Captiva Capitulation (8 page)

“Okay?” It came out of her mouth as a question, because it was. She turned to Sixten, but he was ignoring them, sliding long blades in his boots.

“When you get home, then?” Lowering her wrist, he brushed his thumb across its pulse point before letting go.

“Sure, Kash, but is everything okay?” She remembered Sixten going after him last night after Rock’s encouragement.

“It is now.” Then he said to Sixten, “Sorry, Six, they’re waiting for us.”

“I know. I’ll meet you there.” Then Sixten stood in front of her, pushing a new cell phone in her palm. “This is covert, untraceable, only used by the Vojaks. Keep it with you always. I’m a mist away from you, okay?”

In a blur, a true predator’s speed, Sixten pierced her throat. As Blythe’s body dissolved with his, she wondered how she was going to deal with a determined werewolf.

“I’ll be fine for a while.” Fingertips minus the claws, dug into her sides, a faint line marring his forehead. “Okay, moja láska?”

“Well, will you call me if you need to feed? The whole process still scares the hell out of me, but ...”

“What?”

“This sounds like a double standard, but would you mind feeding from men only if I’m not around?"

“I wouldn’t mind that at all, Blythe.”

“Thanks.” She threaded an uncertain hand through her hair.

“Not a problem, especially considering I don’t want to touch another woman.” He pulled her hands away. “Your hair is perfect, angel.”

She wasn’t thinking about her appearance, but she had forgotten her purse. Without anywhere else to stash it, Blythe put the phone he’d given her inside her bra. “Where exactly are we?” They stood inside a small, quiet stairwell, the walls painted a dove grey.
   “Inside the restaurant portion of The Blue Pelican, remember the bed and breakfast?” Sixten said, sliding his hands down her arms, cupping her elbows in his palms.

“Oh, I’ve been here a time or two. Snotty people, but the food was always delicious.” At the thought of food, an angry rumble left her stomach.

“Usually, Dru’s the only vampire who’s allowed to mist in here."

“So Rock, uh, handled things for you to bring me.”

With a tight smile, he shrugged. “We have entered major, werewolf territory. My power trail would’ve disturbed many here if he hadn’t forewarned them of my arrival. Though the Pack has several Habaline halflings living among them. They’re all half werewolf. I’m half
vampire
.”

“Seriously?” She groaned. “My biological father was a vampire, Six. Sure, I don’t have your power trail, but what makes you think they’ll be comfortable with me here?”

“You’re part werewolf, I’m not. Smelling one another’s bloodline is instinctual for all werewolves. They will distinguish your scent above most others, since you descend from their Beta’s line. By now, the Pack knows you are Rock’s mate. His Pack ranking nears Alpha status. No one will touch you here without risk of death or I wouldn’t leave you in the first place.”

“Okay.” That did not mean she liked it. Swallowing hard, Blythe glanced at her Druid markings, remembering how Jayce Jordan paid her a visit at INKS while Ryan tattooed her. The Alpha’s power was as freaky as Sixten’s but that was where the similarities ended. Werewolves were different, incomparable creatures to vampires. What would it be like mating with one? With that thought in mind, perspiration beaded across her upper lip, and she wiped it away with a shaky hand. “Six, I’m nervous.”

“You’ll be fine.” Wrapping his arms around her, Sixten squeezed Blythe against him. “I’m so proud of you.” His hands came up, his thumbs pushing underneath her chin. “Look at me.” He waited for her to meet his eyes. “Everything that we’ve been through makes us stronger,” Sixten explained with such intensity, she didn’t doubt a word. “You make me stronger, Blythe, and I will do that for you. Always.”

“You
already
do, Six.” She blinked away a tear, refusing to let it fall.

“Then what’s there to be nervous about?” He moved one hand, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip.

“This is uncomfortable…strange.”

“Okay,” he said with a nod. “You were raised by humans. Mortals seem to feel that way when faced with the potential of
more
. However, there are always uncomfortable situations in the human world, right? And technically, my beautiful wife, you pointed out that you are more immortal than anything.” Lips touched her ear, whispering. “So what’s really uncomfortable or strange anymore? Another step, angel, take another step with me, okay?”

“Yes. I’m going to try.”

When Blythe looked around Sixten’s shoulder, she stiffened. A mortal would have cleared his throat, tactfully announcing his presence, eyeing the situation with marked apprehension.

Not Rock Kiard.

Nothing marked him as apprehensive.

Nor did he show any remorse for his blatant eavesdropping.

“Blythe.” A one-word greeting that meant so much
more
now. “Sixten,” Rock greeted him without taking his eyes away from Blythe.

“Rock,” Six returned the greeting though he kept
his
eyes on Blythe. Both waited to see what she was going to do next. Therefore, she kept her big girl panties on, the damp ones since Sixten left her wet and needy. She pressed her face into his shoulder and he caressed the small of her back. “Next step,” he encouraged. Pulling away, she looked up and Sixten brushed his lips against hers. The pressure eased swiftly as he misted away. “See you at home, moja láska.”

Blythe gaped when he disappeared. “He didn’t say when he was coming back.”

“We’ve already discussed it.”

“No one discussed it with me.” She planted her hands on her hips, her brows meeting in the middle.

“It’s a safety issue.” A relaxed smile flitted across his lips, his eyes glowing. “In this particular corridor, I can’t throw up miasma for privacy. We be-spelled this area to allow Sixten temporary access,” was his explanation as he brought his palm up, not to take her hand but to motion toward a cement-colored door. “Follow me. Since you haven’t been around our kind much, let me clarify that human or even vampire courtesies are nothing like werewolf courtesies. Considering what you are to me.” He looked deep into her eyes with an unwavering stare, a possessive one. Periwinkle blue circled arctic frost pupils. Those incredible peepers lined by sooty lashes so long, any woman would be jealous. Deep within, shadows shifted back and forth behind those bewitching irises. “Whenever we're in public, I will always walk out ahead of you. Not because I devalue you, just the opposite, I step into any new environs as your personal shield.”

“All right.” After he fought for her in that orange grove, placed his life on the line, how could she question that he wanted anything but the best for her. It didn’t mean she felt comfortable with Rock sharing her marriage bed.

His bronzed hand opened the door and luscious scents drifted: grilled seafood, fresh bread, sizzling onions glazed in reduced, balsamic syrup. Yum. Her stomach howled again. She rubbed it, heat reaching her face. Rock glanced over his shoulder, a smile kicking his lips. “Your vampire forgot to feed you?”

“No.” She adjusted her open-stitch, crochet pullover, its ebony contrasted with the pale, coral tank underneath. Though with her above-knee, black skirt and naturally blue-black hair, she was dressed far too dark for an island, lunch date. “I ate grapefruit for breakfast.” Additionally, a few drops of blood Sixten had released on her tongue.

“Only grapefruit?” He shook his head and entered the back of the restaurant, by the restrooms.

“Yeah, only grapefruit.” Resisting everything Sixten had tried to feed her for breakfast, Blythe had chosen non-filling grapefruit. When she became nervous, she usually puked and wanted to take it easy. Six hadn’t been happy about it, neither was her stomach. By the smells tickling her nose, she wouldn’t be able to resist eating lunch.

She followed behind Rock. Her head barely reached his wide shoulders, although Blythe wore brand new Gucci, platform boots. The shearling trim-talls were a soft grey, and she adored them. Another expensive gift Sixten unveiled this morning, and she couldn’t refuse them if someone held a gun to her head…or a fang to her throat.
“I never considered how tall you are.” She’d known Rock for years, yet Sixten had been her world, the center of her existence. “What are you, six-eight?” He was a couple inches taller than Sixten. Werewolves were somewhat larger, bulkier, where Vampires boasted leaner sinew. However, size meant nothing when comparing the two. She shook her head no. There wasn’t any way she could compare the species, and she was a mixture of both. A mutt if there ever was one.

“Somewhere around there.”

When they entered the main dining area, a static sensation racked her. Much the way a mild, electrical shock would, yet it jumped through her entire body. She curled her arms around her waist when a deep tingle traveled up her spine, she couldn’t stop her shiver, which caught Rock’s immediate attention. Then the flashing started in her left eye. A memory trickled in…
a restaurant far from Italy, but nowhere near America. “Eat, Blythe, we have a ways to travel and your kind cannot survive entirely on blood.” A bite of steak met her mouth. “Swallow, I want to watch you swallow.”

After requesting their table, he placed his large palm on her back, not low, but more toward the middle. In the next second, heat left his body. Not the heat from when Sixten cuddled next to her, but more like the blast that she would receive from flipping the car heater on high to fight a chilly night. At that, the flashing stopped, leaving behind her puzzling fragment of memory.

“Better?”

Not really. “Uh huh.”

“Bane said you were able to see Jax before he went to Orlando,” Rock whispered, nodding at a few ginormous men.

“Yeah, I wanted to spend more time with him, but Dru found a doctor who specializes in spinal surgeries for his, uh, kind.”

“Our kind,” he corrected. “Doc said he’s made quite a bit of progress, though.”

“In a certain
form
,” she said, speaking of when her brother transformed entirely werewolf, “he can walk and sometimes run.”

“Then that’s a good place to start,” Rock said over his shoulder.

Passing numerous, awaiting guests crammed inside the vestibule, she dutifully trailed him. Glancing up, she realized that he’d cut his long, black hair. Now, styled into a blended, brush cut, the thickest layers remained on top with dark strands perfectly jelled. He wasn’t in his biking or fighting leathers, either, not that he always was. However, today, he wore a Zadig and Voltaire Jacket, the coffee-colored leather ending at his waist. Underneath, he’d tucked an ash-grey t-shirt inside white, straight leg jeans. Boots were still part of his package, but they were short, pretty much matching his jacket. Blythe had to admit that he looked fantastic, and the women here seemed to agree. But when did he not?

They were seated at a window overlooking the ocean. He sat next to her on the long, padded bench instead of taking one of the two opposite chairs across from the table. The beach lingered somewhere behind her, the sun’s heat warming her back through the glass.

“No one will sit at this table,” he said in a low rumble, motioning to the empty table next to them, an iridescent flash of miasma suddenly encompassing them.

“Of course,” their host agreed after handing them menus. “I’ll send over your server.”

“We’ll order now.”

The host didn’t seem perturbed at Rock’s brashness. Probably another werewolf, she figured. Blythe glanced over the menu, couldn’t read half the offerings. So she tapped a nail on the first item she saw. “This is fine.”

Their host smiled, nodding, “Canard aux peches, excellent choice, and for you, sir.”

“I’ll have the shrimp and scallop au gratin. Triple that.” He turned to Blythe. “You ordered duck in peach sauce.”

She flushed. How did he know she wouldn’t eat duck? “I don’t understand French. The shrimp sounds fine.”

Rock added an additional dish of boeuf bourguignon. Turning back to Blythe, he asked, “Iced tea?”

“Sure.” She could use something stiffer, would even settle for wine, yet it was still a little early. When the host walked away, she made a face and whispered, “Duck?”

He was quick to whisper back, “You live with a vampire who drinks blood, your blood to be exact, and you find a platter of duck disgusting?”

“Teasing me, big guy?”

“You have no idea how well I can tease you, my mate.”

Blythe’s lips parted, her response sitting on the tip of her suddenly dry tongue. However, Rock didn’t wait for her reply. Instead, he addressed a cute, young woman who walked to the table with a sheepish smile, carrying a pitcher of iced tea. Lemon slices dancing behind the crystal, her hand trembled as she poured.

Blythe returned her smile, gripping her goblet so it wouldn’t go for a flyer. “Hello.”

Her cerulean eyes widened, moving all over Blythe. “They weren’t exaggerating about your looks, were they?”

Rock held out his hand, and she handed over the pitcher. In a low, grumbling timbre, he reprimanded her, “Youngling, mind your manners. And don’t think I don’t know about the gossip pots you’re stirring. I’ll pour.” His chin lifted, and she dropped her smile. “Run along.”

Blythe watched her hasty retreat, embarrassment coloring her face. She picked one word out of all that. “Youngling?”

“Yeah.” He added sadly, “A halfling whose human mother was killed on the night the mixed-bloods escaped that hidden Habaline facility on Captiva Island.”

“Her mother was
fully
human?”

“It rarely happens, odd really, but yeah.” Rock cocked his head, his line of vision dropping to her lips. “I’m grateful for every rare mixed blood we find, especially you, baby.”

His stunning physicality affected Blythe. She looked down at her lap. Often, Rock’s intensity was too much for her. For a moment, she feigned adjusting her skirt. Lost in his smell, his strength, and his aura, heat licked her inner thighs. A long minute passed before she could come back to the conversation. “A species wanting to survive finds a way, huh. The Habalines are going for it.”