zane’s face, a look she would never forget. Murder had been in his eyes. She’d seen it. Every last bit of the love he’d confessed to her such a short time earlier was gone. All that was left, was hatred, rage, and fury.

And disgust.

She felt bile rise at the recollection. He’d looked at her with disgust at who she was. And his thoughts had been so clearly written on his face. He’d regretted ever having touched her, having made love to her, and having confessed his love.

Her stomach clenched in pain as another wave of sobs made its way north.

He’d loved her. How could he hate her so much now?

Portia fell to her knees, landing in the virgin snow. Zane meant everything to her. He’d promised her so much with his touch and his kisses, his whispered words of love and affection. She’d seen it in his eyes. It was true. He’d laughed with her like she’d never seen him before. He’d been a changed man. She’d done that to him, helped him open his heart.

Now he’d shut her out. Frozen her out.

He’d called her an evil seed. But she’d never thought that he would threaten to kill her because of who she was. Not Zane, not
her
Zane. Didn’t he remember that he carried her blood inside him, and that she carried his? Didn’t he remember how beautiful their lovemaking had been? How intimate and intense their love was?

How could he throw all this away?

Portia buried her head in her hands, letting the tears flow freely. Nobody would hear her out here in the wilderness. Nobody would ask why she wept as if somebody had died.

He’d cast her out without as much as listening to her, without taking a moment to consider the implications. He hadn’t even had time to think about it. As soon as Zane had seen her father’s picture, his mind had already been made up. She’d never stood a chance.

Portia felt the cold creeping into her bones and flesh, only intensifying her sense of loss. Zane didn’t love her. Had he ever really loved her? If he truly had, how could he have treated her like this? How could he have blasted such iciness at her, such hatred?

And how could she go on now? Her heart ached for the only man who’d ever made her feel anything. Zane was her heart, her love, her life. She’d dreamed of a life with him. Eternal life, a family of her own, a life filled with laughter and love, passion and desire. Just what the last two days had been like.

Her breast ached, the place where his fangs had pierced her skin burning hot like a blacksmith’s fire. Longing to feel him there again spread and added to the pain in her chest. His love had felt like a cocoon. Without it she felt vulnerable and lost.

Nothing mattered anymore. Maybe if she stayed here in the snow and let the elements take care of her, she would forget the pain in her heart. If she were human, she would simply fall asleep in the icy surroundings and never wake again, but her hybrid body didn’t allow this escape. It forced her to continue, to set one foot before the other and keep moving. Its survival instinct was stronger than her own will.

Numb and without direction, she marched through the snow, not caring where her legs carried her. Maybe if she closed her heart, the pain would vanish.

It didn’t.

How did other women deal with this? How did they handle being rejected by the man they love? What did Lauren do?

At the thought of her friend, she closed her eyes and sobbed uncontrollably. She needed a friend so badly right now. She needed to hear from somebody that things would get better, that she would get over this, forget Zane, forget that she loved him. She needed help.