Blood Law (20 page)

Abruptly
Rafael stopped and pushed her up against the wall in the foyer. His eyes
flashed, and his nostrils flared. “I swear to God, Falon, if you don’t turn
that off, I’m going to fuck you right here.”

“I—”

Rafael
grabbed her to his chest; his lips crushed down on hers. Her body jerked as if
she’d been shocked. Every part of her responded. The chemistry between them was
as shocking as it was terrifying. As quickly as the kiss began, it ended. Falon
could barely breathe, much less form a coherent thought. He pressed his forehead
against hers as he struggled for composure. His eyes had darkened to the color
of a moonless night, their intensity unwavering. Falon lifted her lips to his,
wanting more from him. His jaw clenched. “Don’t. Just don’t.” He grabbed her
hand again and pulled her through the large doorway. Dazed and confused,
wondering what it was she had done to provoke such a reaction from him, Falon
stumbled behind him.

“Saddle
up, boys,” he called over his shoulder to the crowd they had just passed
through in the great room. “We’re going hunting tonight!”

A FEW
SHORT moments later, out in the large circular yard, choppers roared to life.
“Release hell!” Rafael shouted to Anton over the revving V-twins.

Hell
indeed! Falon stiffened as the pack of those black beasts, the same ones that
had chased her up a tree, came galloping toward them. Automatically, she backed
away, her gaze riveted to their basketball-sized heads and gaping jaws.
Ignoring her discomfort, Rafael strode fearlessly toward the animal that had
nearly chomped her foot off. It jumped up, placing its huge paws on Rafael’s
chest. As if they were long-lost friends, Rafael scratched the beast behind the
ears as he spoke to him. Rafael’s words were low and commanding, yet respectful
and even affectionate. His easy rapport with the beast should have surprised
her, but as she was learning, there was far more to Rafael Vulkasin than his
good looks and temper.

The
animal howled and then bolted toward the closed gates. Falon watched in stunned
awe as he leapt high into the air and over the two-story wall, nary a paw
touching.

Rafael
straddled his chopper and looked over his shoulder at her. He nodded,
indicating she should hop on. And what? Ride off into the night in search of
the girl? It’s what they were going to do. Why now did she hesitate? A big
crazy part of her wanted to throw caution to the wind and ride behind Rafael as
if she had some right. But the smart part of her knew to even think about
trusting him would be a fatal mistake. Wanting to find the girl aside, this is
why she pushed so hard to go in search of her, get out of the compound, and
make her getaway. And to that end she nodded, more than willing to ride bitch.

It
was not easy. As she tried to mount the bike in a graceful manner, she failed
miserably. Her balance was compromised by the weight of her cast. Reaching out,
Rafael grabbed her arm, steadying her as she threw her leg over the back fender
and precariously settled on what little piece of seat was available.

Unlike
some others in his gang, who had bikes with two distinct seats, Raphael rode
stag. She glanced at the women who had followed the men out into the yard and
found several of them gazing narrowed-eyed at her. Falon raised her chin. The
woman in her felt a spike of possessive pride that Rafael wanted her to ride
with him. Besides, what did she care what they thought of her? She was not
coming back here.

“What
about a helmet?” she asked over the low rumble of the engine.

Rafael
flashed her a disarming smile and patted her on the right thigh. She caught
herself from throwing herself into his arms. His smile, holy moly, it changed
everything about him. He was happy once. A long time ago. She knew it as surely
as she was sitting behind him. What changed it? “You’re safe with me.”

“Right.
Until you hand me over to your brother . . .” His grin faded. And for that she
was sorry. She knew he didn’t smile much. That he had for her, warmed her.
There she went again; all he had to do was smile at her, and she turned to
putty. Jesus, she was losing it. Focus, Falon. Focus on getting away. Far, far
away.

As
the chopper lurched forward, Falon grabbed hold of Rafael’s waist. When the
gates opened and they swarmed out into the night, she held on for dear life. At
the same time, she stayed alert, familiarizing herself with her surroundings.
The bright moon was waxing, and oddly, her vision was so sharp she could
decipher the trees from the brush and even, if she squinted, see the roosting
birds perched on their branches. She shook her head, confused by her continued
transformation. In less than a week she had become superwoman. In less than a
week she had lost her virginity to a mysterious, powerful man who, though he
fought it, was honor bound to hand her over to his brother.

She
didn’t want to die. Not now. Not here. Not this way. Despite her dreary
existence, the night she met Rafael, a tiny flame had sparked in her. Since
then, it had ignited into an inferno she could scarcely control. Most of the
time didn’t want to control it. A flame named Rafael. He’d started something in
her she wanted on the most basic level to finish. She wanted to live. She
wanted to thrive. She would fight for that right. She refused to be the
sacrificial lamb in some blood feud between anyone. But she had work to do
first. After having felt the malevolence in Smythe, she could not in good
conscience let an innocent little girl be victimized. She would help in any way
she could to see that the girl was returned safely to her family. After that?
She was gone.

How
ironic. Despite their temporary truce to search for the little girl, Raphael,
the man who had breathed life into her, could be her demise. But he was also
the man who believed her about Smythe. He made it difficult to resist him. In
another place and another time, she might . . .

She
looked around at the saddled bikers hell-bent on saving a little girl. To all
appearances, they seemed like your average everyday people. Even for bikers,
there was an air of respectability and intelligence about them. Not the rough
trade stereotype. Even more paradoxical was Rafael Vulkasin, who was for all
appearances a biker. But he was so much more than that. He looked like he had
just stepped out of a GQ shoot. His hair was stylishly cut, his clothes
designer. He was intelligent, well-spoken, a gentlemen at his core. But he was
also lethal. And protective. Overprotective.

When
someone or something threatened her, be it his beloved beasts or that man
Smythe, he was on it like white on rice. Was it because he cared for her or
because he didn’t want her to die by any other hand than his brother’s?

Falon’s
spine stiffened. She’d fight Rafael, his brother, or anyone else who thought
they had the right to take her life. She looked longingly into the darkness
that sped past her.

Her
confidence was building. All she needed was a small head start. She might not
be able to wield a sword, but those mental lightning bolts—when they
came—worked pretty good. Next time Rafael tried to force her to stay put, she
would see how it worked on him.

Rafael.

The
tension in her back eased. He did something to her. Something she had no
control over. And in a weird twist of fate, she knew she had the same effect on
him.

Her
arms tightened around his waist. She laid her cheek against his back and closed
her eyes. Heat swept though her. Blood pumped through her veins, stimulating
nerves and pheromones. As her body awoke, so did his. His scent intensified.
Hers responded. This was crazy! He was as aroused as she.

Rafael,
why must I die?

The
Blood Law demands it.

Falon’s
eyes flew open and she jerked back, nearly toppling off the bike. What had just
happened? Had Rafael heard her? Could he read her thoughts?

Deep,
laconic, dangerous laughter reverberated in her head. So similar to Rafael’s
but so different. Lucien! He was dark, angry, impulsive. He wore his hatred for
his brother like a neon sign. Whereas Rafael was the bright light of sanity,
and a man who she suspected would move mountains to close the chasm between him
and his brother, Lucien was the complete opposite. He would not be happy until
he destroyed his brother. Why? What had Rafael done to Lucien to elicit such
hatred? She shivered. And for the love of God, how was she part of this feud
between them? Laws were meant to broken. Who enforced this Blood Law? And how
the hell could Lucien read her thoughts?

My
brother may have marked you, lovely, but my blood flows in your veins now, as
yours does in mine. I can take you whenever and wherever I like . . .

Falon
closed her eyes and mentally shoved him from her thoughts, much like she did
when she first met him. His laughter faded away. How dare he invade her
thoughts? How was she, a stranger, responsible for settling a feud? She
tightened her arms around Rafael. She believed him when he said she was safe
tonight. But what about tomorrow? She would die before she allowed Lucien to
touch her. And so her determination to run tonight grew stronger.

As
the bikes ate up the miles, the night grew darker. Falon kept her cheek pressed
to Rafael’s back and found peace in his quiet strength. When she looked down at
the rushing asphalt, Falon’s stomach rolled with nausea.

Up to
now, she’d missed them, but running on either side of her and keeping up with
the motorcycle were two of those humungous black beasts. The biggest one, the
one that had torn her boot off, ran to her right. His long tongue lolled out of
the side of his mouth, the only sign that he exerted any energy at all. She
looked over her shoulder to see the rest of the pack loping easily behind them.
Their powerful legs ate up the road with their long, ground-eating strides.

Where
was the big golden wolf? Wasn’t he their leader?

She
shook her head, allowing the cool night air to tear through her long strands
and fought to keep her waning balance. She was living in the twilight zone. In
just the few days since Rafael brought her to his place, it seemed as if a
lifetime had passed. Each day was more bizarre and confusing than the day
before. But really, should that surprise her?

She was
different. She knew that while she was human, she had otherworldly traits. She
could see into certain people’s hearts and souls. And now, when she was
terrified or angry, she could shoot mental lightning bolts.

And .
. . there was something else. Something that terrified her more than the
brothers. Her rages were flaring with more regularity. No kidding, she thought.
Look at the situation you’re in. Anyone would be pissed off. But what happened
inside her when her anger flared, barely controllable, bothered her more than
her newfound ability to zap people when she felt threatened. Her whole body
hurt, down to her bones. She felt as if she were being torn apart, and since
her arrival at the Vulkasin compound it had progressed rapidly. She’d seen red
when Anton struck Lana. She wanted to tear him apart. The first time she’d felt
a hint of this pain was when she was twelve, just before she’d killed for the
first time.

Falon
squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, not wanting to think of that night.
But images rushed her consciousness.

It
had been a bleak night. The kind horror movies opened with. She’d run from her
fifth foster home after a particularly severe beating. Her rage had risen with
a ferocity that terrified her. Not wanting to hurt anyone, she took off. It was
cold and dark, the air still yet full of energy. The only light showing her the
way down the dark and dangerous alley was the muted glow of the full moon
through the thick clouds. She’d felt out of sorts. The pain she was becoming
familiar with had begun. Ironically, it was also the same day she got her
period for the first time. Talk about PMS! A man followed her—and tried to
force himself upon her. Her survival instinct flared. What came next appalled
her, but she had no choice. No control. She’d—she’d torn him apart. Literally.
With his blood on her hands, she ran. She was still running.

Her
arms tightened around Rafael’s waist. Not for comfort but because she was
afraid she would work herself up into such a tizzy, she’d fall off the chopper
and kill herself or worse be torn to shreds by those black beasts surrounding
her.

She
wasn’t prepared for what Rafael did. He dropped his left hand to her tightly
gripped ones over his waist and covered them. His big, fingerless
leather-gloved hand squeezed hers reassuringly. When he didn’t remove his hand
but kept it protectively clasped around hers, she felt herself relax. When he
began to absently stroke her skin, she stiffened. So did he. Abruptly, Rafael
released her hands and returned his to the handle grip.

His
action and her reaction distressed her. What was happening between them? There
was a pull toward Rafe she could not shake. At times, she didn’t want to. In
another place and in another time, social outcast though she was, if she were
brave enough, she might have the courage to pursue him until he belonged to
her.

A
primal possessiveness took hold of her. It dug deep into her fiber. She wanted
him, she realized, physically as well as emotionally. Did it make her insane,
weak, and just plain brain dead that, despite the fact that he would not lift a
finger to save her life, she still wanted him?