The Lord of Near and Nigh: Shifter MC Novel (Pureblood Predator MC Book 2) (11 page)

I bring myself back into my physical body and settle into the chair.
 

“Your blood is weak,” I say, speaking the truth.

“I am the President.”

“You’re President of a dying nation created by a dying race. Look to the sky. The Blood Moon rises. Tides surge and flood. You’ve seen the news. There will be much worse in coming days and months. Anarchy. Chaos.”

“You’re insane. Some kind of—”

“Your kind will not survive the Night Wind. No one you love will survive. Not without my help.”

“Ah, yes. I
need
you. Is that it?”

He’s mocking me. The urge to offer him right now, under the Blood Moon’s red glow, races through me. I breath twice, slowly, trying to calm, remembering what Tamara said about how valuable this man will be to our future empire.

The President leans close and says, “Tell me what you want. This isn’t an assassination. Not yet. You
need
something. Otherwise you would’ve murdered me in my bed.”

My fangs lengthen. I loose a quiet growl. “I might still murder you.”

My reaction seems to please the President. “No,” he says with a thin smile, “you won’t. Not until you get what you need.”

These fucking lying, scheming Skins.
 

Some are more clever than they appear.
 

“For a while…a year, ten, maybe even a hundred years…your Skin armies will matter. The men who control those armies will matter. There is a place for men like you in the rising empire.”

“I see,” the President says, nearly shrugging.
 

“You will control your nation’s army for the one you are loyal to.”

“And who is that?”

“Me.”

Manuel smiles. “I’m not afraid of you. I don’t know what the fuck you are…but I’m not afraid. Murder me and my innocent family. Prove what kind of monster you are. I am not afraid.”

The problem for Ortiz is, when I look into his eyes, I know he’s lying.

“Then I must make you afraid, Manuel,” I whisper. “You
will
bend to me. A wise man would bend before innocent blood is let.”

“I’ve never been much for wisdom.”

“Yes. Me either.”

I swirl into Night Smoke, reach my tendrils out, stroke the President’s cheek. He tries hard not to tremble.
 

Every man fears something.

Cut deep enough and you’ll discover it.
 

“Release yourself to the Night Wind,” I say from within the smoke. “Release yourself to the Spotted Stalker. The Lord of Near and Nigh.”
 

I pry open the President’s lips, pour into his throat, swirl up his nostrils, into his ears, and while I enter him I whisper: “Come O Lord of Blood. Lord of Wind. Lord of Blood Wind raise this excrement, this filth, this stillborn…”
 

The President clamps his hands around his throat to prevent me entering him. He goes rigid in his chair, his entire body shaking. Spittle leaks from his lips.
 

He’s resisting me.
 

Trying to keep me from consuming his mind.

“…place me on your reed mat, O Lord of Near and Nigh…”

President Ortiz flings to his feet and staggers toward the balcony. A single thought pounds through his mind:
throw yourself…throw yourself…kill yourself…throw yourself…

 
The last of the Night Smoke swirls into the President’s lungs. He inhales me in deep, panicked gasps, drawing me into his heart and blood and mind, and then he’s at the balcony rail, leaning over, staring at the cobblestones forty feet below, trying to convince himself to end his wretched Skin life—

Your family
, I whisper in the President’s mind.

Manuel squeezes the metal railing and moans and shakes his head no.

There remains hope for your family. But only if you kneel.
 

He’s fighting, trying to push me out, his conscious mind and will tiring, and then his resistance fades and his hands slip from the railing and tears slip down his face—

Yes
, I whisper.
Think on your family. Be brave for them. The leap is the coward’s way. You’re a brave man, Manuel. You’re family needs you.
 

The President nods, moves from the railing.

You will fear me,
I whisper inside him.
You will fear your Lord, and you will bow.

I command the President to walk inside his chambers, retrieve a letter opener from a mahogany desk, approach his sleeping wife’s side and lift the letter opener over her tender neck.

“No…” Manuel whispers, watching as his body obeys my commands.
 

I feel the President’s mind slipping. Cracking.
 

Madness lurking beneath.

He’s of no use to me insane. Perhaps he’s had enough. But a part of me doesn’t want to pull back. It wants to break him completely and utterly—

Skin blood,
I whisper inside Manuel’s mind while we stare at his sleeping wife.
Weak and watery. But still. Perhaps I will force you drink from her—

“No…” President Manuel says, his voice thick and strangled.

Offer your love to the Lord of Near and Nigh,
I whisper.
Offer him what he demands.

The President’s body quivers. “I won’t…”

But he will.

The letter opener trembles in the air, poised over the pretty wife’s tender neck.

Kneel, Mr. President,
I say.
Accept the Night Smoke. The Night Wind. Accept the One You Are Slave To.

The President collapses to his knees, blubbering and whimpering.
 

So tell me
, I say from inside him,
are you afraid now?

“Yes.” The President covers his face in his hands. “Terribly afraid. Please. Please spare my wife, my chil—”

You live in fear of the night?

“Yes!”

And when the Blood Lord whispers you will obey?

“Yes,” the President stammers, laying his forehead on the mattress and sobbing.

I force him to raise the letter opener again.

“What? Please no you promised don’t make me hurt her I’ll follow you I swear it—”

“You must offer yourself to the One I Am Slave To,” I say, slowly filtering out of the President and returning to the physical world.

“What? Anything! Tell me! How can I prove my loyalty?”

I resume my human shape, lift the President’s wrist, look at the letter opener, and say, “You must offer me a taste of blood.”

***

“This is
my
time,” I say to Tamara, stoking the small of her back. “The Thirteen Day Week. The Age of Discord.”

“Not the First Fallen’s?” Tamara says, then quiets and stretches long on the massive mahogany bed, her arms crossed over her head. I admire her sleek, feline body and lovely light blonde hair. Her unblemished skin. The raised pink buttons of her nipples.
 

My cock yearns for her.

There is another need. Deeper. Ancient.
 

I scent her black blood.
 

I want to drink from her. Feed from her.

But something’s making me uneasy. “Who is this First Fallen?” I ask. “You mentioned him when you rescued me from the Cloud Temple, then again to Carlos when I was tied in the airplane hangar. Is he someone I need offer?”

“No, he’s nobody, my Night Lord,” Tamara whispers. “An old friend.”

“A friend?”

Tamara sighs. “Dead, Rodas. Gone. Never to return.”

My animal paces inside. Is she lying?
 

I can’t tell. The fucking temptress whore has clouded my mind.
 

 
Tamara looks in my eyes, then at my cock, rolls onto her side and brings one leg up, giving me a glimpse of what I desire, then says, “Tell me more about President Manuel Ortiz.”

“The Skin leader will obey us.”

“We’ll see. Skins are liars.”

I gaze out the window at the swaying palm trees in the courtyard beyond. “How long must we remain in this foul place?” I ask. “This villa reeks of pollution and sickness.”

“You crave the jungle,” Tamara says, running her fingers along my spine. “You yearn for wildness and freedom.”

“Don’t you?”

Tamara frowns, withdraws her hand. “We will remain until we’ve turned the Collazo Cartel’s associates to our cause.”

“We no longer need the offering named Carlos Collazo,” I snarl.

“You’re wrong.”

“The black blooded will follow us once they see my Blood Lord’s gift. Once they learn my power.”

“No,” Tamara says, tightening her brow. “It’s early yet. You are not…whole. Not ready.”

I open my mouth, unleash a swirling cloud of Night Smoke. The smoke hovers in the air, then slowly lowers around Tamara’s head. Caresses her temples. Her neck. “Tell me,” I say very slowly. “Tell me again that I am not ready.”

Tamara lies very still while the Night Smoke caresses her.

“Speak,” I say.

The whore says nothing.

“Speak!”

Tamara’s black eyes burn with fury, but she doesn’t say a word.

I open my mouth and capture the smoke.
 

Tamara runs her fingers through her hair, very calmly, but I notice her hand is trembling. Then she says, “Don’t lie to yourself, Rodas. That’s a weakness of Skins. Admit what’s truly bothering you. You simply don’t want me near Collazo,” Tamara drapes her arms across my tattooed shoulders. “Careful now, my killer. You’re not an emperor yet,” she whispers in my ear. “Right now you’re just…a madman with big dreams.”

“A dangerous madman.”

“Most are.”

“Hunt with me tonight,” I say, slipping a hand up Tamara’s silken thigh, scenting the warmth flooding from her sweet cunt. “I desire a beating black heart to feed on.”

Tamara swats at my hand and slips from my grasp. “I have…an engagement.”

“Collazo?”

“Yes.”

The fucking whore.

I’m silent for a moment, too furious to speak.
 

I remember the feel of her skull cracking beneath my fangs—

“I scent him on you,” I growl. “His sweat and filth.” My throat tightens at the thought of Collazo’s hands on my bloodmate’s body. I’ve never wanted to offer someone so much.
 

“It must be done,” Tamara says dismissively.
 

“You enjoy it.”

“So?”

I rake my claws across Tamara’s thigh, drawing her black blood to the surface. “I will offer his stinking blood. The One I Am Slave To demands it.”

“When I say so, yes.” Tamara’s hands slip down my chest, circle around my hips to my cock. “Why don’t you offer me this?” she whispers. “I also hunger.”

I shrug her away. The time for such base weakness has passed. Then I say, “Tell me the second name. The one who must kneel in my name.”

“Please, Rodas,” Tamara says, kissing my shoulder. “Please. Come to me.”

“No,” I snarl, standing and moving away, afraid if I stay too close I’ll simply reach out and tear her heart from her chest. “Return to your lover, you fucking whore. But tell me the second name.”
 

My blood feels like it’s on fire. My heart pounds in my chest.

That fucking wretch Carlos Collazo.
 

And this whore? Why do I trust her?
 

I whirl into the Night Smoke, then back into my Skin form as anger and jealousy and hunger burn through me.

I need a kill.
 

No.
 

I need a massacre.
 

Tamara watches me with a coy smile.

Strokes her lovely hair. Sighs, lifts the silk sheets up to cover her ass, then flashes me a pretend pout.
 

My bloodmate’s toying with me.
 

Like a cat toying with half-dead prey.
 

I tolerate her for now because she also serves a purpose. But I’m not as naive as I was when she first clawed open my cage. I’ve listened to Tamara spin her lies. She might be my bloodmate. But that doesn’t mean I won’t tire of her—
 

Tamara slips to the middle of the bed. “President Ortiz rules Mexico by day. Carlos Collazo and his cartel rule the northern and southern borderlands. But one man rules Mexico City at night.”

“Tell me.”

“Javier the Broken.”

“The One I Am Slave To shall accept his blood.”

“No,” Tamara says. “Not this one. This is different.”

“How?”

“You don’t murder the Broken, Rodas. He’s already dead.”
 

***

The bus I’m on is like every other in this foul city: stinking and rimed in dust and packed too tight with miserable-looking Skins. It’s dark but not yet late; some passengers, returning home from a long day at work, are dressed in nice slacks and blouses and skirts, but the quick-eyed street-dwellers are growing more numerous. They board the bus by slipping in through the back door. Dressed in torn and soiled rags and black leather or even coarse robes that reach to their bare feet, with spiked colored hair and ornaments threaded through their ears and eyebrows. Wearing whatever they can scavenge or steal.
 

The nicely dressed Skins eye the new arrivals nervously.
 

Check their watches and phones.
 

Shuffle away from the night-dwellers.

My tongue is a dry lump in my mouth. I swallow hard, cursing Carlos Collazo and the Skins and this blighted city. I miss the Cloud Temple’s gleaming white walls. Living close to my Lord of Blood. Life was simpler. The Keeper brought offerings and I bled them.
 

There was purity in that life. Faith.
 

Then Tamara arrived. My bloodmate.

A low growl rumbles in my throat.
 

I don’t trust her. But for some reason I…I
need
her.
 

A chill runs down my spine. I don’t want to face this world alone. Me. Rodas. Not whatever else I am. Tamara was right. I’m like a child. I don’t understand how this world works.
 

I’m weak. Lost.

I hate Tamara for showing me this truth.