The Warrior Vampire (30 page)

As if Mikhail would ever make a decision without counsel. But aside from that, did she think he was an idiot? “And I suppose the thought that he'd go rogue never occurred to you?”

“No,” she said flatly. “The tribal structure relies on community. Why do you think this house is a secret? I have an apartment downtown. We all do. We're required to live on the same city block, Ronan. A sacred circle. If Paul broke that circle, he'd violate the tribe's trust. And he'd be punished for it.”

So apparently the Bororo tribe was a lot like the Mafia. Once you're in, you're in for life. Where did that leave them, then? If he wanted to be with his mate, he'd be forced to stay in Crescent City? Become a part of Naya's life and sit in the prison of her home during the daylight hours while she was out doing gods knew what with gods knew who? Would he remain a secret—like this house—a part of her life protected from the tribal circle?

“Stop growling,” Naya said as she slung a jacket over her shoulders. “I'll be back before you know it.”

“I might not be here when you get back.” In the back of his mind, common sense screamed for him to shut his fool mouth. But anger, frustration, and helplessness had taken control of his words.

Naya's annoyance flared and the sulfuric tang of her anger scented the air. “There's a bounty on your head, Ronan.”

Did she think he gave a single shit about that? He was no coward. And he certainly wasn't afraid of a pack of shifters. “My sister is still missing, Naya.” He matched her scolding tone, unwilling to back down. “I've done little to find her since the day I woke up cuffed to your bed.”

Her eyes widened with shock and hurt and Ronan wished he could take back the accusing words. “Stay. Go. Whatever. You're not my prisoner or anything else, Ronan.”

A stake to the heart would have been less painful than her dismissive words. Naya spun on a booted heel and strode for the door, slamming it behind her. A moment later the front door followed suit and a sickening silence settled over the tiny house.

“Gods damn it!” Ronan ground out from between his clenched teeth. Cold snaked up from the pit of his gut, fanning out in tendrils that wove around his limbs like lengths of ribbon.

The dark force within him surged up, glutting itself on his negative emotions like he'd glutted himself on Naya's blood. That insatiable hunger chilled him to the bone and Ronan shivered violently as he fell back to plant his ass on Naya's bed.

Fight it.

You're not my prisoner or
anything else. She'd discarded him. Treated him as though he were as inconsequential as the boots on her feet. Icy cold snaked up his neck, winding to the base of his skull. Ronan clenched his head between his hands, the low growl in his chest building to a pained roar.

Let go. Don't give it fuel
.

He wanted her.
Needed
her. She belonged to him, damn it. How could she treat their tether as though it were nothing? How could she leave him behind, trapped within these fucking walls until the sun set?

“Arrgh!” Ronan slipped off the bed and crashed to his knees on the floor. His fangs punctured his bottom lip and a trickle of warmth dripped down his chin. His limbs went numb, the cold unbearable. Fluorescent greens and blues rose to the surface of his skin like beads of sweat and Ronan panted through the pain. Darkness rose up like a tide and his lungs seized up as he was dragged away from consciousness by the undertow.

No.

If he gave in, let the darkness take him, Naya would be left unprotected. He couldn't let that happen.

Ronan sought the shelter of the Collective. Its presence had been all but nonexistent in his mind with the amount of blood he'd taken from Naya over the past few days. The power lent to him by feeding from his mate fortified his mind against its pull, but now he needed to lose himself, to hide from the magic that threatened to eat him alive. Perhaps submerging his psyche in potentially unhappy memories wasn't the best idea, but at this point Ronan didn't think he had any other choice.

Weeding through centuries of memories for only happiness wasn't as easy as you'd think. Ronan's concentration was shot to shit thanks to the effect of the dark magic that coursed through him, coupled with hours of intense sex and the blood he'd taken from Naya buzzing around in his skull until he wanted to bash himself with a hammer in order to quiet the shit down. The blanket Naya had thrown over the window kept the room dark. Still as a tomb. But he wouldn't be trapped here for long. Twilight was fast approaching, and with any luck Ronan would be five by five and ready to hit the streets in search of Chelle—and Naya—once the sun set.

Myriad voices called out, accompanied by the visions that were gossamer things in his mind's eye. Ghosts of lives lived, tragedies endured, happiness enjoyed. Escaping the more tortured memories became easier than he'd expected. It was the visions of joy and contentment that ensnared him. Like a fly caught in a web, he found it almost impossible to free himself from the tangle. His heart was too full, and the icy cold that raced through his veins, froze his muscles, and rendered him helpless began to retreat. Warmth infused his skin. Contentment swelled in his chest. The darkness fled and was replaced by a strength and light that made him feel as though he could overcome any obstacle in his path. He wanted to live in these moments forever.

The Collective was a wormhole from which there was no escape.

Slowly, as though waking from the deepest sleep, Ronan disentangled himself from the Collective. His eyes snapped open and a surge of strength coursed through him with the setting sun. He ripped the blanket from the window and jerked the cord that pulled up the blinds. A mantle of gray settled on the landscape outside and a feral growl rose in Ronan's throat.

No more hiding. It was time that these sly shifters knew what it felt like to be stalked.

*   *   *

Ten minutes had passed and both Paul's and Joaquin's silence had become unsettling. An intimidation tactic to be sure, and though she wasn't necessarily scared, that didn't mean it wasn't unnerving as hell. They wanted her to break. To panic and beg and blather on until she inadvertently supplied them with Ronan's whereabouts. Too bad for them, that wasn't ever going to happen.

Paul let out a slow, disapproving sigh. He didn't look a day over forty, though he had a good three centuries on her. His nearly black eyes narrowed as his gaze raked her from head to toe. A disdainful sneer pulled at his upper lip and a low growl echoed in the quiet.

Naya didn't budge. Didn't so much as let out a deep breath. She simply gave him stare for stare.

“What would your mother say if she was alive to witness your behavior?”

So, he was leading with a guilt trip.
Fabulous.
“I suppose she'd say that I should never let any male diminish my worth or power and that no wrong could ever be found in protecting those you care about.” Paul didn't know shit about the female her mother had been. Pilar Morales had been revered not only by their pod but throughout the Bororo. Paul wasn't going to bullshit Naya with some conjured shame he thought she should feel.

“So you care for this creature?” Paul spat the words at her, his voice quavering with disgust. “He means as much to you as your own people?”

She couldn't show her hand. If Paul knew that she felt anything for Ronan, he'd hunt him with a fervor that would make the mapinguari's rampage seem tame in comparison. “Have I somehow failed in my duties as
bruja
to this pod?” She let the question hang in the air as Paul regarded her. Beside him, Joaquin's expression was that of veiled hurt and damaged pride. Out of everything that had happened in the past few days, the one thing she'd change was the way Joaquin had found her with Ronan under the pier.

“You've been satisfactory,” Paul replied.

Wow. Don't go out of your way with the glowing praise.
Naya ignored the barb, refusing to let him bait her. “Then what I do when I'm not on the job is none of your concern.”

“
Everything
you do is my concern!” he snapped. “Especially when you've chosen to defile yourself with a vampire. Not to mention one that's been tainted with dark magic.”

Defile. Taint.
Trigger words made to make Naya feel as though she'd done something wrong. Paul could talk until he was blue in the face; it wasn't going to change the fact that she was tethered to Ronan. No amount of bitching or guilt-tripping would sever that connection.

“I need the vampire.” The context of that need was none of Paul's gods-damned business. “Mapinguari are running rampant. I've never seen such a concentration of malicious magic. Ever. His sister was searching for a relic before she disappeared. I think it has something to do with this negative influx.”

“A convenient story,” Paul said with a shrug. “No doubt concocted to stay his execution. You've grown soft, Naya. We do not show mercy.”

Wasn't that the freaking truth? For decades she'd done her duty, killed indiscriminately, extracted cancerous magic, and turned it over to Paul's keeping without batting a lash. No questions asked. It was she and Luz and other
brujas
in the vast tribe who could hear and manipulate magic, and yet time and again they'd entrusted it to elders who didn't know the first thing about what they were handling. They
brujas
had followed the elders' mandates without question.

Maybe it was finally time for a damned change.

“Ronan's sister and this relic she hunted is the key to the disruption. I'm sure of it. But I'm not going to find her without his help.”

Joaquin let out a derisive snort and folded his muscled arms across his chest. “Your judgment is clouded by lust, Naya. It can't be trusted.”

Of course he'd choose to see it that way. “You're making assumptions that aren't based on the facts, Joaquin. You don't know anything about him—”

“Tú mismo diste a él como una puta de mierda!”
The words exploded from Joaquin's mouth in an angry shout that left him shaking with rage. “You are
mine
!”

Accusing her of whoring herself off to Ronan wasn't exactly the best way to win her favor. “I. Am.
His
.” Her gaze locked with Joaquin's. Despite her and Ronan's differences and the obstacles that still lay in their path, their bond was the one and only thing in Naya's life that rang with truth. “The vampire is my mate.”

“Mentiras!”
Paul shot out of his seat and pointed an accusing finger at Naya. A static charge thickened the air that caused the hairs to rise on her arms and the back of her neck. Wild drums echoed in Naya's ears.
Curious.
The air was thick with magic. More than what should accompany the presence of shifters.

“I'm not lying.” Naya kept her composure. It wouldn't do any of them any good to shout. “A mate bond is established through a tether. The vampire's soul is tethered to mine.”

“Impossible!” Paul seethed.

“Is that what he told you?” Joaquin said with disdain. “And you believed him, no questions asked, just rolled over and spread your legs for the
bebedor de sangre
.”

Naya had officially reached her breaking point. “I get that your pride is hurt, Joaquin, and I'm sorry about that. But insult me one more time and I'll be more than happy to show you how that makes me feel with the tip of my dagger.”

“Enough.” Paul's hand sliced through the air with the word. “The vampire lies, Naya. There is no tether. Where is he? Turn him over now and you'll receive no punishment for your decidedly foolish actions. We'll take care of the
blood drinker
and you will return to your duties hunting the mapinquari until the blood moon, at which time you'll be
properly
mated to Joaquin. Do you understand?”

Naya was past the point of blindly following. For centuries their traditions had been upheld without question. They'd lived in a bubble, a society within a society. Paul might not have understood her tether to Ronan, but that didn't make it any less real. Change was inevitable. If not by Ronan's appearance in her life, something else would have triggered it. “No, Paulo.” The use of his given name caused his lip to curl.
“El vínculo es real.”
The bond was real. She doubted that her words would sway him, but she had to try. There were far more important things to deal with than whom she chose to give herself to. “I can hear it. Our tether. It's woven with
magia
. There is no doubt in my mind, my heart, my soul. I'm bound to the vampire.”

Paul's dark eyes glistened with gold and his pupils elongated. His canines grew in his jaw, protruding past his lip. Once he shifted, their discussion would be officially over. No use in trying to win an argument with an angry jaguar.

“I'm sorry you feel that way, Naya.” His voice was roughened by the onset of the change, an inhuman growl that shivered over her skin.

The door burst open and fifteen of Paul's armed guards filtered into the room, their expressions fierce. Naya gathered her power in the pit of her stomach, ready to call on it if need be. The sound of something zinging through the air preceded a sharp sting at the back of her neck. What in the actual hell? One of them had shot her with a dart?

“You son of a … bitch.” Her words were thick, slurred as whatever drug they'd hit her with took effect. “Gods damn you,” she said to Paul as she crumpled to the floor. “You'll never find him.”

A gold and black form leapt up onto the long table that lined the wall and a powerful tail flicked with annoyance. The jaguar hopped down to where she'd collapsed on the floor, her limbs all but useless. Naya called on her magic, but it wouldn't respond. Darkness descended and the cat sniffed at her face, issuing an angry hiss before he ran from the room.