Immortal Craving (Dark Dynasties) (38 page)

Lyra had gone, though she hadn’t taken the slight quietly. And now, she was here, in the seat of the Lilim. It was almost inconceivable. Jaden wondered briefly if Lyra hadn’t hunted him here to finish their brief altercation with blood. That would be like a werewolf, brutish and nonsensical. But no, Jaden realized as she and the male who was accosting her came into view. Lyra seemed to have bigger problems than any grudge she bore him.

Jaden kept to the shadows, melting into darkness as effectively as he did in his feline form. He now had a clear view of a tall, over-muscled Neanderthal who was wearing the expected smug sneer. A predator. Being one himself, Jaden had gotten very good at identifying others. Lyra he saw only from behind, but he would have known
her anywhere. Long, lean, and tall, with a wild tangle of dark hair shot through with platinum and tumbling halfway down her back. He let his eyes skim the length of her, suddenly apprehensive… hoping that his reaction to her the last time had been some kind of sick fluke. It had been easy enough to dismiss then. Being under constant threat of annihilation could do strange things to a man. But he knew it had fueled his anger at her presence in the safe house.

And now, just as before, the sight of her sent desire cascading through him in a wild rush like no other woman had provoked in him.

Jaden’s sudden arousal mingled with a punch of bloodlust, creating a tangled mix of wants and needs that had his breath beginning to hitch in his chest. He moved slowly, walking the increasingly fine edge between man and beast as he struggled to stay concealed. He remembered more than just his brief meeting with her, no matter how he’d tried to block it all out. He’d had dreams… bodies tangled together, biting, clawing… licking…

Appalled, Jaden told himself he couldn’t truly want a werewolf. Apart from being forbidden by both races, it was just
wrong
. Wasn’t he screwed up enough?

It was a relief when the Neanderthal provided a distraction from his thoughts. The male moved like lightning, and far more gracefully than his bulky form would suggest. A hand shot out, snatching something from around Lyra’s neck. The werewolf dangled the item in front of her, and Jaden could see it was a silver pendant hanging from a leather cord. She tried to snatch the pendant back, but the male held it high above his head like a schoolyard bully.

“How
dare
you?”

“It’s just an old necklace,” he said with a smirk. “If you want it that badly, come and get it.”

Jaden could hear the helpless outrage in her voice when she spoke.

“My father—”

“Isn’t here right now, is he? No one is.” The Neanderthal shifted, crooked a finger at her. His stance said he knew he’d won. “I’ve got a hotel room. Or we can do it right here. Your choice.”

His grin was foul. She seemed to think so too.

“Like hell, Mark.”

Lyra’s muscles tensed. She was going to run. What choice did she have? But the other man knew it. And while she might be fast, there was no way she would be able to match his strength.

Jaden hissed out a breath through gritted teeth. He was no hero. He might be nothing more than a lowblood vampire, a gutter cat with a gift for the hunt, but even among his kind, there were unspoken rules. And something in Lyra’s voice, the hopeless outrage of someone railing against a fate they knew was inevitable, struck a chord deep within him. He had spent centuries being pushed and pulled by forces he couldn’t fight. No one had ever given a damn what
he
had wanted, not from the first.

Gods help him with what he was about to get tangled up in.

Lyra spun, leaping away with a startling amount of grace. The man she’d called Mark lunged almost as quickly. His hand caught in all the glorious hair, fisting so that her head snapped back. Jaden heard her pained cry, heard the man’s roar of victory. Then Mark’s hands were on her, grabbing, tearing…

One look at Lyra’s eyes, wild and afraid, and nothing on earth could have prevented Jaden from stepping in. He sprang from the shadows with a vicious snarl, fury hazing the darkness with bloodred. He landed directly in front of the grappling pair, fangs elongated and bared. The shock of his appearance gave Lyra the opening he’d hoped for. She twisted away, but not quickly enough. Mark took her down with a quick clout to the side of the head before whipping back around. Jaden watched, an odd twist of pain in his chest, as Lyra gave a single, shocked sob and collapsed to her knees.

Still, Jaden had gotten part of what he wanted. Lyra could no longer be used as a shield.

Recognition dawned in Mark’s eyes a split-second before the instinctive hatred did.

Then another set of fangs were bared. Eyes flashed hot gold. The werewolf gave a guttural growl and reached for Jaden, long claws already extended from his fingertips. Jaden hissed as he stepped out of reach and waited for his chance. Jaden knew from experience that a wolf would always go for brute force over finesse. And against a vampire, it was almost always the wolf’s downfall.

This time was no different.

Mark lunged, swiped. Jaden ducked easily and extended claws of his own, drawing first blood across the vulnerable belly. The thin ribbons of blood darkening his opponent’s T-shirt seemed to incense his adversary, and he launched himself at Jaden only to find himself with a face full of asphalt. Unable to control himself, Jaden laughed, though it sounded nasty and hollow to his own ears.

“Hmm. I think someone’s going home alone tonight.”

Face bloodied, the werewolf dragged himself off the ground and growled at his tormentor.

“Get out of here, bloodsucker. This is wolf business.”

“Really? Looks like garden-variety jackassery to me,” Jaden said, watching Lyra out of the corner of his eye. She had shifted to a sitting position, and was holding her head in her hands staying very still. How badly she was hurt, Jaden didn’t know. It was so like a wolf to try to win a woman by damaging her. Regardless, it was time to run this bastard off and give Lyra what care she needed.

He tried to ignore the way his heart began to stutter in his chest at the thought.

“Leave now,” Jaden said, his voice soft, deadly. “Or I kill you.”

Mark snorted. “Skinny piece of shit bloodsucker like you? I don’t think—”

His words were cut off abruptly by two kicks, one to his gut and one across his thick head. At that, he went down like a ton of bricks with only a soft grunt for a response. This time, he stayed down. Jaden glared down at him for a moment, only barely denying himself the extra kick he wanted to give the wolf for good measure. But the stupid bastard should feel lousy enough when he awakened facedown in the parking lot in the morning. Although it might be momentarily satisfying, killing him would be nothing more than a messy waste of time.

And despite his disturbing interest in Lyra, Jaden had no interest in getting the Lilim into a pissing match with whatever scruffy pack of werewolves this loser belonged to.

Satisfied that they were now, for all practical purposes, alone, Jaden moved to Lyra’s side and crouched down
beside her. A light, intoxicating scent drifted from her, making his mouth water. Apples, he remembered. Sweet, tart apples, with something earthier beneath. Strangely enough, he felt no urge to run, to hiss and spit. He realized now it was a good thing he hadn’t gotten this close the last time. He might have done something really stupid.

Though he supposed his current actions qualified.

“Lyra?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low and soothing. He wasn’t sure how successful he was… he was way out of practice at damage control. Usually, he
was
the damage. “Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?” Wolves were self-healers, he knew, but it could take a while, which was dangerous when the wound was severe.

She said nothing, moved not a muscle, and Jaden’s concern deepened. He reached for her, momentarily overcome by the urge to make even the simplest physical connection. But his hand stilled in midair when she finally lifted her head to look at him. And whatever he’d expected to see—fear, confusion, even a little gratitude—none of it was in evidence as he looked into Lyra’s burning, furious eyes glowing fire-bright in the dark.

“Don’t even think about touching me,
cat
,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

A
RIANE
.”

She stood at the floor-length window, staring out at the rolling ocean of sand that had been her home since before her memories began. Not a breath of wind moved the gossamer curtains that she’d drawn back, though she had opened the window wide in hopes that some air might clear her head.

No such luck. All she’d found was the crescent moon hanging above the same beautiful and barren landscape that she looked upon every night. Nothing changed here. Nothing except her. Not that the implications of what she was about to do didn’t make her heart ache. But she had no choice.

Life eternal notwithstanding, this place would kill her, or at least the best part of her, if she stayed much longer.

“Ariane, please look at me.”

With a soft sigh, Ariane turned away from the window and looked at the man who had entered the shadowed
room. She had lit but a single candle, not wanting the harshness of the light, and it played over his concerned face, over features that were as hard and beautiful as chiseled stone.

Sariel. There was a time when she would have been honored by a visit from him. And to her chamber, no less. He had been the leader of her dynasty since it began, or so she understood, and his word among the Grigori was law. Ariane respected him, deeply. But Sariel was content with all the things that made her restless. He could accept that her dearest friend had vanished without a trace, where her every waking moment had become a nightmare of worry and dark imaginings. And she knew that while he cared, while some effort was being put into finding the missing Grigori, he didn’t remotely understand what a loss Sam was to her.

“I appreciate your concern, Sariel. But I’m fine. I didn’t expect to be chosen,” Ariane said, hoping that she was concealing her bitterness well. To have been passed over was bad enough. But to have been pushed aside for Oren, to have seen the blaze of vicious triumph on her rival’s face… it hurt in a way no wound ever had. And in her training, she’d been cut plenty.

Sariel approached, shutting the door behind him. To anyone else, even their own kind, Ariane knew he would have been incredibly intimidating. The men of the Grigori dynasty of vampires, particularly the ancient ones, all stood nearly seven feet tall, broad-chested and well muscled, with skin like pale marble. But in the dim light, he looked so like Sam that she could feel nothing but the same dull ache she had felt for a month now, ever since they’d all realized Sam was not simply traveling, but gone.

Sariel’s face belonged on a statue carved by a Renaissance
master, but his beauty, like all Grigoris’ beauty, was cold. His white hair, the same shade as all ancient ones had, was an oddly attractive contrast to a youthful face. It fell to his shoulders with nary a wave to mar the gleam of it. His eyes glowed a deep and striking violet, a shade they all shared, in the dim light.

“I know you had your hopes up, Ariane,” he said, his normally sonorous voice soft. “You don’t have to pretend you didn’t. If it helps, you were strongly considered. But the others felt that, ultimately, Oren was the better choice.” He paused. “If Sammael can be found, he will be. I realize he is important to you, as he is to us all.”

The better choice.
Simply because she had not been handpicked by the elders, because the circumstances of her turning had been borne of emotion instead of reason. No matter how hard she worked, how lethal she became, she would be seen as a mistake. The weakest among them. And Oren, above all, had orchestrated her being shunned for it.

The Grigori were taught that hate was a wasted emotion. But for Oren, who excelled at the art of subtle humiliation, Ariane feared she felt something very close to it. And now he had bested her again, finally taking from her something she desperately wanted.

“Yes, Sam is important to all of us,” Ariane said, trying to choose her words carefully as she turned back toward the window, the beckoning night. “But of everyone here, I am closest to him, Sariel. I think you know that. I don’t understand why we’re sending only one of our own to search for him when he could be hurt out there. He could be
dead
.”

It was her greatest fear, and Sariel was as dismissive as
she’d expected him to be. He simply didn’t give in to his emotions. She didn’t really expect a vampire like Sariel to understand how much a simple friendship meant to her. He seemed above such things, beyond them. He was strong, unlike her; she was weakened by her attachments and her most private dreams. In those dreams, which she had never shared with a soul, she was happy, fulfilled, even loved—and far away from here.