
TURNED

KERI ARMSTRONG

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Highland Publishing, LLC

Turned

Copyright (C) 2017 Keri Armstrong

Highland Publishing, LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

For permission requests email: info@hpllc.org

Publisher's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Turned/ Keri Armstrong.--1st ed.

Sometimes a vampire hunter can't catch a break ...

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Yelena Volkoff vowed to kill the vampire who murdered her mother. But that's proving to be difficult now that Yelena herself is dying.

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Not to mention the fact that two others are trying to beat her to the kill: An alpha werewolf who wants to avenge his city's slaughtered kids, and a mysterious vampire who has reasons of his own.

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If Yelena is going to survive long enough to complete her mission, she'll need to figure out who she can really trust.

# Contents

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# 1

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Yelena scraped her fingernail through the dirt on the dingy hotel window, etching a protection rune in the grime as she looked out into an even dirtier alley. A late, biting frost glazed the garbage-strewn ground, giving it a curious, gray-white uniformity in the fading light. She shivered as cold seeped through the cracked, wooden sill. Spring was slow coming to Chicago, and the No-Tell Hotel where she stayed didn't believe in providing extra heat for their guests.

Probably because most only rented by the hour.

Rubbing her chilled fingers over her thin arms, she smiled ruefully at her hazy reflection in the glass. She didn't have to worry about what stirred in the coming darkness. The intricate, fading blue tattoos twisting from shoulder to mid-forearm protected her against all manner of supernatural creatures except two: the witches who put it there, and the vampires she needed to get close enough to kill.

Yet they couldn't protect her against the worst of human diseases. Refusing to think about the cancer that slowly caused her protection tats to fade, she turned to eye the weapons laid out on the bed.

Nothing like a little backup gunpowder and silver.

She lifted a holster from the faded gold blanket and slipped it over her t-shirt, wincing as her shoulder joints protested the move. Next, she grabbed her Hunter's gun and placed it into the harness then pulled a gray hoodie on over both. Retractable, wickedly sharp silver knives were already tucked alongside wooden stakes in her boots and cargo pockets of her trousers. As a final touch, she shrugged into a long leather coat that concealed more weapons in its deep pockets.

A glance in the mirror proved all weapons were well hidden. No need to announce her intentions to those she hunted, even though it was unlikely anyone could identify her in Chicago. Hell, most of those she'd left behind in Moscow would no longer recognize her, either. Just two years ago she would have been spotted easily--her family had been the most successful vampire hunters in Russia for several generations. But she was the last of her line and would remain so. The disease coursing through her system had already claimed most of her looks and was quickly claiming what was left of her strength.

She glanced at the bedside clock. Thirty minutes until sunset. Time was running out and only one thing was important now: Kill the vampire who had slaughtered her parents.

Vladimir Romanov.

A dry, coughing laugh escaped her lips. How like him, in his arrogance, to take on the first name of the legendary vampire. How like him, in his delusion, to take on the surname of the couple he had loved but whom he'd ultimately corrupted nearly a century ago: Nicholas and Alexandra Romanov.

Yes, Grigori Rasputin was both delusional and arrogant. And she was counting on that to take him down once and for all.

Michael Mardirossian tossed back a shot of vodka, hoping the bitter slide across his tongue would distract his nose from the stench of teenage cologne overdose. His current surroundings seriously messed with his heightened senses. What passed for music thumped loudly through the underground club, threatening to leave him with a headache worse than a hangover. But the unbathed teens and street urchins who gyrated to the sound, mixing with all manner of monsters, seemed to enjoy it. They had no idea they were already lost to the danger they'd put themselves in. The poor fools believed they were there for salvation.

The Midnight Ministries organization that passed itself off as a haven for homeless youth was nothing more than a front for a supernatural hunting ground. And the ministry-sponsored dance club they now enjoyed? It served only to separate the youth into two groups: those worthy of conversion and those worthy of consumption. Recruits or Food. And the kids didn't get to pick their category.

A burning shot of bile rose in his throat that had nothing to do with the vodka shots he'd been downing. He scanned the room, hoping for a glimpse of the club's elusive owner, the so-called Romanov. Unlike the kids in the crowd, he knew better than to believe the guy was an innocent Russian preacher with a higher calling. He suspected Romanov was a vampire, though it was also possible the guy was a shifter, like Michael.

Then again, he thought as he watched the hypnotic sway of the dancers, maybe Romanov was a sorcerer. That would explain the sheer number of youths he attracted.

A subtle vibration cut through the pulsing music, halting his musings and raising the small hairs on the back of his neck. He scanned the crowd and saw he wasn't the only one who'd felt it. Every Supe in the room except the vamps had suddenly gone en pointe, trying to locate the source of the disturbance.

Hunter.

Here.

His gaze landed on a slender young woman making her way through the crush of bodies. Her short, burgundy hair and black lipstick didn't cause her to stand out from the crowd. Neither did the hard expression on her face. But judging from the skittering of magic washing over his skin as she moved, he was willing to bet that if he pushed up the sleeves of her coat, he'd find blue tattoos swirling up her arms.

As if drawn by his gaze, she turned, and a pair of vivid green eyes met his.

He smiled slowly. Oh, yes. There you are.

Yelena blinked. Her tattoos had been shifting wildly since she'd walked into the club, a natural response to the abundance of supernatural beings in one place. Except the ink vibrated in hesitant patterns as if it had encountered something unexpected. She crossed her arms, surreptitiously rubbing her forearms.

The man--no, male; he wasn't human--who caught her gaze, smiled. She glared in response and he grinned even wider. She fought the urge to flip him off and settled for ignoring him. He was attractive, no doubt--tall with wide shoulders covered in a scruffy brown leather jacket, and an appealing boyish grin on an alluringly stubbled face that was fully adult male--but she had a vampire to kill. She couldn't afford to be distracted by sexy supernaturals and weird goings-on with her tattoos.

She stalked over to the bar and ordered a drink she had no intention of imbibing. The bartender, an extremely tall, golden-skinned and massively muscled bald man, didn't even blink when she ordered a Rum-and-Coke in what was supposed to be an alcohol-free environment. Cynicism hiked one corner of her lips. She supposed when your boss could hypnotize, bribe, or eat the police at will, you didn't have to worry about following the rules too closely.

As she reached for her drink, the bartender clamped her wrist faster than a snake strike. He leaned in and spoke next to her ear, his voice a warm, vibrating gravel. "A word of warning, little Hunter. You need to leave before the vamps figure out what's going on."

She went cold and still as marble, her lips stiff as she whispered, "I don't know what you're talking about, but if you are smart, you will let go of me. Right. Now."

He chuckled softly and slid his thumb under her coat sleeve. "Shall I push this up?"

She met his gaze head-on. The deep hazel of his eyes swirled to a neon green.

Without breaking eye contact, she moved her other hand toward her pants' pocket then inhaled sharply when that wrist was grabbed from behind.

"I wouldn't if I were you," cautioned a low, masculine voice at her side.

She jerked her head to look at the male who held her other arm. He was the one who had grinned at her earlier. He still smiled but his eyes flashed gold in warning.

Shifter. Her nostrils flared. Cat? Wolf?

A warning growl rumbled through his chest as he turned toward the bartender. "I've got this."

After a moment of intense glaring, the bartender nodded and let her go.

She smirked at him then turned to her remaining captor.

Definitely a wolf. Probably alpha.

He easily held her thin wrist as she tried to pull away.

She silently cursed the cancer that had weakened her to this point. Previously, she could have kicked both their asses without even chipping a nail. She briefly considered her options, which were few and mainly involved making a scene, but that would draw attention and risk defeating her mission.

A small wave of despair eroded her inner strength. How would she ever manage to kill Rasputin in this state? Had she been kidding herself, strolling in here like this?

"Fine. I'll leave." She shrugged. "This place is lame, anyway."

Both males gave short barks of laughter and her face burned. She glared up at the one who held her. He was maybe an inch shorter than the bartender, but still a good foot taller than her own five-five. "You can let go now."

"I'll just see you safely to the door."

"Not necessary," she bit out.

"You should take his offer." The bartender's soft tone sounded disgustingly like pity.

She glared at him before turning her focus on her tattoos.

Yes, there it was.

The bartender was shifter also, but cat, not wolf. And the reason for his pity struck her like a blow: they could smell she was dying.

She hardened her jaw and stared in the direction of the door. "Let's go."

Her unwanted escort's large body and alpha presence led them unhindered through the loud club out into the cold, quiet street. She silently cursed the frigid air that previously never bothered her, but now slashed to the bone. In her hurry to get to Chicago, she'd neglected to pack a warmer coat than the leather, and her joints berated her stupidity.

She tried to break free of the shifter's grip even though part of her was grateful for the heat he provided. She could practically see steam disturbing the air around his huge body.

He held her effortlessly. "Let me walk you to your car, Hunter. You know I can't actually harm you."

That was debatable. In her current state, she couldn't risk it, even though shifters were not her natural enemy, and her tattoos should protect her if they were. But, speaking of which ... her tats were doing that weird vibration again. She didn't know what it meant, whether it was from the illness or something else, but she wasn't going to stick around the wolf long enough to find out.

"You can let go of me now," she said.

"In a moment. Since I'm pretty sure there is some awesome ink running up your arms, why don't we call a truce? Your kind isn't after mine, and we might just be looking for the same thing."

Her brows rose. "What makes you think I'm looking for anything?"

He inclined his head toward a 24-hour breakfast diner that filled the air with the scent of coffee and pancakes. "Let's go get something warm to drink and I'll tell you."

"No thank you, Wolf."

He grinned, baring teeth to match the name she'd thrown at him. He lowered his head toward her ear. "Why, my dear, whatever do you mean?"

Electricity shot through her tattoos, raising the hair on her arms, and making her lips, toes, and hands tingle. She jerked back in response to the panic alarm blaring in her head. In a voice that wasn't as steady as she'd like, she said, "Seriously. You need to let me go, now."

An eerie gold sheen covered his eyes as his pupils narrowed. He inhaled sharply and dropped her wrist.

She backed up.

He didn't move but watched her with a predator's gaze, his body tense.

Breathing deeply to focus, she tried to bring the inked protection runes under control. He looked ready to shift and she didn't know how long they had before he lost control.

It was true that a shifter couldn't seriously harm her--the spelled tattoos should prevent that--but if his wolf came out and her tats failed, he could maul and kill her. At a minimum, he could track her. And that was the last thing she wanted. She didn't dare run and trigger his chase instinct.

In as calm a voice as she could manage, she said, "Thank you for getting me out of the club safely. I can take it from here."

His expression went from focused to bewildered and he shook his head. An embarrassed-looking, half-grin creased his face, dimpling one cheek. He rubbed a long-fingered hand over the stubble surrounding the dimple. "Sorry. Didn't mean to go there."

The speed of his demeanor change surprised her, even while the twinkle in his eyes belied the apology. In a hurry to get away, she nodded and turned to go.

"What about some coffee? Hot chocolate?" his voice rumbled behind her.

She kept walking. "No thanks."

"What if I help you find Romanov?"

It was just a whisper, soft and seductive, but she heard it clearly, as he must have known she would.

She whirled and stared. He was back-lit by the streetlamp, his large form dark and looming in the night.

"I'm a Hunter," she sneered, her voice soft as his had been. "I don't need a bloodhound."

He chuckled, the sound dangerous and low as he stalked toward her. "Perhaps. But from the shape you're in, Hunter, you could use some muscle if you plan on going against the big guys."

Her lips tightened. It nearly killed her to admit his point, but this evening had already shown she was not in fighting form.

In one of those life-changing milliseconds, she decided.

"Hot chocolate," she said over her shoulder as she marched stiffly toward the diner. "And you're buying."

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# 2

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A blast of warm air and the mouth-watering scents of donuts and bacon hit her as they entered the building. After being in the dark, the sudden glare of fluorescent light caused her to squint at the shifter beside her.

"Booth or counter?" he asked.

As if she were going to sit any place she couldn't make a quick getaway. "Counter."

His lips pulled into a side grin. "How did I guess?"

She frowned at his back as he led the way to a counter where they had a clear view of the door. A young, bored-looking, and multi-pierced waiter with a pink Mohawk stood nearby but didn't acknowledge them.

The shifter made a growling noise and the waiter reluctantly glanced up from whatever he was reading. The kid's eyes grew wide as he gave the shifter a quick once-over, clearly liking what he saw.

Yelena hid a smile as the waiter hurried over. She couldn't blame the guy. The shifter was easy on the eyes. Not that she was looking, of course. His broad shoulders and firm ass had just happened to be in her line of sight.

She turned away to note the rest of the diner, marking the exits and lack of customers. A glance at a clock told her it was later than she'd thought.

The guy behind the counter, whose name turned out to be Todd-but-my-friends-call-me-Blade, was still drooling over her dining companion as he took their orders of a small hot chocolate for her, and large cheese fries, double burger--rare, and coffee for him.

Surprisingly, the shifter was the epitome of politeness once he received some service. He charmed 'Blade' who gave Yelena a look that clearly indicated he thought her date could do better. After Blade-nee-Todd brought their drinks and went to fetch the food, the shifter finally turned down his charm for something more serious.

"So, what is a hunter doing when she can't even go through a building undetected?" he asked.

She gripped her mug of hot chocolate, focusing on the warmth against her fingers, and took a sip to give herself time. She licked the whipped cream from her lip and saw his gaze tracking the move. She would have dumped the chocolate over his head if her gut hadn't insisted she needed to hear whatever he had to say.

She gave a small shrug, feigning boredom. "A hunter hunts. That's all you need to know."

He leaned back on his seat; his mouth quirked into a grin. "There's only one thing you could be hunting, and I imagine you were hoping to find him at some point this evening."

She brought her mug up to her nose, lowered her gaze, and breathed in the rich aroma. She blew a little breath over the surface of the whipped cream and watched the patterns play out as she spoke. "You make a lot of assumptions. What makes you think it's someone specific?"

"Just guessing. Like I'm also guessing you've been looking in the wrong places."

She put the cup down more forcefully than intended, the ceramic clunking against the counter as she turned to face him. "I'm not interested in your guessing games."

"Too bad. Because I'm also guessing we're searching for the same one."

The server chose that moment to return with food. He made a production of handing the plate to the shifter and then grudgingly glanced at her. Whatever he saw made him back away immediately.

Must have lost my poker face. She smirked and took another sip of the chocolate, waiting until the kid moved away before turning back to her dining companion, who was swirling a fried potato in melted cheese.

"I think you may have my hunt confused with yours," she said casually, keeping her fingers wrapped around the warm mug. "I haven't been following the shifter news, but I don't think it involved a vampire attempting to murder your kind."

"And that's where you're wrong. It may not be my kind he's after, but, rest assured, I'll stop at nothing to get my hands on him for what he's already done."

"Get in line, Mutt," she snarled. She set the cup down and silently thanked whatever gods kept her hands steady. "I've got a score to settle with him."

The shifter bristled at the insult and she felt the growl that rose in his chest. Tattooed runes skittered across her skin, but she held her ground. If she let one shifter deter her from her goal, how could she kill Rasputin?

His face twitched a moment before settling into a slow smile. "So, it is a him."

She cursed herself for what felt like the millionth time that night. She was getting sloppy. She might have to cut back on the few pain meds she allowed even though the ache in her hip disagreed.

Picking up the mug again, she let out a heavy sigh, sending the chocolate and cream swirling. She let her face and voice fall flat as she looked back at him. "Get to the chase, Wolf. What do you want?"

"I want to put a stake in the bastard who's been slaughtering kids in my territory. The Supe community has its suspicions, but he's been too slippery to get caught. And now a vampire hunter just happens to show up?"

She shrugged. "Could be coincidence."

His steady gaze held hers. "Try again."

Her lips tightened briefly before she spoke. "Like I told you before, I hunt alone. What makes you think I would trust someone I just met?"

"Maybe that nice cloak of desperation you're wearing?"

She slammed the mug on the counter and stood, her leather coat squeaking against the plastic cushion of the stool as she rose.

He rose with her, clamping a hand on her arm.

Irritated by his heavy heat, she shook him off with a force that startled them both.

The waiter ran over before they moved again. "Ready for the bill?" he asked breathlessly.

"Just a minute," the shifter said, still narrowing eyes at her.

She didn't miss Blade-nee-Todd's look of avid glee when she tried to move around to get to the door. Her attempt to run was halted when the wolf whispered next to her ear, "I can help you find Romanov."

Her breath stuttered and she knew he must have felt it. She stepped back and focused on her tattoos. They were silent. Whatever was happening with him, he wasn't lying.

He nodded at the stool and she sat down again. He returned to his own seat and held out his empty coffee cup to Todd, who looked like Christmas had been canceled.

"A refill and the check, please."

Once the dejected server left, Yelena leaned toward the shifter. "Again, what makes you think I'm hunting Romanov?"

He smiled without humor. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps the fact that you show up with a cute little Russian accent you can't quite hide just as things are getting critical here. Or maybe the fact that twice you turned back to listen when I mentioned his name."

She gripped her forearms, trying to force some sort of reading from her tats, but they gave her the silent treatment. First, they'd gone wild tonight and now they'd gone quiet. She wasn't sure what to think, but she was running out of time. She had to rely on her instincts, and right now, they were telling her to trust the wolf.

"He's been my kill for the past four years," she whispered, "and I'm not going to let all that time go to waste."

He leaned forward and the warm, spicy scent of him filled the small space between them. His eyes flashed gold, but he seemed more in control of himself than he was before they came to the diner. "You have no more claim over him than I do. Why don't we let bygones be bygones and work together?"

She scoffed and shook her head. "I don't even know your name and you're asking to team up? You have no social skills when it comes to this."

"I resent that," he muttered then grinned and held out one of his large hands. "Michael Mardirossian, at your service."

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# 3

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Yelena's teeth chattered, her breath slipping ghost-white into the frigid night air. She cursed Chicago's crazy weather as she scanned the alley by the hotel. Her senses had been in overdrive since meeting Michael three nights ago. Blowing on her hands to warm them, she considered possibilities.

The shifter might be helpful in getting closer to her goal, but the final kill was hers. If he thought differently, he was in for a surprise. Their coffee klatch had been illuminating, but she hunted alone. He had his own reasons for wanting the sorcerer-turned-vampire eliminated, yet even as noble as those reasons were--to save the city's homeless youth--she'd promised her mother she would avenge her death, and Yelena was a woman of her word.

She just had to figure how her furry new friend fit into it all. Her gaze skimmed the litter-strewn alley; her hunter's enhanced night vision peering into the shadows and finding them empty. Yet instinct and the disquiet in her tattoos told her she was not alone. In a silent tread, she slipped further into the narrow passageway between the hotel and the abandoned bowling alley beside it. Lithe and silent as a cat's shadow in the night, she vaulted onto the fire escape of the hotel and began to climb.

As she made the final leap onto the roof from the escape ladder, a sharp scent rising above the alley's odors of garbage and human waste caught her nose. She pivoted in the direction from which it came and crouched low as she scanned the area. From this vantage, she could see across several buildings, but the late-night shadows were deep; the moon long since tucked behind the clouds, and her night vision only went so far. She closed her eyes and opened her senses to her tattoos, allowing their familiar movements to guide her.

There.

She spun left, the slight frisson across her forearm warning of a vampire, but not close ... and yet ... something else was near. She waited briefly, but no other warning came. Whatever else stalked the night was no threat to her.

No, the threat lay some feet beyond.

She needed to figure out how far beyond and whether she had the energy to face whoever or whatever lurked in the dark. Letting her tats lead the way, she slipped further into the night, toward the call of vampire.

Michael's instincts told him not to trust the hunter. They may have agreed to let each other know when the Romanov was in custody--no killing allowed until each had the information they needed from him--but the pain in her eyes as she'd spoken of putting the vampire away told him she had nothing to lose.

He watched as she slipped through the alley next to a fleabag hotel. Keeping his distance, he moved silently as he stalked her through the night. A strange pang struck his chest when she blew on her hands to warm them. He'd sensed her illness at the club, felt the cool frailness of her wrist. And despite her attempt at disdain, he'd also noticed how she'd clung to the warm mug in the diner, her thin fingers white-knuckled around the ceramic. He'd suspected she gripped the mug to keep from shaking from either cold or nerves. Or pain.

His hands clenched when he considered it had probably been all three.

He gave his head a small shake to clear it. Whatever disease she had, whatever her reasons for wanting to catch the killer, she wasn't his problem. The male desecrating his town was his problem, and he'd use the hunter to find him. His gaze focused on his prey once more, and a smile of admiration found its way to his face as she leaped across the distance from one rooftop to the next. He was still smiling as he slipped into the shadows to follow.

He kept a good amount of space between them as she moved swiftly from roof to roof. He didn't want to tip his hand just yet. That she had survived so long on her own--especially with disease coursing through her--let him know she was crafty and needed watching. He wondered how she hadn't spotted him yet. Perhaps she was too intent on her prey, and if her prey was the same as his ... she would have company tonight whether she liked it or not.

He moved in closer, letting her scent wash over him. To his surprise, his cock jerked in response. Her head turned sharply in that moment as if she sensed him. He backed into the darkness, his keen night vision noticing her eyes narrow in his direction.

Damn. He'd forgotten her ability to see in the dark came close to his.

She turned and slipped deeper into the night, her movements teasing his wolf instincts, as if to say, 'follow me'.

He grinned and gladly took up the chase.

From a safe distance away, a vampire watched. For several nights the shifter and hunter played the game, each pretending the other didn't know they were being followed. Yet they were aware, acutely aware, of each other's scent on the cold night wind as they made their way across the rooftops of Chicago in search of their prey. He chuckled at their foolishness, at their unwillingness to recognize their own attraction to the other, and at their ignorance of the fact they were also prey to a predator with far more experience than either of them.

A predator who stood watching, laughing at them. His hands, deep in the pockets of his cloak, rubbed against the erection that had sprung as he watched, loins tight, balls almost painful as his legendary cock stiffened.

Rasputin's silver eyes flared at the sight before him. He breathed deep as the hot power of the Radenyi--sex magic--ran through his veins. He knew the truth of what the two on the roof sought, and whether they knew it or not, he sought it too.

They had no idea what awaited them. But he had always been patient in his pursuits. He could wait a little longer. He drew his magic around him, a swirling cloak in the night, shielding him from their senses.

Yes, he would wait a bit more. Listen and observe until he was certain.

He allowed the magic to settle within his skin, hiding himself ever more into the shadows until no one could detect his presence.

Not even the other who'd joined them on the roof.

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# 4

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A soft thump sent Yelena and Michael whirling in sync to face whoever, whatever, could have slipped up on them like that.

Yelena's hands were filled with sharp silver; Michael's tipped with sharp claws--his mouth filled with even sharper teeth as they faced a handsome vampire who stood before them, his hands held high in surrender.

"Peace. I just want to talk to you," he said.

Michael snarled. "Who are you?"

"What do you want?" Yelena narrowed her eyes, her stance ready to strike at either male, at any show of provocation.

"I told you. I want to talk. I believe we can help each other."

The three circled one another in a slow, uneasy dance.

"Help each other with what?" Yelena asked.

"Find Rasp--"

Her knife was at his throat before he could finish the name.

He grinned. "You're good. But please, try to not get blood on the coat. It's my favorite."

Michael ignored the banter. "Find who?"

She pressed the silver blade into the newcomer's skin until it hissed, releasing the odors of burning flesh and blood into the air.

"We're looking for someone else," she said firmly. "The Romanov."

The vampire's eyes turned red. "Do not use that name regarding him. I am the Romanov. He is an imposter."

Yelena blinked.

"Tell me why I shouldn't gut you right now." Mardirossian growled.

A side smile crossed the face that Yelena could see was far too young and handsome to be Rasputin's. Even if he'd used magic to change his appearance, something about this male's scent was ... not quite right. Familiar somehow, yet not the one she sought.

"Leave him be," she said, pulling back. When the wolf didn't move right away, she repeated the command. "Pull back. He's not the one."

Michael moved a hair's breadth away, no more. She released a small sigh yet kept her weapons out.

"Why did you come here?" She pointed her blade at the vampire who winced as he gingerly wiped blood off his neck.

He moved his hand toward his pocket and both she and Michael went en pointe again.

"Relax," he said. "I'm just getting something to wipe off the blood you spilled." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and made an urbane show of wiping his fingertips. He raised his brows. "Now, if we're all friends ...."

"I'm friends with no vampire. What do you want?"

"Oh, I figured as much, hunter," he said. "Nevertheless, I've heard it through the grapevine you've been searching for the one who called himself the Romanov--the one who's been kidnapping children--"

"What grapevine is that?" Michael growled.

The vamp shuddered delicately. "Nasty business, that. Children. I won't tolerate it."

"Your source?" Michael asked again.

Like a dog with a bone. Yelena smirked.

"I have my sources. You have yours. But I believe we can still work together. I don't want my name sullied by this dirty business."

"And just what is your name?" Yelena asked.

"Vladimir Romanov." He bowed slightly. "At your service."

A small scoffing sound came from the wolf.

"And I believe the name of the one you really want is Grigori Rasputin."

In her peripheral vision Yelena saw Michael's eyes widened then flare gold as he looked at her.

"Rasputin? Grigori Rasputin? You're joking, right?" He glared at Yelena and she continued to ignore him, her gaze locked on Romanov as if her life depended on it.

The vampire sneered. "I would never joke about that one. He is a plague on this earth."

"A plague that got wiped out a century ago, if the history books are to be believed," Michael said.

"Surely you, a werewolf, know better than to believe human accounts of history."

"So, you're saying Rasputin was a vampire?" Michael scratched the stubble at his chin. "I suppose it does make sense, if I think about it."

Romanov shrugged.

Michael turned his attention back to Yelena, eyes hard. "I'm assuming you've known this all along?"

Yelena followed Romanov's lead and simply shrugged, though her heart still pounded from the arrival of their unwanted guest.

Michael continued his interrogation. "And you never thought to tell me that's who you were tracking? I'm guessing that is who you were tracking; not this guy."

She bit her lip. "I wasn't sure. I thought he may have been going by the name 'Romanov'."

The vampire hissed. "I'll not let him besmirch my name and reputation."

Yelena narrowed her eyes at him. "And what makes you say he has? What makes you say he's behind this? Where is your proof?"

Michael pinned the vamp with a glare of his own, rolled his shoulders back until they cracked, and the already large muscles swelled even bigger.

Yelena was reminded of a cat trying to make itself appear larger in order to intimidate; but in the wolf's case, it was unnecessary. He was already intimidating enough.

The vampire stilled, his eyes taking on an unearthly sheen.

The tattoos on Yelena's arms danced in agitation, recognizing pissed-off vampire.

"We share the same maker," Romanov said. "I recognize his work."

Yelena drew in a sharp breath. "That's impossible."

"It is true. The monster who made Rasputin a Daywalker did the same to me."

"Daywalker? You're a fuckin' Daywalker?" Michael rubbed the back of his neck, his voice incredulous.

Yelena shook her head. She should have felt that. She didn't dare close her eyes though she wanted to concentrate on her tats. Why hadn't she felt it? He must be lying. Another unwelcome thought intruded. If her tattoos were losing that much power.... she didn't finish the thought as Romanov's full lips pulled back to reveal fangs.

"I can see you don't believe me. Let me offer proof," he said.

Faster than seemed possible, he bit into his own flesh, scoring lines across his wrist until the blood dripped onto the frost-covered asphalt roofing. The scent of that much blood seared Yelena's senses, making her eyes water. This time her tattoos awakened and made no mistake. The vamp wasn't lying.

He was a Daywalker. But he was also something else.

She smelled a hint of Rasputin's blood. Taking hold of his coat in a move that didn't even give his hair time to ruffle, she put her face next to his. "Why do you smell of him?"

His eyes widened in surprise before he broke into laughter. "Bravo! Even ill and dying, you're better than I could imagine."

She shook him. "I asked you a question. Why do you smell of Rasputin's blood?"

A slow, satisfied smile crossed Romanov's face. "Because I drank from him."

She stifled a gasp. "When?"

"Long ago. And several times since."

Her blade went toward his throat again. "Stop with the games."

She overestimated his patience. In a swift move the knife was moved from her hand to her throat while the vampire pulled her against him, her back to his chest.

"Now, if you two can't be civil, I will have to find another way to get what I need," he said.

Michael's face rippled and Yelena recognized the beginning of a shift. "It's all right," she said calmly, hoping to stall him.

"What do you want with her?" Michael's words were a growl, coming from a face that was losing its human shape at the edges.

"Help in catching him."

"And what do you get out of it?" Yelena asked.

"Justice."

"For whom?"

"All those poor children--"

Michael snarled again, his hands clenching and unclenching around claws as he held his shift at bay. "Cut the crap, Daywalker. I can smell that you don't give a damn about them. What do you really get out of it?"

"I told you. Justice. He killed my family."

"And yet you drank from him more than once," she said.

"Yes. My maker allowed it to strengthen the bonds. Before I left them, I managed to take more from him while he was unconscious, and I stored it."

She didn't hide the skepticism in her voice. "If you had him at such a vulnerable time, why didn't you kill him?"

"I can't. I was forbidden from doing so by our Maker."

She hummed, considering. It was possible. She'd heard the bonds between Makers and their "children" were impenetrable.

"I see. But why should I believe any of this?"

She felt him shrug behind her and she kept her eyes on Michael, hoping he wouldn't do anything stupid.

"You don't have to, I suppose," he said. "Trust me or don't, but I am going to bring him to justice in some way. Since I can't personally do it, I had hoped we could come to a mutually agreeable arrangement."

He moved the blade from her throat and stepped away from her but didn't return the knife.

Michael sped in and his hands went for the vampire's neck. Yelena pulled his hands away, though she knew Romanov was merely tolerating them. He could have freed himself at any moment. Besides, he still had her knife.

She considered the two males. Michael was strong, but if Romanov was a Daywalker from the same Maker as Rasputin, and able to sneak up on both her and Michael, then he could be a formidable foe.

But maybe, if they were lucky, he might also make a powerful ally.

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# 5

--------

Michael reclined on his plush sectional sofa with his hand over the TV remote. "So, Bullwinkle or Speed Racer?"

Yelena roused herself from her comfy position on the opposite end of the couch. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Which cartoon fest are you in the mood for?"

"Cartoons?" she exclaimed, exasperated. "You brought me here to watch cartoons?"

"Well, not just for that. But I figured we might as well have some fun while we figure out how to lure our buddy Rasputin into the open."

"Our buddy?" She shook her head. "You need to rethink your friend list."

"As long as you're still on it."

She blinked. What was that? Unsure of how to respond, she merely hummed.

"Hmm, what? You aren't sure? I make a great friend," he protested.

"Well, I've heard dogs are supposed to be man's best friend. I don't know about mine."

He placed a hand over his heart. "Dogs are the most loyal of creatures."

"We'll see. If you're good, I'll buy you a chew toy."

A slow smile spread across his face, and he gave her a look that made her heart speed slightly. She drew in a shaky breath and he blinked as if surprised.

"Right. Good deal." He gave a short, business-like nod and motioned the remote toward her. "Now, Rocky and Bullwinkle, or Speed Racer? Personally, I'd prefer Speed Racer, but in honor of your homeland, I'll throw in some Boris and Natasha."

"I still have no idea what you're talking about." She shook her head to clear the confusion that came from many levels and only seemed to deepen when he gave her his dimpled grin. Even after three weeks of nightly hunting, she berated herself for sitting here so comfortably with him. But his home was warm, and the deep, plush cushions were a treat for her back after the broken-down mattress and hard plastic chairs of the cheap motel.

Michael stretched out his long legs, propping his socked feet over the arm of the other side of the sofa. The movement caused his jeans to stretch over the muscles of his thighs and Yelena looked away quickly.

"Well settle in, my uncertain friend, and you shall see," he said.

She wondered if she'd already seen enough.

Nevertheless, a few cartoon-marathon hours later, they sat side by side with containers of Chinese takeout on the coffee table in front of them.

"I still don't understand," she said. "If I'm supposed to be Natasha, why don't you ever do what I tell you?" She pointed a chopstick at him. "You aren't a very good Boris."

He grinned. "Oh, I'm a much better Boris. He was an idiot."

She raised a brow to indicate she didn't see the difference.

He chuckled. "Seriously, who would you rather have in your corner? Boris, or me?"

"Neither. I think I could handle a squirrel and a moose on my own," she said dryly.

"Maybe just the squirrel. Moose are pretty large, and you might need a big, bad wolf to bring one down." He grinned and snapped his teeth.

"Hah. There was once a time when I could have tackled one with my bare hands."

He put down his carton of Lo Mein, his face suddenly serious. "I don't doubt it. But you need me now. If you'll just let me in, I can help."

She was silent as a memory of a secret meeting with Vladimir played in her head like a bad silent movie. The shifter didn't know it, but the vampire had offered to make her a Daywalker. He'd made the offer when she'd managed to shake Mike's tail--pun only slightly intended--and met with Vladimir alone to learn more about his history with Rasputin. While neither she nor Mike fully trusted the vampire, it was clear his hatred of Rasputin was real. The rage was so strong she could smell it on him. She wanted to use that to her advantage. She'd leave dealing with the owner of the Ravenswood club to Michael, if he still wanted it--once she was through with Rasputin.

But become a Daywalker herself, even if it would keep her from dying and increase her strength to fight her mother's killer?

No. Fucking. Way.

Michael nudged her foot with his. "Hey, you got quiet over there."

"I'm fine." She twirled her chopsticks around the small white container of chicken and vegetables she held, the scent of soy sauce and garlic rising to her nose.

He nudged her again, and she looked up to meet his skeptical gaze.

"Fine. Really," she repeated.

He made a non-committal sound and then asked, ever-so-casually, "So, what did you and Vladimir have to talk about for so long without me on Tuesday?"

She dropped the chopsticks. She should have known he'd find a way to spy on her.

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Wrong. It all concerns me when kids are getting slaughtered in my town. Including cubs."

Her fingers went numb around the small carton of food. She slowly lowered it to the table. "Cubs?"

"Didn't mention that, did he?" he asked snidely.

"Neither did you!"

"Seems we've both been keeping secrets."

She frowned, hard. "What kind of cubs? Wolf?"

"So far, a couple of out-of-town kits and a bear cub from downstate."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was planning on it, but then you went rogue."

"I didn't--"

"We agreed to meet him together. I was on my way to tell you about the kids when I saw you sneaking out."

"Sneaking out?" Anger began a slow burn in her chest.

"It was clear you were trying not to be seen."

She crossed her arms. "So, you took it upon yourself to follow me."

"Would you have done differently?"

Caught, she glared at him. Of course, she would have followed him. In fact, she had done so on several occasions. Still .... "You had no right."

Hard hazel eyes looked out of her from a face that could have been carved from stone.

She returned his steady look, allowing anger to overcome any twinge of guilt she might have felt. "Not everything I do is related to you, or this investigation."

"Except that one was, wasn't it?" His voice had changed to a whisper but there was nothing soft about it.

"I won't apologize. This is my fight. I told you that from the beginning. I never asked for your help. You insinuated yourself into my--"

"You need my help," he interrupted, his voice raising. "Hell, you even need Romanov's--"

She matched his tone. "I don't need either of you--"

"Bullshit." The word shot out like a whip crack.

She tried to stand, but he pulled her back down, her wrist caught in his hard grip. She lashed out with her other hand. It, too, was easily captured. She tried to leverage their awkward position to flip him away from her and he pushed her back into the sofa with his large body.

Fury tightened her jaw. "Get. Off. Me."

He lowered his face over hers, his eyes a feral gold. A low growl rumbled from his chest to hers.

"Make me."

She twisted, tried to bring a knee up between his legs. He blocked the move as if she were no more than an annoying gnat. His heavily muscled body effortlessly kept her own in place. The weight loss from her illness left her with no match for his strength. Frustration burned the back of her eyes, a hateful precursor to the tears that recently seemed to spring of their own accord nearly every day. She pressed her lips together, determined to not let him see that weakness.

He pulled back ever-so-slightly in a gentle movement, though still not enough to give her room to maneuver. Just enough to take pressure off her lungs.

She tried to pull her arms down, and while he didn't release her wrists, she felt his grip ease. He surprised her by closing his eyes, his expression turning pained.

"Why didn't you take his offer," he asked, his voice rough.

It took a moment to realize what he was asking. "You can't be serious."

He pulled back more until he was looking her in the eyes while keeping her trapped beneath him. "Look at you. What can you do? I don't want to hurt you, but what about someone else? You're weak, Yelena. You'll need strength to fight if you insist on continuing this crazy mission."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Her voice sounded ugly and harsh to her own ears. The sound of someone with sobs in their throat.

Listening to what she had already considered--already knew--being said aloud by someone else was almost more than she could bear. And hearing it come from him?

It was torture.

Even more so when his large, warm body on hers made her feel things she didn't dare acknowledge.

"Then why? Why allow yourself to die when you don't have to?"

She was speechless. In part because he didn't understand, but even more so because his voice sounded like hers had a moment before, harsh and despairing.

Don't melt. Stay strong. "What do you care if I live or die?" she said.

He moved away as if she'd scalded him, his face twisting into an expression of incredulous anger. "Jesus, woman. What is wrong with you?" He ran a hand through his thick hair. "Do you care so little for yourself?"

She sat up. "I care enough to know I'd rather die than become one of them."

"And that's exactly what's going to happen. You are so hell-bent on revenge you can't think straight--"

"I'm thinking perfectly clearly--"

"Clearly not! You have very little strength left. Your two allies are a wolf and a daywalking vamp, and only one of those can you trust."

"I can't trust either one!"

A flash of hurt appeared in his eyes and she clamped down on the regret that filled her at the sight. "You both have your own agendas, and I have mine," she said firmly. "We are only working together because we all want the same thing: To kill Rasputin."

"And you can't do that on your own, no matter how tough you think you are. You're fucking dying, Yelena, and he offered you a way out. A way to get your strength back. A way to stand a chance against Rasputin."

She turned her head and he pulled her jaw back to make her face him. She smacked his arm hard enough to hurt her hand, but he continued speaking without missing a beat.

"You say you want to make him pay, then the only way that will happen is either you take the vamp's offer and get your strength back, or you leave the hunt and the killing to the big boys."

"Ooh, you, you ..." she sputtered, so angry she couldn't speak clearly. "You think brute strength is everything don't you? Just like a dog. All bark, claws, and teeth."

His eyes narrowed in warning, but she kept going. "There are other ways, you idiot," she said. "My family line of Hunters goes back centuries--"

"And they all got wiped out, didn't they?" he cut her off.

She gasped.

"And now you." He looked up and down her thin frame. "You think you can complete what they didn't? You may be smart in some ways, Yelena, but I don't think I'm the one who's being an idiot here."

Without thinking, she slapped his face, hard.

He didn't even flinch.

She jumped up, snatched her jacket from the back of the sofa, and whirled away. As she reached the door, his voice came soft and low behind her.

"I don't want you to die, Yelena."

She closed her eyes against the pain searing her chest. Did he think she wanted to?

Hot tears blurred her vision when she opened her eyes. She jerked the door open and fled into the night as if all the hounds of hell snapped at her heels.

She was still barely keeping the tears at bay when she arrived at the hotel to find Vladimir Romanov in the lobby. She scanned the room and saw only the receptionist reading a magazine as if his life depended on it.

It probably had.

She glanced back to see if Michael had followed though she was fairly certain he hadn't. In the glimpse of time it took, Romanov was beside her, his hand at her back.

"Don't worry, little one. You weren't followed."

She jerked away from his touch, frowning. "How do you know?"

"My sense of smell is much better than yours. I can smell wet dog a mile away, unlike some people."

She bristled at the implication.

"No need to get your back up. If you'd take me up on my offer, you'd be able to smell them too."

"I do well enough on my own. I can certainly smell your kind from a mile away."

He gave her a knife blade of a smile. "Not my kind, dear. Vampires. There is a difference, you know. Daywalkers are far more powerful. I would think you should know that."

She did know that and wasn't in the mood for remedial history. "Listen, professor, is there a reason why you are here, other than to annoy me? If not, I want you to leave."

"I've merely come to give you a bit of news and re-extend my offer of help."

"What news?"

"Rasputin has started taking out the children of supernaturals, as well as humans. He appears to be starting a war between the vampires and shifters."

"I know that."

His brows flicked up. "Do you, indeed? I suppose our furry friend already told you, then?"

She nodded shortly. Michael had mentioned the cubs, though they hadn't talked about the implications. They'd been too quickly distracted by the anger that had led to him pinning her to the sofa. A flash of memory of his large body over hers had her warm and tingling in ways she shouldn't have been. Irritated, she turned to Romanov.

"So, how long have you known about this?"

"I only just discovered it and came here to tell you."

"Really?" She laced her voice with the deep skepticism she felt. "You run a club for the same homeless youth who keep disappearing, and you only just now found out that Supe kids were getting mixed up in it? Why don't I believe you?"

His eyes flashed red, but the glare turned to a glimmer of amusement in the briefest of seconds. "Perhaps because you are mistrusting and paranoid? Because you are a Hunter and I am somewhat of a vampire?" He shrugged and grinned, showing a bit of fang. "Take your pick."

She wasn't amused. "All the above. And for good reason."

He gave another continental lift of his shoulder. "Nevertheless, here I am offering my help to your cause."

"You have your own cause."

"True, but our end desires are the same. Why don't you invite me up and we can discuss it?"

She did laugh then. "Nice try, but no."

He smiled, and his eyes appeared warm with genuine amusement. "You can't blame me for trying."

The simultaneous scents of honesty and humor disarmed her.

He was genuine.

She felt no immediate threat; only his wish to help and a sense that he actually ... liked her? No, it was something else. She cocked her head, keeping her gaze on his while letting her tats speak to her. They were oddly quiet ... then ... yes ... a stirring ....  But of what?

Desire.

She took a step back.

His gaze lowered for a moment, looking abashed, and she pushed her hands into her pockets, suddenly at a loss.

"Well, perhaps you need to rest," he said. A tinge of regret colored his voice. "I will leave you now and we can speak tomorrow."

She nodded. Wide-eyed, she watched his back depart through the lobby before she got on the elevator. As the doors slid shut, she closed her eyes and held onto the cold brass railing, her mind a whirl of confusion. After a second, she realized she wasn't moving. Her lids flew open and she looked around.

Oh. She'd forgotten to press the button. She scoffed at herself and poked the number for her floor.

Still nothing happened. She pressed more buttons and got nowhere.

Shit. Just what she needed. She really didn't feel like climbing twelve flights of piss-stained stairs after the night she'd had. She slammed her hand against the button to open the doors.

They remained closed.

Goddamn it.

She yelled, hoping the guy at the front desk would hear her, but didn't have a lot of confidence he'd even look up from his magazine. Whether he'd been spelled earlier by the Daywalker to ignore what happened in the lobby or had just been his usual, useless self, she wasn't sure. If he was still under compulsion, he might not notice her shouting and pounding at the door.

She hit the red emergency button and a piercing alarm went off. With luck, that noise would break through any spell he might be under, and preferably before she went deaf.

But whether the sound finally broke through his spell, she didn't know. She was suddenly too distracted by the swirling of her tattoos and the sound of metal being ripped away from the elevator ceiling.

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# 6

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She freed her blades and easily took out the first two vamps that dropped through the ceiling. Six more came through and surrounded her. A grim sense of pride that so many came for her sent a smile across her face.

She kicked the bodies of the dispatched out of the way as the others moved in. She might be weakened, but she was still fast, and her silver blades, deadly. She managed to send two more to hell and do serious damage to a couple others before her arms were captured and the blades taken.

Her cancer-slim build was the only advantage she had in the small space. The hissing, snarling vamps surrounding her were taller, broader, although some were thin as well. The slender ones had a starved look about them that made her nervous. She flicked a glance up at the hole in the elevator, then crouched slightly, looking for an opening between their legs that she could dive through. If she were fast enough, she would come out on the other side and swing up through the ceiling before they caught her.

They mimicked her crouch, and one of the gave her an extra malevolent glare. "You killed my cousin, bitch. I look forward to making you pay."

The others stiffened.

She suddenly realized that although she was outnumbered and surrounded, none of them had made a move to harm her since the first two had dropped down and crouched before her.

Crouched before her .... Like the rest did, except for the ones who held her in place.

She tested a theory. "So, what are you waiting for? Kill me and be done with it."

Several bared their fangs but none of them moved.

All right, then. Capture and torture must be their game.

Things were looking up. She might just have a chance.

As she assessed her odds of breaking free, the screeching sound of metal elevator doors being torn open snagged everyone's attention. A dark shape streaked in, taking out two of the vamps in quick succession.

Michael had arrived. He immediately took on two of the vampires, giving her the chance to dispatch one of her distracted captors to his eternal rest before the other moved her out of the elevator with lightning speed. As she struggled against him, another dark shadow moved in and quickly destroyed his head with a popping of gunfire.

Vladimir had joined the fray. Within seconds, another vamp was summarily dispatched.

Yelena surveyed the damage. The last of the attackers' heart dripped between partially shifted werewolf's claws.

"Damn it, Michael. You should've kept at least one alive," Yelena complained. "We could've discovered if Rasputin sent them."

"You're welcome," he said dryly, tossing the heart at her feet.

Vladimir shook his head.

Sighing, she glanced down at the vamp who had promised retribution for his cousin. She had been looking forward to kicking his ass.

Turning again to her rescuers, she asked, "How did you get here so fast?"

The two males looked at each other, with twin expressions of distrust and speculation.

"I had not gone far before I heard the noise," Vladimir said. He turned to Michael. "Where were you?"

The werewolf's eyes narrowed. "I was coming to check on Yelena when I saw you running into the building like a bat out of hell."

Yelena's lips twitched.

Vladimir's eyes flashed red in a face hard as marble. He blinked and turned toward her; his eyes gone black once more. His gaze roamed over her quickly as if checking for injuries. He drew in a sudden breath and moved next to her in a flash. "I'm sorry I wasn't here faster. You are hurt." He stroked her cheek gently before moving his hand away to stare of the streak of blood on his fingers.

Her heartbeat kicked up a notch at the odd sheen in his midnight eyes as he turned his gaze from the blood to her face.

Michael jerked him out of the way.

"Where are you hurt?" he demanded, taking her arm.

Vlad hissed and the two of them faced off: Daywalker vamp and soon-to-be-wolf. From where she stood, Yelena could see Michael's skin bristling. Red eyes met gold and glared; challenges issued.

"Stop it, both of you. I'm fine." She swept her arm out over the fallen vampires. "If you'll notice, we have a mess to clean up here and a mystery yet to solve. You can compare who has the bigger fangs later."

When her words had no effect, she moved between them, placing a hand on each hard chest. "I said, stop."

Her touch did the trick. Both males turned their attention to her.

She pointed again at the carnage. "Do either of you have a mop?"

"No need." Vladimir stationed himself at the door to compel any guests who attempted to arrive or leave. His own cleanup crew came and took care of the mess. He went with them when they left, but not before promising to see her again soon. He looked at Michael as he said it.

As for the shifter who'd stayed behind, he had his own friends in special places who came to repair the damaged elevator.

"I still think it's suspicious that Vlad has a special cadre of vampires whose job it is to clean up bloody messes," he said.

Yelena shrugged. "And you just happen to have carpenters and electricians at your disposal?"

"That's different and you know it. It's honest work. What he has...." He shook his head, not completing the thought.

"Whatever. It's over. I'm still angry that you two killed all of them."

"You took out a few of your own."

"Yes, but I would have kept one alive until I found out what I needed to know."

"So would I. But, whatever. It's over." He repeated her words using a bad Russian accent and she glared at him.

He scrubbed a hand over his face in a weary gesture. He looked as tired as she felt.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go check your room and get you to bed."

"Excuse me?"

"I want to make sure there are no more surprises."

She started to argue then thought better of it. If there were any more unwanted guests about, she might need the backup.

"Fine. But we're taking the stairs."

He chuckled as followed behind her.

They tread lightly as they reached her floor. He held up his hand to stop her from approaching the door to her room. He pressed an ear to the wall and after a moment, nodded. She unlocked the door and kicked it open quickly, the gun Vladimir had given her held forward. Michael rushed in and she kicked the door shut behind him.

He whirled around as she locked the door. "There's no one here," he said.

She tucked the gun into the back of her jeans. "I know. Still, you can never be too careful."

"Wait. What about that ink on your arms?"

She frowned, remembering how late the warning had come in the elevator. It should have happened sooner, but she didn't want to tell him that. He seemed to have appointed himself her personal guard dog.

"It was silent," she said. "But still, better safe than sorry."

He grunted. "What about tonight?"

Her face tightened. "The warning was there. I was just outnumbered."

"You don't get a warning of the severity?"

"Not always. It was general ...." She paused, thinking. She'd had buzzing when Vlad was there--always did--but more of a 'vampire in the neighborhood but not critical' type of thing. It was one of the reasons she'd started to trust him. In the elevator, it was similar but more urgent ... yet, still ... not as much she would have expected given all that happened.

"You know," she said slowly, "I don't think they were there to kill me. They seemed to have another agenda."

"Torture you slowly?"

Her smile held no humor. "I considered it."

She remembered the pissed-off cousin. He clearly wanted to harm her. The others were holding back. "I think they were sent to either give me a message or take me somewhere." She shuddered and Michael pulled her to his chest before she could think of moving away. As the heat of him seeped into her, she leaned in closer, her head dropping against him of its own accord. Just a few moments, that's all, she told herself. Just a second to calm down, then she'd be fine.

Those few seconds inched toward minutes that felt like they could last for hours. She had to pull away. Soon.

But....

She put her nose against his firm, warm chest and breathed in the heat and maleness of him. It had been so long since she'd been in any man's arms--even if the man in question was part wolf. It was easy to drown in his spicy scent.

His hands began a gentle kneading of her back and shoulders, moving toward her neck, working out the kinks and tightness so deftly, she moaned.

He dropped his cheek against the top of her head. "Am I hurting you?" he whispered.

"Don't stop," she mumbled against his chest.

His fingers stroked up the back of her neck and made soft circles along her scalp, sifting gently through her short hair.

God, it felt so good.

Sliding her hands from his waist to his shoulders, she reveled in the feel of his muscle under her palms and caressed upward until she pushed her fingers into the thick caramel waves of hair at his nape.

His deep moan vibrated against her chest, but it wasn't the only thing she felt against her. The insistent pressure of his erection, nudging her through his jeans, sent a warm flood of desire through her core. Moved by instinct, she pulled him closer and ran her tongue over his neck. The salty, warm taste coupled with his masculine scent caused shockwaves of desire racing from the tips of her breasts to that most sensitive place between her thighs.

In a flash, he pulled her up by her hips and she wrapped her legs around his waist as his mouth moved down to capture hers.

He kissed her with the hunger and ferocity of his wolf. It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was the clashing of two beings fighting for life, clinging to life--celebrating life--after narrowly escaping death. Teeth clashed, tongues tangled in a desperate bid for dominance, his strength weakening her will into a sweet surrender that left them both panting, clinging to one another for support.

So, so long. Too long since she'd felt the pleasure of flesh against flesh. Her body was a tightened coil set loose. Passion, long denied and repressed, found a wellspring of response as he kissed her.

He carried her toward the bed, pulling the gun from the waistband of her jeans and tossing it out of the way as he laid her back on the mattress, her legs still wrapped around his waist, his mouth still plundering hers.

She frantically tore at his shirt and he pulled it off in a swift motion. She had only a moment to admire the firm, thick muscles and light dusting of hair that adorned his impressive chest before he leaned down to recapture her lips. She moved her hands between their bodies, her fingers skimming over the soft hair between his well-defined pecs, before trailing down his six-pack abdomen to the top button of his jeans. As she fumbled to release the button keeping her from her prize, one of his hands caught hers.

"Not yet," he said. "I want to see you."

He slid his hands gently behind her, pulling them both up to a sitting position.

The passion that glazed his eyes encouraged her, helping calm the sudden anxiety that rose when he asked to see her.

She was thin. Too thin. Her body suffered the wreckage of disease. And tonight, it would be bruised and mottled from fighting vampires. Her fingers trembled so much as she tried to unbutton her shirt, Michael took over the job and made short work of it.

He laid her back gently on the bed, his large form covering hers as he slowly divested her of her jeans and the scrap of silk underpants that were her last bastion in a war to still feel feminine. He gazed down, his eyes hot topaz as he took her in. A faint tremor rippled in the muscled arms holding his weight off her.

She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head toward her. "Don't be afraid," she murmured against his lips. "I'm really not as fragile as I look."

He took that encouragement and ran with it. Kisses deepened, caresses hardened, until the moment he poised above her once more, hesitant until she nodded her acceptance and he plunged.

Pain, sharp and deep made her cry out and reflexively push him away. Tears stung her eyes and she squeezed her eyes shut against them and the crushing disappointment of her body's betrayal.

Michael sat back on his heels, his eyes filled with confusion and concern. "Are you all right?"

Yelena moaned, the unwanted tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely. "It was unexpected."

"I thought you were ready." His hand trembled as he gently touched her face, chagrin etched in every move.

She sat up and stroked his arm. "I was ready. I just ... I didn't expect it to hurt," she whispered. Hating the sad look on his face, she hurried to explain. "It wasn't your fault. I guess it's been a while."

He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched. "I don't want to hurt you."

She tried to rub his back but pulled her hand away when he flinched.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

A tortured gaze met hers. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"I didn't expect it to hurt," she repeated in a small voice.

Gentle hands cupped her face, followed by an even gentler kiss. "I'm so sorry," he whispered against her mouth. His lips moved to the side of her face to capture another tear that escaped, and she nearly broke apart from the contact. She would be a sniveling, sobbing mess soon if she didn't put some distance between them.

"No. I'm sorry." She pulled away and searched for something to cover herself. "This was a mistake," she said as she snatched at the edge of the bedspread in an awkward move and used it hide her body as she grabbed for the shirt that had fallen to the floor.

"Yelena--"

"Please don't." She recoiled from the hand he'd reached out and pulled on her shirt. "You should just go."

He crawled over the bed in a swift movement, halting her attempt to get dressed. "Is that what you want?"

No. "Yes."

"We don't have to do anything tonight. Just let me stay with you. Keep you safe."

"There's no need," she said sharply as she scooped up her jeans and thrust her legs into them.

"There is for me."

His soft declaration was an arrow to her heart. She nearly doubled over from the pain of it. She had to get him out of there.

"You're not my guard dog."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" His voice deepened to a growl.

It was too much. "I'm dying, that's what's wrong," she yelled.

"Then don't!" he shouted back. "Just don't. You have an out here if you would take it."

In that moment, she almost hated him. "I'm not doing that. I would rather die."

"Clearly." He snapped up his jeans from the floor and jerked them on. "You'd rather feel sorry for yourself, throw away any chance at life, and not even get your precious revenge because you're too weak and stubborn to save yourself."

"What the fuck do you care?" Anger and frustration fueled her voice.

He threw down the shirt he'd started to put on, knelt before her, and gripped her arms. "I care, Yelena. I care, damn it. I don't want to watch you die when I know you could be saved."

She turned her face away from the anger and honesty in his eyes, away from the desperation in his voice.

"You know how I feel about vampires," she whispered. "He took everything from me."

"And now you're just going to give up and let him take your life, too?"

"My life is already gone."

He let go of her arms so quickly she stumbled back a step.

"You are so fucking selfish. What about all the people in the world who might just care about you? Do you ever think about anyone or anything other than getting revenge?"

"Like what? Like who? All my family are dead. The other hunters don't give a damn--they'll be glad to be rid of the competition."

He pulled back as if she'd slapped him. "You really don't get it, do you?" He studied her face for a long moment, then shook his head, his expression sad and disbelieving. "You are not alone. People care. I care."

She blinked. First from surprise, then blinked again against the burning sensation growing behind her eyes. "Don't. Please. Just don't," she said, her voice breaking at the end. She pushed past him and went towards the door.

He grabbed her arm and spun her around. "It's too late. I already do."

Wild hope warred with despair and she chose anger as a weapon for protection. "What kind of loser hooks up with a dying person, anyway? Are you commitment-phobic, is that it? Do you have a string of broken loved-them-and-left-them hearts a mile long?"

"You've got it backwards, don't you? You're leaving me. What kind of selfish bitch starts something when she knows she's dying and then refuses to try to find a cure? Is this just another hit and run for you?"

Her hand flew out toward his face, but he caught it and leaned in. "Some of us are willing to spend any time we can get with our loved ones, no matter how short."

She jerked back, blinking furiously as she turned her face away. The burning pain that seared a path through her chest had nothing to do with the cancer in her system. "We've only known each other a few weeks," she said weakly.

He released her hand. "It's long enough," he whispered.

In the ensuing silence, it was difficult to pull air into her lungs. Her entire body trembled, and she hated that he had to see it. How could she tell him it would never be long enough? And how could she leave him behind to suffer and grieve as she had for her mother?

"I have to go." She broke free of his grip and ran into the night once more.

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# 7

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Yelena's breath hitched as she ran down the back stairwell. The throbbing pain in her bones weakened her knees and she stumbled twice, barely managing to catch herself before she could tumble down the concrete steps.

The pain. God, the pain.

It was impossible by then to tell whether it was emotional or physical. All she knew was she had to get away from it.

The sounds of cursing and large bare feet slapping on concrete echoed behind her, evidence that Michael had run out as barefooted as she was.

She tried to move faster, away from his attempts to comfort her. It seemed the wolf was always trying to protect her, but he couldn't protect her from the cancer eating away at her a piece at a time, as if she were a rusting automobile.

And Vladimir's way to "fix" it was not going to happen. It couldn't.

"Yelena, wait," Michael shouted.

She shook her head as if he could see it and continued into the stairwell. In her condition, going down the stairs was just as hard as going up, and she clung to the railing as she made her escape. She didn't dare glance back. She could hear him still coming behind her and wanted nothing more than to turn around and run right back into his arms. If she saw his face again, she might give in.

It wasn't Michael she was trying to outrun. It was the pain of leaving him after they'd been together. As she burst out the exit into the alley, she hesitated briefly to choose a direction. The clash of the metal door being pushed open from the inside set her tearing off toward the first street, causing her to miss seeing the empty whisky bottle in her path that knocked her off balance. A strong arm went around her waist and pulled her back before she nose-dived into the rubble-strewn alleyway.

The warmth of Michael's large body enveloped her as he brought her to her feet. She closed her eyes and fought against sinking into the comfort of his strength.

He leaned her against the wall and pressed against her to check for her safety. A brisk wind scattered through the alley, causing the stench of garbage to stick in her throat, and she briefly pressed her face into Michael's chest to breathe in the scent of him instead. There was less than the sound of his heartbeat and one ragged breath before a voice came out of the darkness.

"Well, I thought this would be harder."

Michael whipped around as every sensor within Yelena began firing, fear and anger, as well as devastation. She reached to grab her blade and came up empty as Michael pushed her behind him. Reaching around to the other side of her pants, she grasped for a blade again.

Fuck.

Amid all the grief and dying and breaking hearts, she'd run out of the room without a weapon.

"Why don't you come with me, dear? You can even bring your ... pet, if you wish." Rasputin made the offer as if he were inviting them to tea.

Her tats went wild as Michael's chest expanded. His deep growl echoed through the alley. Horrible popping noises accompanied that bass crescendo as he started to shift. A lightning quick glance at his shirtless back, hastily pulled on jeans, and bare feet told her he was getting ready to fight with the only weapon he had: His wolf.

She pushed around him to face her enemy.

"I'm the one you want," she spat. "Leave him out of--"

Aaand then ... she was practically airborne as Michael pulled her out of the way again, dropping her behind him.

She hissed as fiery pain shot through her arm where his claws accidentally raked through her tattoos. The sound drew his attention and a moment of panic flared through his golden gaze as he saw what he'd done. He moved toward her and she stepped back, holding her arm.

A deep whine rose in his throat and she put out a hand to comfort him. His face trembled at the edges as he began losing control of his shift.

"It's okay. I'm okay," she whispered.

"As sweet as this is, we need to talk," Rasputin interrupted.

Her head whipped around as did Michael's. He tried to jump toward the vampire, and she grabbed his arm. He bared his teeth at her, but she stood her ground. "Michael, no. He's mine. We agreed."

Rasputin laughed and threw out his arms as he walked toward her. "I am yours!"

Michael broke free of her restraint, turning wolf halfway through the jump as he went for the vampire's throat.

In a move so swift she couldn't track it, two vampires plunged from the roof and dropped Mike before he reached his target. Two more joined them from the shadows and plunged a needle in his back and she screamed.

"Down, boy!" Rasputin's laughter bounced off the brick walls surrounding them as Michael's form twitched and went prone.

With fingers clenched in empty fists, Yelena glared at her enemy.

Dim alley lights glided across wild black hair whisking in the wind, and glinted in his crazed, mercury-like eyes.

Futile rage and frustration unlike she'd ever known rampaged within. With Michael down and her without even a blade, there wasn't much she could do except watch and wait for an opening--any slight advantage--as Rasputin came closer.

"Come, my dear. We have much to talk about." He nodded toward Michael who was slumped between the grasp of two vampires. "Your friend isn't hurt. Just napping."

He extended a long-fingered hand toward the hotel exit. "We can go back in there. I have a room."

She tightened her mouth and narrowed her gaze in order to hide a flare of panic. How could he have had a room without her knowing? She kept her hands at her sides, not giving in to the urge to rub her tattoos. They tingled with awareness and warning but were not the same in his presence as with other vamps.

She tried to calculate whether her odds were better in the hotel or the alley. Either way, she was in deep shit. She nodded and turned back toward the hotel, back bristling as they followed behind, dragging Michael with them. She stopped in front of the exit-only door and raised her brows at her captors. Were they planning on breaking the door down? They could hardly go traipsing through the front doors as they were.

Rasputin stepped forward. "Allow me."

He mumbled a few words she didn't catch, then pushed the door open. He stood aside to motion her in.

She considered how quickly she might make it back up the stairs to grab her weapons. The weakness in her legs and a gathering pressure in her chest said she wouldn't get far.

The elder vampire stepped beside her and laid a hand on her back. "This way," he said, ignoring her flinch.

She followed him, glancing every few seconds at Michael's limp body. "Be careful with him." She snarled at the vamps dragging him between them.

They snarled back.

Rasputin chuckled. "You heard the lady. Please escort our guest with care. We will require his services shortly."

Yelena stumbled. "What do you need from him?"

"Easy, my dear." Rasputin held her elbow. "No harm has to come to him if you are cooperative."

She stopped, using the moment to catch her breath, cursing the weakness that grew with each passing second. "Just leave him alone and kill me already. He can't harm you now. You'll be long gone before he wakes up."

Rasputin cocked his head, his mercury gaze intense on her face. A slight frown marred his brow. "I have no plans to kill either of you."

She scoffed. It was a lie. A trick. "And I'm the Queen of Sheba."

His serious expression didn't change. "Not Sheba, no. But you will be a queen in your own right."

She scoffed again and it turned into a coughing fit. He tried to help her, but she weakly fought off his aid. When she finally caught her breath, she had to blink several times against the increasing darkness.

Were the lights in the hallway fading?

It was her last thought before the darkness overtook her.

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# 8

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"Yelena."

Musty scents of old paper and dust teased her senses as did the voices at the outer edge of consciousness. Yelena tried to make out what it meant, but the fatigue was too great. She floated at the brink of oblivion, drifting gently downward. Something far away tried to call for her, a momentary tug on a remaining tether, but she was too tired to care. Any moment now she'd drift over into the abyss, and it felt like the place to be.

"Yelena!"

Another yank on her fragile tether. She moaned, trying to open her eyes.

Her cheek twitched as someone gave it a light pat.

"I think you might want to wake up for this, dear," said a voice nearby, probably from the person touching her face. Something about that voice made her skin want to shrink down into her bones.

Another voice, also familiar, drifted toward her. "Well, this is awkward. Are they both dead?"

Both dead? She struggled to understand what they meant. Were they talking about her? Who else ....?

Michael.

She found the strength to force her eyes open. Hazy forms were around her and she blinked several times to clear her vision.

She was in a bed. Hovering over her were Grigori Rasputin and Vladimir Romanov, twin furrows marring their brows. As she blinked up at them, Rasputin's expression turned radiant.

He laughed and clapped. "She lives!"

Vlad frowned at him. "You'd better hope so. I didn't come this far for nothing."

"Michael." Yelena's voice came out as a croaking whisper rather the distress call she attempted. "Where is he?"

"Don't worry. Your wolf is fine," Rasputin assured her. "As will you be."

Her little scoff of disbelief gave way to another coughing fit. He was clearly lying. She was anything but fine. Panic that she hadn't much time left added a boost of energy to her muscles. She started to sit up.

Four strong vampire hands pushed her back down, setting off a wave of vertigo that made the room spin.

"Don't get up yet. You'll waste your strength and you'll need it for what's coming." Vladimir sounded genuinely concerned.

But his eyes.... She tried to focus. Something about his eyes....

"What are you doing with him?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't he be with me?" Rasputin asked. The incredulity in his voice twisted her gut.

She cut her eyes toward Vladimir whose face had tightened, a glint of anger darkening his eyes.

"There will be time for explanations later," the younger vamp said. He placed a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Right now, I need to you to trust me."

Despite her weakness, she laughed. "My mother taught me to never trust a vampire."

Vlad leaned down and whispered next to her ear, "Aren't you where you wanted to be?"

Her weakened heart sped. Was she? She was near the end, so very close she could feel herself slipping away more each moment. And yet, her enemy was within her reach. Vlad was here to help, and Michael ... "Where's Michael?" she whispered.

"He'll be in shortly," Vlad murmured. "You'll see. We're all going to get what we want very soon." He moved back and gave her a small smile.

She risked a glance toward Rasputin who was humming happily to himself. With his unkempt hair, wild eyes, and oddly joyful demeanor, he gave new meaning to the term 'batshit crazy.' She would have laughed if she'd had the energy.

He turned toward her so suddenly she flinched. "I must grab your friend! He's probably coming to by now, and I'm sure he's going to want to be here for you."

He clapped Vlad on the shoulder as if they were old friends then scurried toward a door on the other side of the room.

She tried to sit again.

Vlad lightly pushed her shoulders down. "Shh. Don't move."

"What's going on?" she demanded, struggling against the hands holding her back. "Tell me now."

"I can't tell you right now. Just wait until he comes back with the wolf." His tone was conciliatory, but there was a strange glint in his eyes and a hint of derision in the way he said wolf.

Yelena narrowed her eyes. Sure, there was no love lost between the two males, but something wasn't right. She needed to think and didn't want Vlad watching her expressions too closely. She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes, no need to fake weakness.

She tried to focus on the facts. Vlad had helped them before. He saved her from the vampire attack. He hated Rasputin as much as she did; at least, that's what he said. Other than being a vampire himself, he hadn't given her any reason to not trust him.

But how did he get there? Why did he and Rasputin seem so chummy? And where was Michael?

A scuffling noise outside the room grabbed her attention. She opened her eyes and looked toward the door. Rasputin entered, followed by a stumbling, semi-conscious Michael who was held between two other vampires. They dropped him into a nearby chair.

Rasputin flung out his arms. "Here we are!"

She struggled to sit up again, and this time, Vlad let her. But when she tried to get out bed, he stopped her. "Just wait," he whispered.

"Michael!" she called out. Her voice was weak, but he must have heard it. His head turned toward the sound.

"I'm over here," she said.

He blinked in her direction. A low growl rumbled as he tried to stand but was held back by Rasputin's goons.

"Let him go," she demanded, trying to rise again.

Rasputin smiled at her. "He's free to go any time," Rasputin said. "My friends are just keeping him from falling on his face. The wolfsbane should wear off soon, so don't worry. We only gave him enough to keep him calm through the ceremony."

"What ceremony?" She looked first at Vlad whose expression was blank. She turned to Rasputin whose eyebrows rose.

"What, my son didn't tell you?"

Son?

The only son of Rasputin that she knew of had died in a concentration camp. Her gaze darted back and forth between the two vampires. Icy dread sank into her bones as Rasputin beamed at Vladimir.

No. No, no, no. It couldn't be.

Vlad smirked and Yelena gasped.

"A little slow on the uptake there, weren't you?" he said, tapping her nose.

She recoiled, shaking her head in denial. "How can this be?"

He didn't answer because Michael diverted their attention. In an instant, he'd lurched up from the chair, breaking free of his captors. His skin rippled as he unsteadily wove toward them, his lips pulled back from the fangs that were breaking free.

His every movement transmitted pain and Yelena's skin tightened in sympathy. She knew the wolfsbane must be working through his system, poisoning his blood and diluting the transformation attempting to take place.

Her heart broke when he tried to speak. "Gedawaymer," he snarled, shaking his head and growling as the correct words refused to make their way past his throat.

Vladimir laughed, a cruel, maniacal sound that hit her with a jolt of recognition. He sounded just like ... Rasputin.

His father. But how?

Michael's roar cut her thought short.

"Would somebody please chain this mutt?" Vlad said, stepping aside as Michael staggered toward him.

The two other vamps, who had seemed to be a state of shock, finally moved into action.

"Don't hurt him," Yelena yelled. She took advantage of Vlad's small distance to get out of bed and took a few stumbling steps toward Michael.

Vladimir was at her side in an instant, pushing her back onto the bed.

"Stop it," he hissed. "This is for the best."

She struck out at him, her blows as effective as a kitten batting a tiger. But like a kitten, she still had claws, which she used to scratch his eyes. Unfortunately, he turned in time, so she only got his cheek. The blood she drew at least gave her some satisfaction.

He pinned her hands beneath his and used his hard body to hold her against the bed. "Stop fighting," he hissed against her ear. "I'm trying to get you out of this alive."

Alive? She was already dying. "Just get Michael out of here alive."

"I promise to do my best to see him walk out of here alive. But you need to be still and go along with me."

She sank back in defeat. Only a prayer and the desperate hope that Vlad would keep his word could get Michael safely out of the room. The last of her strength was nearly depleted. She turned her head toward one of her arms that Vlad still held pinned to the bed. The ink was fading. Soon, it would be gone, as would she.

Vladimir lifted his weight off her and transferred her wrists into one hand. "Remember. Just trust me," he murmured, as he pulled out a piece of rope from the bedside cabinet.

She could hear Michael still fighting against the two vampires attempting to hold him back as Vlad quickly tied her wrists to the bed. She hoped and prayed Vlad hated Rasputin as much as he'd claimed, and that blood wouldn't prove to be thicker than water.

But why had he kept that secret?

She pulled against the rope. It chafed against her sensitive skin as well as set her instinct and remaining tattoos ablaze. She bucked against the vampire while he continued to urge her to trust him.

Trust was nearly impossible now that she could hear Rasputin joining the fight on the other side of the room.

"There, there, down boy. Good dog." The elder vampire chuckled. "I promise we're not going to hurt her. We're going to save her. Isn't that what you wanted?"

The room went silent for a heartbeat before she and Michael spoke simultaneously.

"What?"

"Yes, yes. That's right. Now if you will just submit to being tied up while it happens--"

"No!" Yelena screamed.

Michael tried to speak. "Wadmean?"

"Save her life. My son here has developed a bit of a tendresse for your lady, so we're going to fix her. You and Dmitri can figure it out after that." Rasputin waved his hand as if it were a small matter.

"Dmitri?" Once more she and Michael spoke in unison.

But...but Dmitri was dead. Died in a prison camp with his wife. Yelena looked at the vampire she knew as Vladimir, her stomach sinking. "How?"

He merely smiled, put a finger over his lips, and then turned to watch the spectacle on the other side of the room.

Yelena tried to raise her head enough to see what was happening.

Rasputin nodded to his goons who brought out a rope, and even from where she lay, she could tell was laced with wolfsbane.

Michael moved to avoid them, and Rasputin cut the movement short with one question.

"Don't you want her to live?"

It was enough. Michael submitted.

"No," Yelena yelled, her voice gaining strength from desperation. "Michael, don't let them do this!"

He hung his head as the ropes went around his body.

She thrashed against the rope binding her hands, tried to break Vlad's--no, Dmitri's--iron grip on her legs.

"Stop this right now," he said, easily thwarting her attempts at kicking him. "This will all turn out well, you'll see."

"Swear it." Michael's voice slurred a little as they tightened the wolfsbane-laden ropes around him. "Swear she'll be fine."

Rasputin laid a hand over his heart. "I swear it."

Michael nodded before his head slumped against his chest as the effects of the wolfsbane took over, rendering him helpless.

Rasputin returned to Dmitri's side, a radiant smile lighting his face and mercury eyes. "Then let us begin."

Yelena screamed as Dmitri's fingers became claws and shredded the shirt from her body.

"Michael!" she cried out, even though she knew he wouldn't have enough strength left to help. He'd already had wolfsbane in his blood before he'd been tied down with it and passed out. Her own strength was so badly depleted she could only hope to defeat the Rasputins by dying before they got the chance to turn her.

She held her breath, rather than waste it by screaming for help, and tried to stop her heart by sheer will.

Then Dmitri's claws shifted to her pants, ripping them down the front, and she gasped in outrage, using what little strength she had left to kick against him.

He merely laughed as Rasputin--his father--began chanting.

Her remaining tattoos crawled weakly against her skin as a strange lethargy seeped into her bones. She could feel the ink fighting against the magic, but it was losing the battle.

No, no, no. She shook her head, frantically trying to somehow will herself from falling into their magic. Please, she silently begged, praying to whoever might be listening. Please don't let them do this.

As Rasputin's chants grew urgent, she became aware of two things: She was losing the fight, and Dmitri was naked and crawling on top of her.

No, no, no.

The chanting grew in strength, loudly pounding against all her defenses.

No, no, no...

Wild magic filled the room, breaking the last of her strength, and she was lost.

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# 9

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Michael struggled to make sense of his whereabouts. A fog clouded his thoughts and vision while an inner heaviness weighted his limbs to the chair in which he slumped. He blinked several times and took a deep breath. The bleach-like smell of sex and musty scent of sated vampire hit him like a punch to the gut. As his vision cleared, dread and nausea caused his limbs to tremble. He was alone in the motel room and the bed Yelena had been in was empty. From where he sat, he could see the sheets were covered in blood and the unmistakable smell of semen filled the air. His stomach lurched as he staggered from the chair.

Wolfsbane-laced ropes tangled at his feet and he kicked them away. The ropes had been cut, and he could only guess by the throb in his head that he'd been given another injection before the ropes had been released.

Then memory cut through his head like a guillotine.

"Yelena!" His howl echoed through the night.

Yelena gripped the edges of the silk-covered armchair, her nails tearing the soft fabric. She could do nothing more than glare at the two vampires before her; her conversion was complete, and their sire bond, strong. She couldn't kill either of them even if she wanted to. And oh, how she wanted to. Yet underlying the rage was an abominable attraction, a compulsion she couldn't ignore. They were family now, united by blood, magic, and other things her mind shut down before she could go insane.

"I must admit, I was surprised to see you teaming up with your mother's killer," Rasputin said. "You really didn't know it was him?" he asked for what must have been the tenth time since she'd awakened in an unknown, but sumptuous, location.

Dmitri--the bastard she'd known as Vladimir--smirked. "Of course, she didn't. I was very careful to pin that blame on you, Papa."

Grigori Rasputin chuckled fondly as if the little rascal had just swiped berries from the neighbor's garden, not tried to frame him for murder. "Well, here we all are at last. One happy family. Truly, all's well that ends well!"

"Dah. It truly is." Dmitri smiled and his eyes locked on Yelena.

A sensation of frost slid over her skin when he walked behind her. She rubbed her forearms from habit more than real need. Any movement on her skin now was nothing more than the raising of hair; her tattoos silent, fading ink.

Dmitri placed a hand on her shoulder and, no matter how much a part of her wanted to flinch away, another part still leaned into the caress.

Tears burned the back of her eyes. Trapped. She was well, and truly, trapped. Any attraction she'd foolishly felt for him before was now magnified a hundred-fold through both the sire connection and the Radenyi his father had used to bind them.

"What have you done with Michael?" she asked to distract herself from his touch.

Dmitri stiffened, and the fingers that had lightly caressed her dug into her shoulders. "The wolf? You still inquire after the werewolf?"

"Don't worry about your furry friend, my dear. We left him unharmed," Grigori said then laughed. "Though I imagine he might have a headache from all the wolfsbane."

Yelena slumped into the chair. After staring into those wild, quicksilver eyes, she had to admit she believed him. Through the blood tie they now shared, she could pick up on two things: one, Rasputin told the truth that Michael was unharmed, and two, Dmitri didn't like it. She turned and narrowed her eyes at him. "You promised."

He shrugged and smiled. A thin, snake-cold smile. "Yes, yes. We promised you no permanent harm would befall your friend. He is likely with his pack now and you have nothing to worry about." He resumed rubbing her shoulders and once more her stomach tightened as she unconsciously leaned into his caress, his father fondly looking on.

Yes, just one happy little family. She blinked hard, refusing to let them see the tears of frustration, anger, and sorrow gathered under her lashes. Pain lanced through her chest as she thought of Michael. His betrayal. Because whatever his reasons for trying to save her, it should have been her choice, damn it.

And she'd said no.

She jerked her shoulder away from Dmitri's attentions and rubbed at her left arm. There was irritation under the skin even though she could see nothing. The skin was as bereft as her heart. The familiar blue swirls that had warned of danger were nearly gone. What remained were only phantom ripples.

Her lips tightened as her she hardened her heart. All three of those bastards had taken everything from her: Dmitri, his father, and even Michael. And they would pay. Somehow, some way, she would make them pay.

Then she'd take back the choice they'd stolen from her.

Dmitri's hands gripped her shoulders again, pushing her hard on the chair as Rasputin's gaze pinned her.

"What are you thinking, my dear?" Grigori asked, his voice soft and hypnotic.

She tried to stand but Dmitri held her in place. A sweat broke out on her brow as she tried to keep from answering.

Rasputin laughed and clapped loudly.

She flinched at the noise even as she bit her lips to keep from speaking. A trickle of blood flowed into her mouth.

"Bravo!" he said. "You are strong, my daughter." He moved closer, smiling, while Dmitri held her to the chair. "Now, tell me, dear one, what were you thinking a moment ago?"

Consequences be damned. She snarled into his face. "I want to kill you all!"

He tipped a finger under her chin, still grinning. "Of course, you do. I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Dmitri's chuckle rumbled against the chair back. His breath raised the hairs on her neck as he leaned in close. "You are going to be so much fun," he promised.

She closed her eyes against the warring sensations of dismay and arousal. Even as she leaned into his caress, her mind searched for ways of breaking the spell they used on her.

Her jaw clenched. She couldn't recall reading anything about what happened to hunters once they were turned. It was verboten to even mention it among her kind. What had been her kind, she reminded herself.

But why? Why was it so secret?

Dmitri placed a kiss on her neck, and she moaned.

Desire and disgust.

Perhaps that was why no one would speak of it: it was unspeakable. As unspeakable as the things they had done to her. As unspeakable as the part of her that craved him, despite everything.

Head tipped back, she shivered as his tongue lightly stroked the sensitive skin of her throat even while her mind screamed, she had to get out of there. Far away where the sire bond would not be so strong.

But how to plan if they felt everything she did?

It hadn't been just Grigori's questioning of her that told her they felt what she felt.

She could also feel them.

Right then, she felt the elder Rasputin's wild affection for his "children"--his son and the new daughter he considered her to be.

As for Dmitri....

She leaned back against him, his desire appealing to her even as it sickened her. The moisture pooled between her legs was a mix of old and new.

It was what the old moisture represented that brought her to her senses.

She jerked away from him and felt his surprise.

That element of surprise allowed her to reach the door but not cross through it. She was fast, but he was faster, as was his father.

"Going somewhere?" Dmitri asked.

"I have to get fresh air." They must have heard and felt the truth in her words.

Her elder sire looked distressed. "You will feel better soon, I promise. In fact, it is better for you to stay here with us. It will speed your healing."

"My healing?"

Wasn't she already healed?

"Yes, yes, you are healed of the cancer," he answered her unspoken question. "It is your mental and emotional states that need help."

"There's nothing you can do for me there." She spat out the words, anger dropping her voice into a hiss.

He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder trapping her in place. "I'm sorry you are suffering, my child, but you will feel better the more you are around those who share the blood bond. It will always be that way, but especially in the beginning."

Her head shook. No, no, no.

They surrounded her, pulling her into a three-way embrace, and once more she was lost.

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# 10

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Yelena drifted through the library of Dmitri's mansion where the three of them made their home together. The magnificent home in Lake Forest had served him well during his cover as a wealthy businessman and philanthropist. It was isolated, gated, and contained several hidden passages connected to his dungeon. For the past month, she'd secluded herself within the home. After she'd discovered the library, and Dmitri's stash of magic books, she spent most of her days and nights poring through the old texts, trying to find a way out of her predicament.

The longer she stayed there, the harder it would be for her to break away from them. The sire bond was so much stronger than she could have ever imagined. It gave her a false sense of security in their presence, and a slight sense of anxiety when they were away. Worst of all, it made her crave Dmitri's touch whenever he was near.

She crossed the deep, soft carpet over to the twelve-pained windows and peered out at the lowering sun. She put a finger up to glass to find it chilled. Though the weather outside had warmed the past few weeks, the mansion was kept colder than most homes. It kept the human fodder in the basement nicely fresh and under control. Rather like a large wine cooler.

She shivered. Not from cold. From guilt. Guilt over the times she had given in to the ever-present hunger. Although some people there were there voluntarily--at least to their minds they were--she had to wonder just how voluntary they really were. How much influence did Dmitri's and Grigori's magic have over them? Were spelled into taking pleasure from being taken against the will, as she'd been?

She looked out at the grounds, wondering how far she could make it before being caught. The two Rasputins generally slept during the day, although they didn't need to, and neither did she. It was difficult since there were guards surrounding her every day. And if not guards, then Grigori followed her wherever she went. When he was around, there was no way she could escape. Even worse, the sire bond in his presence was so strong, she didn't want to leave his side. She loved him like a father whenever he was near.

At the moment, he was in the basement having his first evening meal, so she'd been using that time to search the library for anything that might help her. She moved back to the books and scanned the shelves she must have searched a hundred times.

She'd put a system in place of ever-so-slightly pulling books outward next to those that might be helpful. She didn't want to tip off either of her sires about what she was doing. Grabbing two books on magic she thought might be most useful, she exchanged them with similar looking books from shelves lower to the floor, hoping Dmitri and Rasputin wouldn't notice. Tucking her treasure into one arm she fled the library to her room.

She closed and locked the door behind her then hid the books in the closet. She put them with others, behind clothes she had doused with extra perfume to mask any scent the books might have. She had no idea if Dmitri or his father searched her room, but she wouldn't be surprised.

Better safe than sorry.

Her lips twisted. The thought was ridiculous in her current situation. She was so, so sorry she'd ever thought it would be safe to trust either Michael or Vladimir, a.k.a. Dmitri.

She shut the closet door then stiffened, alert.

You have got to be kidding me. Even before she heard the tap on the window, she knew who was there.

Was he suicidal? The mansion was crawling with vampires who had impeccable senses. Quickly, she extended a clawed fingertip and etched a rune on the window frame, hoping to mask his presence, even for a moment.

"Yelena, let me in," he whispered, knowing she could hear him.

She turned away.

"Come on, I'm freezing my tail off over here," he whined.

She whirled around and stared at Michael through the glass. "Really? Dog jokes?"

He shrugged. "Whatever gets you talking."

"Go away," she whispered, harsh and low.

"Not before you let me in to talk."

She considered opening the window to punch him in the face. Instead, she opened the sash and stepped aside.

It was his funeral.

The smell of him assaulted all her senses. It was so masculine and earthy she had an impulse to roll over in it.

Okay, that's new...

She wanted to fuck and kill him. In that order. She stepped back, trying to distance herself from the smell and the desperation wafting off him, and the urges threatening to drown her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

His large, hazel eyes were pleading. He spread out his hands and she glanced away from calloused palms that reminded her of his caress, and the vein throbbing in his wrist that made her throat hurt.

"I had to see you. To see how you were," he said.

She spun around and clenched her fists to keep from ripping his head off. "I'm undead thanks to you."

"You mean you are alive, thanks to me. You told me you wanted to live and I--"

She snarled. "I would rather be dead than tied to these psychopaths."

Claws and fangs sprang free. She felt the nearness of his shift, ready to break free from his skin, even as bloodlust rose in her throat.

He took a deep, ragged breath and she followed suit. If their impulses took over now, they'd bring down the house. But not before Dmitri and his father got involved.

She forced her fangs to retract, praying Rasputin was too enthralled with his breakfast and Dmitri still asleep enough to not notice her turmoil.

"You have to go. Now."

He didn't move. "I know an apology won't mean a thing at this point--"

She sneered, but he continued.

"Especially when I'm not sorry you're alive, even as a vampire, but there is a way to fix all of this."

Her head shook before she could think, before she could speak. Incredible. How could they possibly....

"There is no way to fix this." Her voice came out harsh and raspy, even as the tiniest flare of hope wormed its way into her heart.

"Please, Yelena, let me make it up to you."

"How?" she gasped. "Do you have a time machine where we go back, and you let me to die in peace?"

He moved forward and took her hands. She made a feeble attempt to shake him off, but he held fast. Deep inside, she knew she was strong enough to shake him off, but she refused to acknowledge that little tidbit.

"I'm going to kill Dmitri," he said.

At that, she broke free. "Don't be stupid. You made a vow."

"I don't care," he insisted. "I would do so much more for you if you'd only let me."

He reached out again and she stepped back.

"Trust me," he pleaded, his open hand still outstretched.

She moved forward then, shoving him hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps.

"Trust you? I'm here partly because of you."

He kept trying. "It doesn't have to be like this, Yelena. Come with me."

She hissed, her fangs tingling, and knew her eyes were vibrant red. "Leave now, or I'll make you."

He started toward her and she held out a trembling hand. It was a miracle she wasn't on his throat already. "Go. The others will be here any second."

With a last pleading look, he jumped through the opened window and disappeared.

Yelena slammed the window shut then paced furiously. Bloodlust roared in her heart, in her head. Worse, she could feel Grigori's curiosity through the bond, as well as Dmitri stirring awake.

If that idiot Michael got caught on the grounds.... She tried to tell herself that whatever happened would be no more than he deserved.

Taking a deep breath, she headed toward the basement to feed. Hunger, coupled with self-disgust and guilt over her soon-to-be meal, would be a handy disguise for her foul mood.

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# 11

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It had been so easy. Too easy?

Yelena shook her head. She wouldn't worry about what the Rasputins were up to now. She didn't feel them nearby and that was a good thing.

Her little meltdown in the basement larder had given her a good excuse to claim she needed to take a walk. Alone. Dmitri had protested, but his father had let her go. He'd felt it was part of her healing process.

She smiled grimly. The elder Rasputin believed wholeheartedly she would come around and the three of them would become a happy little family.

A sick, twisted, fucked-up little family.

She jerked her jacket collar up around her face then pushed through the black door of the Ravenswood club. Getting in was easy. Staying calm in an enclosed space with so many warm-blooded humans would be a challenge, her recent meal notwithstanding.

She narrowed her eyes. She had to focus. She scanned the crowd on the dance floor and the booths beyond but couldn't spot him. The bartender from before was working again, so she moved toward the bar to talk with him.

His head jerked when he recognized her. "There were some changes I see," he commented.

She flashed him a humorless smile. "Is Michael here?"

He didn't bother to ask who she meant. "I haven't seen him in a while, but this is around the time he comes in, so stick around." He pulled out a shot glass from behind the bar. "Wanna drink?"

She instinctively looked at his carotid, imagining how the cat shifter would taste.

"No, thank you." She walked away from temptation. An empty space near the back wall caught her eye and she headed toward it. She had to get herself under control before deciding anything.

She leaned her back against the wall, the loud music causing it to vibrate against her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she wondered what her next move should be.

"Um, excuse me?" a timid voice addressed her.

Frowning, she opened her eyes again. Two girls in the usual night club get-up were looking at her wide-eyed expressions of excitement and slight awe.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

They hesitated for a moment and Yelena felt their adrenaline spikes of fear.

Smart kids.

One of the two elbowed the other and pushed her companion forward.

Okay, maybe not so smart.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" the one in front said. She was a young strawberry blond with too much makeup, and Yelena recognized her voice as the one who'd spoken earlier.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, looking at the glitter in the girl's hair, trying to focus on anything other than the rapid pulse beating in the kid's throat.

"One of Vladimir's friends," the other offered.

That girl was a bit shorter, with pixie-cut black hair and a flashing rainbow eyebrow piercing.

Dread washed over Yelena as she realized where things were going. "I don't know what you're talking about." She moved away from the wall, but they were blocking the way out. She could go right through them but didn't want to touch them. Didn't want to kill them.

Not much, anyway.

"That's okay. You can tell us, we know how to keep a secret," Strawberry-blond reassured her.

Pixie-cut nodded. "We saw your eyes flashing red before."

Yelena froze.

"And if you're hungry," the pixie continued cheerily, "you can drink from me."

The other tilted her head. "Me, first!"

Yelena's gut clenched. Across the girl's pale, fragile-looking throat, where a line of blue pulsed just under the skin, were faint puncture wounds from previous feedings.

She looked more closely at both girls. Their eyes were glazed from alcohol and who-knew-what-else and overlaying that was a tinge of vampire magic.

Like catnip for a newly made vampire. Her mouth watered, fangs tingling in anticipation of piercing that sweet, delicate skin and....

It was time for her to get the hell out of there.

Pushing through them and the rest of the hot, sweaty, blood-filled bodies, she made her way out of the club and ran several blocks within seconds, moving toward the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse. Once there, she gulped for air and tried to clear all the smells from the club out of her system.

The process only informed her she wasn't alone any longer. Dmitri came and put a hand on her shoulder just as Michael showed up from the opposite direction, growling at the possessive way Dmitri was handling her.

Dmitri smirked in response.

Testosterone polluted the air and she wanted to run as fast and far as she could, but Dmitri's presence stopped her. In spite of everything, she didn't want to see either male killed tonight and if she left them alone, one of them would surely die.

As Dmitri's hand tightened on her shoulder, she amended her thoughts. It wasn't that she didn't want one of them to die, it was that she couldn't.

There was a difference.

Michael's wolf nature rose at the sight of Dmitri's hand on Yelena. He wanted to rip that vamp's arm right of its socket.

"Let her go," he growled.

Dmitri laughed. "This doesn't concern you. It's a family thing."

Yelena and Michael both showed fangs when Dmitri emphasized the word "family".

Michael allowed more of his wolf to rise to the surface, ready to spring free at any moment. Yelena was right. This was his fault, but he was about to fix it.

The son of Rasputin pulled her close and turned away. "Come, my love, it's time for us to go home."

Idiot.

Michael lunged forward, landing on Dmitri's back, but the vampire was fast and turned so they ended up tumbling across the parking lot, a few feet away from Yelena.

After a couple of rounds of trading punches, biting, and growling, Dmitri launched Michael away from him, sending him airborne to land on the hood of a nearby car. The alarm went off, piercing Michael's sensitive hearing.

He shook the pain off and lunged again. He had to kill him. He'd pay for the consequences of it later, but it would be worth it.

Dmitri shook him off again. "You can't kill me, wolf, it's impossible," he said with a smile, even though he was bleeding from various bite marks and cuts Michael made. "You're not strong enough."

On some level, he knew the vampire was only taunting him, but he was beyond caring. He wanted, needed him dead.

He continued to pound over and over until a sliver of opportunity arose.

Dmitri was mid-turn and Michael knew if he aimed his blow just right, he could make him lose his balance and then go for the kill. He shifted instantaneously and went for the vamp's throat, victory within his grasp.

His fangs made contact, but his jaw wouldn't clench.

Dmitri easily knocked him away and laughed as Michael growled in frustration.

The vampire continued to laugh, doubling over even a Michael launched himself at him again, only to find he couldn't seal the deal.

Dmitri gasped and wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "Here doggy, doggy. Come and get it!" He cocked his head, showing his throat.

Michael stopped himself before the whine building in his throat could break free. He spared a glance at Yelena who stood stock-still, a look of horror on her face. He gnashed his teeth as the truth dawned: the vow he'd made with Grigori must have created a spell to prevent him from doing something like this.

And speak of the devil... Rasputin landed behind him and took hold of Michael's neck, lifting him from the ground.

Michael thrashed but was powerless to escape.

"What shall I do with you?" the elder vampire mused as he tightened both hands around Michael's neck.

On the periphery of his vision, he saw Dmitri dragging Yelena away. She was fighting but losing the battle.

Michael tried to shift back, but with Rasputin's magic holding him at bay, it was a slow and painful process. Already, dark spots danced across his vision.

"Are you so eager to die?" Grigori asked while Michael choked to death. "I thought we had an understanding. Apparently, I was wrong."

Michael fought for his life. He couldn't die, not yet. He had to rescue Yelena, get her away from them, even if she wouldn't be with him. He kicked out, tried to claw free, but his movements were sluggish and weak.

Rasputin smashed him to the ground, landing on top of him with a blow that left Michael paralyzed. All the while continuing to choke the ever-loving shit out of him.

"When a dog pees on your carpet, you have to discipline him," Rasputin explained slowly, as if speaking to a child. "You did more than piss on my carpet, wolf. You tried to kill my son."

And just as suddenly as he'd dropped him, Rasputin let go and stood, fixing his attire and frowning at few droplets of blood that stained it.

Michael lay on his side gasping for air, his lungs burning, but he greedily continued to gulp as much as possible.

Rasputin kicked him in the ribs. "For every slash you inflicted, you'll get two. For every drop of spilled blood, you'll bleed so much more."

The vampire started to chant, and a new kind of pain ripped across Michael's body. His skin split open everywhere and he howled in agony.

Through the haze, he heard Grigori's words as he walked away. "That should be a lesson for you to not mess with my family."

Michael lay bleeding, on the edge of passing out, but he refused to succumb to it. Even if he had to crawl all the way, he would reach Yelena before Dmitri did something to her.

He let her down once, and he would not repeat that mistake ever again.

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# 12

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Dmitri let her go only after they'd stepped inside their vast backyard. A twinge of disappointment accompanied the sudden loss of contact and the ever-present self-loathing followed.

Sire bonds sucked.

To top off that poisoned treat with a cherry bomb, she sensed Michael following them. Weak, nearly dying, and far behind, but on his way.

The bite of her nails against her drew blood. If he continued this lunacy, he would get himself killed. And despite her anger, she didn't want to see him dead. Not unless she was doing the actual killing.

She pushed into the house and headed for the so-called living room. Anxiety stretched her nerves. If she knew he was coming, then Dmitri and Grigori knew it too.

While Dmitri made himself a cocktail from a literal bloody Mary, Yelena sat on the sofa and tried to figure out how to make that stubborn wolf go away. It was a testament of her preoccupation that she didn't even grimace as the Mary's body hit the floor with a thud. The sound was accompanied by the slamming of a door as Grigori entered, fuming.

"I thought I made myself clear my beloved daughter, but your friend Michael is being disrespectful."

"Indeed," Dmitri said, stepping over the unlucky Mary. "I told you we should have killed him a long time ago."

His father nodded. "It's a mistake I intend to remedy as soon as he arrives."

Yelena froze, trying to keep her face and emotions neutral. She couldn't let him kill Michael. He was hers to deal with as she chose fit. She had to stop them.

But how?

Both Rasputins were far older and stronger than she, and they were her sires. She couldn't go up against them--she'd seen what happened to Michael when he'd tried. Grigori's magical powers were beyond reckoning.

Magic.

That was the answer.

She hadn't yet found a spell in the entire library that would break the sire bond, but there was one spell she could probably manage. It had certainly been used on her enough in the several weeks she had been with them. There was a grim satisfaction in turning it on them for her own purpose.

It helped mitigate the revulsion that accompanied the thought of actually doing it.

Swallowing back nausea from what she was about to do, Yelena forced her mind empty of all thoughts but those she needed. She'd never attempted to summon the sex magic bonding her to the Rasputins--never imagined she would even try--but it might be the only thing to distract them from their mission. Whether it would distract them long enough, she didn't know. But it might give Michael an opportunity to go away on his own.

She dug deep, past fear, past revulsion. One mission. One thing only. And it had to work. Further down the rabbit hole she went, surrendering everything until ....

Dmitri stalked toward her with the sinuous power and grace of a panther. One brow rose over heavy-lidded eyes. "What are you doing, my dear?" he asked, sounding amused.

She rose slowly from the sofa, matching his lithe movements. "I'm bored. Want to play?" she purred.

The elder Rasputin moved in behind her, running the tip of his fingers along her arms.

"You chose wisely, my son," he said, and she leaned into his touch while Dmitri leaned in to kiss her.

The pain of Rasputin's spell tearing his skin apart was nothing compared to Michael felt now. His external bleeding had slowed to a few trickles--his wolf form aided the healing--but the internal loss might never end.

This was skin and sinew flayed from his very bones, his bleeding heart torn from his chest by a jagged blade and left to die at his feet.

He stood in the yard again, but instead of looking in Yelena's room, he'd moved to the front of the mansion, having sensed her in one of the downstairs rooms.

She was standing between two vampires, kissing Dmitri with all her might, while Grigori tore her top off, kissing her bare shoulders and back.

He'd dropped to his knees at the sight, his mind refusing to process what he saw. It couldn't be real. Maybe it was a trick? A spell of some sort.

Yelena's moans of pleasure were audible as Dmitri moved from her mouth to her breast.

Michael felt it down to his core. This was no act.

Shock and sadness turned to rage.

Mine, his wolf howled.

His still-healing skin rippled as the change threatened which would allow him to bust inside and tear them all apart. Even heavily wounded, he was confident he could take at least one of them with him. He just wasn't sure which of the three it would be.

Before the shift could finish, a twig snapped behind him.

"You're getting old, Carlos," he whispered, his eyes still trained on the scene in the window. "I could hear you from a mile away."

"Only because I wanted you to," the cat-shifting bartender replied.

"What are you doing here?"

"Preventing you from doing something stupid. Or should I say, something else stupid?"

Yeah, that ship sailed a long time ago.

"You already got your ass handed to you by those damn vampires once tonight, and you came back for more? Have you completely lost your mind?"

Michael shrugged.

"Let's get back to the club," Carlos said. "I'll let you drink free on the house the whole night. The good stuff."

A short laugh broke free. "I always do that."

What was the point of having a bartender friend if not for the job perks?

"Yeah, but I won't bitch about it this time," Carlos clarified, hugging him around the shoulders and turning him from the horror show still happening by the window.

Three sets of moans drifted from the mansion.

A painful breath stuttered in his lungs. He wanted to set the place on fire and immolate himself in the process. He'd help set this cluster fuck in motion, after all.

Carlos's arm tightened around him and Michael moved away. He sighed and clapped a hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Yeah, you're right. Let's go."

Maybe if he could get really wasted, he could forget about everything, at least for a second or two.

When it was over, she'd scream. When it was over, she promised herself. When it was over....

For now, she pressed on, deadening everything that made her, her. She let her hands roam over the willing bodies while the sex magic grew stronger around them, binding them even more.

Before she'd shut it down, the realization she would do anything to keep Michael safe had bitch slapped her face off. As did the realization it wasn't much different from what he'd done for her. He let her become a vampire because he couldn't bear the thought of her dying.

Apparently, she felt the same way about him, and would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant playing with the enemy. Even if it meant Michael would hate her for it.

But it still hurt, his betrayal.

The same betrayal he would feel from her now. Because Yelena knew he'd been outside watching them. When this was over, she'd acknowledge the moment of relief when he gave up and disappeared. As well as the overwhelming grief.

When this was over....

But nothing could stop the train wreck now.

She let her mind go as Rasputin sat on an armless chair, pulling her with him. "Come, my child."

She straddled him while he explored her body.

Dmitri was behind their chair, enjoying the show, a strange glint in his eyes.

Excitement? Probably. She dismissed thinking and focused on her task.

Dmitri leaned forward to stroke the top of her head, allowing his fingers to drift over her face and throat before pulling his hand back. In a movement so sudden her brain had no time to process, he pulled his father's head back by its hair and slit his throat to the bone. The blood barely had time to gush before he jammed a stake through his father's heart, knocking Yelena off the chair in the process.

She sprawled on the floor, staring up in shock. Dmitri had accomplished what bullets, poison, drowning, and generations of vampire hunters--including herself--had never been able to do.

Grigori Rasputin was dead.

Finally, truly, dead. Just before the body disintegrated, she couldn't help but notice the surprised expression on his face. Dazed and drenched in her sire's remains, she switched her focus from father to son.

Dmitri was grinning like a Cheshire cat, with eyes that matched the level of insanity his father's had shown.

And then it hit her.

The pain of the bond breaking was so great she screamed and doubled over.

"I didn't expect to feel this much discomfort," Dmitri grunted, using a chair to steady himself.

Discomfort was an understatement. The borrowed blood that flowed through her veins burned like acid as parts of the magic that kept it going disintegrated. Loss greater than any she'd ever felt hollowed her insides. The sire bond was twisting her inside and out.

The rise of magic in the air became palpable, a living thing. As Rasputin's Radenyi left her body, she could see moving, joining that which rose from his ashes. She could feel it moving, searching for its next host. It hovered around her for a moment, causing the small hairs on her body to rise. She tentatively reached toward it.

"Don't touch it!" Dmitri's face twisted from pain to rage as he stumbled forward. "It's mine," he shouted.

The magic trembled then shot toward him, entering his mouth and nose. He gasped and flung out his arms as he received it. His eyes glowed silver and his hair floated about his head much as his father's had done.

Dmitri roared as he soaked it in, high on so much power.

"Thank you, father," he addressed the remaining bits of ash and blood staining the carpet. "You owed me this much, since you were always such a cheap bastard in life." He spat on the stains. "Always hoarding the power all to yourself."

He turned to Yelena. "Breadcrumbs were all he ever allowed me. Did you know he never wanted me and my wife to be like him? He left us in prison to die!" he ranted. "But I found a way out, yes I did."

He moved to kneel in front of her. "And I showed him who was superior, didn't I? All thanks to you, my dear."

The Radenyi magnified a hundred-fold so close to the source. All the tattered pieces of Grigori's power that had left his body and hers now tied together in Dmitri, bonding her to him in a way that went nuclear. It was no longer a three-way tie.

There was only him. The power drew her to him as inexorably as a black hole. Its gravitational pull so consuming, her light would never escape.

She belonged to him, body and soul.

Dmitri gave her a long kiss filled with gratitude. Her whole body melted into it, seeking, taking, giving.

But never enough. It could never be enough.

Has anyone ever been so magnificent?

She thought not.

He gently helped her to her feet. "Your turn, my dear."

"My turn?" She blinked up at him.

"Your turn to die," he clarified, caressing her cheek with the tip of his fingers. She leaned into it, marveling at the sensation.

He casually bent and picked up the stake from the floor and handed it to her.

It was slick with blood, but her grip was firm.

Yelena turned it around, pointing it at her own heart.

She would never use this direct route to kill a vampire when she was a hunter but would try to get to the heart from a different angle, avoiding the rib cage. With her vampire strength, however, she didn't have to worry about not being strong enough to go through the bones first.

She had pulled her arms back to gather momentum when Dmitri ordered, "Stop."

"Why?" she asked, frowning. "It's my turn."

He'd said so himself. It was her turn to die. That felt right, somehow. And she would do anything to make him happy.

"I changed my mind. I want all of them to see you do it. Especially Michael." He spat the name.

Michael? There was something important about that name, but it was just beyond her reach. She shrugged it off. She trusted Dmitri.

"Let's go to the club," he said with a smile.

Yelena didn't understand what the fuss was about, but this was what he wanted. She put the stake on the chair and wrapped her arms around him. "Whatever you want."

She leaned in to kiss him and marveled when he kissed her back.

"Get ready," he said, tapping her nose. "And put on the blue dress."

"Okay." She giggled like a schoolgirl with a crush as she hurried to her room. She would put on the dress he liked most and then go to the club with him to die. Everything was perfect.

A half hour later, Yelena sat in the in the passenger seat of Dmitri's car, waiting for him to open the door. She glanced up through the windshield and frowned at the clouds that hid the moon. It was supposed to be full tonight. It would be so nice to kiss Dmitri in the moonlight.

She grinned as he opened the car door. He held his hand out like a perfect gentleman and she put the stake on the dashboard before placing her hand in his. As their fingers touched, the cloud cover dispersed, and the bright full moon shone its light across their skin.

She staggered, dropping his hand. Her skin burned everywhere the light touched her, though not unbearably. Just alien. She turned toward him, confused. He looked just as surprised as she felt.

Then her whole body began to vibrate. The fog in her mind cleared, returning her free will. While her body convulsed, thoughts raced through her head. Dmitri wanted to kill her, and like a true coward, he wanted her to do it for him. He'd killed his father in the same cowardly way, waiting for him to be distracted with the sex magic she'd invoked.

Her lips twisted as her mouth stretched. Her gums hurt like hell too. What was happening?

She looked at Dmitri again. His face had taken on so comical a look of horror she might have laughed if he hadn't just taken a dive for the stake.

She slammed the car door against his arm as he moved in, smiling at the cracking sound it made. In an instant, she realized what was happening.

She grabbed the back of his head and surrendered to the moonlight.

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# 13

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Michael jerked back in his seat. He caught the gaze of two of his pack whose eyes were as wide with shock as he knew his own must be.

A new wolf was turning nearby.

He shook his head in disbelief. Three other pack members at the club looked at him in surprise. Even betrayal. It was forbidden for any of them to turn another, and whoever was nearby was one of their own.

One of his.

He rushed out of the building, Carlos and the pack close at his heels. He stopped dead in his tracks as the scent in the night air took hold of his senses.

Carlos caught his arm. He spun and met the cat shifter's incredulous gaze before they both tore off toward the warehouse. They came to a halt in the parking lot, his brain still unable to process what his nose had told him.

Yelena was in the middle of a turn.

Yelena. Who'd been turned vampire, was now... But how was that possible?

Then it hit him, the tiny detail he'd dismissed that awful night. His fingers twitched as he remembered his claws catching her skin in the alley when he'd been partially turned, just before they'd been dragged off and she'd been....

His brain rushed to catch up with his adrenaline when he finally noticed who she held.

He snarled and Yelena jerked Dmitri closer to her, gnashing fangs that didn't look quite right.

The three pack members at Michael's side readied to shift. "Stand down," he shouted.

Three glares of mutiny greeted him.

No, make that four. Yelena had also hesitated for an instant but was back to growling.

He spoke softly to her. "It's okay, baby. Everything will be all right."

She whined and took a halting step toward him, dragging Dmitri along by the throat. Her movements were awkward. It would take time for her to work out the kinks.

Little things, like walking on four legs instead of two....

Dmitri struggled in her grasp, one of his legs bent at an unnatural angle. "You did this to her on purpose," he accused.

Michael didn't respond. A popping sound brought his attention back to Dmitri's leg, which appeared to be healing. Yelena was struggling with her shift, and Dmitri looked deranged, unhinged. In fact, he looked more like his father than he ever had--his eyes had even taken on Rasputin's bizarre silver sheen.

Michael opened his senses but couldn't detect the elder vampire nearby. He put out a hand and moved closer to Yelena, who growled in return.

All the shifters at his side, including Carlos, bristled. "Stay back," Michael warned.

As he continued to move closer, her half-growl ended in a whine.

Dmitri stiffened, hissing. "She's mine."

Michael glanced at Yelena whose face had begun to morph, her full shift imminent. He sneered at Dmitri. "Which supernatural group she belongs to is debatable. But who she belongs with is not."

Yelena growled but he ignored her. "Let go of the vampire," he ordered.

Her arms twitched. He almost smiled in admiration. She was one of his, but she was fighting his alpha command. There was no time for debate. He put more force into the order. "Let him go!"

She howled as her arms dropped away and Dmitri fell free. All the shifters moved forward as one, but Michael held them back.

"Do not move. This is my fight," he yelled. Only Carlos was immune to his command.

"Dumb ass," the cat shifter muttered.

Dmitri sprang forward. Michael shifted mid-air and attacked.

The vampire was ready. He rolled so Michael only nicked him on the arm instead of the neck. Dmitri got hold of Michael's midsection and threw him against a brick building.

Michael had only a second to roll away before Dmitri pounced at him. Using a concrete step to propel himself up and onto Dmitri, Michael knocked him to the ground.

The vampire didn't stay down long. A sharp pain tore through Michael's stomach as Dmitri's claws ripped through and he was thrown across the lot once more.

He shook his head to clear it, noticing what Dmitri hadn't: Yelena had fully shifted and was behind the vampire, ready to pounce, as were all the shifters. To distract the vampire, he rushed toward him only to blasted back by magic stronger than he'd felt before.

Dmitri laughed, the sound high-pitched and wild enough to hurt Michael's ears. "Stupid mutt. Do you think you can stand against me? I killed my own father." He threw his arms wide. "I am invincible."

Yelena jumped. Her jaws clamped on one of the vampire's arms as Carlos went for the other. The wolves at their back scrambled about, frantic, yet unable to break free of Michael's former command.

Dmitri shouted as he tried to fling them off. He managed to shake Yelena and a chunk of his flesh went with her as she landed heavily on the asphalt. Carlos let go before the vampire could plunge his claws into the cat's eyes. Michael took advantage of the distraction and leapt as Carlos went for the vamp's leg.

Between the two, they knocked the vampire to the ground. Yelena joined, going for Dmitri's face, knocking Michael away before he went for the jugular. He snapped at her leg in warning, but she didn't move. She tried to bite the vampire on the mouth to stifle his chants.

The power in the air lessened with each of her attempts, and Michael finally understood. He let out a howl that rippled through the night.

His wolves gladly answered the call.

As the other three joined in, Yelena fell aside, panting. Even as Michael worked to bring down his enemy, he was aware of her every move. Felt her pain as she spit out Dmitri's flesh, the sire bond preventing her from killing her master. The same magical bond between new vampire and old that weakened with every drop of Dmitri's blood that spilled on the pavement.

Michael pushed one his wolves away who had gone for the vampire's throat. This should have been Yelena's kill. Now it was his. As he went for the jugular, he hoped whatever spell Rasputin had put on him had disappeared with the elder's death.

Carlos and the wolves made short work of Dmitri's limbs and Yelena had silenced his tongue. Michael looked his enemy in the eyes as he opened his jaw wide.

He reveled as the magic-tainted, hot blood greeted his tongue.

The revelry didn't last. The metallic magic riding Dmitri's blood began to rebel, enough of it saturating Michael's throat that it recognized the trace of itself that still clung within him. Michael drew back, shifting once more. He looked down in surprise and could have sworn he saw silent triumph in the vampire's face.

"Mike, catch!"

He turned toward Carlos, who'd also shifted back, and caught the stake he'd thrown mid-air.

With one swift motion he turned and jabbed it to the bastard's heart.

Michael smiled right before he collapsed next to him.

Unlike her turn to wolf, Yelena's shift back to human was immediate, though still difficult. Too shaky to stand, she crawled toward the two unmoving bodies on the ground. As she neared, the end of the sire bond hit her all over again, this time magnified a hundred-fold. She screamed long and hard, unable to hold it back. Gasping, she wondered if she was finally dying. Maybe vampires weren't meant to survive on their own, without being bonded to someone.

Carlos and the others gathered. The wolves whined and nudged Michael with their muzzles while Carlos knelt beside her. He wrapped something warm around her and muttered soothing words she didn't understand.

A thousand years later the pain subsided to a sharp and empty ache. She shivered within what she now recognized as Michael's jacket. His scent and warmth enveloped her as the chill of the night wind surrounded them. She took a long, shaky breath. She was free but not yet out of the woods. Her skin tingled as once more the magic looked for a host. She scanned the lot to find the silvery trail. It hovered in the air between Michael and Dmitri.

As it grew in force, the other wolves shifted back--whether voluntarily, she couldn't tell--but they remained next to their leader, unwilling to leave him long enough to put on clothes against the cold. She scrambled toward him and even through their human chests his pack growled. Carlos shouted something sharp and they backed off, letting her lay hands on Michael.

Horror filled her as the magic gathered around Dmitri again. There wasn't much left of him now that they had staked him. Still, she wasn't taking any chances. She took deep breaths and concentrated, trying to remember everything she'd read from the stolen library books.

The magic would first try to find the one who'd killed the host. If that was another vampire, they could ingest the power. If not, the magic would infect the killer of its host until the murderer committed suicide. Even though Michael was the one who'd technically killed Dmitri, she was still the only vampire in the vicinity.

She stood, wrapped in Michael's coat, and faced the other shifters. "Whatever happens, you must protect him."

Four pairs of resolute eyes met hers; a few were hostile. "You don't have to tell us that," they snarled.

She nodded and stepped over Dmitri, soaking her feet in his blood.

She lifted her arms and threw her head back, opening her mouth. "Come, take me as your servant," she said.

The magic hovered in the air, undecided. It swirled at her feet, making passes toward Michael's face.

"I am the one you want," she shouted. "I am responsible for the loss of your host."

A tentative lick of energy went up her leg, searching, probing, and then slithered back toward Michael.

No, no, no. This had to work. It had to. She focused solely on her hatred of Dmitri, on how badly she'd wanted him to die. "I killed him. You belong to me!"

Her back bowed as the energy rush hit, nearly knocking her off her feet. She'd lived with some form of magic all her life, but this was different.

This magic was older and far more potent.

All that had been divided was made whole within her. She felt the Radenyi's previous owners throughout time warring within her. Ancient beings, enemies and rivals. She knew them all in an instant. Their memories were her own. She relived the moment when the great warlock Rasputin had been turned Daywalker; felt the exact time of Dmitri's death.

The wolf inside her panicked, scrambling for a place to hide from the rush of magic. The Radenyi halted before it, curious, testing. It poked at the inner beast who cowered before it, wondering and confused. The tattoos that had struggled on her arms the past few months flared to life and the magic responded to their message: Wolves were not the enemy here. The new magic backed away and the wolf calmed.

Yelena's chest beat with slow pulses of magic. The heart that had once stopped beating flickered and responded, then once more expanded into the fullness of life and power, craving the blood that would forevermore sustain it. Craving all the love and desire that would make it worth living.

The Radenyi sex magic merged with Hunter, Vampire and Wolf.

Yelena gasped and opened her eyes, landing gently on her feet from where she'd been floating above ground.

She rushed toward Michael, exclaiming in relief when she discovered he was still alive. He was barely breathing, but "barely" was better than not at all.

She took his hand and started to chant. She knew she could heal him.

The surrounding shifters growled.

At her. The newly made wolf within caused her to take one step back then another.

They were chasing her away.

"No, I can help him," she said, fighting the urge to run.

"We don't need your help, freak," one of them said while the other two lifted the still-unconscious Michael from the ground.

She tried to step forward and was shocked to find she couldn't. She could only watch as they carried him away. What the hell?

Carlos approached her slowly and only then did she feel the tears on her face.

"He will heal on his own. The pack will take care of him," he said. "Just leave it be for now and go home."

Home?

On some level, she knew he was trying to be kind, but every word was another blow to her already bruised heart. Silent, she turned and walked away.

"You might want these," he called after her.

She looked back and saw he held clothes and the key to Dmitri's car, a slight smile on his handsome face. Too tired to return the smile, she took the things from him and got in the car, completely naked except for the jacket. She just didn't care.

She belonged nowhere. Had no one.

The lone wolf inside howled its anguish as she drove away.

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# 14

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Spring finally, officially arrived about a week before summer was due to start. Yelena sat on the bus stop bench, pulling her hoodie around her face to protect her delicate skin against the last of the sun's rays as twilight took over. Not to mention cloak her identity. She could still face the daylight, although it wasn't always comfortable. But running into someone she didn't want to see.... That would be unbearable.

She took a shuddering sip of the blood-spiked hot chocolate she held in one hand, while the fingers of the other tapped a beat on the wooden bench. Across the street from her a young boy and his dog played a game of fetch with a tennis ball. Bitterness brought a twisted smile to her lips. Dogs were supposed to be the most loyal of animals, the most obedient of pets.

Clearly, the same couldn't be said of wolves.

Maybe that wasn't completely fair, but she was still angry. Perhaps Michael had done her a favor, perhaps not. In her more objective moments--rare these days--she could grudgingly admit he'd tried to make it up to her.

Both Rasputins were dead, along with their lethal hold on her. She, on the other hand, was alive and free, thanks to Michael.

Even if all her heart and most of her spirit were broken.

The first thing she'd done with her newfound freedom had been to empty the dungeons at the Rasputin mansion. Some of the human slaves had needed more coaxing than others to leave; those whose minds were broken had needed pure compulsion, but at least she'd cleaned up one of the Rasputins' messes. The others would come in time. When she was ready.

She stood and stretched. Muscles moved with supernatural strength within her and it felt good but strange. Being a hybrid was so different from being a hunter.

And a hybrid with the power of the Radenyi? Different from anything as far she knew. No one had ever heard of such a thing. She flexed her fingers, feeling the strength in them. There might be some perks of being in this state and she intended to take full advantage of them once she discovered what they were.

Heightened hearing alerted her to the bus's near arrival. She patted her pocket and felt the small plastic transit pass where it was supposed to be. She'd buy a train ticket when she got to Union Station.

Staying in Chicago wasn't an option. The vamps were dead, but the master of a certain pack was an entirely different matter. She wasn't ready to forgive, but if she stayed, she knew she wouldn't be able to keep from seeing him. Not to mention his pack--what should have also been her pack--hated her. And since that last turn, she'd been having major anger issues.

Just not a good combination.

She hitched her backpack onto one shoulder as the bus pulled up and smiled as the doors opened and she stepped on, ready to begin her journey. She'd already ruled out returning to Russia. There was even less for her there than here. With only a map and a drop of coin, her destination had been decided.

Tennessee might be a good start.

She slipped her pass into the designated slot and waited for the 'paid' light to turn green. It took two swipes before the fare activated and she could move ahead. She was already annoyed from the delay, but when the bus took off before she'd found a seat, causing her to stumble, annoyance flared into anger. Her animal-like reflexes kept her from falling into the aisle, but her eyes turned hot. She closed them before anyone could see them turn red.

Or gold.

Cursing under her breath, she tried to get her rage under control. The last thing she needed was to turn and slaughter the driver.

After all, she couldn't drive the bus.

She smiled again, calming. The smile fell when a loud pop sounded, and the bus stopped again. The driver pulled over to the curb and got out.

"Was someone shooting at us?" a panicked voice asked.

"I think we got a flat," someone replied.

The driver came back and apologized for the delay. The bus indeed had a flat tire, and they would have to wait for further instructions.

You have got to be kidding me.

Yelena pulled a bus schedule from her backpack to look for alternate routes.

"Excuse me, are you going to Union Station?"

The hairs on Yelena's arms stood. She knew that voice. Breath caught in her throat, she looked toward the front of the bus, hoping she was wrong.

She wasn't.

Carlos, everyone's favorite shape-shifting bartender, addressed the driver but looked at her. Smirked, really.

As the driver tried to explain their circumstances, Yelena made her way forward. She grabbed the cat shifter by the arm and dragged him off the bus.

"Did you have anything to do with that?" she asked, accusation and suspicion coloring her tone.

Someone spoke from behind her. "So, you were leaving without saying goodbye?"

She didn't need to verify with her eyes what she knew with all her other senses, but she looked back, nonetheless.

Michael slowly approached; his right leg stiff as he moved.

"And what's this?" she asked, gesturing toward Carlos. "Is he your servant or bodyguard?"

After the pack's attitude, she wouldn't be surprised if they didn't trust her to be alone with their alpha.

Carlos laughed, moved to let Michael stand in front of her, then bowed with a flourish. "I'll just leave you two to it."

He swiftly blended into pedestrian traffic, leaving her alone to face the one person who still made her heart ache.

"I don't need a bodyguard," Michael said. "Though I hate to admit it, Carlos is faster than I am right now, and I needed to make sure I got to you in time."

"Why?"

"I had to see you."

Before she even thought about what she was doing, she leaned toward him to breathe in his scent, the wolf inside her wild with happiness.

Dismayed, she noticed something in her had changed, and likely not for the better. If she were honest, she could admit she'd been attracted to him from the start. But this pull felt deeper, more primal.

Must be the wolf thing. And that scared her more than anything else. Because she couldn't trust herself. She didn't want to end up in another twisted relationship, bonded to him like she'd been with the vampires.

She turned and started walking, each step torture to her heart but necessary to her wellbeing.

He caught up with her. "What are you doing?"

She shrugged, not looking at him. "There's no reason for me to stay here."

He moved in front of her to make her face him. If her words hurt him, he hid it well.

"Didn't you hear?" he asked with a boyish grin. "All the bad vampires are dead. There's no reason to run away."

"I'm not running," she snapped. Cursing inwardly, she adopted a bland expression. "Moving on." She pushed around him and started walking again.

"Just admit you're running away from me and what we shared. Might share," he amended.

Damn his wolf hide.

She whirled to face him. "What we shared? You mean lies, secrets, and personal agendas?"

"All true. But there's more to us and you know it."

She remained silent.

She should have remembered he was immune to being ignored. Even worse, she'd forgotten how appealing his eyes were when he was being sincere.

Those beautiful eyes gazed at her with only pain and concern. "Look, if you want to go, I won't stop you. But I had to make sure you're all right."

"I'm fine," she lied, looking away from the face that was making her chest ache and her inner wolf roll over in surrender. Finally, she offered, "I tried to help you, but...."

"I know," he said quietly. "The pack had no right to treat you like that."

She shrugged, even that small movement painful. How was it her entire body ached with him near?

"I won't make excuses for them, but please understand were high and they were freaked out by everything."

She snorted and glanced away. Yeah, that word again. Freak.

"Yelena," he said, pulling her attention back to him. "I could never say I'm sorry you're alive, you know that, but I am sorry for making it even harder for you. I didn't know being a hybrid was even a possibility."

Lucky me, to be the first.

He continued in the face of her silence. "But my pack recognizes you're one of us now. They are also genuinely sorry for their behavior that night."

She would have protested but noticed they were not alone. Shifters were all around her, blending with the crowds on the street. All hanging back, giving them space. She felt them now, and the urge to shift was strong.

She tamped it down. Probably a bad idea in the middle of a crowded urban street. But it was still there. Small at first and growing as she noted their presence more and more. Saw their nods and accepting smiles. Felt across her skin and all the way down to her wolf's heart, their acceptance, their support, and their pleading for forgiveness.

Michael reached out, his large palm warm and inviting. "We are your pack from now on if you want us."

She blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes, her throat tightening. She didn't want to show weakness. Didn't want them to see the resurgence of the pathetic, lonely person she'd always been. The girl whose mother died too soon, leaving her to grow up in a Hunter's guild that wasn't known for its warmth. The orphan who'd secretly longed for a family.

And however twisted and dysfunctional it may have been, for a moment, she'd even experienced a sense of belonging through the sire bond of the Rasputins.

But what Michael was offering was different and priceless.

Still, she couldn't speak. Too afraid to say what she wanted. Wasn't even sure where to begin. The only word she could force past the lump in her throat was, "No."

His face fell and the huge wave of disappointment she felt from the entire pack washed through her.

Fierce trembling shook her entire body. If she didn't explain, she would lose him forever. And for a hybrid vampire with ancient magic, that would be a very long time.

"I ... I'm not saying no to you, even though it's not a yes, either," she spoke in a rush.

"I understand we have a long road ahead of us," he interjected.

"I just can't stay here right now." She held out her hands in supplication. She didn't quite know how to explain. This place, with its terrible memories, was suffocating her. And she'd been on her own so long, she didn't know if she could be part of a loving group. She wouldn't know how it was done.

He nodded, solemn. "I understand."

A bittersweet tightness constricted her chest and she tried to brush it off, but to no end.

At this last, she realized on some level, she wanted him to fight for her. Prove he wanted her to stick around. She looked away, blinking against the heat gathering behind her eyes, before looking back to give him a weak smile.

He surprised her by taking her hand. "So, since you can't stay here, where are we going?"

As he spoke, more of the pack emerged from the shadows to make a protective circle around them.

Around her.

Together, they silently communicated to her. Showed her she didn't have to be alone ever again. That she had a family, regardless of where she might be. Regardless of who, or what, she was. They were willing to go with her, stay with her.

She took one hesitant step, then another before launching into Michael's arms, allowing the strength and warmth of him, of their family, to fill all the empty spaces.

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* * End * *

Also by the Author

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The Awakening Series - Mutts Like Me

Rebel Wolf: Marti

Rebel Witch: Phoebe

Rebel Mage: Allie

Rebels Reset

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