Kyn Series Page 3

  Marak left the guys at the door and headed inside, scattering human servants before him as he stalked through the corridors with a dangerous look on his face.

  Striding into his bedchamber, he shut the door with a swift kick and moved through the darkened room to lay his unconscious burden gently on the bed. Frowning, he looked around the room, realising for the first time how dark it was.

  He didn’t want her scared waking up in the dark. He had the advantage of excellent night-sight, granted by his demon blood, but she was still human until the conversion kicked in.

  Reaching over, he snapped on one of the lights on the bedside table. Had he ever used it? He wasn’t sure. If it weren’t for the look of the thing, he’d have moved down into the compound with the others years ago. But he was king, as the Council insisted on reminding him whenever they could corner him long enough, and he had to ‘keep up appearances’.

  He spent the minimum amount of time possible here, spending most of his time training in the compound or out on patrol. He shrugged; it kept him out of the way of the damn politicians. A win-win situation.

  At the moment he was glad he had rooms like this. The woman would be more comfortable surrounded by luxury. He looked down at her and wondered where this odd need to see to her comfort had come from. She looked so fragile lying there against the deep-red silk, and his heart lurched as he realised how close she’d come to the edge. He reached out to smooth the dark hair from her face.

  “Now why does that matter so much, little one? Why should I care about one suicidal human?” he mused, studying her features. Small and delicate, they reminded him of someone. He couldn’t place who, the feeling of familiarity too vague to pinpoint.

  “Let’s make you more comfortable, shall we?”

  His voice was soft as he started to undress her. The leather jacket was ruined, slashed at the collar to allow him to get at her throat earlier. He didn’t bother with the sleeves, simply extended his talons cut the garment from her body.

  Her boots and socks quickly followed, along with enough weaponry to arm a couple of Warriors. Good quality stuff too. Marak’s brows snapped together in a frown as he considered the pile on the nightstand.

  Just what the hell was a human female doing out there hunting Rogue in the first place?

  He shook his head; it didn’t make sense. She couldn’t have been the victim of a Rogue attack. She was still alive for a start off. Rogue didn’t leave survivors, often killing entire families in one go. She wasn’t wearing a family sigil, so that cut out one of the Seneschal families.

  Slayer?

  Marak’s lips compressed on a smile. No, he couldn’t see even that bunch of weirdos taking on a woman so unsuited for a life of violence such as this. Buffy may have made great TV. Half the Warriors down at the compound were addicted to the re-runs after Feral had introduced them to the show, but it was a far cry from the brutal reality of vampire slaying. That’s what Marak and the Warrior caste were for.

  He moved, big hand caressing her throat where the grievous wounds were healing, little more than red marks across her creamy skin. She’d need to feed again soon, more blood to carry on the healing process and continue the conversion.

  He grit his teeth as his body responded instantly, his cock hard at the memory of those soft curves pressed against him and her small fangs in his wrist. He closed his eyes, hiding the reddening tint in them, knowing he looked like the monster he felt.

  Don’t wake yet, little one, he begged silently. Seeing him like this would scare her out of her mind. But those little fangs… God, he wanted to feel them again. In his wrist, in his throat as she moaned under him. Or as she rode him… A low moan escaped his lips as his imagination presented him with image after erotic image, tormenting his already aroused body further.

  Determinedly he blanked his mind, exercising the iron control he was known for, and carried on with his task. His hand hovered over her belt buckle, pausing as a war raged within him. Slowly it closed where it was, as he admitted defeat and withdrew without touching her.

  He couldn’t do it. If he undressed her, saw her naked in his bed, he was going to lose it and take her. Already his fangs were extended, as full and heavy as his aching body, and ready to feed.

  Backing up, he left her lying on the bed, still with her t-shirt and pants on. They were covered in blood, but she’d just have to deal with that. He moved to the other side of the room, putting distance between himself and the feminine temptation on the bed.

  Chapter Four

  Darkness surrounded her, as warm and comfortable as a mother’s womb, supporting and protecting her all at once.

  Maria floated peacefully, resisting the pull of consciousness. Something bad had happened in the waking world, and she wasn’t ready to return and face it just yet.

  She snuggled down deeper into the softness. Far better to stay here in the darkness, wrapped in his arms. Because she wasn’t alone in the darkness. He was here. Who he was she wasn’t quite sure, but it didn’t matter. She trusted him, knew instinctively he was here to protect her, not hurt her.

  Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her into their circle of protection with her back against a hard body. She murmured her pleasure. His breath whispered over her throat. She moaned and turned her head as the sharp edges of a set of fangs trailed over the delicate skin at her jugular. Hot and cold chills raced through her body, making goose-bumps rise on her skin.

  Oh God, she needed him to bite her. Needed those fangs to pierce her skin and drive deep. She shifted restlessly. Her skin was too tight, her clothes too restrictive. Arching her neck, she tilted her head to the side, to bare the line off her throat. He had to bite her. Just had to.

  Need rose within her to a crescendo, a fine tremble in her limbs as the moment spun out. Then he bit her, white hot pain forcing a cry from her lips. Pleasure followed on its heels, arching through her body like lightning. Even though she’d never been with another Kyn, Maria knew this was right. Deep down it felt right. Familiar. He was feeding from her throat, a place she’d only let a lover touch. So she must know him…must love him.

  A frown formed on her face as, even in the dream, reality started to intrude. She’d never been bitten; no male Kyn would bother with a Dhampir girl when there were other, full blooded Kyn females to choose from. Only a few, admittedly, but even a choice of a few was better than settling for something sub-standard like her. A reality Maria had accepted a long time ago. But God, did she wish things were different. Desperately she tried to hold onto the dream, wanting to wrap the fantasy around her for just a little bit longer.

  But it faded and she shifted on the bed, her head thrashing a little as she came to. Memory caught up with her and she sat bolt upright, eyes wide with fear as a gasp escaped her.

  The Rogue…

  Her hand flew to her throat, her last memory that of the Rogue, the foul smell of its breath and the look of glee in its eyes as it lashed out…terrible pain as claws ripped through her skin. Hot blood bubbling out, flowing over her hands as she desperately tried to hold it in…

  “Oh god.”

  Relief hit her as her hands met unbroken skin. She shuddered, fingertips exploring her throat. Had it all been a dream?

  No, it couldn’t have been. The memory was too clear. Too vibrant in details to be a dream. Then she found them. Hard ridges in her skin, areas that felt different. Long lines across the soft flesh right where the pain of the Rogue’s touch had been.

  Some Warrior you turned out to be, the little voice in her head sneered at her. First Rogue you come across damn near kills you!

  She ignored it, her fingers still exploring the nearly healed wound. Being Half-Kyn her body healed fast, much faster than a normal human’s would. But there was no way she could manage healing like this on her own. Not before she bled out anyway. So someone had helped her, but who? And for that matter, where the hell was she?

  She looked around, studying the luxurious room around her as the fog
cleared from her brain. Which was when she saw him, the large figure shrouded in shadows by the window…the biggest damn Warrior she’d ever seen in her life.

  “Hi,” he said quietly. “How are you feeling?”

  His voice filled the room and Maria shivered, the deep sound stroking along what felt like every nerve ending she had as her waking brain latched onto the truth in front of her.

  He was a Warrior. Even standing in the deep shadows by the curtains, he couldn’t hide the distinctive markings covering one cheek and temple then disappearing under the collar of his shirt, markings that were stark against his skin.

  Hell, even his aura screamed ‘Warrior.’ From the way he looked and held himself, he was hard core to boot. One of the dinosaurs her father and his cronies complained about.

  “Like I got hit by a bus,” she retorted, nerves bringing out the sassy attitude she used to keep the world at bay.

  She winced, rolling her neck and feeling some soreness from the encounter with the Rogue. She didn’t remember much after her throat got slashed; the trauma blanked her mind. Just a deep red haze of pain remained when she probed the memory.

  There were voices, deep male voices. Comforting voices that made her feel safe. And arms holding her against a powerful chest… She shivered as the pieces of her dream resurfaced in her memory. So vivid and detailed, even down to the faint musky scent of the guy holding her as he sank his fangs into her neck. It had to be a dream? Didn’t it?

  *

  Marak moved closer to the bed, his eyes riveted on her. Awake she seemed so much more vital, bigger than the petite curvy form he could see, as though the force of her personality made her larger than life. Big, dark eyes watched him warily. And there was another mystery.

  For a human she had a very strong mind. He’d been aware of her fighting the sleep compulsion he’d laid on her for the last hour. A compulsion which should have kept her sleeping for hours, allowing her body to repair itself with his powerful blood. But even as he’d stood watching her he’d felt her fighting it, struggling her way back to consciousness.

  “Uhm, you had a bit of an accident,” he started and then kicked himself. What a dumb-ass comment. ‘Accident’ was the understatement of the year. An accident was cutting yourself on the bread-knife, not having a Rogue vampire tear your throat out.

  “You bet it was an accident.” Her voice was still husky from the damage and fatigue. “If I’d been on my game tonight that Rogue would have been toast. And what the hell happened after that?”

  She checked herself quickly. Wariness entered her eyes again. “How did I get here? And who took off my clothes?”

  Marak blinked. He hadn’t been expecting her to come out with that.

  “On your game? Lady, are you shittin’ me? He’d gotten conversion shakes and he still ripped your throat out.” Did this insane woman have no sense? “You’re damn lucky. If he’d been fully turned there wouldn’t have been anything left of you to save. And I was just trying to make you more comfortable,” he added, shifting a little. Removing a woman’s clothes in the heat of passion was one thing. Taking them off when she had no say in the matter… He might be a Warrior, generally credited with no manners and less morals by the rest of the Kyn, but he wasn’t a rapist.

  “Right…” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously before going on the attack again. “And you call that a rescue? If you figured I wasn’t up to it, what took you so long? And by the way, the biker gang/pirate/black leather look is so passé,” she commented, ignoring the fact that was pretty much her wardrobe as well. “If you wanted to go retro, spandex and leisure suits were the way to go. In bright pastel I might add.”

  Spandex? Pastel? What was she on about?

  “Well, you’re breathing, aren’t you?” He stalked towards the edge of the bed, expression drawn tight. He was beginning to think he preferred her asleep. She was definitely less sassy. “Passé, huh? So…what look were you going for? Goth?”

  “Big fan of KISS. Was on my way to a fan meet when he jumped me. I would have had him if I hadn’t been so distracted.”

  Marak couldn’t help it, watching her with a sort of fascinated horror. It was like a train crash; you just couldn’t look away. She looked so cute sitting there in the middle of his sheets, but she opened her mouth and… It was like talking to a smaller version of Vixen.

  Mentally he made a note never to introduce the two women. The world just wouldn’t be able to take it.

  He shook his head. “You do realise what he was, don’t you?” he found himself asking, not quite sure now whether she was even aware she’d faced off against a vampire.

  “He was a Rogue vampire. Newly turned…a few hours at most, which was fairly obvious from the ‘shakes’. Shouldn’t you warrior types know all this?” She arched a delicate eyebrow at him in query. “Isn’t there like a ‘warrior school’ you boys have to go to? Or are you still in training or something? And I was counting on them…the shakes I mean. Like I said, I would have had him, but you decided to drop in and distract me. The rest you know.” She frowned as she ran her tongue over her teeth, “I don’t heal this fast. I mean I heal fast, faster than a human, but not this fast. So what the hell did you do to me?”

  Marak was struggling to follow the twists and turns of her conversation. Did all women talk this much? And this fast? Being an only child and having lost his mother at a young age, Marak wasn’t all that familiar with women’s conversation. He avoided the chattering groups at court functions like the plague. The only other woman he had a lot to do with was Vixen, whose conversation was mainly concerned with the different ways to inflict large amounts of damage on Rogue vampires. That and guns. Big ones. The bigger the better.

  “Huh? What? What do you mean, you don’t heal this fast?” he asked, latching onto what she’d said, suspicion forming in his mind.

  She speared him with a sharp look, a hint of humour in her eyes. “You really haven’t guessed it, have you? Are you always this dense or did your momma drop you on your head when you were a baby? I’m a Dhampir, handsome. Half vampire.”

  Chapter Five

  Marak looked at her with a sinking feeling settling in his gut. Dhampir. Of course she was a Dhampir, she had to be. There was no other explanation.

  With the speed and reactions she’d displayed in the alley, just shy of a fully blooded Kyn, she couldn’t be anything else. Then there was the strength of mind, the way she’d fought his compulsion, eventually overcoming it. And her fangs…oh hell, those little fangs.

  He should have realised at the time. A human wouldn’t have developed fangs so early in the conversion process. And she hadn’t; she’d already had them. Tiny, delicate fangs that felt so good in his skin… He scowled and shifted his stance as he fought his body’s instinctive reaction to the memory.

  The reaction rapidly became a non-issue as another thought occurred to him. Dhampir’s were rare. The Kyn race as a whole had trouble with procreation. Most couples tried for years without success, only a rare few being blessed with the patter of tiny feet. Even with two Kyn parents, conception was difficult and viable pregnancies few and far between.

  Miscarriage and stillborns were common. Kyn scientists had been studying the problem for years, aware they were working against time as, if the current trend continued, the Kyn were on the endangered species list.

  Despite that, there were two Dhampir Marak did know about and as he thought about it, the sinking feeling in his stomach worsened. If he was right, he’d just bitten the daughter of a vampire lord.

  Shit, can anyone say shotgun wedding?

  Biting any Kyn woman the way he had, on the soft delicate skin of her throat, was tantamount to going down on one knee and pulling a box out of your pocket containing a rock the size of your fist. Or you’d better have done by the time her male relatives caught up with you.

  “Hello? Still with me?” Maria waved to get his attention. “Lights on but no one home over there?”

  *

 
The Warrior’s gaze shifted and locked onto her. The shell-shocked expression in his eyes quickly disappeared, his expression hardening as though he realised he’d given too much away.

  “I apologise, Lady Ravensford.” His deep voice filled the room and did things to Maria’s insides she really didn’t want to think about at the moment. It was as though her body knew his voice and was reacting to it instinctively.

  “Shit,” she breathed as her eyes widened. “It was you, wasn’t it? You bit me…”

  Her hand smoothed over her neck, unerringly finding the spot he’d buried his fangs.

  She looked up and caught the quick flash of guilt in his eyes. A bolt of awareness passed between them, electrifying the air, and she knew.

  It was him. Him. The guy who’d pulled her into his arms, and against his broad chest. Holding her. Protecting her. It hadn’t been a dream at all; a fantastic, fabulous dream which called to all the secret yearnings and fantasies she’d kept locked within her. Those never-voiced, rarely consciously-thought about desires, to have a male look at her as though she were worth something. As though she were something more than the freakish, half-human daughter of Ravensford.

  Look at her the way he was looking at her now; heat in his eyes and need written on his face. No, not need, something deeper…more primal than need.

  Hunger. He hungered for her.

  She knew instinctively that it would only take the slightest encouragement and he’d have her in his arms, his fangs buried deep. Probably with her stretched out naked under him as he fed from her. Loved her. Took her body at the same time he took her blood.

  And you’d let him, beg him too, the little voice in her head piped up again. Look at him. He’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen…and he’ll know how to please a woman, make her purr.