Captiva Captive (3 page)

Drawing her lifeblood into his body, he rejuvenated with her liquid warmth.  It flowed down his throat until he heard her heart give a shout out; fluttering against her ribs until it decided to straighten its rhythm. So it was definitely quitting time, since Sixten didn’t actually kill his food.

He sealed his pinpricks with his tongue, ignoring the moisture that coated her scrap of panties and the languid way she opened for him.  Nope, he didn’t want any of that.  However, he
did
want to come himself, therefore he pictured the only woman he had ever truly desired. 

Blythe Giarrusso.

It had been years since he laid eyes on her.   Even so, Blythe’s blue-black hair, her silky bronze skin, her wickedly swollen lips, and her man-eater body still etched his mind, permanently engraining his soul until he often thought he couldn’t take another breath without her.  And the way she called to him in his dreams night after night, slowly rocking her hips over his before lowering her supple body down his shaft, drove him to the brink of insanity.     

Just to kill the visual, her last words to him rolled around in his head: 
“Six, I think I love you more than you love me.”

“NO!” A bucket of mental ice water doused his lust.

“What?” She pulled away again.

“Say you love me,” he demanded of AB negative, though he didn’t even know her name.

“I love you?” She questioned.

Like
that
was going to help.  After snapping out of his internal padded cell, he eased her down, zipped his pants, and straightened her clothes - since she was wobbly.  But luckily, it was more from her multiple orgasms than any blood loss, so he didn’t feel guilty when he zapped her memory and shooed her out the bathroom door. 

He twisted the faucet and waited for hot water.  Soaping his hands until he thought he had caught a bad case of OCD, and then plunged them under the scalding stream to wash away her scent. 

Sixten had to talk himself down from the preverbal roof.  Thinking more and more about Blythe was understandable since he had recently returned to the states and stood in the very town where they’d fallen in love.  Even though she was long gone, living back in Italy with her brother, memories charged him as if she’d never left in the first place. Sixten actually thought he felt her presence earlier, crossing paths with him in some warped turn of fate.  And how crazy was that?  He splashed his face, scrubbing at his lips to wash away visible traces of blood while doubting those particular memories would stop plaguing him anytime soon.

“I find it hard to believe that werewolves suddenly rattle you.”

    Sixten caught Maestru’s reflection in the mirror.  His Coven Master was giving him a critical once over.  He couldn’t blame him. Loose cannons weren’t a good thing to have around, since they always went off at inopportune moments. But Sixten’s disposition had nothing to do with overinflated dogs. “Nah, only starving…I fed.”

    “I can smell that.” Maestru took another deep inhale.  “She was delicious, no?”

    “Adequate.” Sixten hitched his hip against the sink.  “Why did you call me back to Florida?”

    “The same reason the Weres are after you.”

    “I told them the truth, you know.”

    “I believe you, Six.”  Maestru crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.  “I suspect they want a special alliance with you, which I could care less about.  But
I
want you to come back into the fold.”

    “Here we go,” he groaned.  Sixten’s illustrious pedigree was the only reason he could be Vampyr Vojak for their species.  His mother’s bloodline ran all the way back to the first Species Breed Vampire that ever walked the face of the earth. In fact, his mother’s bloodlines were so pure that he did not have a drop of human blood in him, unless he drank it. 

Power attracted power. 

Therefore, power like
his
wasn’t easy for Maestru to walk away from.  Someone always wanted an alliance with Sixten, and after too many years of picking the wrong sides, he fought like hell to dodge conversations like this one.  Therefore, going back in as a Vojak, a warrior for the Species Breed Vampire race, didn’t sit well with his stomach. “That ship’s sailed, man.”

    “Unlike the others,” Maestru said much too easily, “I cannot force your compliance.”

    Because he was half Habaline, he had a choice. That’s when all that embarrassing mess, such as his genetics, came in handy.  No one could force him back into the game, and Maestru’s compulsion wouldn’t work on him.  No one’s would.  The only reason he came home in the first place was out of respect for Maestru. He would help him settle a recently escalated situation with the Weres and publically disassociate himself from Rave.  And while he was here, he was going to check up on his dad’s dwindling business that he left in his cousin’s care. 

He locked eyes with Maestru and asked, “Is it so bad that you would force me if you could?”

    “What do you think, Six?”

    “That a long time ago we thought things were getting crazy.” Sixten shook his head. “We were flipping then, huh?”

    “You got it.”

    “But you have to know.” Sixten pulled a little honesty out of his hat. “I’m just… weary.  All I see is the way I gave everything that I had and lost all that was important to me.  And none of it made a damned bit of difference when the sun came up.”

    “It’s about guarding our race as a whole.  Sure, the Undead still get rowdy and waste a lot of our time with the civil stuff.  That’s annoying as hell.   And the Weres are always shaking things up, too. That’s never going to end.” He rolled his eyes. “What’s more important than all that petty shit combined?  Our.  Numbers.  They’re declining as rapidly as the Weres,” Maestru said carefully, weighing his words. “Shapeshifters have taken our females from under our very noses for centuries, and, as you know, I recently recovered several from a breeding camp in Scotland.  But any human with a touch of immortal descent can be bred with the Habalines, and their species is prominent through every generation.”

    “I don’t want to discuss their breeding practices.” Sixten tucked his shirt in his pants. “It hits a little too close to home.” 

“You
are
an example of that.  We need your insight.  You’re one who sees both sides.”

    “Call it like it is, yeah?  Straight up, you want me to fight.” He sounded as disgusted as he felt. “And with all due respect, Coven Master, I don’t like being played, especially by you. You know my shifting abilities are limited.  As far as my vampire side goes, I flash the Species just like the rest of you.”  Sixten was highly dangerous when his Species overtook his body.  Transforming into a vampiric creature that roamed the nightmares of the young and old, sometimes he freaked
himself
out.

    Maestru pushed off the wall. “Not so long ago, our ancestors nearly eradicated Habalines for a reason.  Since these particular shifters really don’t need humans to survive, at least, not for any serious length of time. What happens when they overpopulate again?  They don’t take our females as much as they take from the Weres.  But our food source is questionable.  If they truly get out of hand, will they spare enough mortals to sustain us, allowing blood for their age-old enemies?”

    “God, I’ve got human friends.” Sixten pushed his fingers through his tawny hair. “You sound like we take a knife and fork to them.”

    He got right to the point. “I need someone to head this inquisition with the Habalines, and you’re the only one who can.”

    “Why can’t you?” He dared to say. “Last time I checked, that was your job.”

     Maestru released a slow breath and crossed his arms over his chest again.  “The Dynasty Vampyrs are in trouble.”

    That got Sixten’s attention.  “What do you mean in trouble?”

    “Their Donors are disappearing.”

    “You can’t blame something like that on Habalines,” he scrunched his brow.  “Would they even know about Donors?” Donors were a rare and special class of humans that fed the Dynasty Vampyr Empire, the true royalty of all vampiric species.  If the Dynasty, the backbone of their race, didn’t have their Donors, they would die out quickly and the rest of the race would soon follow.

    “Exactly.  Even if they knew about them, why would they bother? Dynasty Vampyrs mean nothing to the Habalines. Unfortunately, the Dynasty thinks otherwise.  Therefore, I have to chase unyielding leads with these shifters when I have a true conspiracy out there that I can’t yet name.”

    “So… you have to waste all your resources on dead leads? That’s unfathomable.”

    “Sure is, and no amount of arguing can convince them I’m right.  That’s just the tip of my troubled iceberg.” Maestru looked up to the ceiling as if asking for divine intervention.  “You know we need those Donors to keep the Dynasty alive.  Without their power, our race is weak at best.  They’re the building blocks of our life source, and we can’t let
anything
knock them down.” 

    “Outside of our race, how many creatures truly know what Donors are?”

    “Someone of substance does – a dark influence with wide arms grasping our sweet little empire and choking it to death.” He rubbed the back of his neck.  “Maybe it’s an attack against our race by outsiders or a simple vendetta against one of the royals.  Who knows?  And this little mystery is going to stay unsolved until it’s much too late, unless I get help. Seriously,” Maestru stepped closer, asking, “what would it take to get you back?”

    Before he could answer, a quick knock hit the other side of the door.  “Potty check,” a feminine voice called out.

    They both could mist out, but where was the fun in that? “What the fuck is a potty check?”

Maestru curled his brow.  “Got me, but I like her voice.”

    A blonde head peeked around the door and muttered, “Oh, sorry…um, you didn’t answer.”

    “Did you wait for an answer?” Maestru asked, spearing her with his obsidian eyes.

    Dakota was quick on her feet, retorting, “Obviously not long enough.”  But that’s before she sized him up.  Hastily realizing she’d snapped at the wrong person, a shaky smile plastered her face right when a roll of toilet tissue dive-bombed from her arms and bounced off the tile.   “We have to keep the VIP areas pristine,” she explained before shutting the door, leaving the roll where it landed, “sorry…again.”

    Maestru caught the door with his hand. “We’re leaving.”   She stepped back into the corridor, looking everywhere but at him.  He herded her, breathing deeply while tracing a fingertip across her name badge.  “Dakota,” he read aloud. “Well, beautiful, it’s nearly closing time.”

    “Sure is.” She still wouldn’t look at him, clearly understanding that Maestru wanted to take her home.

    Blonde…Dakota…Blythe’s best friend from high school stood before Sixten.  That’s when a strange thing happened.  Everything dimmed around Sixten before diminished reasoning propelled him into something potentially dangerous.  A black hole where nothing existed, no throbbing music, no clinking glasses, and no boisterous laughter from drunken patrons, he stood in a dream born from a haunted past.  Because he smelled Blythe on Dakota and the scent was certainly fresh. 

So she wasn’t in Italy after all. 

Of course, it was all too easy for Blythe’s brother to take truckloads of cash from him, but upholding his end of the bargain by keeping her hidden seemed to have slipped his mind.

He shook his head but couldn’t clear it.  
If Blythe thought her life changed when
they first met, well….
Now that he was
this
close to her again, his two halves became one, uniting against what was left of his pitiful conscious, just so he could understand who was really in charge.  Now he knew, just knew, that Blythe wouldn’t be able to get away from him this time. 

This time wasn’t
anything
close to those other times.

His body trembled as he drew in more of her unique scent, causing his inner shifter to sit up and take notice.  Yep… this time,
it
would own her.  And that little revelation guaranteed Sixten wasn’t going to keep his blood down.  “Ah, Maestru, I think I’ve gotta hit the can.” 

Chapter 3

“
D
amn, damn, and double-damn…” Blythe made a grab for the fridge handle a bit too late.  Face meeting tile, she slid into the bubble bath that currently occupied her kitchen floor.  No, she shouldn’t have tried to use dishwashing liquid in place of
dish detergent
.  She wasn’t being cheap, either.  The cost of the detergent simply didn’t make this week’s budget.  Tony’s medical bills did.

Wouldn’t you know it?  A knock hit the door.  Slide, slide, knee bumping against that wicked little metal thingy under the fridge, a rip in her last pair of nylons, a trickle of blood…and she’s up.  Not bothering to reach for a towel, since she’d been too busy to do the wash and paper towels didn’t make the budget, as well.   Her toes met the living room rug, dug in steadily, and carried her to the front door.  Remove a chain, unclick a lock, and flip the little brass bar. 

    “You didn’t ask who it is,” a brusque voice filled the threshold.

“Because you’re the only one that would hear my battle with the kitchen,” she stopped, wiping suds off her watch and viewing the time, “in the wee hours of the morning.”

Ryan strode through and gave her a thorough once over before saying, “Fell in with your clothes on or decided bath time was only decent when fully dressed.”

They’d been through this so many times.  “I’m fine.  You don’t have to take care of -”

“Bleeding,” he interrupted, motioning to the trickle already flowing into a full-blown canal pooling on the top of her foot.  While wiping the suds from her chin, he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip.  “Do you have first aid supplies…who am I kidding?  I’ll make a run back down to the club.”

She cocked an indignant brow.  “I have stuff in the bathroom.”

He didn’t bother to hide his astonishment.  “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Okay.  I’ll help you with that.”  Ryan gestured in the vicinity of her legs.  “Then,” he surveyed the kitchen, blowing out a slow breath, “mop up whatever’s going on in there.  God, are you
trying
to electrocute yourself?”