Eternal Beast: Mark of the Vampire (12 page)

Uma looked up. Her eyes widened as she took in the two bodies strapped to the stone tables. “Goddamn it.”

Gray’s brow lifted. “No Order members around.”

She sniffed. “How much does this feel like a—”

“Trap?” he whispered. “Too much. They may have guessed we’d try to rescue this particular male. Anything to stop the advancement of the Resistance.”

“We’re going to have to abort, come back for him.”

“He’s about to be blood castrated,” Gray hissed angrily.

“We can’t risk it.” Her eyes didn’t meet Gray’s when she said those words.

“You mean risk me,” Gray whispered back caustically.

“The Resistance can’t exist without you,” she said, her gaze lifting. “I thought this would be an easy grab.”

Ire slammed into Gray, and his mind pounded with thought and with the pleading words of all those around him.
Easy grab
. That phrase was pretty much sitting in his gut like a rotten piece of flesh.

“All right,” he said, giving Uma a quick nod. “Let’s go.”

For a split second, Uma looked at him as though she were surprised he’d acquiesced so quickly. But not wanting to upset her good fortune, she nodded and pushed away from the column, heading for the cell. Gray watched her go, and once she was through the bars and on her way toward the hole and the hallway beyond, he turned and, with a quick check of the voices
near, jerked out from the shadows of the column. He sprinted into the very center of the Paleo, past unused tables dotted with dried blood. He knew Uma had turned around and was watching him now, no doubt pissed off and contemplating what to do next. But she couldn’t yell for him, couldn’t risk that.

Just as Gray couldn’t stand back and risk the lives of the two males strapped to the tables before him. He’d come for one, but he was going to release both.

His blades out, he began cutting their bindings. He heard the panicked voices of guards in his mind, up and running, coming closer, but it just made him work faster.

Once he’d cut them both free, he shouted for them to run, to head for the cell straight ahead. He saw Uma waiting there, her eyes wide and angry, her breathing heavy as she ushered each Impure through.

“Go!” he shouted, feeling a guard come up behind him. He turned back just as the Pureblood struck him hard in the chest with his fist. Slamming back into the cell bars, Gray braced himself for the shock of pain, then pushed forward, blocking the
paven
’s next blow. Utilizing his blade, Gray ripped into the male’s hand, then doubled back for a quick and deep strike across his throat. The
paven
dropped to the ground, but on his descent, pulled a dagger from his waistband and slashed it into Gray’s side.

Electric pain shot through Gray, but he wasn’t about to stick around to check the damage. Several guards were on their way down to the oval and the tables. His adrenaline high, he ran toward the cell. His mind
screamed with the voices of all the Impures around him.

“Take us too
.”

“Breach! Security to the center of the Paleo
.”

“Don’t leave us!”

“Take her,” begged an Impure inside the cell, pushing a young Impure female toward him. “Please! We’ll hold them off.”

This was bullshit, Gray thought as he caught the woman with his arm. He wanted them all—no one deserved to be down here, a prisoner for blood, the Order taking from them whatever it wanted.

With the female held against the side that wasn’t bleeding profusely, Gray scrambled through the hole. He heard the Impures close the entryway as he hauled ass down the hallway.

It took every ounce of strength he had to reach the exit, then push the female up the hole in the ground. Thankfully, Uma and the Impure males were at the top and helped the female the rest of the way.

“Go!” Gray yelled at them. “The Pureblood can only take four. Go!”

Uma shook her head. “You go with them. I’ll stay.”

“Not a chance.” Gray eyed the Pureblood male who for months had been helping the Resistance with flash travel. A debt he’d insisted on paying when Uma had rescued the Impure female he loved. “Do it,” he ordered the Pureblood. “Take them to Resistance headquarters, then come back for me.”

The Pureblood nodded, grabbed them all.

“Gray!” Uma yelled.

“I’m right behind you—go!”

As they flashed away, Gray crumpled to the ground, blood gushing from the wound in his side. But he refused to pass out, refused to return to his compound and his warriors a dead male, refused to not be the one who ended the nightmare belowground—refused to allow Dillon to remain a Beast forever.

D
illon heard the commotion outside her room and jumped to her feet, her jaguar’s instincts kicking into high gear. The scent of fear, of blood snaked into the room through the walls and under the doorway, making her growl. She knew it probably wasn’t the best idea to leave the room—be seen by anyone—but that blood she smelled? It was Gray’s. She was certain of it. And whatever strange, unwelcome thing she had going on with that male, well, the scent of him inside her nostrils made her desperate to get out, get to him—then attack and kill whatever had brought his blood to the surface to begin with.

She opened the door and headed out into the hallway, her head down, nostrils splayed. She followed the scent, Gray’s blood scent, into the open warehouse space that Gray and his Resistance buddies used as their workspace.

First thing she saw was the front door open, then a
Pureblood male ushering three Impures inside. One female and two males. A low growl emanated from Dillon. The female carried Gray’s blood scent. Slipping behind a high-backed couch, Dillon watched, eyes narrowed into slits. Where was he? Screw these other Impures. Where the hell was
her
Impure?

Suddenly, a female rushed into the room. This one also carried his scent. This one was beautiful, appeared tough, intelligent, and capable, which made Dillon’s jaguar’s fur stand up in annoyance.

“You need to go back,” the female said to the Pureblood, her tone demanding, insistent. “Now. Before he bleeds out.”

Something moved through Dillon in those words. Something damn close to volatile possessiveness. She watched through narrowed eyes as the Pureblood nodded and walked out of the warehouse door. Dillon had meant to remain where she was. It was the smart thing—self-preservation and all that. But doing the right thing had never appealed to her.

Pushing forward off her powerful back legs, she padded into the room and demanded, “Who’s bleeding out?”

The female looked up, caught sight of Dillon the jungle cat and gasped, as did the others at her side. “What the hell?”

“Speak, Impure,” Dillon commanded. “Who is bleeding out?”

The female’s eyes remained wide open, stunned at what was before her, this impossible creature who lived only in the nightmares of
balas
. But she soon recovered herself enough to speak, her tone a forced cool, calm,
and protective. “The Impure Resistance is housing a
mutore
.”

“Mutore,”
hissed the other Impure female, a mouse-brown thing with thin lips and an annoyingly rapid heartbeat. “It’s not possible. They don’t exist, don’t live past birth. A
mutore
. Oh God, it’s hideous.” She and the males moved back, deep into a shadow on the far side of the room.

Dillon lifted her chin at the lot of them. “Don’t faint, shake, or dissolve into tears, Impures. You’ll only embarrass yourselves.” She shifted her gaze back to the one who hadn’t moved, the far too pretty one who seemed to wear the balls in this group. “Tell me who is bleeding or I’ll rip out your throat—”

Before she finished her threat, the scent of Gray, of his blood, slammed into her nostrils. She had no time to react as the Pureblood
paven
burst through the door, someone affixed to his side. Someone tall, broad, stupid as hell, and bleeding like a stuck pig.

“Fuck,” Dillon uttered, heading straight for him. “What the hell happened here?”

“Get back,
Mutore
,” warned the very courageous, very stupid female, her hands already on Gray, her gaze assessing him. “We need a doctor.”

Dillon’s lip curled.

One of the Impure warriors ran into the room. Rio, Dillon believed his name was. He stopped short when he saw Gray and the blood. He closed his eyes, and Dillon saw his lips move. What was he doing? Calling to the rest of them? Gray didn’t need a doctor—he needed a
veana
.

When the Impure was done, he walked over to Gray.
But instead of offering help, he starting barking. “You went to the Paleo,” he accused gruffly.

“Eat shit, Rio,” Gray rasped, barely conscious.

“You stupid motherfucker.”

Dillon’s fierce and feral growl stopped them both, and everyone in the room turned to stare at her.

“Speak that way again,” she hissed at Rio, “and I’ll rip open your stomach with these claws here and feast on your intestines.”

Rio cocked his head. “I’d like to see you try it,
Mutore
.”

“Would you?” Dillon would’ve sworn she heard Gray’s soft, pained chuckle as she crouched down, ready to spring.

“Where is he?” Vincent and Piper ran into the room, her eyes panicked. When they spotted Gray, they headed straight for him. As Vincent shook his head, Piper cursed, “You endangered yourself and the Resistance. Goddamn it, Gray. Why would you do that?”

“I got him out,” Gray uttered, his speech slurring now. “Got all of them out.”

Piper cursed. “That’s Uma’s job, not yours.”

Dillon’s gaze shifted to the Impure female. So that was little Miss Tough-As-Nails. Uma. What a stupid name.

“There’s too many,” Gray whispered. “I can’t sit around here and use my fucking mind, my fucking gift”—he said the last word as though it were poison on his tongue—“when there’s blood being spilled every hour of every day.” Suddenly, he gasped. “Ahhh…Shit!”

“He’s losing major blood here,” Rio said, more frustrated than concerned. “Call the doc, Piper.”

“No,” Dillon said. “Get him into our room.”

They all turned to stare at her.

“Are you all deaf?” she shouted, her cat’s eyes blazing with ferocity as she stalked back and forth. “Get him into our room and I will take care of this.”

“Who is this
mutore
?” Uma asked Vincent.

“Gray’s pet,” the male answered.

“Fuck you, Impure,” Dillon snarled. “I’m a Pureblood
veana
as well as a
mutore
. I’ll be able to heal him.” She narrowed her eyes at the Pureblood male who held him. “Follow me, if you value your life.”

The
paven
didn’t even pause to think. With Gray against him, he followed her down the hall, then past her into the room.

“Put him on the bed,” she ordered, “then get out.”

All three warriors and the female, Uma, stood in the doorway.

“How do we know you’re not going to hurt him?” she asked, her eyes wary, protective.

“You don’t,” Dillon uttered. She stalked toward them, growled a sound so loud and fierce all four took a step back. “Now, get the fuck out of here.”

She jumped up and slammed her paws against the door. It shut with such force it rattled the walls of the room. She didn’t like the way she felt right now: obsessively protective and, hell…if she was forced to admit it, a little scared. And it didn’t get any better when she crawled up onto the bed and saw Gray’s face. Way too pale. Way too much blood.

Shit
.

How was she going to get into her
veana
form? That was the only way she could heal him. Granted, she just
needed part of the shift to happen, just her face, her mouth. Shoving aside the other queries in her head, she lay down beside him, against him, and tucked her head under one of his hands, pushed his arm so it was draping across her powerful shoulders.

Come on, come on, come on
. Panic swept through her when nothing immediate happened—no warmth, no deep sense of shift within her. The scent of blood thickened in her nostrils. She’d brought him in here, cast down the idea of a doctor—scared the shit out of everyone who seemed to care about his welfare, and now he could die. Right here, right now. Because of her power play.

Her undead heart stuttered, a true and complicated fear tightening her chest. That she couldn’t have. Couldn’t let that happen to this male. Not ever. She didn’t have to be in his life or see him after this was all over—hell, he didn’t even have to return her to a motherfucking
veana
.

He just needed to keep breathing.

She dropped her head, scented for his wounds, then ripped the shirt off of him with her fangs and discarded it.

She didn’t know what made her do it. Desperation? Inspiration? Who the fuck cared? It was something.

She starting licking him. Deep, powerful sweeps until Gray’s blood saturated her cat’s tongue. She tried not to think about how good he tasted, how she could drink from him all damn night. She just licked and licked until he was clean, until the wound no longer seeped, until his blood flowed into her, and the shift began.

Dillon didn’t know, maybe would never know, if it was his blood that turned her that night or the close contact of their skin, but within seconds, she was a
veana
from the neck up. Quick as a blink, she blew her warm breath onto his wound. She blew, over and over against the deep gash until it started to close, then fuse, then disappear altogether.

When it did, when his skin looked tight and clean, she lifted her head and stared at his face. Her breath held, caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat, she waited. Seconds ticked by and time moved in an endless loop. “Come on, you Impure bastard,” she whispered into his skin.
Please,
she begged deep in her mind.
I don’t want to do this without you, any of this.
Dillon wasn’t sure exactly what she was referring to, but it didn’t matter. Gray let out a soft groan. She stared as his once pale and deathly skin turned pink and his breathing evened, slowed to a healthy rhythm, and then finally he slipped into a natural, healing sleep.