Kat recognized the bend in the road ahead, squeezed the brakes and stopped her bike.
It should be just beyond this curve
, Kat thought, unsure if she should continue. She looked around at the dense woods that lined either side of the road, catching glimpses of white blooms from wild trillium scattered the forest floor.
The dreams have started again, but what about the visions
?
“I’m twenty-three now, not twelve, I don’t see things anymore,” she mumbled to herself.
Kat took a deep breath and began to ride. As she rounded the sharp bend, the woods fell away. Now, to Kat’s left, was an apple orchard, the trees still dotted with fragrant pink blooms. Kat exhaled slowly and looked ahead, to her right.
Old Man Crowley’s farm looked exactly the same. It had not changed in eleven years…since that last summer spent here with her cousins. She let her bike coast to a stop at the top of the gravel drive and stared at the property, mesmerized. The two-story house stood quietly, its faded white paint peeling while the front porch slumped, weary from years of neglect. Behind the house an old, weathered barn rose up from fallow fields. Adjacent to the barn, dilapidated farm equipment protruded from the waist high grass. The buildings stood in silence. Nothing moved behind the darkened windows. It was like they had been frozen in time, waiting for her return.
She could hear one of the barn doors banging rhythmically in the breeze. Kat imagined herself walking down the drive, stones crunching under her feet, past the house to the barn. The barn window would be dirty, but she could wipe it off with her sleeve and clear a spot just big enough to look in…
A car sped by pulling Kat out of her trance.
Not yet
,
not today
. She hopped up on the seat and continued down the road. Finally she turned off on a side street that ended at the beach. She coasted on the bike and let her breathing slow. The sweet scent of pine and wet earth drifted on the breeze. When the street disappeared into white sand, Kat stopped the bike, unclipped her bottle and chugged down half the contents. She let her bike rest against a tree and continued by foot along the sandy path lined with cedar and birch trees.
When she reached the end of the path, she stopped at the edge of a deserted beach and stared, with wide eyes, at the vast waters of Lake Michigan. The deep rumbling of the surf hinted at the lake’s raw power and potential for violence. As Kat moved closer to the water, she had a familiar rush of exhilaration and fear.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The lake air felt shifty and unstable. She opened her eyes as a cool breeze blew past her, chilling her moist skin. Then she heard a sound she had not heard in many years; the distant beat of Indian drums. Kat felt her invisible wrapping begin to loosen.
“We all have a part of ourselves we put in a box, wrap up tight and hide deep inside,” Kat’s Aunt Mary once told her. Kat started to wrap up her box the day of her mother’s funeral.
“You have the ability to see things other people cannot,” her mother used to tell her. The day of her mother’s funeral, the first time the dead woman in the gray dress came to visit her, this ability began to terrify her. Kat put that part of her in a box and bound it up tight for fear that, if she let it loose, it would destroy her sanity as it had destroyed her mother’s.
Kat quickly turned away from the lake and ran back to her bike, her heart pounding in her ears. She felt fear and adrenaline course through her body. Before each visit from the dead woman, Kat would always hear the distant beat of Indian drums.
“And where is mine, you slinky little ermine?” Maximus leaned against the doorframe wearing a loose towel and a charming smile. Zoya turned with an excited squeal and leaped into the vampire’s embrace. Her legs wrapped around his waist as they shared a deep, long, and extremely passionate kiss. Draike’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline at the soft sounds of pleasure emerging from the shifter. When Maximus’ hands disappeared under her body-hugging top, Draike had seen enough.
“If you two will allow me to pass, I will relieve you of your audience.”
“Oh, don’t be such a stuffed prig, my boy. We were merely saying hello. Weren’t we,
amicae
?” Zoya nodded as her hands, lips, and tongue wandered the vampire’s impressive torso.
“Call me old-fashioned, but most people wave, shake hands or, at most, hug. They do not copulate in the middle of a kitchen with a reluctant audience.” Draike paced the small room, keeping well away from the lusty ermine shifter and her chosen partner. The more he spoke, the louder he became. “Speaking of which, why do you even have a kitchen, Max?”
“What?”
“No, really! Why do you have a kitchen? You don’t have to eat like others do. I’d think you’d need, at most, a refrigerator and some cabinets, perhaps a sink, but—”
“Draike.” Maximus set Zoya aside and stalked toward the agitated shifter.
“—you have a range, a microwave, even a dishwasher! And what the bloody hell is up with the curtains? Seriously, Max. What kind of barmy blood-sucker hangs a mess of lace-bloody-curtains in a completely unnecessary kitchen? I’d expect heavy drapes or—” The slap echoed in the small room. Draike glared at his friend, fur sprouting along his arms as a low growl rumbled deep in his chest. Maximus hooked a chair with his foot and pushed him into it, holding him down when he would have risen.
“Sit down! No, get up and I’ll box your ears. I did it once when you were thirteen and tried to run off with a silver platter, and I’ll damn sure do it again.”
“You hated that thing,” Draike mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Gave it to a homeless man the next week.”
“Not. The. Point,” Maximus hissed out between elongating fangs. “I owe you a lot, son. Even more, I like you. You’ve grown into a fine man and a good alpha, but no one talks to me like that, especially in my own house.”
“Then stop screwing about so we can look for Olivia!” Draike tried to rise, but Maximus shoved him back into the chair so hard it skipped a few inches across the porcelain tiles. The press of sharp talons to his chest stopped him from making a second attempt. He glared into the vampire’s crimson eyes but wasn’t about to remain silent. “Every minute we wait gives that sadistic bastard more time to hurt her. You didn’t see what he did to her. You didn’t see the bruises on her face. The marks on her back. She’s got scars on her hands from her fingernails, Max! He has hurt her so badly she cut herself with her own fingernails.”
“We will get her back.”
“I promised her,” Draike crumbled, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shook. Too much had happened over the last few weeks. His emotions were all over the place and eating him up inside—worry over Marko’s missing boys, the agony of watching Stevie die in his arms, his fear for Franklin. Now, Olivia was gone. He had reached his breaking point. Losing his mate, having her torn from his protection, ate at his soul. His heart ached with his guilt. “I promised to keep her safe, and I failed! He has her back, and he’ll make her pay for everything.”
“He knows we’re coming. He’s betting on it. He won’t have time to hurt your mate.”
“I swore she’d be safe, Max. That’d she’d never fall under his control again.”
“I know, son. I know.” The door clicked shut, leaving Draike and Maximus alone in the kitchen. He resisted, but the ancient vampire was stronger.
Maximus pulled his hands away and cupped his cheeks. “Listen to me well, Draike William Weatherby. We will find your mate. I’ll take this city apart stone by stone if I must, but Olivia
will
come home to you. Do you hear me? I refuse to allow you to know the pain I have known. The loss that eats at your very soul every day you wake and your mate is not beside you.
I refuse
!”
The silence grew in the small kitchen as he stared into Maximus’ crimson eyes. The vampire hid it well, but his eyes revealed the depths of his pain. Maximus deeply mourned the loss of his mate, Francesca. Draike’s fingers dug into his friend’s shoulders, seeking and granting comfort. His mate was out there, alone, with the very madman that reduced her to the broken, beaten female he first met.
He loved the quiet joy in her eyes, her laughter, and her acceptance of his touch. He couldn’t bear the thought of Loomis stealing that away. With a sigh, the fight drained from Draike’s shoulders and he leaned back in the chair. He scrubbed a hand over his face and through his messy hair. Though he stared at the ceiling, he pictured Olivia in those first days.
“Dr. Matthews put over twenty-five stitches in eight different cuts on her back. She told me the bastard prefers whips and floggers, though he’s willing to mix things up if he feels she’s growing too accustomed to the pain. Then he’ll use a cane, crop, or even a poker. When he’s particularly irritated with her, the world, or life in general, he’d use a barbed flogger. A bloody scourge.”
“Son of a bitch.” Maximus rocked back onto his heels as his talons tapped against the arms of Draike’s chair.
“It took four days before the swelling around her eye receded enough for an ophthalmologist to check for damage without causing her pain. It took over a week before she stopped flinching away from a loud noise or the softest touch.” Draike’s voice was soft, tired, and incredibly sad.
“We
will
get her back, Draike. I swear it.”
“I want him to pay.” Tears crept from his eyes to dampen the hair at his temples. He mourned for his missing boys, abused by Loomis and left for the rats to dispose of. He wept for little Stevie Belkin, who breathed his last in his arms. He wept for Franklin, forced to choose between becoming a vampire and dying. He wept for his mate, and the scars on her body and soul time might never heal. Rage welled inside him to murderous levels. “I want him to hurt. I want him to crawl and beg like a puling, simpering worm.”
“I’ll help you make that happen, just don’t become the monster you hope to destroy. Olivia cares for you, son. Don’t make her scared of you.”
“If she’s scared, that means she’s alive. I could learn to live with that. What I can’t live with is the thought of…If he…I can’t lose anyone else, Max!”
Maximus laid a hand on the back of Draike’s neck, pulled him forward, and rested his forehead against his. “She will come home to you, Draike. I swear it upon our friendship. I swear it on my love for Francesca. You deserve some happiness.”
Draike closed his eyes against his friend’s pain. A pain that was a mere shadow of what it had once been. As his tears dried up and determination pushed aside guilt, he offered the vampire a wan smile. “So do you, my friend.”
“Perhaps…some day.” Maximus frowned but shook his head. “In the meantime, you owe me a litter of grandkits.”
“Shifters do not deliver furry babies, you crazy vampire.” Draike chuckled and wiped his eyes. “Thanks, Max.”
“Anytime, son.” Maximus pulled the shifter from the chair and wrapped him in a tight bear hug. Thumping his back, the vampire pushed him toward the door. “Let’s get ready before the twins return. Svetlana may not be dressed, and a towel can hide only so much in the face of such beauty.”
Draike headed for the room Maximus reserved for him. He chose dark clothing to blend into the shadows and avoid curious human eyes. Though the trousers were loose enough for his hybrid form, the shirt wouldn’t survive even a partial shift. He shrugged and tossed it on the bed. He’d sacrifice more than just a shirt to have Olivia home, safe and well.
Olivia. He stepped into his pants and jerked them over his hips. Svetlana was an uncanny judge of character whose skills were in great demand. Agencies used her to root out moles; governments used her to sniff out traitors. Zoya and her sister believed in his mate’s strength. He had to as well. Grabbing his shirt, Draike pulled it over his head. William taught him to embrace his fear and use it to push him to do better. There had never been a better time to utilize his teachings than now.
He emerged ten minutes later dressed and under control. The delay taunted him with images of Olivia in her first days with him but he swallowed his impatience. Blind searching would accomplish nothing and take even more time. He passed the foyer on the way to the kitchen when the front door opened to admit Zoya and a very naked Svetlana. Though his heart already belonged to the lovely girl his fox had claimed, the rest of his body responded with a visceral appreciation of the delights on display.
“We get your mate from that
bastryook
tonight.”
“That what?”
“Loomis,” Svetlana hissed. “That fatherless son of a filthy whore. I hope he feel my fangs, the way he talk to your mate. I dress. You eat. Then we go.”
Draike bristled at the order but continued to the kitchen. He built a protein-heavy sandwich and wolfed it down with a tall glass of milk. Then he made another. Nothing had any taste, but shifting took a lot of energy. He cleaned the few dishes to kill time. He even checked the clock to make sure it worked. Growling, he grabbed a liter of water from the refrigerator and waited for Maximus and the twins in the living room.
“To answer your earlier question.” Maximus entered the room wearing a pair of black cargo pants, a deep burgundy shirt, and tactical boots. He stalked toward the wet bar and poured a glass of blood from a warmed carafe. “I keep a fully stocked kitchen because of you, dear boy. When you came to my home all those years ago, the first thing you asked for was a meal. Until then, I never kept food in my house because of the waste of throwing it out. After you moved in with William, I continued to do so in case you stopped by.”
“That’s a lot of food to buy just in case.”
“True, but I’ve also borrowed your housekeeper on occasion.” He drained his glass and refilled it, swirling the thick liquid in the crystal bowl. “When the food is in danger of spoiling, she—and now, the effervescent Betsy—come over and cook up a sturdy stew or soup. We package it in throw-away containers, with a spoon and whatever bread is threatening to turn into a science project, and my coven distributes it to the homeless along the river.”