Blood Enchantment Read online

  “Don't cry, Adrianna. I'm here.”

  “I know,” she sobs, wrapping her arms around his head and drawing him closer.

  Slash tucks her in against his body, wincing at the motion but happy the others didn't get a chance to rape his mate. However bad that mark against the perfection of her skin is, it is only a mark. Slash's blood burns with the thought of what could have happened.

  If they had been taking their time and not had the ulterior agenda of the woman, Tessa, Adrianna might have been violated.

  Slash hears far-off screaming, shouting, and the sounds of fighting. They're certainly not out of danger yet.

  His memory is fuzzy after he killed the first two Were, but he remembers Tramack's nose jerking up as he held a screaming Adrianna down, as though he recognized a scent so important that it blanked the present.

  Tramack flicked his eyes over Adrianna, seeming to deliberate, then struck her in the temple with the back of his hand.

  The light in Adrianna’s eyes dimmed, and she fell silent—still underneath Tramack.

  Slash struggled to break free of the other two Were. Then Tramack snapped a tree in half as he swung the trunk from behind at Slash's unprotected legs.

  Numbness swelled then burst over his lower body—hips to toes, and the Were holding him dumped him like garbage. He landed face-first in the muck of the soggy forest floor.

  Tramack tossed the twenty-year-old tree like a twig after using it on Slash then stepped over his body. “That's not the lesson I would have given with more time, but there will be time enough later. My intended has just released her scent.”

  Tramack lifted his nose to the sky, sighing in contentment while Slash's eyes remained frozen on his face—memorizing it forever.

  Slash realized Tramack was crazy. It happens sometimes. Alphas aren't always of the most stable temperaments. Tramack was no exception, though he had spun down into a new low. Beating a female for no other reason except her mouth? Because he could raise his fist?

  Slash understands the prejudice against Reds. He's lived that. If Adrianna hadn't been there, they still would have punished Slash for being what he is, for looking imperfect.

  Supernaturals aren't known for their compassion. Every supernatural is supposed to be the epitome of perfection of his or her kind. The expectation is due to their powers, strength, and healing ability. The Singers have all that the Were possess and paranormal talents besides.

  No Lycan can withstand silver without obtaining a scar. And some species have no compunction against using the alloy in battle. Slash had been in many battles. It'd only been a matter of time before someone had a weapon meant to do worse than kill—but permanently maim. Slash shoves his introspection away as Adrianna begins to quiet, shattering Slash's reflections. He carefully wraps the tatters of her thin T-shirt over her breasts—the brassiere is long gone.

  “They'll come back!” Adrianna says, her voice edging along that fine line of hysteria.

  Slash shakes his head, rising push-up style over her. He cages her in with his body, dragging his still-uncooperative limbs behind him.

  “They're busy,” he huffs between movements.

  For the moment.

  Adrianna's lip trembles.

  He cradles her face, kissing her soft lips, hating that it's the only undamaged spot of her face. “Listen to me, Adrianna.”

  She nods, gasping back a sob. “Okay.” Tears roll over the tops of his fingers.

  Their eyes lock. What he sees in her gaze makes his heart ache like a rotting tooth. “I need you to be that smart-ass brave girl I know you are.”

  A surprised laugh escapes. “What? I—my words are what got us into trouble, right?” Her eyes flick guiltily away from his.

  Slash places a gentle fingertip on her jaw and turns her head back to face him. “No. They would have hurt me regardless of your presence.”

  “Because you're Red?” She guesses immediately.

  “Absolutely. And because of my imperfections.”

  Adrianna crosses her arms. “That's bullshit.”

  Slash smiles, his scar tissue flattening and reminding him that his face is still healing.

  Her skittish gaze flies around the still woods. “We need to get out of here, Slash.”

  He nods. “Can you hear that?”

  Distant noises reach Slash’s ears. A large engine revving. A female's screams. Low, threatening male voices.

  Adrianna stops all movement, seeming to really understand his odd stance above her for the first time. “What is it?”

  She jerks up, and Slash follows the motion, rolling to his elbow. She's now above him and looking intensely into his face. A leaf is embedded in her matted hair. The sun slants through the thick canopy above where they just made love, setting one of her eyes on mossy green fire, mimicking the needle-strewn floor they lay on.

  “What the fuck, Slash?” A fat tear slides out of her swollen eye as it skims his body, the unnatural stance of his lower limbs. “What'd they do to you?”

  She kneels beside him, and he gathers her close, so tightly she's hard-pressed to breathe. “They've hurt me beyond what I can heal quickly and without a shift—or food. My situation makes us vulnerable. I need you to leave me for a while, Adrianna.”

  Adrianna struggles against his hold, but Slash gives a low growl and sets his teeth at her shoulder. She stills beneath him, her wolf submitting to his. Her eyes roll to meet his. “Don't make me, Slash. I just found you.” She touches his face. “We just found each other. Don't make me go, please.”

  Slash's eyes close against her pleas. If he has to die because he's indefensible, he won't take his mate with him.

  Slash releases his hold. “Adrianna.”

  Her head tips back, and he catches her fragile skull. Her eyelids hood, languid over her submission to his wolf. It's a wonderful interaction during sex, but not so much in the present, when Slash can hear the sound of a small battle happening too closely for his comfort. And Tramack’s vague threat about returning hangs over him.

  “It's the only way I can protect you until I heal this injury.”

  Tramack had performed the maneuver to paralyze an opponent before. He was far too practiced to have not. The move against him made Slash wonder how deplorable the Western pack had become.

  He shakes the thoughts away. They can't afford the time of his speculations. “I'm paralyzed,” he says in a bald tone.

  Deliver the facts. No more, no less.

  Adrianna bites her lip, trying for brave, not that she needs to try. She is brave. She clutches his shredded shirt. “No,” she says with quiet intensity.

  “Not forever, but right now, I must—my wolf must—keep my mate safe.”

  Adrianna clings to him. “I won't leave you!”

  I was afraid of that.

  A huge sound booms where the voices have escalated to shouts. The report of gunfire echoes.

  He shoves Adrianna away from him, growling. His eyes become razors, and he pushes every bit of Alpha Red to the surface of his skin.

  “Do not kill me by staying,” he delivers in low command.

  Adrianna's head rocks back as though she’s been slapped. “What?” she whispers. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  Slash hates what he must do. But she is a young Alpha female who thinks with her emotions. Newly mated, she's vulnerable, and her feelings are right below the surface. She'll get them both killed without meaning to.

  Slash has to think for the both of them.

  “Get the fuck out of here. It was fun, but I don't need you like an anchor around my neck.”

  Tears pour down her healing face like an undamed river, and she scoots away from his slack hold on her.

  “Bastard!” she screams, angrily swiping at her tears. “Did you fucking see what that douche did to me? He marked me!” Her hand moves to the breast Slash covered with a makeshift bra.

  Slash holds his flinch. It's one of the hardest reactions he's ever had to suppress. Som
ehow, he manages. “Yes. Do you want him to again, female?” Slash grinds out coldly.

  She shakes her head. “No, you asshole.” Adrianna stands, begins to stomp off, then whirls to face him.

  Slash hates being on the ground, unable to stand on his own two feet.

  “I would have stayed with you.” Her voice goes low. “Fought for you. Protected you.”

  Like all Were, Slash has excellent sight. His eyes home in on the standing water in hers.

  Their eyes lock. Finally, he breaks the heavy silence. “That's not your role. Now go, female.”

  Adrianna nods quickly. “I'll go, you jerk. I can't believe you mated me and care so little. I thought—” Her hands rub at the tears brimming and streaking her bruised face. “The hell with what I thought. At least one of those bastards is a testi shy.”

  She turns, striding away. Then she runs.

  A tight breath of relief slides out of Slash. He allows himself to fall backward, the leaves and needles cushioning the short slump. Slash lies there, looking up toward the sky, his chest tight.

  Hopefully, Adrianna will be so pissed off, she'll just keep going. His nose will find her later. It's more important that she's safe—and far from this place. He knows Adrianna will avoid the conflict. And most certainly, the conflict involves Tramack.

  Slash can explain his reasoning to her later. She would have stayed. He understands the kind of female Adrianna is.

  He also understands the male that Tramack is. He'll return, regardless of whether or not a female that is supposedly his intended has been located in Region One.

  He'll come back because he’s a follow-through type of Were, the worst kind, made even more by his insanity.

  As Slash scans his surroundings, a reluctant grim smile pulls at his lips. The two dead Were languish a few yards away from his position.

  At least there's that. Now how do I get somewhere isolated that I can shift to wolfen and hunt to revitalize this body?

  A stealthy movement hits Slash's radar, and he tenses, feeling his toes for the first time in an hour. That's not going to do a damn bit of good if what he hears is round two with Tramack. His fingertips itch to burst to talons, his emotions inciting the change like a lit match.

  Slash resists. He's exposed.

  Truman moves from behind a tree, looking around at the mess and the Were corpses. “What the fuck?” he asks, and Slash grins. His relief is so intense, his normally stoic personality momentarily leaves him.

  “Yes, that's exactly it.”

  “It's that Alpha Zeke and I scented, right?” A shadow crosses his face, and Slash sits up straighter, hiking his ass so he can be upright. It's not standing, but it's not lying on his back, either.

  Feeling swarms to Slash's ankles. Hope flares.

  Karl Truman—a former Homer, AK cop, and now the oldest living change on record—stares at Slash's legs. His eyes slide back to Slash's. “That prick do that to your legs?”

  Slash nods. “I can feel my feet.”

  “Asshole.” Truman's eyebrows jump. “Where's Adi?”

  Slash's chin dips to his chest, and a frustrated exhale squeezes out. “I rejected her so she'd leave.”

  He whistles. “Ouch! Didn't want that Alpha to come back and hurt Adi when you couldn't protect the new mate?”

  Slash nods; there are no secrets with the nose Were possess. Glad someone understands the logistics of being a male who loves his female more than taking his next breath. Slash answers in a curt voice, “Yes.”

  “Well, you want the good news or bad?”

  Fuck. “Bad.”

  “Zeke's dead.”

  Shock rips through Slash, though his surprise is short-lived. “Tramack?”

  “Who?” Truman's eyebrows jump again.

  “He's the fuck from the Western.”

  Truman's hands go to his hips. “Listen, I got changed by the Northwestern and don't give a good goddamn about keeping track of who's who and all the political bullshittery.”

  Slash blinks.

  Truman goes on, “So an Alpha who's not from here killed Zeke, though he managed to wipe out some of them. That's what that garbage smell is.” Truman cups his chin.

  There were even more?

  Truman nods slowly. “Yeah, little posse of Were. Here. For what?” He spins in a circle, coming to stop in front of Slash. “Don't know. Don't give a ripe shit.” He taps his nose. “They're presently after the two girls that you and Zeke had just picked up. And the two males from Region Two?” Truman barks out a laugh of pure disbelief, shaking his head.

  Slash's eyebrows drop and his gaze narrows on Truman. “Tell me.”

  “Those bozos are fucking demonic. Tails—the whole nine yards.”

  Gooseflesh ripples over Slash's skin. His beast begs to change, though without a full moon, that’s only a painful wish.

  “I can't make this shit up.” Truman shrugs.

  His eyes meet Truman's. “What now?”

  “I drag your fucked-up ass to the mansion, locate your bride, and kick some foreign Weresʼ ass,” he recites calmly.

  Truman's simplicity is somehow perfect. He doesn't understand enough to worry about it.

  It is simple: find the bad guys and eliminate them.

  Point and shoot. Slash wishes the process could be that simple.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Julia

  All the rooms are the same. Julia doesn't know what she was expecting.

  “They're like crypts,” she whispers.

  Victor's beautiful, dove gray eyes stare into her own.

  “They are sound-proofed and meant to be similar to the humans’ catastrophic nuclear strongholds.”

  Ground zero. Julia shivers, and after studying the rows of metal doors leading to compartments for Singers, she turns back to Victor. “You mean if a nuclear bomb went off?”

  He gives a solemn nod. “In theory, our bunker can withstand it.”

  Scott squeezes her fingers reassuringly.

  Julia is thoughtfully silent for a few seconds. “We're not deep enough.”

  “True.” Victor strolls to a door like all the others. However, this one has a security pad with numbers. Victor taps a series of numbers into the lighted keypad.

  Julia flinches when it beeps like a whining siren.

  Victor opens the door, and crisp, slick stainless doors butt together. Only a dark, slim seam marks the center.

  Elevator. “Where does that go?” Julia asks.

  “Deep,” Victor replies.

  Julia turns to Scott. “You knew?”

  He nods. “It's not like we hang out in the bunker all the time. The royal blood lines all have a safe place to be. Never even thought to give the shaft any thought. No one anticipates nuclear holocaust.” Scott shrugs.

  “Somebody did,” Julia replies softly, her attention shifting to the elevator once more.

  “Yes.” Victor closes the innocuous door, and the elevator disappears behind it, blending in with all the others.

  Victor leaves them at the farthest reaches of the bunker. Julia estimates the size to be, on all one level, as large as the mansion above it. She didn't think to ask what the “shaft” size was.

  Victor rounds the corner but turns at the last moment, giving them a level stare full of meaning.

  His looks seems all for Scott.

  “Your quarters are already assigned.”

  Julia feels her eyebrow lift. Assigned?

  Victor interprets her puzzled expression perfectly and knots his hands together. “In the event of a need to use the bunker”—his eyes rise to hers then briefly flick to Scott's—“each royal family member would each have their own accommodation. That still remains the case. As it happens, Marcus had no official spouse during his reign as Region One king.”

  Official?

  “But I do,” Scott says from behind Julia.

  “Yes.” Lifting his chin, he gives Scott a significant look.

  “What, guys?”

  “What Vi
ctor is too polite to mention is that you are meant to be my wife, but until we do the deed, it's sort of a hollow, unfinished union.”

  A pale-pink blush spreads across Victor's cheeks. “Not as I would have put things, but accurate enough.”

  Julia says nothing. She knew it would come to this.

  “Julia.”

  She turns around and faces Scott.

  He takes her chilled hands in his warm ones.

  Lowering his face to be level with hers, he asks, “Is sleeping with me a fate worse than death?”

  Julia bursts out laughing. “No. I-I don't know. Everything's moving too fast.” Her heartbeats pile up on each other, her palms dampening.

  “I will be in the main area near the vault,” Victor announces quietly.

  Neither of them replies, but his departing footsteps echo hollowly back as Julia and Scott stare at each other.

  “I am sorry about Jason.” His dark eyes search her face. “But I'm not sorry that he sacrificed himself to allow you to live. I'm just gonna keep saying the truth over and over again. No guilt, baby.” Scott cups her face, and she sighs.

  He's so warm.

  Present.

  Hers.

  Julia feels the rightness of the meld between them. Like warm water it molds to their bodies, reaching every bit of her. Their bond isn't conflicted, and she shouldn't be, either.

  Scott waits in the silence pregnant with their emotions.

  He wants her as a man wants a woman. He also wants her because the Combatant inside of him knows she'll have a net of security that would be very hard to strip if they finalize their union.

  Julia nods, and Scott's shoulders drop, the tension of their tethered hands lessening, growing supple.

  His eyes move to the door that simply has a musical note finished in a shining red enamel.

  The color of blood. The global symbol for a melody.

  Blood Singers.

  *

  “Don't get pissed,” Scott says, and her eyes move to his.

  She was looking around the room. Julia didn't feel pissed; she was stunned.

  The space must be something special for the bunker. It's unadorned and so plain, it's almost medicinal—except for a huge bed in the center of the oversized bedroom. An old-fashioned quilt graces the top, and four body-sized pillows round out a metal headboard. Two awkwardly narrow nightstands flank it, matching lamps softly glowing on top.