Captiva Master - Vampire Warewolf Menage Six Feet Under Series Book 4) (21 page)

Bane inclined his head. “I have to admit, my Beta Beast wouldn’t have handled it any better. Maybe worse, since I would have torn their throats out for taking my soul mate from me.”

Oycher said, “Teslos always hated you, but he didn’t come after you in turn, ever?”

“No,” Maestru said, but Teslos had always been weak. “I see Teslos’ fingerprints everywhere, though, in the darkest of places, but he didn’t raise the Undead in Weremiasma, nor did he start these newlings.”

Bane nodded. “We have to stop Bordis.” He started misting away. “I’m off to meet with my Alpha.”

No doubt, Bordis was deranged, had been for centuries, but Maestru was his target. Bordis had heard about Dakota and had made certain Maestru wouldn’t find eternal happiness with her by sickly and creatively attacking her father, knowing Maestru would have to kill his father-n-law. What bigger rift could one put between newly established mates?

He said to Oycher, “Rush to the commanding Gryph, and inform him of our findings.” We’re going to bring down this little party ourselves. Werewolves shouldn’t have to clean up after a vampire’s mess.”
When Oycher misted away, decadent arms wrapped around his middle, full breasts pressing against his back. He’d been so lost in the past that he hadn’t scented his present and future nearby. “You heard?” he whispered, turning in her arms.

“About your first Bride, yeah,” Dakota looked up at him, the blue of her eyes taking on a violet hue in the dim lighting. “I knew you could take down the house but…whew.”

“Are you going to take off, where I have to shirk my duties by hunting you?”

“Not tonight, Coven Master,” she tried for light-hearted but he could hear the edge in her voice. “I remember you making some sort of prediction a week or so ago.” Dakota chewed her lip, pretending to think back. “That one day soon, I wouldn’t personify you as a human in order to enjoy your touch, but accept you for the vampire you are.” She tapped her foot. “I went to bed with you and woke up as your vampiress, and as you know, that was just a little screwy for my tastes. But I don’t want a human any more than I want another vampire or another Habaline. Or a werewolf,” she added as a pointed afterthought. “I just want you and Adam, taking it day by day, and when saying that, I know that I have to accept you for the vampire you are. No matter the past, no matter what you’ve done or haven’t done.” She raised a blond brow, shaking her head. “Somehow, I will learn to trust you.”

Dakota reached up and pulled his face to hers, stepping on her tiptoes to reach his lips. Instead of her straining to close their great height difference, he lifted her to him, resting her spectacularly rounded bottom on his forearm. When they were at eye level, she pressed her lips to his, still slicing him with her new fangs when she deepened the kiss, but he didn’t care. His shirt felt hot against her frilly dress, their clothes too confining, and he wanted to take her under the moonlight until the Florida sun lifted high above the horizon.

Adam slipped out of the shadows. “It’s been a long day for her. Randall’s sleeping comfortably,” he said deliberately, meaning Adam had coerced Dakota’s father to stay unconscious a while longer under the appointed soldier’s supervision, possibly buying Dakota some more time with her father tomorrow.

“I want to devote the evening to you, My Contessa,” Maestru whispered.

“This was not what I had in mind,” Maestru complained, curling his lip as they walked across the main floor inside Six Feet Under. “There’s no way I can devote the evening to you here, among this crowd.” Already, Rock called him to a corner off the dance floor. He sighed in annoyance, leaning down to kiss her temple. “I’ll find you shortly.”

Dakota stuck her tongue out at Rock as Adam led her to the main bar. “Ryan,” she called out, the lights and music irritating her eyes and ears was something new.

Adam’s eyes zeroed in on her mouth, shaking his head negligibly. Both her males had warned her not to smile so big when around humans, therefore, keeping her fangs a secret. The little daggers only seemed to come down when she was hungry - or was it thirsty? Anyway, they felt foreign in her mouth. Other than certain urges and a bit more strength, she didn’t feel that different. Maestru still thought she was a hybrid between human and vampire, but she certainly was immortal. Meaning she could still be killed but wouldn’t succumb to disease or old age. In fact, she wouldn’t age at all, which led to an uncomfortable worry regarding her father.

Ryan acted as though he wanted to hug her, yet refrained. Nevertheless, hadn’t she made him feel uncomfortable over him being a vampire? “Hi,” she said, realizing she owed him an apology. “Listen, about how I acted the other night.”

His smile was wide. “Dakota, I haven’t always been perfect around you, and on that day in your dad’s shop, you had every right to be upset.” He threw a white towel over his shoulder and nodded to the bar. “I guess I’m officially retiring your t-shirt, huh?”

Now, that was something she needed to discuss with him. “I want to take on some shifts after my dad comes around. I’m hoping to still teach, so do you think,” she stopped when she saw Ryan’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Come in here anytime, you know you’re always welcome, but I cannot have the Contessa of our Coven serving up drinks to humans and subservient vampires. By the way, I’m one of your subservient vampires.”

Dakota touched her necklace, her mind moving so quickly she had to breathe deeply. “You’re my friend, and friends don’t call one another subservient, not ever.”

“Sure we’re friends, always,” he said, the lights from the dance floor casting his blue-black hair entirely blue. “I’m going to try and make your presentation to the court, whenever that is.” He chucked her chin and Adam tightened his hold on her. “I’m proud of you.”

“Proud of what?” she asked guardedly, studying Adam’s stoic expression. “And what presentation?”

Ryan cleared his throat. “Uh, Renee and Arian are at table twelve. You remember where ta - ”

“Of course, I remember table twelve and every other nook and cranny in this place.” Then something caught her eye she’d never seen before. “What’s that door?” It sure didn’t appear new.

“We need some food for her,” Adam interjected. “Dru thought she might could try some fruit.”

“Not a problem, I know Dakota enjoys strawberries,” Ryan said anxiously as she continued to study the door made with rustic wood and hammered iron, with an unbelievably large bouncer planted in front of it. Vampires were trickling in and out, without humans noticing, and when the door opened, what she could see of the walls reminded her of Maestru’s cellar, or lair as he’d later corrected her. “Renee’s having a Cupid’s Arrow,” Ryan said, trying to garner her attention, “you want one or two?”

She tore her eyes away from the door, contemplating. Could she enjoy a bar drink without throwing up? Worth a shot…or two. “Yum sounds good.” Adam offered Ryan money but he waved it away. “Head on over to the table, I’ll send everything. First round’s on me tonight.”

“
S
eriously, Rock,” Maestru hissed, shooing a half naked couple out of a darkened alcove so they could talk candidly. “For Dakota’s sake, I will learn to tolerate you as much as possible, but if you’re trying to start
anything
tonight, I’m forgetting -”

Rock cut him off, “It’s Sheila.”

“Who?”

“That vampiress the Vojaks use on occasion.”

Her name sparked a vague memory. “Ah, yeah, Qudar had trained her in hand to hand.” He nodded, looking for Dakota in the crowd. He certainly could smell her lusciousness above all other scents in the vast club, stroking his Species like velvet.

“Not just trained her in hand to hand, she’s a Vojak groupie.”

“Many females are, so why do you care?” Then it all fell into place. Maestru remembered Sheila now, a stunning vampiress who had approached him frequently for sex and feeding, though he turned her down every time. He didn’t enjoy his Vojaks leavings or a female who strove for a higher position in their Coven by using her pussy and nothing else to obtain said position. Sheila was a whore.

Rock nodded at another werewolf passing by. “She’s down stairs as usual, getting her kicks.”

“Not your concern,” Maestru explained the obvious, “vampires go downstairs to get their kicks nightly.”

“Not with werewolf Younglings, and she has two in tow.”

“Surely, you are mistaken.” Maestru glanced at the door, peering at the bouncer, wondering if he allowed the werewolves entrance.

“I’m not mistaken,” Rock growled low, “and if those Younglings weren’t of age, I would have already removed Sheila’s head by now.”

Maestru argued a valid point. “Guards are positioned in every room. They would have kicked out your younglings and turned in Sheila to one of my soldiers.”

“Are you sure about that, when she gives those guards and those soldiers anything they ask for?” Rock narrowed his eyes. “Bane and I stay away from the dungeon, out of respect for Ryan.” He took a pointed step towards the door. “I want those Younglings out of there. Sheila’s an aged vampiress, and she knows the rules. Or she’s going before Jayce, and you know how Jayce feels about the shit she’s obviously pulling.”

Thinking Dakota might need to feed again, Maestru decided to gorge down below. Then the three should be sated on blood until morning. “Wait here.” He turned his back to Rock and headed for the door. “I think a surprise visit from the Master is in order.” If Sheila pulled Younglings down there for her sex games, she was doing so to disgrace Jayce’s Pack before her fellow deviants, therefore embarrassing the Maestru’s Coven. He wouldn’t stand for it.

Stopping at the bouncer, he inquired. “I’m looking for werewolf younglings. Seen any?”

He inclined his shaved head. “My master, if I were to look for them, I would first check the exhibition hall. Should I search for you?”

Maestru’s smile insipidly. “Oh, no, I shall find them myself.” Leaning within an inch of the bouncer’s face, he spoke evenly, “Can you imagine what’s going to happen to you, if I find them below?” Leaving the idiot with that promise, Maestru traversed the curved passage beneath the bar, passed the leather-clad mistresses with their displayed nipples and nail-studded whips gleaming in blood, and entered the main exhibition hall. He raked his eyes over the blander stuff, zeroing in some rule-breakers and making a mental note for Oycher to follow up, before he sniffed two werewolf Younglings ahead. As he veered around a set of marble columns that displayed the Younglings chained and ball-gaged, moaning, as their mistress whipped them for a greedy crowd, Maestru released his Species.

Forgetting he had on jeans.

If he ripped his pants in this place, he’d set an example of Sheila that vampires and werewolves alike would discuss for centuries hereafter. A red haze filled his vision and, one by one, heads stopped and turned his way, wondering why their Coven Master had come to call in a place he didn’t normally frequent. Not that he didn’t enjoy pain in the right setting, he did – a
private
one. Maestru would never deign to share his female’s orgasms with every onlooker imaginable. His possessiveness for Dakota was infinite, and he couldn’t change that inherent instinct if he tried. He wasn’t human, nor would he pretend to be. More than anything, though, his love for her was truly immeasurable. Vampires and their Brides, what could compare?

Sheila spotted him before the Younglings did, her eyes growing wide with every deliberate step he took her way, the blood from the floor sticking to the bottoms of his boots, gummy and nasty. Right now, he could easily behead Sheila in front of all and think nothing of it, since his Species was that incensed over her betrayal to the Coven. However, he needed to make things short and
neat
, so he could get back to his Dakota quickly.

With a wave of his be-clawed hand, the Younglings dropped from their restraints, landing on their naked and welted backsides, where they removed the ball-gags from their mouths in a blue blur of Were speed. “How old are you?” he asked the one nearest him.

“Twenty, Coven Master.”

Scenting no deception, Maestru asked the next, “And you?”

“Twenty-two, Coven Master.”

“Rock is upstairs,” he whispered, waiting. Their eyes bugged out even more, understanding what was in store for them. “You have taken valuable time from my night.” He tore Sheila’s whip from her hand, wrapping it around the first one’s throat, tugging. “I will not forget you.” Watching his face turn blue, he released him. “You may speak now.”

“Never again,” he choked, rubbing his throat.

“Remember that.” He coerced them to move quickly upstairs and turned to a nearly naked Sheila, considering she wore only thigh-high leather boots, minus her whip. He snapped it next to her, making her jump. He had no doubt the Younglings came here willingly, but Maestru’s rules weren’t meant to be broken. “I am displeased.”

She dropped to her knees, kissing the tips of his bloodied boots. “I will please you, My Master.”

The thought of her pleasing him made Maestru nauseous. “You think it’s that simple, don’t you,” he seethed, staring down at Sheila, snapping the whip again within an inch of her flesh. “You don’t want to know what my first choice in punishing you was. Second choice, I could send you to Oycher. He has a diabolical penchant for torture that’s truly amazing, and he could straighten you up rather quickly. Problem is – he’s presently overworked. Therefore, you will pay a Blood Debt to me, and I will turn you over to The North American Werewolf Pack.” She opened and closed her mouth a view times, but knew better than to argue. At least, she was keeping her head. “Rise.” He took Sheila by the arm, spun her around, and bit down without delivering the benefit of his endorphins, where he proceeded to drain every drop he could without killing her.

Lost in feeding, Maestru still sensed a sudden presence who shouldn’t be down here, shouldn’t be sullied with such depravity. Pulling his mouth away from Sheila, he forced his fangs to recede, and then wiped his bloodied mouth on the back of his hand. God, this looked bad. “Hello, Dakota.”