Authors: Rhyannon Byrd
The sacred laws? No! He wouldn’t dare!
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned him, unable to control the tremor in her voice, her throat tightening with rage and fear, her eyes burning with tears.
“Are you going to be reasonable?” A quiet, composed demand that made her want to hit him.
“You self-righteous jackass!” she screamed, shoving hard at his chest, not caring who heard or what attention they drew. But the bastard didn’t even budge. “I am
not
your problem!”
“You are now,” he said in a rough voice, his long fingers wrapping around her wrists as she pounded against
his chest. “Because I’m claiming a Blood Oath from you, Raine Spenser. And until I free you from it, your stubborn little ass is mine.”
A small town on the outskirts of Venice, Italy
R
OSS WESTMORE WAS
a man who liked to win, no matter the cost.
The vices that shaped most males meant little to him. He didn’t care about money or sex or fame. But the power that came with victory…
that
was what made him tick. What drove him to succeed, no matter who or what he had to destroy in the process. He knew the Watchmen were scratching their heads, trying to come up with a logical explanation for why he was fighting so hard to free the Casus, and that right there was the answer.
Power.
And he wasn’t alone. Most of the Kraven shared his thirst for power, simply because it was something they’d always been denied. The offspring of female Deschanel vampires who were raped by Casus males before their imprisonment, the Kraven had been kept a secret by the Deschanel clan for centuries. Considered a sign of weakness, they were treated little better than slaves by the vampires, and the Kraven were tired of it. Tired enough to abandon their stations within the vampire clan and
follow Westmore in his quest to break the Casus out of Meridian.
Then, once the Casus had been freed and embraced the Kraven as their brethren, Westmore and the others of his kind would no longer be considered an embarrassing abomination. As the Kraven and Casus bloodlines mixed, they would become more powerful than any creature the world had ever known—and Westmore would be considered a hero.
Hell, I’ll probably be considered a god,
he thought, walking onto his balcony through an open set of double doors, a cool breeze rushing against his face while the lights of Venice flickered in the distance.
And what could be more powerful than that?
But to make his plans a reality, he needed the Dark Markers. Only the ancient crosses could set the chain of events into motion that would free the Casus from their impenetrable prison. He’d been so close to achieving his goal in January, with the psychic under his command, only to have his dream snatched away from him. Now he seethed with frustration, longing to strike out against the Watchmen with the full force of his army. But he had to be smart…patient. Those were the traits that had gotten him to this point, and they were the traits that would lead him to success.
Westmore couldn’t afford another failure. There had been too many of those already. Thanks to the archives the Watchmen had stolen from his compound in the Wasteland, they knew the Markers were the only way to find and enter Meridian. They might not know how
to assemble the Markers into the map that would lead to the Casus’s prison, or how to use them as keys, but they weren’t idiots. They would figure it out.
And they knew the crosses could be used to kill the Casus shades, destroying everything he’d worked for.
Which meant his only option was to gain possession of the Dark Markers at the earliest opportunity.
“Or…is it?” he mused out loud, one hand shoved deep in his pocket, while the other slowly stroked his jaw, his gaze focused on the moonlit canal that ran beside his building as he thought back to the scene he had watched play out there a few hours earlier. A flock of mature gulls had been challenging some younger birds for a fishing boat’s evening catch. Eventually, the older gulls accepted defeat, leaving the younger ones to brave the wrath of the fishermen as they swooped in for the fish that’d been piled in baskets at the edge of the dock. The younger gulls had flown their bounty to the rooftop of a lower building where they gathered to eat, ignoring the presence of the older gulls, no longer seeing them as a threat. And it was then that the older gulls launched the second wave of their attack, with a strength and viciousness that caught the younger birds by surprise. Their earlier retreat had obviously been a ruse, one designed to give the younger gulls a false sense of security while they did the hard work and collected the food.
When they had appeared to give up, Westmore had thought the older gulls were pathetic, but as they deftly overran the younger birds and dined on their spoils, he’d changed his mind, thinking they were rather genius.
There they’d been, eating like kings, and with a minimal amount of effort. Could the answer he was looking for really be that simple?
A husky rumble of laughter started to break from his throat, only to be cut short when the doors to his bedchamber opened behind him, and he knew it would be Seton. He’d allowed no one else to know his location.
“Is there a problem?” he drawled, the politeness of his tone no doubt alerting the Casus to his displeasure at the interruption. Not that Seton would care.
“The psychic vamp we had at the compound is causing trouble. She killed Carlson and Rogers barely an hour ago in Paris.”
At the mention of Raine, myriad emotions buffeted the Kraven’s system, each one more staggering than the first. There was fury, of course, as well as frustration. But most of all, there was…longing. Such a strange emotion, considering its focus was for another person, and not his coveted power. But Westmore couldn’t deny its existence.
He wanted her back. Wanted her to be
his,
so that he could do with her as he pleased…and make her pay for leaving him.
“Are you sure it was her?” he asked, his tone no longer relaxed, the bitterness that flavored his words impossible to hide.
“I’m sure. Stevens was meant to meet up with Carlson at the Gare d’Austerlitz before heading to Austria. When he didn’t show, Stevens started searching the part of town where Carlson had been staying, and found both Carlson
and Rogers. The psychic’s blood was at the scene, and she hadn’t been alone. He could smell a human with her.”
Westmore absorbed the news with stoic silence, his back to the Casus as he turned toward the stunning view once more, the distant lights of the city flickering like jewels that’d been tossed across the land with a careless hand, their glittering glow reminding him of the psychic’s eyes. He’d spent countless nights trying to sort out what drew him to the female. Her intelligence? Her beauty? Yes, both had called to him. But mostly it was the power that thrived inside her. It was evident in every word that she spoke, every breath that slipped past her lips, and he wanted to possess it. Claim ownership over it.
But to do that, he needed Raine back in his clutches.
“Do you know who the human could be?” Seton asked, interrupting his thoughts for the second time that night.
“I know who it is,” he murmured, resting his hands on the railing, while his insides coiled with fury at the idea of Raine working with the human male. “Spark mentioned him the last time we talked. He’s a Collective soldier who defected at the beginning of the war, only to join forces with the Watchmen.”
“Is he the one who helped them attack your hideout in Colorado? McConnell?”
“One and the same. When he left the Collective, most of his unit followed him. He was also with the Watchmen who helped rescue the psychic from the Wasteland.”
“Troublesome fucker, isn’t he?” Seton gave a harsh laugh. “I hope he’s there when we make a grab for the crosses. It would be fun to go up against a human who actually knew how to fight back.”
Westmore nodded absently, his mind wandering back to his memory of the gulls, intrigued by the compelling idea taking shape in his thoughts. Obviously, there was no point in attacking the Watchmen now. Without Raine, he had no way of reaching the last Markers on his own. And he needed them all if he was going to form the map to Meridian and open the gate.
So maybe all he really needed was to play the loser, like the older gulls, then bide his time until the last possible moment—and hit those bloody shifters when they least expected it, stealing their victory right out from under their noses.
It was a bold move, but perhaps his best shot at success. And he truly loved the touch of irony. Could just imagine the look on the shifters’ faces when they realized they’d been fooled.
Knowing exactly how he wanted this to play out, he turned and leaned his back against the balcony railing, his arms crossed over his chest as he locked his gaze with Seton’s. “Send Spark after her.”
A flash of surprise flared in the Casus’s ice-blue eyes. “But the psychic can read her. They’ll know she’s coming, and Spark will end up dead.”
“Do I look as if I care?” he asked with a sharp smile. “We won’t need the assassin once the gate to Meridian has been broken. At that point, all she’ll become is a meal
for one of your brothers. Might as well use her while we can.”
“I guess that’s true,” Seton allowed, pushing his inkblack hair back from his scarred face, the dark strands such a sharp contrast to the paleness of his skin. “So what’s your plan?”
He had no intention of sharing his plans with Seton. In truth, for his idea to work, he needed this particular Casus to know as little as possible, so he simply said, “We know that Bryce was killed in Spain a few days ago, and now Carlson. It’s obvious Raine is seeking revenge against those who’ve wronged her.”
Seton’s grin was a sadistic cross between pride and humor. “If she’s coming after every Casus who fucked her, it’s going to be a long-ass list.”
“I actually think she’s going after the five men who killed her sister, which would mean Rogers was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Should we warn the others?”
“No. She’s
reading
them, which means she’ll know. So we simply locate the remaining three and have them watched. When she’s spotted, send Spark. The assassin will act as a diversion, drawing their focus, so that you can complete the job.”
In order to pull off his plan without making the Watchmen suspicious, Westmore had to sacrifice a few pawns. He was taking a calculated risk in sending the Casus, since Seton rarely lost a fight, but the opportunity was perfect. He just hoped McConnell and his new friends were up to the challenge.
Of course, he didn’t like knowing he would have to wait longer to have Raine back in his grasp, but it would be worth it in the end. Who knew? Maybe she’d accompany the Watchmen to Meridian, and after the Casus had defeated the shifters, he could make sure that McConnell’s last memory of this world was an image of Westmore sinking between Raine’s silky thighs.
“Why not just send me after her?” Seton asked, pulling his mind back to the conversation. “Why involve the assassin?”
“Why the concern?” He gave the male a long, piercing look. “Are you protective of Spark?”
The Casus snorted. “Hardly. But the assassin is human. She could screw it up. She’s—”
“A complication I no longer need. She might be human, but she’s a powerful woman. One who expects compensation for her work. But with the psychic able to monitor her every move, she’s no good to me. Might as well use her as a diversion.” He regarded the Casus with a challenging smirk. “Unless you have a problem with following orders?”
For a moment, Seton looked as if he’d enjoy nothing more than raking his claws across Westmore’s face. He didn’t like being treated as a subordinate and his anger was evident in the hard lines of his expression. An anger Westmore knew would play well into his plans.
“Consider it done,” Seton said in a graveled voice, then turned and stalked across the lavish room, leaving Westmore standing on the balcony alone, with nothing but his thoughts and mounting hungers.
“And, Seton,” he called out, just before the Casus reached the door.
“Yeah?”
A slow, wicked smile curved the Kraven’s mouth. “I have important plans for the psychic. So no matter what happens, make sure she stays alive.”
T
HE RAIN CAME
down in a slow, endless pour, as if tears were being quietly spilled from heaven. There were no blinding strikes of lightning or crashing rumbles of thunder to mirror the tension in the air. Just that soft, wet rain that kept spilling and spilling, as if it would never end.
With tired eyes, Seth ignored the pain in his bandaged right hand and stared through the rain-spattered window of the train, watching the French countryside move by in a hypnotic blur. He was thinking about the war and the fight they’d had against the Casus just hours before. About what the others were doing back at Harrow House, hoping the latest lead they were following had actually helped them translate a section of a journal they’d found at Westmore’s compound. The Watchmen called it the “death” journal, since it contained instructions on how to kill a variety of species, many of which were no longer even in existence. But the one passage they needed most—the passage they believed explained how a Death-Walker could be killed—was written in some archaic language they couldn’t read. And considering the way things were going down, it was information they were definitely going to need.
The Death-Walkers were a pain in the ass, and one that would have to be dealt with, just as soon as they’d taken care of the Casus. Thanks to a vampire named Gideon Granger, who was now working with the Watchmen, Seth and the others had learned what the Death-Walkers were back in December, after the creatures had made their first attack. According to Gideon, every time a Dark Marker was used to send a Casus’s soul into hell, a doorway was opened into the part of hell that held the tainted souls of the clans, and one of those souls was able to escape. These creatures were the Death-Walkers, and their time in hell had left them seriously screwed up in the head. All they cared about was creating chaos among the clans, hoping to pull the world into a neverending battle of blood and misery that they could sit back and enjoy. And they were pulling humans right into the middle of the bloodshed by turning them into the Infettato, or the Infected. The Infettato were humans who had been bitten by the Death-Walkers, their bodies turned into mindless, zombielike eating machines that were controlled by their makers. The Watchmen had their hands full trying to keep the Infettato from becoming public knowledge and starting widespread panic among the humans, but that job was becoming more difficult with each week that went by.
So yeah, it was pretty natural for him to be sitting there, mulling all that shit through his mind. But mostly he was thinking about the woman sitting beside him, who was obviously trying to pretend he didn’t exist.
She’d changed her damaged, blood-spattered clothes
when they’d made it back to her hotel room in Paris. The blue sweater and jeans she’d pulled on were nothing fancy, but he couldn’t stop staring at the way the soft cashmere clung to the slope of her shoulders and the tantalizing curve of her breasts.
“You know,” he finally said in a low voice, “you’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later.”
She turned her head to the side, staring across the aisle, toward the empty seats that sat across from them, still doing her best to ignore him. But Seth knew he was getting to her. Her hands were clenched, her jaw held hard and tight, as if she was choking back the curses she longed to hurl his way. She was, without any doubt, still furious with him for claiming that Oath. But he didn’t regret what he’d done.
The muted light in the train car glittered against the cross that they’d retrieved before leaving the scene of the fight, and Seth was thankful for that small piece of protection hanging around her neck, though it wasn’t enough. He wanted her back at Harrow House.
Obviously unable to hold back any longer, she turned toward him in a sudden burst of energy that sent the long waves of her hair falling over one shoulder. “Just out of curiosity, how old was the Deschanel you tortured for the information about a Blood Oath?”
Seth lifted his brows. “What makes you think the information wasn’t given freely?”
Her beautiful eyes glittered with fury and distrust. “There’s not a chance in hell a vamp would have simply offered up that kind of intel. Blood Oaths are one of our
most closely held secrets, meant to be used only among our kind, because of the power they give to another. So what exactly did you do to garner such an admission? Threaten to kill a child? Or was it a father? Did you threaten his family? Or did you simply torture the poor bastard until he broke?”
“I’m not doing this with you, Raine. If you want answers, get them yourself. They’re all right here,” he said, tapping his temple.
She gave a delicate snort. “Too ashamed to own up to your sins, McConnell?”
“You know, you weren’t nearly this bitchy when we were escaping from the Wasteland. Is there a reason for the change in attitude?” he asked, hating how easily she could get under his skin. “Have I done something to piss you off?”
Her lip curled, those brilliant eyes burning with a rage that only made them more stunning. “What about binding yourself to me with some archaic Court covenant? I think that would be enough to irritate any woman.”
“Before tonight,” he growled.
She ground her teeth together, shaking her head with a stiff, sharp movement.
“Then why aren’t you treating me like you did before? You were skittish around me while we were making our way to England, but you were never openly angry. You never acted like a bitch.”
“I was half-dead and trying to heal,” she muttered. “I didn’t have the energy to get pissed at you. I just tolerated your presence.”
He wanted to argue, but knew that what she’d said was true. After being held in Westmore’s compound for several weeks, she’d been in bad shape when he’d found her, and her condition had only worsened in the days that followed. Her friend Chloe, who’d also been held as a prisoner and was now engaged to Kellan Scott, had thought that maybe it was the psychic’s guilt that kept eating away at her, wearing her body down. After all, Raine had made it out of the compound when her sister hadn’t. And her mother had alluded to similar thoughts when they’d discussed her failing psychic abilities.
But if guilt had been wearing her down, what had prompted the physical change in her? What was making her grow stronger?
“Speaking of healing,” he murmured, figuring it was a good time to steer the conversation in another direction, since he was only going to keep getting slammed. “How is your arm?” She’d been caught in an explosion during their escape from the compound back in early February and her right arm had been badly burned.
“It’s finally healed,” she replied grudgingly, though she did push back her sleeve to show him the pale skin. There was the faintest shadow of a scar visible on her forearm, but nothing you would notice unless you were looking for it.
Lifting his gaze to her face, Seth eyed the rapidly fading bruises and scrapes the Casus had made earlier that night. “Your face is already healing from where that bastard hit you tonight. Why are you healing so quickly now, when you couldn’t before?”
She pulled her sleeve back down and shrugged. “I’ve got a few theories, but nothing concrete.”
A scowl wove between his brows. “And nothing you’re going to share, huh?”
“Wow. You’re pretty good at this mind reading yourself,” she drawled. “And this is the norm for me. We vampires heal quickly, but then, I’m sure you already know that.”
Wanting to keep her talking, Seth chose to ignore the sarcasm and kept digging for information. “So your Deschanel abilities are working at full capacity, but your Alacea ones are still on the fritz?”
“Yep.” She shifted in her seat, keeping her gaze focused on anything but him, while he just kept staring at her, unable to look away.
“If your psychic powers are as weak as you keep claiming they are, then how are you managing to track down the Casus?”
Sliding him a dark glare, she said, “I’m managing. That’s all you need to know.”
Refusing to give up, he fired another round of questions. “If you can read them, can they lead us to Westmore? Is that how you plan to find him and get the Markers back?”
She shook her head, but offered no other explanation.
“Come on, Raine. I saved your ass tonight. You owe me this much, at least.”
She took a deep breath, her golden hair catching the soft streams of light from overhead as she turned her
head away from him, staring out that far window again. “Westmore must have anticipated that I would go after the Casus, or assumed I would send someone else to do the job.” She was starting to sound more tired than pissed, and he took that as a good sign. “That’s the most logical explanation for why he’s scattered the bastards across Europe. As far as I’ve been able to tell, he hasn’t allowed them anywhere near him since he left the Wasteland, his location for the moment completely secret. But I’m assuming he’s in Europe. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be keeping the Casus on this continent, where they’ll be within easy reach if he needs them.”
“What about his security?”
“I don’t know. If he has anyone with him, it’s someone I can’t read.”
Well, shit. He didn’t like the sound of that. It just meant there was another asshole out there who could sneak up on her at any time.
“If Westmore learns that you’re the one going after the Casus, Raine, then it stands to reason that he’ll try to set a trap for you.” He tried to school his expression as she brought her gaze back to his, but it wasn’t easy. “You know he wants you back.”
“That’s likely, yes.”
Her I-couldn’t-care-less tone drove him mad. “And you’re willing to take that risk?” he growled.
“I am.” Her chin lifted. “But they won’t be taking me alive a second time.”
Now
that
was something he really didn’t like the sound of. “What’s your plan?”
She gave a soft, bitter laugh. “Who said I had a plan?”
His nostrils flared. “You’re actually trying to irritate me, aren’t you?”
Another low slide of laughter, and she looked away, staring at the back of the seat in front of her. The train car was empty but for an elderly couple six rows back, their soft snoring keeping perfect time with the rhythm of the wheels racing down the track. “All I know is that I won’t let them take me alive,” she finally said, her hands rubbing down her denim-covered thighs. “Since I’m only half-Deschanel, I’m easier to kill than most of my kind. I’ll take my own life before letting them lock me up a second time. I just… I couldn’t go through it again.”
“If that’s true, then why didn’t you kill yourself tonight?”
She stiffened, as if his question had caught her off guard, before slanting him a slow, mocking smile. “Disappointed?”
Seth narrowed his eyes. “I’d hardly be wasting my time trying to keep you alive if I wanted you dead, Raine. I’m just trying to understand you.”
I
T WAS HIS TONE
, more than the words themselves, that rattled something inside her. Something Raine had thought safely buried, where she wanted it. A strange desire to want to connect with someone on a level that went deeper than mere friendship, or even sex.
Realizing he was still waiting for a response, she man
aged to say, “I guess I was still hoping that something would happen. That something would stop them.”
“You got lucky.” His hands clenched into fists on the armrests of his seat, and she could sense his internal struggle as he forced himself to relax, his voice a bit rougher as he said, “I might not have found you.”
The train made its next scheduled stop, then resumed its long trek, and she was thankful for the interruption, not wanting to think about how close it had been with the Casus…or how much she owed the soldier for bailing her out. After a few tense moments of silence, she turned toward him again. “When you found me in the club, you said all hell was breaking loose for the Watchmen. I’ve only been gone a week. What’s happened?”
Some of his tension eased, and the corner of his mouth twitched, as if he was fighting back a smile. “Actually, they won’t be the Watchmen much longer. Kierland’s finally put his master plan into action.”
She knew that Kierland Scott, a gorgeous auburnhaired Lycan, was regarded as the leader of the Watchmen unit currently stationed at Harrow House, and that he was also one of Seth’s friends—but she had no idea what the human meant by a “master plan.”
“What are you talking about?”
With a frown, he asked, “Didn’t anyone at Harrow House tell you about the meetings?”
“No one at Harrow House would tell me anything.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced, thinking she sounded like a bitter old hag. But damn it, she’d hated the way all conversation had ceased the second
she walked into a room at the Watchmen compound, as if they were afraid of saying the wrong thing in front of her. With a wry tilt to her mouth, she leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes as she went on to say, “And I’d obviously be lying if I said it hadn’t been extremely annoying.”
He gave a rough bark of laughter, the deep, gritty timbre spilling deliciously through her veins. “Yeah, I can understand how that could grate on a person’s nerves. But the condensed version goes something like this. The Watchmen have known for some time that the Consortium leaders are failing to do their job. So they’ve decided to make a break from the organization.”
She didn’t need him to explain who the Consortium leaders were. Anyone who was a part of the ancient clans—the nonhuman races who walked the earth—knew that the Consortium was a kind of preternatural United Nations, its purpose to keep peace among the clans and ensure the secret of their existence from the human world. The Watchmen reported directly to the Consortium, serving as their eyes and ears around the world. But it appeared the organization was no longer viable, the Consortium’s policies plagued by indecision and bureaucracy.
“Kierland’s convinced the other Watchmen units to break with the Consortium and form a new organization?” she asked, assuring herself that she was only staring at him so intently because she was interested in the conversation…and not because he looked incredibly gorgeous sitting there in the soft glow of light, the golden
stubble on his cheeks and jaw bringing the rugged angles of his face into sharper definition.