Desires of the Otherworld 2: Darkest Hunger (3 page)

The oracles had forecast the location, nestled away in the middle of nowhere in the mortal state known as Tennessee. However, they couldn’t see who cared for the child or why they chose this location. They could only draw one thing with their visions—the cabin directly in front of her.

The wolf under her skin guided her actions, taking control of her nose, eyes, and other senses. So far she couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary. There were no discernible noises other than the sounds of nature, no scents but those that inhabited the trees and forest.

“Sister.” Amber’s hushed whisper broke the silence, and Willow stopped. “I’m the designated hook. I’ll lead from here. Stay back.”

Her friend glided past, entering the open circular space around the cabin with the remainder of the group in tow. They spread out, black leather suits visible in the dark due to her enhanced vision. Willow peered up, gazing at the star-filled sky complete with a waxing gibbous moon that was wholly visible.

Amber crept onto the wooden porch, placing silent feet along the swirling grain. When she reached the door, she turned and met Willow’s anxious gaze. This was where all of the oracles’ visions had ceased—the outcome. They each sensed a greater good resulting from her venture into the fray, but they could never tell her what came after the moment the cabin door opened. That was how the final plan was decided on by her father. Sacrifices had to be made on the whole—on the larger scale—for the benefit of her people. Now it was game time. From here on in, the future was unseen.

Willow nodded and started to step around the tree and into the clearing when a burst of light burned her eyes, sending her flat on her ass as loud shouts and voices vibrated inside her sensitive ears. Amber snarled, and Willow leaped to her feet, gaping at the sight that greeted her.

Blood drinkers were everywhere, garbed in leather and carrying silver weapons that shone brightly in the dark—enchanted blades. They surrounded her crew, their pale skin glistening, and attempted to herd them into a circle.

A growl erupted from her throat, a warning cry as she ran into the center of the action and latched on to the first leech in her path, commanding, “Kill them. Kill them all!”

She grasped the parasite by the chin and twisted his head until she heard a gratifying
pop
and
snap
. Her pack reacted instinctively to the order, lashing out and attacking with devastating punches, kicks, and slashing claws. Chaos, blood, adrenaline, anger, and survival—it was what she was born to embrace, what coursed through her veins.

“Stay in a circle!” Amber roared, slashing at a nearby vampire and bloodying his chest with her claws.

“Stop!” a voice commanded, echoing crystal clear amid the chaos, and everyone did.

Including her.

What the hell
? She tried to move, but found herself unable to do so, limbs and extremities frozen in place.

The cabin vanished, and a rotten shack with wooden slats and logs that had fallen and decayed into the earth centuries before replaced it. A charred fireplace stood at the far end, the only portion of the structure that was wholly intact. In the center of the decrepit structure was the most breathtaking male she had ever seen. Her breath caught, and she wanted to curse herself for thinking so.

After all, the male
was
a vampire.

His thick black hair was cut short, the color stark and beautiful against his porcelain skin and bright gray eyes. He was as tall and alluring as the most sought-after Lycae male, broad shouldered and heavily muscled. A black turtleneck hugged his corded and toned torso and met neatly pressed black slacks at his waist. He could have been any respected businessman her father dealt with on a daily basis, but none had ever looked so delectable…or sensual.

“Which of you is Willow Miloradovic?” a lyrical baritone demanded.

All eyes turned toward the sound, the compelling voice impossible to ignore. The speaker was tall and sinewy, dressed in jeans and a black button-down shirt that was left untucked. His long brown hair fell freely about his shoulders, making him appear both civilized and wild. He looked human. She scented the air. He smelled human. Yet a raw power radiated from him like dizzying electricity that sizzled across her skin, the smell of sulfur so strong, she knew he had to be a magik wielder of some kind.

Wizard? Sorcerer?
Demigod?

“Let me ask again. Which of you is Willow Miloradovic?” The compulsion to answer was difficult to resist, almost impossible.

Move. Do something
! She railed mentally, able to do little more than stare. Her gut twisted as reality struck. There was only one explanation for this, a heady magik spell that she’d heard about but had never witnessed personally. The oracles hadn’t seen what was coming because their perception of events had been shifted.

They’d all been tricked by an entrapment.

“I see,” the powerful male said. “Where are your charms? You can answer me, or you can be separated from your clothing until I find what I’m looking for. It’s your choice.”

“Is that necessary, Lucian?” a blond vampire asked, stepping closer. He examined each of her sisters with brooding eyes, roving up and down their bodies as if he was looking for something. Waiting for something…

Her heart lodged itself firmly into her throat. Looking away, she experienced a petrifying fear, raw and intense. If the blond vampire hadn’t killed them yet, there had to be a reason. Enemies didn’t allow enemies to live, not unless they wanted something. And she had a damned good idea what it was.

It had to be him. Her Fated. The vampire king.

Bridon Walkyr.

“Someone has given them impervious charms, powerful ones,” Lucian answered. “Otherwise they would have been raising their little claws and fighting over who would answer me first.”

The vampire strode up and down the line, paused in front of her, and resumed his trek. “You know she’s here as well as I do. Let’s just take the lot of them back and unravel the mystery when we arrive.”

“Let me try.” A sinfully thick and rich voice purred in her ears and sent tendrils of electricity up the back of her neck. She stared at the beautiful man as he made his way from the cabin, unable to look away.

“Good luck with that.” Lucian chuckled. “I have a feeling I know who twined the spell. If I’m right, it won’t be as easy as you think. She’s a clever little witch.”

Willow willed herself to move, desperate to protect her own, and her eyes flickered nervously to Bridon Walkyr—the vampire king. He was exactly as she expected, dressed in leather and geared to kill like the murderer and blood letter he was. Gaze unrelenting, he met her stare. She didn’t look away, unwilling to sever the eye contact first. She was an alpha by birthright and would never shy from a bloodsucking parasite. He studied her for several agonizing seconds, bright blue eyes boring an invisible hole into her skull, before looking away.

Would he brutalize each of them until he found what he was seeking, just as all the stories and tales suggested from her childhood? She and her sisters had been told that under no circumstances should they reveal the secret that would keep her safe, nor the plans that led them to the wooded clearing like sacrificial lambs—even if it came to torture. Torture was to be endured proudly, an outward display of strength of will. Shame was something you could never overcome, a living death.

The beautiful vampire from the cabin walked to Amber. “Tell me your name.”

Amber’s lips curved into a sarcastic sneer and she showed fang, snarling in outrage. “You first, blood drinker.”

The vampire smiled, and Willow nearly sagged as her knees went weak and her body felt as if it had suddenly become boneless. Her heart raced frantically, and her throat went dry. She dropped her gaze in bewilderment, staring at the ground before her chaotic emotions gave her away.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Her head snapped to attention and her eyes widened into barrels when the vampire that fascinated her beyond all reason spoke and she got her answer.

“Bridon,” he answered silkily, displaying slightly tipped fangs of his own. “My name is Bridon.”

Chapter Three

“Hello, Bridon.” The woman before him laughed caustically, hazel eyes flashing green. “My name is Sister.”

“Sister,” Bridon echoed, peering down the line. He stepped to the next one, a sinking sensation of unwelcome awareness warning him of what they all would say. “Let me guess, your name is…”

Her lips formed a sneer that matched the one he’d just come from. “Sister.”

Of course it is. Damn them.

“Would you prefer I take what I want from your mind using force?” he threatened icily and slipped inside her head. Her thoughts were blank, a black void of nothing.

“That won’t do you any good.” Lucian’s hand cupped his shoulder, and Bridon slipped from her mind. “You can’t read them, and you won’t be able to sense shit. They are being shaded.”

“Shaded?” he blurted in disbelief, staring at each of them, and finally understood why they all appeared nearly identical. “All of them?”

The daemon nodded. “I didn’t perceive the shield initially because the witch responsible for the hex has managed to mask her own fucking magik, which is unheard of.” Shaking his head, Lucian smiled, as if he were appreciative of the weaver of the shade. “I imagine it’s the same spell that prevented you from spying on your Chosen or viewing her through the eyes of others. However, this is a large-scale enchantment, a mass veil if you will. I can break the shade, but first I need to locate the charm keeping the magik intact.”

“Bridon,” Ian said. “Listen to him. You were warned this might happen.”

Hope for the best and prepare for the worst
. Lucian had cautioned him repeatedly. But holy Fates, the thought of his Fated confined to the fucking dungeon rankled him. He dredged up the image of Aislynn, holding it clearly in his mind. She never would have survived a night in the hold. She was too delicate, too fragile…too human.

Determined, he trailed his gaze along the eerily similar women who were frozen in a semicircle. They were dressed the same, in fighting leathers, several covered in the blood of his kindred with clawed fingers stained red. This was what the gods had gifted him with.

It’s better than losing her completely.

“I’m giving you one opportunity to spare others that have no stake in this,” he warned his Chosen, willing her to listen. “Come forward, Willow, and reveal yourself. No one will harm you. Don’t force others to suffer in your stead.”

When none stepped forward, he muttered unhappily, “So be it,” and waved a hand up and over. He was about to commit the most atrocious and unforgivable of crimes against a Lycae, but they left him with no other alternative.

“Bring the collars.”

If they could have attacked, they would have unleashed hell. He could see the revulsion and obvious fury in their eyes. Each remained silent, chins notched proudly while each thin, cursed collar was locked into place.

“I will teleport these two to the hold. You take the others.” Lucian walked over, grabbed the arms of two of the females, and disappeared with them.

Bridon spun about and faced Ian, raking a shaky hand over his face. “I knew it would be like this, but damn if it doesn’t smart like a bitch.”

“She’s not Aislynn,” Ian murmured sympathetically. “You have to remember that. Your Fated shares her soul, so at heart she’s the woman we knew. Unfortunately, she’s been raised in a totally different world, born of a totally different race.”

A race that despised his. “I know.”

He strode past Ian as his friend grabbed the next two women in line. When Bridon made his way to the ones at the end, he resigned himself to the fact that this was the way it had to be. He wrapped his hand around the forearm of the first, reached for the second, and paused when his fingers made contact. A strange hum crept over his skin, warming him on the inside. He stared into her face, studying her closely. She was as the others. Tall, dark-haired, light-eyed, olive-skinned. She seemed shocked as well, but it was fleeting.

“What the hell are you staring at, leech?” she snarled.

He turned from her and glanced at Ian who vanished with two of the Lycae females in tow. Bridon then envisioned the cells lined side-by-side in the dungeon, picturing the hold that would force his Fated out and into the open, and warped there. The moment they arrived, the females in his grip sagged. He tightened his hold, preventing them from falling to the floor. Transporting was disorienting, particularly for those unaccustomed to it.

“The last two on the end are empty,” Ian yelled as he walked outside of one of the silver-enforced chambers.

Bridon bent and hoisted the limp women over his shoulders. He deposited the first one in the nearest cell, plopping her as gently as he was able onto the thin mattress atop the bed affixed to the wall. Then he slammed the door closed and carried the next one into the cell across the way. He took care as he lowered the unconscious woman to the bed, making sure not to jar her. There was something present when he touched her before. Although he wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant.

“Do you sense something?” Ian’s voice echoed off the bars, and Bridon looked up as he strolled in. “Could she be her?”

“I thought that maybe there was something,” Bridon murmured, turned to the girl on the bunk, and brushed his fingers across her cheek. He scowled when his gaze stopped on the silver collar surrounding her throat. Voice laced with disgust, he said, “But if I did, it’s gone.”

He stood, walked from the confining space, and allowed Ian to pass before closing the door behind them. The area had been tended to for the first time in centuries, but it was still disgusting—littered with cobwebs, water seepage, and vermin.

“Bridon.” Lucian rushed down the hall, his black irises replaced by vivid silver, a daemon trait that signaled unhinged emotion. “I have to go, but I’ll return.”

“Go?” he thundered incredulously. “You haven’t removed the shade yet!”