Taken by Moonlight (59 page)

Ryan turned
around and froze. Holy shit! She was hot. Tall, and blonde—his preference—and
wearing a shitload of leather. She looked like something out of a comic book.
And she was walking toward him.

He blinked
and shook his head. He’d had a few shots too many, but water and coffee should
cure that soon enough. The babe was still there. His tunnel vision had at first
blanked out that fact she was surrounded by four hulking men. When that
registered, he swallowed, wishing he wasn’t five sheets to the wind. Had he
offended her or something? He tried to remember, but nothing came.

“Nice
night?” Her voice was soft steel, velvet-covered handcuffs.

Ryan smiled
and nodded, almost instantly forgetting her entourage. Hell, it wasn’t that
hard when the chick looked like a cross between an angel and a sex-kitten.

“You from
around here?” she asked, taking out a shiny cigarette case and popping one
between her red lips. What he would do to exchange that cigarette for his cock.
“Want one?”

“No. I
mean, no I’m not from around here, and yeah, I’d like a cig.”

She removed
the one from between her reddened lips and placed it between his. He grinned,
already picturing how many positions he could bend her into.

“You are
really fucking hot,” he said, positive he slurred the words but not really
caring. She was hot.

“Thanks.”

“What’s
your name, baby?”

She smiled
and replied, “Astrid.”

“Sexy. You
gotta light?”

She nodded.

In the next
moment, he was on the ground, his nose on fire, before he was hauled up and
shoved into something. His back throbbed. He groaned. An arm locked against his
neck, cutting off his air. He blinked open his eyes and hers—pale blue—stared
right back at him.

“Where’s
Cronin?”

A fraction
of the alcohol mysteriously disappeared from his system and he took a long
whiff. Wolves! Shit!

He tried to
reach for the gun at his hip, but she snapped his wrist.

“FUCK!” The
pain was excruciating. Completely drunk and he was still able to feel the
breaking of those bones. Ryan had broken his foot once during training, and he
couldn’t remember it hurting this bad.

“We can do
this easy way or the hard way,” Astrid said with a smile. Leaning forward, she
licked at his lip, and her tongue came away red. He watched her swallow and
sigh. “You tell me where Cronin is, and what he’s doing in my territory, or I
take you back to my place, and carve you up for dinner.”

Ryan’s
anger boiled over. He was being roughed up by a girl, and a pretty girl at
that. What was with these fucking lesbians?

“Fuck you,
you dyke! I’m not telling you shit—wait, not that!”

Her other
hand cupped his cock and balls. She squeezed, applying enough pressure for him
to wince.

“These will
be the first to go,” she promised with a smile before releasing him. Ryan was
about to put up a semblance of defense when a fist connected with his nose once
more and sent his head banging into the concrete of the building. Pain erupted
in his skull as he fell forward, face first, asphalt beating on his already
bloodied nose. He groaned, and then coughed in pain. He would not cry!

“Put him in
the car, and call Athelwulf. Tell him we found one of them.”

Consciousness
left him soon after. His last thought was that he should have stayed with his
covenant. At least there, this dyke werewolf wouldn’t have gotten him this
easily. And he would have been sober, and able to put up a better fight. Beaten
by a girl…. His father would be ashamed.

It didn’t
take long for Ryan to begin talking. An hour alone with Astrid making true on
her promise to remove his most precious bodily part had made him very
forthcoming. He’d given them an address, a location in Salisbury, and had
spoken of something planned for Stonehenge the next night. Conall had done his
own version of the interrogation, and had gotten the tracker to say exactly
where his mate was located in the house. He had spoken only of one druid, so it
seemed possible Cassie was being held somewhere else.

When they
left the soundproof room in which the tracker was being held, they headed to
Astrid’s study, where Eirik, Santiago, and Raoul were waiting. Astrid explained
to him the significance of that address. It was a part of Frederick Wentworth’s
covenant. It was becoming clear that his mate’s kidnapping was an
international, collaborative effort by a number of grand wizards. That thought
only made him angrier.

“Wentworth
controls Salisbury and most of the neighboring towns. His covenant is one of
the largest here,” Eirik said from his stance by the window.

“How do we
get in?” Santiago asked before Conall could.

Astrid
shook her head once. “Even if we get in, we won’t get far. Wentworth has the
largest number of trackers under his command. His fort is as protected as Buckingham Palace.”

“Look, I
know I speak for Conall when I say we didn’t come here to sit and twiddle of
our fucking thumbs. We came here to kick and kill some witch-ass, teach Cronin
a lesson, and get his mate the fuck back—”

“I was not
finished,” Astrid cut in smoothly, giving Santiago a long glare. She snapped
her gaze away from him, and turned back to Conall. “The tracker mentioned
something happening at Stonehenge tomorrow night. I propose we wait for them
there. Stonehenge is windy, making it almost impossible for a tracker to pick
up on the scent of a
were
, especially if we’re upwind.”

“Stonehenge? What’s happening at Stonehenge?” Raoul asked curiously.

“He doesn’t
know, but he was willing to sacrifice a lot to protect the secret that
something was.”

“He ended
up telling you anyway,
sweets
, so it obviously wasn’t that much of a
secret.” Despite the seemingly sexist endearment, Santiago’s eyes held grudging
respect for the female.

Astrid gave
him a wintery smile, which he returned.

“Men will
give up even the most precious of secrets when you hold a pair of shears to
their balls.”

Santiago
’s smile faded, and he squirmed
slightly in his chair. Astrid’s smile only grew larger.

“I find it
curious they’re going to Stonehenge tomorrow night,” Eirik began slowly,
turning to face Conall. “You told us you’re here for your mate, but you haven’t
yet told us
why
she’s being held by two grand wizards.”

It had been
subconscious, his reluctance to tell them exactly what his mate was, but he’d
kept the secret anyway.

“My mate is
one of the last two druids in the world,” Conall began, careful to read the
expressions on the faces of Eirik and Astrid. They both wore looks of
curiosity. “The other is her twin sister. Only a druid can resurrect the
banished druids, and Cronin wants to use them to do that.”

Eirik
arched a brow while Astrid stared at him as if he’d grown another head.

“He wants
to resurrect the druids that his people banished?” Astrid finally asked.

Santiago
released a dry laugh. “Yeah, we
already established that he’s not the smartest fucker.”

“This is
more serious than we thought,” Eirik began slowly. “The resurrection of the
druids will affect every creature on this earth. Many of our brothers and
sisters were killed in the crossfire of that war. If Cronin succeeds, we’ll
likely have another war on our hands.”

“And we
can’t take that risk.” Astrid looked between Conall and Santiago. “You each
flew here with about a dozen of your hunters. I pledge mine to support your
cause.”

“And I
mine,” Eirik added.

Conall
nodded once. He’d expected support from the two of them, and if they ever
needed his support in the future, it would be offered just as freely.

“But as
I’ve said, Wentworth’s covenant is quite large and if he’s seeing to it that
Cronin resurrects the druids, he’ll be bringing them out in force tomorrow
night.”

“So in
other words, we’re going to be outnumbered,” Santiago said dryly. He sat
forward and rolled his head around, cracking a few bones in the process. “Won’t
be the first time.”

Astrid
speared him with a look before pulling her cell phone from her leather jacket.
She hit a button and held the phone to her ear. Her lip half curled as she
replied, “Close, de Luca, but not quite.”

She awoke
to darkness, her body feeling as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Her attempt
to move was halted by the warm duvet into which she was wrapped. She was
thirsty. Her throat felt parched, dry. Swallowing didn’t help.

A cough
left her lips and she yawned, wishing she had enough strength to lift her arms
above her head and stretch. Her lids felt heavy once more so she lowered them
and sighed.

She was
falling back into a lulling sleep when something vicious twisted in the pit of
her stomach, dragging a low cry of pain from her lips. The pain left almost as
suddenly as it came, and her breathing grew labored as she struggled to bring
herself under control. She’d just regained some semblance of control when the
pain returned, a distinct wrench at her insides that propelled tears from her
eyes, and a pitiful groan from her lips.

A door
opened somewhere in the distance and then a man was leaning over her. Her
vision was blurred by tears; the pain in the pit of her belly intensified.

“Drink.”

His voice
was urgent, compelling, and he pressed something wet to her lips. She latched
onto it, swallowing in great gulps, and feeling the dryness of her throat
disappear, the fire in the fit of her belly retreat. Her hand managed to find
the strength to push out of the duvet and grasp the lifeline that fed her. Her
eyes were closed, cheeks wet with tears, but none of that mattered but the
rich, sweet liquid flowing into her mouth, down her throat, nourishing her,
healing her.

A cool hand
touched her cheek.
That is enough, little one.

She shook
her head and continued to drink. It was good, so good, and she was hungry. A
few more deep swallows later, and the lifeline was forcefully removed. She
fought, but it was futile against his strength.

Opening her
eyes, she stared up into the beautiful face of a dark-haired stranger and
smiled her thanks. He slipped his hand under her head and positioned her
against the downy pillows once more. She closed her eyes.

Sleep,
Drusilla.

The voice
that touched her mind was soothing. Her body immediately grew warm, preparing
to enter the unconscious world once more. Before sleep took her, her last
thought was of the name he’d called her.
Drusilla.
Was that her name? A
little smile touched her lips. If it was, it was a very nice name.

“You look
pale, Lucian. Perhaps you’d like to feed before we speak,” Verenus commented,
taking a seat on the plush red sofa and casting sharp eyes on Lucian.

“I am a
vampire. Pale is my genetics.” His response was quick and easy as Lucian walked
over to the decanter on the other side of the palatial room he called an
office.

He was pale
because the newest member of his coven had almost drained him, and like a fool,
he’d almost let her. He’d been captivated by her mouth on his wrist, and before
he knew what was happening, his heart was slowing and he was growing lethargic
from blood loss. Although she’d survived the change, she would still be weak
for the first month. As such, he would have to feed her with his blood during
that time. “What will you have?”

“Brandy.”

“You
haven’t changed since France, mon frère.” They had been friends for many
centuries. Verenus had come to Lucian’s aide many times over, saving his life,
his reputation, and Lucian had done the same. They could not be closer had they
been born of the same female.

“Why should
I? It is the nectar of the gods.”

“So you
say.”

Lucian
handed him a glass filled with the liquid before leaning against his desk and
waiting.

“You won’t
drink with me?”

“My drink
of choice is not yet ready.” Verenus flashed him a knowing look before taking a
sip of his brandy. Not seconds later, a knock sounded and a female vampire
sauntered in holding a glass filled to the brim with red liquid. She handed it
to Lucian with a slight dip of her head before retreating.

Passing a
look to his friend, he lifted it. “The true nectar of the gods.”

As soon as
the glass touched his lips, he tipped it back and quickly drank the warm
liquid. Fresh human blood. While vampires required the blood of their own kind
to survive, there was something uniquely delicious about the blood of a human
with no drugs or alcohol in her system. While it wasn’t something to be
indulged frequently—it wasn’t potent enough to keep an ancient vampire
filled—it was very tasty.