The Sanction (5 page)

The smile was wiped clean off Sutter’s
face. His eye glinted in the moonlight. “A family which has
disowned me, but uses me when it is convenient – like
now.”

Silas did not think to dispute the
fact. “I will make your demands known.” Sutter inclined his head
and turned away pointedly. Silas felt his heart pump a little
harder in his chest. “Are you not curious as to why we need so many
dead?”

He paused long enough to tap his chin
in mock contemplation. “Err…no.”

“
The Weres have taken
Amarinda. They demand a ransom.”

The first wave of anger emanated
through Sutter in fierce violence. The strength of it hit Silas
like a lash to the head, and he forced himself to block the tidal
wave of emotions his brother projected lest it weakened him. From
the stiff stance Sutter took, Silas knew he relived what he had
gone through at the hands of the Weres many decades passed. Silas
did not think to reach out to him. The rage within the confines of
whatever sanity that was left was dangerously close to breeching
the walls of reason. When Sutter finally looked up, Silas noted
that his eyes were once again clear, and whatever feelings that had
swept over and through him was now properly contained, so much so
that it appeared to have been non-existent. Silas could sense
nothing but the barest sense of remorse. He was pushed away and
blocked out instantly.

“
The Were leader is smarter
than I thought. The Hunters have finally met a foe worth their
efforts.” His smile was wicked and dry. “A hundred heads it is. I
am curious to see how this all ends.”

“
With less Lost and our
niece safely home.”

Sutter snickered again and turned to
leave. Silas watched as he became one with the night.

Chapter Four

Graeme finished the tankard of ale and
stole yet another glance at the winding staircase with a nasty
snarl. For the past two days he did nothing but wait. The envoy had
yet to return, and he was having a damn difficult time keeping
himself away from her. Graeme didn’t think for a moment that he
wanted anything personal to do with the vampire woman. He fed her
only because the Coven would not take her starved form lightly. It
had nothing to do with the fact that he knew his blood would
sustain and strengthen her better than human blood. If he kept her
under lock and key, it was not because he did not want her to come
to harm. She was a prisoner, and although any dungeon would do, she
was a woman, vampire or not. Her constitution was a bit more
delicate, wasn’t it? Those who captured her and all who were
present when she failed to burn to ash were sent as far from the
stronghold as possible. The last thing he wanted was confirmation
that he housed a vampire in his chamber – the less the masses knew,
the better.

He pushed the cup away stiffly before
standing. But the gods were cruel! He knew of no other Were who had
ever been mated to a vampire. It mattered not that she was
beautiful or her scent attracted him like a bee to honey, and it
mattered not that the images that crowded his brain were all of her
very naked in the throes of passion. And yes, if he were to be
honest with himself just this once, he wanted her.

The admission made his throat tighten
in momentary panic. If the horde discovered the truth, he would be
butchered mercilessly.

He made his way up the winding stairs,
absently passing his hand along the rough, cold stone. A mate was
something Graeme never really considered, although he knew one day
someone would be chosen. The last thing he expected was an enemy.
He walked until he came to stand outside the heavy door and paused
there. Even from the outside he sniffed the sweetly scented air.
The scent of a vampire was like a half-rotted carcass – death was
left to linger wherever they ventured. To every other Were she
would be no different. But to Graeme, she was like the fresh
blossoms that littered the hills in the spring.

The tightening in his chest forced him
to take another moment to clear the poetic nonsense from his
muddled mind, and when he lifted the heavy latch and pushed the
door open, he did so with caution. Wanting to bury himself within
her folds aside, he’d be damned if he was fool enough to trust her.
She must have sensed it was he, for she was positioned in the
center of the room, legs braced apart, and eyes unnaturally wide.
The length of her hair fell all the way to her hips in limp
tangles, and she had taken on the pallor of ash. Even from this
distance he distinguished the fine bones in her features. Her loss
of weight annoyed him to no small end, mainly because he knew that
she suffered because of him. His jaw tightened considerably as any
concern that threatened to develop was swiftly stomped upon. She
was a parasite. One did not have compassion for such.

He closed the door with finality and
noted that she jumped and took a small step back. She was afraid of
him, as she should well be. The fact pleased him immensely. He did
not hesitate when he strode toward the open window. Winter was
coming. The moisture and stagnant cold could not be
shaken.

“
A-are you here to kill me?”
Her voice was croaky and very pathetic.

He snorted. “I told you – you will be
ransomed, not killed.”

Her flecked eyes considered him with
condemnation. “Why then am I being starved?”

“
Starved? You were fed two
days ago.”

“
What you offered could
hardly be called a meal.”

He directed a dark frown toward her.
“Would you prefer a body every day of the week?”

“
A sip each day would
suffice,” she sought to educate stiffly. Graeme made his way toward
her, unwillingly inhaling a deep breath as he did so. She did not
back away or attempt to flee. He grew increasingly impressed and
annoyed that he should feel so. One foot from her form, he noted in
a sweeping glance several very interesting facts; her pulse
quickened, her breaths became uneven, her nostrils flared in
awareness as she caught his scent, and the silver in her eyes
darkened considerably.

The attraction – if that is at all what
he felt toward her at the moment - was returned. The reason why he
came was lost to him. His last memorable thought was burying his
member deep within her shaft. What would it be like to bite her?
What would it be like to be bitten by her?

“
You will be fed daily as of
today,” he managed thickly before his brain could respond. Graeme
considered the way her lips parted as she gasped. They begged to be
nibbled. What came out of his mouth next was as unexpected as the
sudden heat that seized him below the belt. “Under the condition
that you take from me directly.”

She paled, if it were at all possible,
and scuttled away from his towering height as though he were
infected with the plague. Pure disbelief reflected in her orbs. A
pained look washed over her features. “I cannot. It is…forbidden.”
Graeme did not attempt to approach her. “Taking directly from a
male…unless with the intent to kill, is reserved only for
mates.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. It was
highly unlikely she thought him ignorant of the fact their fates
were entwined. “Why?”

She struggled to find her voice. “It
seals a bond that can be broken only through death.” Her eyes could
not meet his. “It is intimate – sacred even.”

So that was the truth of it then. She
did not want to be bound to him. His eyes narrowed. When he spoke,
it was out of resentment at her rejection. “If I decide to keep you
here, there is little the Hunters can do by way of rescuing you.”
Hot tears streamed down her face. Graeme did not care. “But I do
not desire a leech for a mate. What I will take from you is what is
mine by right – only then will you be released.”

Her lips trembled so terribly he almost
gave into the agony that threatened to pull in his heart. But damn
it, he wanted her bound to him. He wanted to claim her, his. He
also wanted her to suffer. It was a known fact that once mated, a
vampire could find no solace in another. He would force his hand in
the matter and be content in knowing that she was left like a
wraith without him. The Cronus Coven would be scorned, and without
the support of the other vampires, vulnerable. She deserved nothing
less. The mere idea of ravishing her body ignited a fire in his
blood. It boiled with determination. He felt a throb in his head
and knew by the way she near shrank beneath his gaze that the
irises of his eyes burned amber.

“
Please don’t do this.” Her
voice was laced with desperation. “You are my mate…why are you
doing this?”

He met her toe to toe and presented a
Lucifer’s smile. The heat she generated there, mingled with the
scent of her, was almost overwhelming. He clutched her cheeks
firmly and ignored her panicked whimper. “Mate?” he ridiculed
maliciously. “You are nothing more to me than a means to an end.
But to you I will be as necessary as the blood you so desperately
crave. The fates have erred this time around leech – I will become
your mate, but you shall never be mine!”

When he pushed her away, it was to
leave her there, standing broken, in the center of the
room.

****

It had been six days since his
visit.

Amarinda curled herself into the
tightest little ball and took a sweeping glance around the
destroyed chamber. In a corner she rocked back and forth, muttering
words in her vampire-tongue in an attempt to sooth the burn of her
stomach. In the throes of agony she had done this. Everything in
the room was either torn to shreds or shattered. Due to her waned
strength, the bed remained intact.

Amarinda had never been denied food.
She likened herself unto her uncle Sutter. Many of the Hunters
regaled her of stories about his valor in battle, of his
blood-lust. She never met him. In short, among the Covens he was a
force to be reckoned with. But he was well on his way to becoming
Lost. Maybe this is what it felt like losing one’s sanity she
thought, for in her moments of pain when instinct took control, she
recalled nothing.

Each day he would knock on the door and
ask her decision. Each day she gave him the same response – that he
could impale himself on his own sword. Today though, as she counted
down the minutes when the sun would set and he would knock again,
she knew the meaning of selling her soul. She would do just about
anything to have her hunger sated, even if it meant binding herself
to him. A bitter life would be her lot, but Amarinda did not care –
not when she heard his footsteps echo upon the stone down the hall.
The sound of his approach was heightened to such a degree that her
head pulsed in agony. He smelled like the water from the rivers,
fresh and clean and delicious. She flung herself against the heavy
door and pressed her face there desperately.

His knocks echoed sharp and clear. “Are
you still living leech?”

Amarinda whimpered, her strength spent,
her emotions helter-skelter. “Open the door…”

“
Speak louder witch. I can’t
hear you.”

How he lied! She swallowed the dryness
of her throat and made another valiant effort. “Open the
door!”

“
Why?”

She felt her strength leave her knees
and slid down the door helplessly. She hated this Were! Maybe it
was a blessing in disguise he offered her. She could not even
stomach spending eternity with such a sadistic bastard!

“
I would have you speak the
words!” he sneered.

“
I will take from you…”
There was a pause, then the opening of the door. Her head fell in
defeat as he stepped forward to discover her sitting just beyond
the threshold. She heard him sniff as he scanned the ruined room,
but she did not care. All that mattered was the blood that flowed
like molten lava through his veins. He hauled her to her feet and
slid the bolt home. The instant his back was turned, Amarinda
launched. Her fangs sank into the vein of his neck. His roar was
followed by a deadly grip upon her arm as he forced her away.
Light-headed from the small fare she had taken, she whimpered and
attempted to fling herself upon him again.

“
Wait!”

She trembled in need, hating him more
each moment, craving his blood all the same. He took his time about
the matter and exposed the laces of the tunic he wore. Her eyes
fell to the pulse that beat there, at the base of his throat. A
strong pulse it was. Hers for the taking. She stepped forward and
sank her teeth into him, pulling as deep as she dared. She drank
until her hunger was sated; until she heard him growl low in his
throat…until the haze of hunger abandoned her, until awareness
swept her form. His hands were making their way down the curve of
her hips. She pulled away and met his eyes, shocked that they
flamed so brightly, afraid of the sharpened edges of several of his
slightly elongated teeth, but most of all, confused that hot spasms
coursed through her blood.

He intended to dishonor her, to use her
like linen and send her back to her Coven a ghost. He did not love
her, did not want her at his side until his last breath. By taking
from him she had just signed over herself, body and soul. Even now
as he trailed his fingers through her hair, she could feel herself
surrender. He was her mate. She was bound to him now, no matter
what he chose to do to her. Tears of remorse swamped her
eyes.