Destiny Unchained (2 page)

“Is it Natasha? Nathalee?” When she didn’t respond,
he guessed again. “No? What about Nata? Natalene?”

She bit down on her tongue until she tasted
blood.

“Natalia?” Her face must’ve given her away because he
grinned. “Natalia then, isn’t it?”

She didn’t bother to confirm it.

“Natalia,” he purred. “That’s much better.”

“You’re not really a bounty hunter, are you?”

“Never said I was.” He stood up and walked back to
his spot on the log. She could barely see him through the haze of
the fire.

“Why didn’t you use silver to subdue me?” If he had,
she’d have been free before she even opened her eyes. What most
werewolves didn’t know was that Natalia was the only vampire immune
to the effects of silver. She’d been locked in cages, hung from
ceilings, handcuffed, and stabbed. But she’d always escaped because
the deadliest agent in the supernatural world had no effect on her.
Actually, that wasn’t quite true. Silver hoops did look lovely
dangling from her ears.

“You’re no ordinary vampire,” he said. “Or else so
many wouldn’t have failed.”

“Maybe I’m just a good fighter.”

“No doubt. But I don’t trust things I haven’t made
myself.”

She looked at the bindings around her legs. “You make
your own rope?”

He nodded.

“Tedious, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “Some people knit. I make rope.”

“I guess everybody needs a hobby.”

“I think you can see it’s more than just a hobby,
Talia.”

A nickname? This was getting far too personal.
“Talia? We’re on a nickname basis now. Good to know,
dog
.”

“Careful, Talia,” he warned. “I’m a patient man but
I’ll only tolerate so much from a prisoner. Best tread
lightly.”

She pulled against the rope again. “How’d you make it
so strong?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t force me to say
something cliché like, ‘if I tell then I’ll have to kill you.’”

She stopped herself just short of rolling her eyes.
Time to get a move on. Her gaze rested on Cristian’s pile of
weapons. Using her gift she extended her senses, searching for the
one thing she needed to escape. But there were no swords, no
daggers, not even a switch blade. A bow and quiver of arrows rested
against a tree. Next to that was a whip. She sighed. Of course she
would get caught by the one man in North America who doesn’t use
metal weapons.

“A whip?” she asked. Maybe she’d pegged him for Robin
Hood too early.

“Also homemade.”

“It’s not a very useful weapon you know.”

“You’d be surprised. But, yes, mostly it’s for
intimidation.”

She snorted. As if a werewolf could scare her.

“I see you are immune. Which means you are either
very old and experienced or very young and stupid.”

A soft gaze landed on her, heating her more than the
fire only a few feet away.

“Which is it, Natalia?” He was using that seductive
voice again. “How old are you?”

Ignoring him, she put her feelers out again,
searching for her own weapons. On average she had at least a dozen
weapons on her at one time. All metal. It was her essence. She had
the unique ability to manipulate it. That was what made her deadly.
Well, that and combat skills that rivaled the Navy Seals.

“Where are my weapons?”

“At the bottom of the river.”

“Bastard,” she hissed, letting her emotions get the
best of her for a moment.

Cristian grinned.

She used all her power this time as she reached out
around her. Usually metal was easy to find. It was everywhere.
Clothing, shoes, hair clips, jewelry, wallets, phones, almost
everything contained metal of some sort. Surprisingly, the area she
was currently bound in was almost void of it. Almost.

Picking up the essence on Cristian’s belt buckle, she
smiled inside. Normally, she wasn’t one to gloat overly much. She
preferred to just get the job done. But she couldn’t deny a certain
satisfaction in escaping Cristian’s handmade bonds.

She started with a little tug and his belt buckle
began to change shape. The corner of her mouth twisted up into a
smug smirk. With a big mental yank, the buckle pulled away from his
pants and molded into a shiv. It took exactly three seconds to make
it slice through her bonds and free her arms. One rip with her
claws and her legs were free too.

Oh yeah, metal was her bitch.

She shed the ropes and jumped up from the ground,
facing her captor. He grabbed his whip while she put out a hand and
her makeshift knife flew into it.

“Wanna see why the bond is so high?” she asked,
circling Cristian in a defensive crouch.

“I can see how you’ve managed to evade them for so
long. But I wonder, how long would you last without your
special…gift?”

She’d seen that trick before. He was trying to bait
her for a fair fight. “Too bad we’ll never know.”

She threw the knife but he dodged it easily and it
thunked
into
the tree behind him. With an arrogant smirk he flicked his wrist
and the whip lashed menacingly towards her. He was playing. And
that was his first mistake.

Natalia always “missed” the first shot. A simple
thought and the knife unloaded from the tree and stabbed into
Cristian’s back, cutting through muscle and lodging into his spine.
She struck him in the stomach with the heel of her boot. When he
lurched forward she grabbed his head and twisted. A snapped neck
would put a werewolf out for just long enough to get a good head
start. The only thing that would kill him would be to sever his
head from his body.

If she was smart, she would slice through his neck
like she’d done to so many werewolves before. No one had ever come
so close to truly capturing her. And now that he knew she could
manipulate metal, he wouldn’t make the mistake of wearing a belt
buckle around her again.

While he was unconscious, Natalia studied him. His
scraggly blonde hair was just long enough to touch the tops of his
shoulders. It matched the scruffiness of his unshaven face. He had
a wild look about him that made her heart flutter.

Her hand reached for her knife, but she stopped. With
a long drawn out sigh, she slid it into her boot instead. Maybe it
would be the biggest mistake of her life, but she didn’t kill him.
She’d left him a clear message not to mess with her – one he would
heed if he had any common sense. But she doubted very much that he
did.

She chuckled and brushed back a piece of hair from
his face. “Cristian the werewolf.”

The warm glow of the pack camp filtered through the
trees. Cooked rabbit wafted along the breeze. Cristian’s stomach
rumbled. Kicking up the pine needles, he sprinted the remainder of
the distance to camp. He shifted as he slowed his pace, walking
into the camp on two legs, instead of four.

“Saved you some stew,” Sorin said, handing him a pair
of jeans. He pulled them on quickly, not because of modesty, but
because it was damn cold at night in Wyoming.

“Thanks.” He strolled into camp, receiving respectful
head nods as he went. “I’m starving.”

The kitchen was the first building in the circle of
cabins. A short, young woman with brown hair and dark eyes, and
possible Mexican heritage handed him a bowl. “I’ll get you some
bread, sir,” she said in a reverent tone.

He gave Sorin a questioning look. “New cook?”

“Claudio’s new mate.”

“Really?” Too hungry to use a spoon, even in the
presence of a woman, he placed the bowl at his lips and drained the
contents. “Good for him,” he said when he finally came up for
air.

Sorin frowned. “She’s not one of us.”

“You know as well as I do that mates don’t betray
each other. If Claudio trusts her, we can too.”

Not everyone agreed with Cristian’s progressive views
on pack laws, especially about allowing human mates to live with
the pack.

Sorin, his best friend since childhood and pack Beta,
had old-fashioned views about women. He grunted. “I like the old
ways better.”

When the young woman returned with a chunk of freshly
baked bread, Cristian stopped himself just short of snatching it
from her hand. He smiled warmly. “I’m Cristian.” He held out his
hand to shake. She stared at it, her mouth hung open. He looked
down and saw it was covered in dirt and dried blood. “Sorry.” He
wiped his hand on his jeans then gave up with a shrug. “What’s your
name?”

“Maria.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Maria.”

Sorin rolled his eyes. Maria noticed and dropped her
gaze. Claudio must have taught her a thing or two about pack
hierarchy. He really wished they would stop doing that.

He sent an irritated glare to his best friend then
leaned in toward Maria and whispered, “Don’t mind him. He’s just
jealous he doesn’t have as pretty a mate as Claudio does.”

He winked and her face lit up. She was a pretty
thing. Sorin scoffed behind him, hearing the quiet exchange.

Cristian sighed. “I better go before he gets in a
truly sour mood.”

She nodded dutifully.

“Thank you for the stew. It was delicious.” He handed
her the bowl, bowed slightly then left with Sorin at his side.

“You’re starting to sound like an ornery old man,”
Cristian told him when they stepped outside.

His beta followed him down the rugged path. The camp
was humming with energy. Low voices filled the air, competing with
the sound of sharpening weapons. A large bonfire crackled in the
center of camp. Small cabins surrounded it, each housing three to
four men.

“Ornery?” Sorin scowled, which showed his stress
lines, confirming Cristian’s accusation. “I’m just a
traditionalist. Nothing wrong with that.”

Cristian gave him a sideways glance. “Careful or
you’ll start sounding like your father.”

“We’re in our fourth century, what do you expect? We
should
act
like old men. We are!”

He scoffed. “Speak for yourself.” He grabbed up the
nearest stick and sparred with a young boy who beamed from the
attention of the alpha. “You see, Sorin? I’m as spry as a pup.” The
boy stabbed Cristian in the gut and he bent over coughing and
groaning. He didn’t fool the boy though. The child laughed at the
dramatic conquer. Cristian patted the boy’s head and dropped the
stick on the ground. Sorin glowered the whole time.

“Different views are good for the pack, I suppose,”
Cristian said. “I just wish you’d stop terrorizing the new women.
Maybe you should spend more time looking for your fated mate.
There’s someone out there even for a cranky old man like yourself.”
Cristian laughed at Sorin’s dubious expression. Ironic to call him
old. Sorin was a vision of youth. And if he’d put his icy blue eyes
and thick black hair to good use, he’d have women lining up to be
his mate.

“What do I want a mate for? Needy, emotional,
irrational creatures.”

“What do you want a mate for?” he repeated, his brows
raised. “To mate with!”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Well, there is that.
But it’s not like I’ve been a living saint in that regard. Maybe
some of us aren’t as lucky as you. Maybe we don’t all find our
mates.”

If Cristian hadn’t known his friend for so long he
would have missed that one fleeting moment of insecurity.

“You had a few decades with your mate. You’ll always
have that.”

His heart still ached from the loss, though it had
been a few centuries. “You assume a lot, Sorin. Haven’t you ever
heard the age old question, is it better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all?”

Cristian quickened his pace, his bare chest covered
in goose bumps now that they’d left the fire behind. His cabin was
behind the first row, past the larger family cabins, just in front
of the tree line. Though it seemed far removed from the rest of the
community, he’d picked that spot purposefully. Raised up on a
slight incline, he had a view of the entire camp and the forest
around them. It was a spot to protect, and the first line of
defense.

“Well?” Sorin said, impatiently. “Is it?”

“Would my answer change what you do?” It was an odd
conversation to have with his best friend in the middle of the
night. Maybe they should be painting each other’s nails and crying
into tissues.

“No.”

“Then what does it matter?” He walked up the steps
that lead to his cabin. Sorin waited at the bottom. “You can come
in.”

Cristian pulled on a long sleeved shirt and wool
socks. God damn he’d never get used to the cold after shifting.
Fall came too quickly this year, and it was only September.

He’d have to send someone to fetch his boots and
clothes from the spot where he’d woken with a headache and bruised
ego. He had shifted immediately, hoping to pick up the vampire’s
scent. But the trail had gone too cold. He’d been unconscious for
almost an hour. The little shit. He wanted to ring her neck, but at
the same time, he couldn’t stop a smile when he thought of their
verbal sparring. Vampire or not, she was a sharp-tongued,
quick-witted thing.

“How are the men?” he asked Sorin. When he’d shot the
vampire, he’d called in a team to bring the injured to camp.

“They’ll heal. They’re eager to see the vampire come
to justice.”

He nodded. “Well, they’ll have to wait. I don’t have
her.”

Sorin’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t have – don’t
tell me she got away.”

He tried unsuccessfully to hold back a small chuckle
remembering their curious exchange. A woman tied to a tree and
demanding answers from her captor? It was so absurd and uniquely
intriguing he almost wished she’d stuck around, just for the chance
to figure her out.

“I hardly think this funny,” Sorin said
disapprovingly.

Probably not. “No, but she bested me fair and
square.”

His eyes widened. “You were bested by a vampire?”