The Purest of the Breed (The Community) (29 page)

“What?” Dev glanced up, then scowled at her. “Why would I give two shits about what that woman thinks of me?”

Okaaaay, so, not wallowing.

Dev picked up an orange slice from the bar tray, ripped the juicy meat off the rind, and popped it in his mouth. “I just feel like flopping out in my room right now is all.”

She frowned. “So why don’t you?”

Dev surprised her by groaning. “Gábor’s bonding with Chelsea in his bedroom and whenever that woman has a…an orgasm, she goes off like a damned howler monkey.” Dev dropped his forehead into his hand, and groaned again. “Gábor evidently likes the noise because he’s making her do it over and over.”

“Good grief, are you serious?” She glanced around the bar. Gosh, yes,
all
the warriors were here, most of them with funny looks on their faces, like their underwear was pinching off their circulation. “Well…look on the bright side. It’s good advertisement to the other Dragon women about…uh.” She broke off as Shọn Brun pushed into the bar. “You know… How great you guys are at…”

Lowering her head, she vigorously scrubbed at a nonexistent spot on the bar, then she stopped and shut her eyes. My, how calm, cool, and collected she was being. She should be a secret agent or something. Exhaling, she went back to cleaning, but more slowly. Why was she acting like such a noodge, anyway? Nothing had happened between her and Shọn that night two weeks ago, certainly not due to any vaunted discipline on Luvera’s part. Although to her credit, she hadn’t sought out Shọn again, and he, thankfully, hadn’t come to her, either.

But…every day it was becoming more of a chore not to go to him. Why exactly that was the case, she couldn’t figure out entirely. Her brain, after all, was warning her over and over that a Blood Ride would break the community’s no-fraternization law; it was illegal, and wrong and dangerous, with possible devastating consequences. It just seemed that…no matter how much her logical mind worked at convincing her of all the damaging aspects, there was no getting around how good it’d felt—
extremely
good—to have a man touch her. And who, other than Shọn, would ever do the honors? Certainly not Alex, who
every
weekend went out with
another
unmated woman.

From the corner of her vision, she saw Shọn walk over to a table where his brother, Nỵko, was hanging out with Thomal and Kasson. He sprawled into a chair in that loose-jointed way of his, his knees spread wide, and against her will, a shimmering warmth coursed through her belly. She stared down at the bar mat, the dish towel hanging limply in her hands. Maybe she was a deranged pervert. She swiped the back of her wrist over her forehead. Why did she always have to feel so backward and wrong in her life, like she was wearing her skin inside-out? Swallowing hard, she looked at her brother. “Can I ask you something?” she said quietly.

Dev grabbed a cherry and ripped off the stem. “What?”

“If you could’ve been with Marissa for one night, would you have done it?”

He frowned. “What do you mean, one night?”

She twisted and untwisted the dish towel around her hands. “Well, uh, because Marissa didn’t want to commit to you forever, if you could’ve had, let’s say, just one incredible night with her without bonding to her, would you have?”

“That’s not possible,” he groused, a sullen slant to his mouth.

“I know,” she exasperated. “We’re talking hypotheticals here.”

“Jesus.” He missiled the cherry into the trash behind the bar. “You’re asking me to imagine making love to Marissa and then just cutting her loose? No, I couldn’t even
begin
to do that, Luvera.” He gave her a probing stare. “Could you do that with someone you loved?”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “What about with someone you didn’t love?”

Her brother looked at her as if she’d just informed him she was going to have sex reassignment surgery tomorrow. Heck, maybe she
should
; something out there had to fix her.

“Are you saying you’d do it?” Dev demanded.

She dropped her eyes and shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know.” Quieter. “Maybe, yes.”

“That’s sick.”

She whipped her head back up and glared at him, her cheeks burning. “You know what, Dev,” she strangled out on an infuriated breath, “shut up. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean that I don’t have needs, and…and…I’m not just some good little girl all of the time.” Well, she was, but what had that ever earned her? A career? A mate? Even a speck of self-respect? She exhaled jerkily. “It’s not natural for Vârcolac to wait this long for a mate, and… For heaven’s sake, I’d think
you
of all people would be able to understand this.” She slapped her dish towel down on the bar. “But instead of understanding, all I get from you is a bunch of righteous judgments. Thanks for
nothing
.” A rush of tears blinded her. “Why can’t you ever just be my brother?”

“Dammit,” Dev spat, slamming to his feet. “First Marissa, then Mother, now you. Can everyone just lay off!?” He whirled to go, spinning the bar stool off its legs. It hit the floor with a splintering whack.

Every eye in the bar turned to watch Dev storm out.

Except for one pair of eyes.

Black and primeval-still, that one pair latched onto her.

She lifted her chin, staring back. Would her needs ever get fulfilled, if she didn’t look out for them herself? The idea was laughable. And here was the thing. She was done waiting for a slice of happiness to come her way. So for once in her life she didn’t hesitate.

Nearly imperceptibly, she nodded her head
yes
at Shọn.

* * *

Dev prowled his bedroom like a caged beast, pacing from one corner to the next, his hands cranked into hard fists. Hurt and loss bubbled in his veins like black lava, and something new: self-loathing.

God, he was such an ass.

He gritted his teeth and mutated everything into rage. Not much different than how he’d felt ten minutes ago when he’d stupidly lingered in the hallway on the way back to his bedroom, hoping to get caught by Gábor so he could beat the living shit out of someone. But Tarzan and Jane must’ve finally taken a breather, no doubt passed out from all of their recent exertions, because the mansion was finally quiet. Probably
really
good that a fight hadn’t panned out, anyway. A newly bonded male Vârcolac was the most dangerous creature on the planet. Even the most pantywaisted of them could cause serious harm to another male—including one of Dev’s size and build—if that perceived rival got within spitting distance of his woman. And with an aggressive warrior like Gábor? Dev would’ve gotten himself flat-out killed.

He shoved both hands through his hair.
What
was his problem? He usually wasn’t this brainless. Maybe he—

Grimacing, he pressed two fingers to his breastbone.
Ouch
. All day on and off he’d been feeling this weird pain in his chest. Knowing his luck, all the stress was giving him a—

A knock sounded at his door.

Narrowing his eyes, he crossed his room in several long strides and hauled his door open. It was Tonĩ. Hell, think “heart attack,” and a doctor shows up on the doorstep. “Hey,” he greeted her brusquely, glancing over her shoulder into the hallway. “Jaċken with you?” That black-eyed bastard could always be counted on for a good ass-whupping.

“No,” she answered quietly.

Too quietly. That’s when he noticed her expression. A spot in the pit of his belly jumped. “What’s going on?”

“It’s about Marissa.”

Ice filled his chest. “Shit, is she sick, is she hurt? Did she fall and crack her head on the cave floor, or…” He leapt forward a step. “Did the Om Rău make a grab for her?” Growling, he dug his fingers into his breastbone again. This explained the pain in his chest and why he’d been feeling so edgy and restless all day. His internal radar was going off.

Every bonded Vârcolac had a sixth sense connection to his mate; no matter where his woman was on earth, he’d be able to
feel
her existence and her state of being. If she got hurt, he’d know it, or, God help the world, if she died, he’d feel that, too. Huge. The worst pain imaginable right smack in the middle of the chest. Dev’s woman was in trouble, and even though he wasn’t fully bonded to her, there was enough of a connection between them that this special radar was tripping. He just hadn’t known what it was until now.

“It’s nothing like that,” Toni assured him. “Can I come in?”

“No. I need to go to her.”

“She’s not in any immediate danger, Dev, and I have to explain this to you.”

Dammit
. “All right.” He grudgingly stepped aside to let Tonĩ pass.

She entered and crossed to his wet bar. “Can I set this here?” Oddly, she was carrying a gift bag, one of those tall, thin ones used for wine bottles.

He gestured abstractedly.
Whatever
. “What’s wrong with Marissa?”

Tonĩ gestured to the two armchairs clustered in front of his entertainment center, where a DVD player, X-Box, Play Station, stereo system, and more man toys were packed in. Basically all of the accoutrements a guy with no sex life needed. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No.” He clipped the word.

“All right.” Dark clouds moved across the blue sky of Tonĩ’s eyes. “Marissa’s mother relapsed, Dev. Mrs. Bonaventure is going back into the hospital to be treated for breast cancer.”

The news hit him like a hard blow to the solar plexus, emptying his lungs of air. “Oh, no,” he breathed. “Shit.” He covered his face with both hands, then dragged them up over his forehead and shoved his fingers into his hair. All the anger he’d been holding onto these past weeks, the resentment and hurt, poured out of him, like,
swoosh
, trapdoors had opened in his feet and let it all go. Compassion and worry and protectiveness for the woman he loved engulfed him instead. “Poor Riss. Where is she now?” He needed to talk to her, give her a hug, if she’d let—

“Topside.”

“What.” He blinked. “Already?”

“I’m afraid so. She left this morning.” Sympathy touched the curve of Tonĩ’s mouth. “She wanted to be at the hospital when her mother checked in.”

“Oh…yeah, that makes sense.” Which also explained the phantom-limb syndrome he’d felt all day; Marissa wasn’t even physically in the community. He shuffled his feet, agitated by that. “Is there anything we can do to help her? You know, maybe… Jesus!” His cold stomach plunged toward Ground Zero. “She’s one of the Dragons the Topside Om Rău know about, Tonĩ. She’s in danger up there.” He needed to get topside before—

“It’s okay, Dev. Marissa and I talked about it, and she’s promised to stay in the hospital where it’s well-populated.”

“Right,” he drawled, “because that worked out so well for you.” Jaċken
and
the Topside Om Rău had gunned for Tonĩ the night she’d been kidnapped out of Scripps Memorial.

Tonĩ sighed. “Marissa won’t be giving blood while she’s there, so that won’t set off any alarms about her presence, and she’s checking her mother in under an assumed name.”

He made a guttural noise, feeling only marginally better. The Vârcolac—and he suspected the Om Rău, too—had hacked into hospital laboratories around San Diego, inputting alerts for any human blood that came through with the sought-after Dragon gene, Peak 8. If Marissa didn’t set off that alert, and if she used an alias, then he had to assume she could keep herself relatively safe.

“We don’t have a choice with this, anyway,” Tonĩ went on. “Marissa has to be with her mother. And after Mrs. Bonaventure’s illness has resolved, the two of them are going to move far away from California.”

All right, he supposed that option was the only… His insides froze, his heart grinding down to a slow, painful beat. “Marissa isn’t returning to Ţărână to finish out her year.” He made it a statement, even though he wanted an answer. An enormous, shouting denial.

“No, she’s not.”

He worked his jaw once, forward then back. “Never?” Dumb question.

“No. I’m sorry.”

A queasy feeling blocked off his throat. “But…she left without saying goodbye.”

“She gave me this to give to you.” Tonĩ lightly touched the tall gift bag. “With a message.”

He nodded. Because he just wasn’t getting any syllables out of his mouth right now.

“First, I’m supposed to tell you that her maternal grandmother is Angelique Cuvier.” Tonĩ lifted a hand, palm up. “She said you’d know what that meant.”

He gaped. “Holy crap.” He walked over to the wet bar and reached into the gift bag, lifting the wine out. It was a bottle of Château Cuvier III, 1990. The label swung dizzily before his eyes. This was probably the last bottle on earth, and Marissa had given it to him.

“And secondly, Marissa wanted me to ask you to think of her when you drink this, and…try to forgive her for not being ready.”

He lowered the bottle. Something in his chest twisted. His legs went strangely nerveless. “Oh, Jesus…she loved me, didn’t she?”

“Yes, Dev, I believe she does.”

He ran his thumb and forefinger down the sides of his mouth. “Why…then why wouldn’t she say goodbye?”

“She wasn’t sure if you wanted her to, Dev. It’s my understanding that the last time you two were together you had a pretty bad fight.” Tonĩ’s voice was soft, her concern for him plain. “Marissa said that you told her being around her caused you physical pain.”