Captiva Craving - Vampire Werewolf Menage (Six Feet Under Series Book Two) (8 page)

Her breath rushed out when his tongue slid up her leg, nibbling on curves before delivering open mouth kisses to her fleshy thighs. Her nipples hardened impossibly, darkening around her sharp clamps. She shook her chains, prone to his mercy. And on this day, he would give her nothing before he wrung everything from her first.

“
Good girls stay perfectly still.” He delivered a bite to her thigh. “Naughty girls are gagged. Do not make me gag you, my Blythe. I want to hear those throaty moans without obstruction.” He looked up at her through those sooty lashes, blinking slowly. His sculptured mouth spread into a wicked smile. “How many times can you near the pinnacle of release without going over? Should you count for me?” he asked shamelessly, rolling his fingertip over the edge of her feminine hood, stiffening her nub.

She arched out, thrusting her mound against his hand. Considering the games that he always played in this room, when he pulled back before she climaxed, it never surprised her. But it sure as hell pissed her off. She groaned angrily, wanting satisfaction. “Please, Sir.”

“
Please me, Blythe.”

“
What else can I do?”

“
Return my love.” His silky hair brushed her thighs; his tongue stroking up to her center, barely circling her throbbing clit. A whisper of a movement that caused her body to throb, demanding with an intolerable urgency. The wetness rushed down, glistening streams of her arousal.

Those crashing waves came down, drowning her until she skimmed the surface. She was back in the present and Gianni was looking up at her from between her thighs, the firelight glittering across his face. Mimicking what he was doing in her memories, he thoroughly licked her with long laps sending her toward another heady escape. Her lips stayed parted, and to Blythe’s embarrassment, she was mewling…almost purring for him. She told her legs to close, but they refused. A thick finger followed his tongue, curling around her clitoris before probing inside her opening. Her eyes were blinking, and she fought to close them, but could not stop watching the way he enjoyed her flavor.

When she bucked, his large hand settled her stomach into place, as his mouth and deft fingers remained relentless. Coaxing her until she screamed out, clawing his hair, the strands wrapping around her fingers. Only after her second climax hit, he slowed. He positioned himself over her and she pushed at him. "No."

"You still refuse me?" He had the arrogance to look affronted. "You prefer punishments over this?" He rubbed his hardness against her.

"I'm not letting you in."

"Time will change your mind," he growled. "You are weary, I suppose. Or, perhaps, you prefer dark games over lovemaking. We will see how long you last before begging me to take you."

 “I just want to go home, Gianni.”

“After our ceremony, we will go home.”

“Ceremony?”

“As you find importance in ceremonies, allow me to enlighten you,” he explained, delivering hot, moist kisses across her stomach. “The Species were born long after the Dynasty.”

“Your peasants?”

“No, the Undead would be more like peasants, and the Species considered upper commoners.” He pulled her dress over her thighs, covering her. Then, he moved up her body, slowly snaking his expert tongue across his own glistening lips. Still tasting her release, she realized.

“Go on,” she said, tensing with understanding. Something worse headed her way.

“As we discussed, pure blood Species have given Brides,” he continued, cupping her face between his palms. “However, a member of the Dynasty can choose.” He brushed her lips with his. She tasted herself on him, but when she moved to pull away, he held firm. “My cousin, The Dynasty Vampyr Prince, and prime members of his court will meet us by the end of the week.”

Swallowing the acid now burning her throat, Blythe asked slowly, “The prince of vampires?”

“It is customary for another monarch to be present.” He nodded, studying her. “Tradition, I suppose.”

“For?” Pointless in asking since Blythe already knew Gianni’s answer.

“Witness our joining as one,” he answered, curving his lush lips, “for eternity.”

Not this time.

Not in this way.

Dead palm fronds crunched under Kash’s heavy feet as he came behind Sixten. “Do you detect anything?” he asked in a rumbling voice tight with emotions, which after their girly chat down in the Sanctuary, Sixten could now name. No male wanted to discuss
any
feelings, much less a vampire, so props to Kash for not emasculating himself in the process. Although Sixten still had not decided if he was going to castrate him. Time would tell.

“I want to walk the west side,” answered Sixten, glancing at the other three. No matter how tired they were, Oycher and Qudir remained nervous with warrior’s excitement over any impending battle, a natural occurrence at the thought of doing what they were born to do, which jacked up their adrenalin. Kash, on the other hand, seemed older. His fingers remained closer to his weapons, his moves strongly calculated. “Her trail is getting colder by the second. I never thought they were stupid.” He was half Habaline. He should know by his own incredible intelligence. “But the way they’ve covered up her scent…it's…”

“As though her abduction was highly premeditated,” Kash finished. Tight lines stretched from the corners of his mouth, lavender eyes washing silver in the sunlight while glancing furtively at Sixten. “I picked up a faint trail to the right of that Black Mangrove patch.” He shifted on his feet as another cool breeze flittered through, pushing his leather coat against his thick thighs. “A human female, though it wasn’t Blythe, and
other
.”

Sixten stared downward, following with his body, his long legs making short work of the trail his friend indicated. Kash always scented creatures better than he did, whereas Sixten felt his shapeshifter cousins in a manner, a unique connection, no Species vampire could ever. In a
physical
way down to his bone marrow and he
hated
it, could not embrace it if he tried.

As Sixten neared them, the Black Mangroves definitely caught his attention. Something multidimensional lingered there. A pulling ensued, a disjointed lulling coaxing him to move his body forward. But where? What was he sensing? Instead, he stopped, cautiously lowering himself on his haunches and trailing his fingertips across the loose dirt mixed with powdery sand. Another peculiar, though familiar, sense rushed him, much the way those scrolls did on Marco Island. “Then show me,” he growled with exasperation, standing up and walking forward, “…wasting time here.”

“What’s going on?” Oycher’s voice came through another breeze, this one stronger.

“Don’t know.” In a slow blink of his ice-green eyes, he caught it, a narrow trail opened for him to follow. He motioned for the others, though by their bewildered expressions, they could not see what Sixten was noticing. Ten scant feet and there it was, pushing outward from the ground. An opening so large, he wondered how anyone missed it. By the gasps that he heard from behind him, they were thinking the same thing.

“You’re like a key, Six,” Qudir said in horrified awe, “a freaking key opening their hidden lair.”

Sixten pushed out his inherent senses and caught a shimmer morphing into a crystalline wall. Then, boom, the same way the others had appeared during the night, a vision Sixten could
touch
suddenly stood right in front of him. He scanned the sight, amazed that he uncovered it, and at his fellow aliens for hiding this location so incredibly well. As though an underground garage would be commonplace to a small, tropical island, three rolling doors hung off their tracks, waiting to crash for the final time. “Tricky, this will take some careful maneuvering.” Even for those who could mist their bodies and reform them elsewhere.

He heard the others drawing in the new scents, an olfactory search for any of his alien brethren. It was iffy, maybe they were here…maybe not. A chance they had to take. All Species and Weres easily scented most of the Habalines, but there were stronger breeds, which Sixten had never encountered and legends spoke for themselves. Meaning Habaline power, at times, seemed limitless.

Led by instinct, he motioned for his fellow Vojaks to take the middle tunnel, and that particular door dangled precariously over its entryway. Ocher bared his fangs at him, suddenly irritable and ready to kill. “You scared?” Sixten taunted him. “Wanna quit before we even hit it?” They worked through the night. Since dawn, they had investigated five more underground locations, and everyone needed to feed, including Sixten. Ocher retracted his fangs, deciding he had nothing to say. Usually, male vampires knew better than to fight another male who had lost his mate. Since the suffering vampire had nothing to lose, it was a fight his opponent would never win. Ocher was powerful, even a touch larger than Sixten, but he was no dummy.

“Girls, before we lose it hard, remember why we are here.” Qudir said in a commanding voice brooking no argument while pulling a flying blade from his leathers. “The same way we moved through the other stops, we rip this lovely little abode from floor to ceiling, find anything we can.” Not said, through the long night, nothing had turned up to help in their search. “Giving up is never an option, and we’re not starting this day.”

Kash wrapped the center door’s chain around his large hand. With a decent yank, it went down with a rocking finality. Metal derived from alien ore slammed onto dirt and white sand, only stopped by the hearty root system feeding the marsh. They held their breaths until the last of the sand settled and stared into a darkened, supposedly lifeless, facility.

Born natural predators, their eyes easily adjusted, blessed to see better in the dark than in daylight. Sixten skirted the other three Vojaks, and stepped through metal bars pitted with greenish corrosion.

Ocher came through after him. “These broken segments are large enough to allow a good-sized male to pass. Instead of pushing through these, why wouldn’t Rave’s prisoners mist or shape shift after leaving their cells?”

“This metal is different from the doors, but the ore is from the Habalines’ realm,” answered Sixten uneasily. “Don’t try misting through anything around here. My brother was insane and insanely intelligent. If it weren’t for his arrogance and my blade, he would still be alive and running this, and many other shitholes like it, from his kingly perch.”

Kash inhaled sharply. “Species have been here… recently.”

“Mixed,” agreed Sixten, “nothing pureblood.”

Qudir stared down at boot tracks, following the trail with his midnight gaze. “Someone went back in,” he said, inclining and sniffing. “There was a female here, a human.”

Just like Kash thought, but Sixten knew Blythe’s rich scent anywhere. She was a part of his physical fabric. And he’d known right away that she’d never been in this horrifying facility. However, he was not stopping until he had a clue as to where they would have taken her.

He glided ahead and opened an eight-foot door. Air hit his face, cold and putrid. Death lingered here, its stench so toxic Sixten had to stop breathing in order to investigate properly. He stepped over destroyed surveillance equipment and a pile of Stavz.

Qudir pulled his phone out, hitting the numbers in blurring, vampiric speed. “Maestru, we need a pick-up on that last location marked D6, yeah, Stavzs here, and we haven’t begun to get busy. Uh-huh. He’s fine. Yeah. Got it.”

“Ah, tell Maestru I’m touched by his concern.” Qudir rolled his eyes at Sixten’s perpetual sarcasm. He rolled his eyes right back before he picked up a trampled Stavz and studied it. They were brutal weapons developed by the founding Vampyr Vojaks. Only warriors were supposed to carry them, and any Vojak used that particular torturous weapon as a last resort. Unfortunately, when the liberated Habalines attacked their Vojak Sanctuary and captured Blythe, they were packing countless Stavzs. Many, as he could see right now, were made from Habaline ore. Under a formidable ambush, the guards who were protecting his Blythe never had a chance to defend themselves. At this very moment, numerous Vojaks were in untold agony, as Dr. Dru Holt looked on in helpless frustration, unable to take a fraction of their pain away. “I’m wondering,” Sixten said to the others while tossing the weapon up and down in his hand, “if the other Vojaks will completely heal.”

“Meaning?” Qudir raised a dark brow.

“Since they changed the metal in these babies,” he explained. “What was stopping them from making any so-called improvements along the way?”

They all froze, glancing at one another before pocketing several of the working Stavz littered across the floor. Qudir shrugged, muttering his approval, “Don’t use them on our kind, but it couldn’t hurt to try them out on the opposition.”

Sixten hid a few on his person and then glided quickly, touching nothing else while eyeing everything. He saved the worst that he smelled for last. Directly ahead, three gutted Habaline guards lay on the floor. Their limbs going in unnatural directions. The surrounding metals prevented them from shifting and saving themselves. Another two points for arrogance, he mused. The contraption they constructed to contain their in-house ‘creations’ became their own coffins.

Over to the right, a Species mixed blood sat in a low, chrome chair; his chest split wide. Next to it, the small desk held dissection instruments splattered in opaque blood. Out of necessity, Sixten tortured others, mostly in the past. Unfortunate for anyone on the receiving end of his techniques, since Sixten could be quite the monster when he was so inclined or the situation demanded it of him. Tortured individuals delivered valuable information, and no Vojak worth his salt would apologize for conducting horrific sessions, which garnered him necessary intel to aid his race. Unfortunately, that necessity was not the case here. Without a doubt, he was tortured for mere pleasure or used as an example to those who refused to cooperate. Sadly, Sixten felt a connection to this dead prisoner. If the Habaline who sired Sixten had not left him with his mother, he could have been sitting in that precise chair right now, with his fellow Vojaks finding him that way.