Captiva Craving - Vampire Werewolf Menage (Six Feet Under Series Book Two) (6 page)

“True.” His ocher eyes returned to Qudir when he continued, “A young male who appeared to be in his early twenties. Quite likely immortal, although that’s not saying much, considering we all appear under the human age of thirty. And It’s hard to classify any of them as human without scent, but the only male looked like he might belong somewhere around the bloodlines of Dr. Dru’s co-mate.”

“Arian?” Kash asked.

“Is that his name?”

“He’s Norwegian Royal descent,” Kash went on. “Powerful mofo you’d best not piss off, and he’s in his early twenties.”

“He has brothers?”

“Yeah,” Kash answered, “loads, though I’ve only seen a few in this area.”

“Brothers,” Sixten interjected with a snarl. “Get this. The Beta’s brothers or possibly cousins were at the meeting tonight, as though they were faction leaders with a place at our table. Ruyters are after my mate, claiming they arrived in America solely to find her.”

“The Pack still knows more than they’re giving up,” Qudir hissed in the way of vampires, holding up his copy of the hard drive between his strong fingers. “Something tells me we have to figure this one out long before the werewolves do.”

“But first,” Maestru said, finally joining them. “What’s really going on, Six? And leave out all the bullshit you spoon fed the werewolves during your so-called astronomy lesson.” He held up
his
copies, all made from the ancient Habaline scrolls just shared by the North American Pack.

“I know the Habalines point of entry,” Sixten answered when all eyes flipped to him, one of the few important facts he didn’t share during their faction meeting. “If we’d had those scrolls, their
maps
sooner, we’d be in far better shape than we are now.”

“So by reading these,” Oycher started with open astonishment. “You’re telling us that you
know
where Habalines come from?”

“And the werewolves don’t,” Qudir cut in.

Sixten had always known where the other half of his ‘family’ had come from; however, until now, their mode of transportation was a well-guarded secret. The werewolves knew they had been sitting on a valuable piece of information, though they did not know the extinct of its worth. Until they found someone to translate fully, Sixten had the drop on all factions. “Wormhole,” he said simply.

“A wormhole?” Kash chuckled.

“Precisely,” Sixten answered solemnly, “right next to Captiva Island.”

“The werewolves are creatures governed by the moon,” Qudir said, “I think they would feel it, especially so close to Sanibel Island.” His midnight eyes held disbelief, though he refused to join Kash’s laughter. “And I do
not
believe in time travel.”

“It has nothing to do with
celestial pull,” Sixten retorted, aiming at the smallest scroll Maestru held. He handed it over, and Sixten opened it for the others to study. “Think of wormholes as vacuums, a trajectory of free-falling.” He pointed at the general spot, though the exact coordinates still eluded him. “These wormholes do not send particles from the past or even the future. It’s not time travel per se, though particles would have to be traveling at an inconceivable speed.” He looked at each of them. “An
immortal
speed.”

“Like a lengthy pothole,” Maestru equated, releasing a pent-up breath. “It’s easier to accept Habalines traveling this way. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still an awesome power to move between realms…”

“As we understand it, it’s easier to accept,” Qudir supplied, his eyes sharpening…accepting.

“I suppose,” Maestru muttered, rubbing his chin in thought. “If we find a way to break the connection between Captiva and this
wormhole
, they close up shop. However, what’s stopping them from creating another?”

“That’s just it. By this scroll, this is the
only
wormhole connecting us to their realm,” Sixten said, hoping the inscriptions he read were completely thorough. “The Habalines didn’t create this one”- he pointed to the next map -“or any other wormhole. They are anomalies occurring quite naturally.” They still looked somewhat skeptical, so Sixten’s irritation bled through. “Do you agree we have black holes within space?” He didn’t wait for their replies. “It’s possible that wormholes are gravitational singularities within black holes, and according to these aboriginal diagrams, most of them
do
center a black hole’s interior.”

“So these aliens are not as powerful as we imagined,” Qudir concluded. “Some human scientists can create black holes similar to those formed by lost stars.” He placed his palm on the doorframe, leaning against it. “If what you’re saying is true, you’d be right on the money, Six. They’re only using a highway nature already provided.”

“A one way highway, at that,” Six said.

“The Habalines can only move in one direction?” Maestru asked.

“As far as I can tell,” Six answered. “There’s one definite way it’s not traversable.” A flicker of hope filled the cavern as Sixten continued, “Once Habalines leave their realm and enter ours, they can’t back out. There’s no way to travel back and forth, or even within the same universe.” Sixten would keep the exact reason why to himself, he needed a trump card for the unpredictable future.

“So if we really want to keep other Habalines out,” Maestru said guardedly. “There’s a foreseeable way.”

“Exactly.” He nodded. “In time, and it will definitely take some time. We will locate the wormhole’s precise connection,” replied Sixten, “and find a way to close it off.” In vivid detail, he could tell them how to do it now.

“You make it sound so easy, Six,” Kash said, inclining his head.

“It’s not,” he replied, staring at his friend longer than necessary. With a raised hand, his fingers splayed over his favorite blade, clutching. His heart drummed out any other thoughts, relentlessly pounding until Blythe came back in a clear vision, filling his mind with her purity. “Yet I’ve never had anything worthwhile come easily, have you?”

Pretty or not, a cage was still a cage.

And her current attitude was far from pleasant.

Blythe managed to untangle the chain, righting herself to resume her pacing. And she couldn’t help but wonder what hurt worse, her toe, chafed ankle from trying to work it through her shackle, or swollen throat from screaming hysterically on that damned airplane.

The upside to her painful throat? Gianni had backed off after watching her inner, nuclear meltdown. However, he made it perfectly clear Blythe had not deterred him. After putting her to sleep, his voice threaded through her dreaming state where he claimed that he would allow her time to acclimate. Acclimate to what? Gianni said she would regain her lost memories eventually. Why would she want to recall
more
of her time with him? “Whoever said ignorance was bliss knew
her
stuff.”

On the other hand, if she remembered her past with Gianni, maybe she could find his weakness. A weakness might be the only way to allow her escape. “That old Achilles story doesn’t seem so far-fetched now.” She knotted her hands at her sides, grumbling to no one, “All I need is an arrow and your weak spot.”

“Archery, pet? Sounds like fun. No games are off limits as long as you are nude while playing,” Gianni hissed in her ear, startling her into jumping a foot off the floor, “all the way down to your delectable toes. As far as weak spots go, you are that for me – my only weak spot.” He closed the door behind him
with his mind
. Then, she heard the lock click in place, since he was pretty smooth with human mechanisms.

Blythe released her fists, hugging herself and ignoring him. The long sweater dress he had provided hugged everything she had to offer. Or advertised everything she did
not
want to offer him. Its wool blend dyed the most exquisite persimmon she had ever seen, each strand achingly vibrant. No, this number was not off the rack. Too bad that she hated it, would love to ruin it with a rusty pair of scissors, just to have a truly psycho moment.

“I want shoes,” she finally said in a way of greeting. This was the first she had seen of him since trying to claw his incredible face off on that private plane. Of course, seeing that he was a vampire, any good digs she marred him with healed almost immediately.

“Why not stay comfortable?”

Blythe had no clue where she was. Although her chilly, pacing feet told her, it probably was not Florida.
Or could I be underground?
“Shoes wouldn’t enable me to get away from you. You have that scenario covered with this.” She held out her foot, carefully twirling the chain she had battled moments ago. And why couldn’t she break something so amazingly thin? “So what’s the point in cold feet?”

“Cold feet?” He did not have the decency to appear ashamed. “Hmmm…Come, pet,” he ordered instead, lowering himself onto a wide settee anchored by a matching ottoman. All the furnishings were exorbitant, mostly Victorian, but she did not think they were all antiques, simply reproductions. He patted his muscular thigh, smiling. “You required patience from me.” Those butterscotch eyes narrowed; silvery pupils flashed a warning. “I have been so.”

“I most certainly didn’t ask for any patience.” Blythe refused to move, just waited. “I’m sure, at one point in my hysterics, I told you to fuck off.” He leaned back against chunky, gold brocade pillows, settling in comfortably. Shiny, black hair slid over the silky fabric. It fell halfway down his back, and Blythe could not decide if Gianni looked dangerous or dangerously erotic. But why did it matter?

“My lovely Blythe, hair woven from the darkest night, eyes of the richest cognac, if you actually told me that, I would have pulled only one word from your request. Here is a hint,” he said in a thickly exotic accent, not Italian, “
off
would not be it.”

He was magnificent, but Gianni would never be Sixten. Blythe jutted her chin, staying where she stood. “I’m a married woman.”

He arched an arrogant brow, watching her closely. “You are no such thing.” Light hit his sharp cheekbones, casting him in shadowed relief. A fallen angel depicted in numerous paintings, books, and even statues, someone who could never be real, yet here he sat, breathing while only missing wings.

Blythe feared bringing up Sixten, but she refused to go near that lap of his. “Marriage certificate and uh, a claim endorsed by Maestru says otherwise.”

“Marriage certificate?” Gianni inquired with shining eyes, amused. “A human ceremony a male orchestrated in order to appease you?”

“Yes, we had a lovely ceremony, very romantic.” A total lie. Sixten’s fellow vampires forced the paperwork through without her knowledge. At first, she was angry. Then, she quickly realized Sixten’s highhandedness did not matter when she loved him more than she thought possible, could not live without him. Sixten felt the same way. What she thought of as manipulation was his way of protecting her, keeping them as one for all time. The love they shared was the precise reason she had to get away from this powerful lunatic before her.

“Perhaps you do not recall a Dynasty Vampyr can smell deceit,” he said gently. However, his placidity was unconvincing. Blythe could see his chest had begun to rise and fall rapidly. “Your lie is the scent of turpentine, irritating me.” Silver pupils swallowed the butterscotch. A flash of anger, sudden and dark, opened a ruthless void barely controlled. Once more, Gianni patted his thigh.
Slowly.

Bits and pieces of his volatile temper surfaced in her memories.

Fast on the heels of that recollection, Blythe realized that Gianni was keeping his potent vampiric coercion in check, which was subject to change without notice. After a steadying breath, she closed the distance between them, hesitating at his knees until he pulled her down. There, she sat rigidly. Though the minute she sat down, exhaustion crept through her. Still, she refused to lean against him, as he would have preferred. He brought up her feet, wrapping his long fingers around the left one and massaging before moving to the right, working his fingers underneath the strange manacle.

She shook her foot, rattling her bizarre irons. “It’s like a horrific anklet,” she said coyly, wanting to pull useful information from him. Again, why would something incredibly fragile not bend a fraction? “Your power is unfathomable. Do I need such a negligent leash for you to keep me contained?” She shook her head, dizzying from the simple movement. “Hardly.”

“It is not attached to prevent you from leaving on your own.” The feel of his body pushing through the thick material of her dress disconcerted her, his thigh under her bottom intimately familiar. She remembered that, in the not too distant past, Gianni made a move, gave her a look, or said a simple word, and her body responded, melting at his will. By his widening smile, she understood he sensed it. “My hunter secured you. It’s to prevent any interfering vampire from misting you out without my knowledge.”

“Another vampire couldn’t break this?” Again, she rattled it for effect.

Ignoring her question, he lifted his fingertips and slowly outlined her lips when he spoke, “I remember these wrapped around my thickness, drinking the response you pulled from me.” She felt his lips in her hair, lowering until they pressed against the shell of her ear. “Many times this happened.”

A shiver so cold it actually heated her body overwhelmed her. “I really am married, Gianni, certificate and all.”

“Human certificates do not apply to those who are not human, pet. Although you have some human blood, you are still claimed by
two
immortal factions. In case you are wondering, a Dynasty Vampyr’s claim trumps them all.” The tip of his tongue flicked against her lobe. Another shiver followed, this one leaving her cold. Gianni glanced at the intricate fireplace. At his will, a fire erupted with flickering, red waves intended to warm her body, but it would take more than that. Intense fear suddenly pushed icicles through her veins. “If we were to consider human legalities, your marriage certificate was fraudulent, Blythe. You are unmarried.”