Blood-Bonded by Force (2 page)

Raymond turned and walked crisply for the door, the tap of his Gucci loafers across the marble floor managing to sound both elegant and lethal, the same as on his trip into the library to mete out her punishment. Her father’s power shot out of her like someone yanking a cord from an outlet. Her bowels jerked once against her fingers, then came to a quivering rest.

“You may put your ring back on now.” Raymond’s voice floated back to her as he disappeared down the hall of this Fairbanks Ranch mansion that served as both her home and prison.

My immortality ring
. She squinted up to the top of the desk where she’d left it. Enchanted specifically for her, that red crystal ring would take away the worst of this horrendous pain and heal her with miraculous speed. But up there on that desk it might as well have been in Siberia.

Other options? Lie here and let herself waste?
What a perishing disappointment you turned out to be, Pändra.
She blinked slowly. Tempting.

“You sure as hell dropped a clanger by lettin’ that girl go, Pändra, you dimmock.”

She carefully angled her vision toward the doorway.

Her older brother, Mürk, was standing just inside the library.

She stared at him dully. He was as likely to have come to insult her as to help her. It was anybody’s guess. “I hadn’t realized that,” she rasped past the dry lump of her tongue. “Thank you ever so much for enlightening me.”

Mrk crossed the library and knelt at her side, heedlessly planting a knee into the shimmering pool of her blood. “Sufferin’ fuck, he really brasted you, didn’t he?”

At twenty-six, Mürk was two years her senior and the eldest of the seventeen-sibling blended family who’d been brought into this world—same as Tonĩ and Ãlex—to be Raymond’s breeding machines for the ultimate Fey race he planned to propagate for regular human takeover.

Mürk was a right frightening-looking blighter, tall, broad, muscular, and black-eyed like her. He kept his hair shaved off, exposing a ghastly array of black flame tattoos that began above his ears and trailed over the top of his skull.

All seventeen of them wore black flames, the tribal markings denoting them as born of Ұavell, the last Om Rău female in the world with pure demonic bloodlines.

Pändra’s flames had been on her stomach, now utterly buggered.

Mürk inspected the snarled mess of her intestines. “Hurts a shitload, doesn’t it?”

Her focus automatically shifted down to Mürk’s belly, where he had his own gnarled scar. So he’d been privileged to endure this same punishment, had he? For what transgression, though, she didn’t have a Scooby.

She swallowed tightly as nausea speared up her throat. A spate of vertigo tilted her senses upside down, and her eyelids dragged down.

“You’re going into shock,” Mürk informed her.

“My ring,” she croaked, her lips trembling.

Mürk used a small crystal dish to scoop her ring off the top of the desk. He couldn’t touch it directly because of the painful shock it would give him. “You’ll close up soon after you stick it on, so first we’d best put you back together a bit.”

She sucked in a sharp breath as her brother painstakingly started cramming her intestines back into the gaping hole in her belly. A halo appeared around her pupils and her pulsebeat frayed.

Chapter Two

Pändra leaned toward her dresser mirror and applied her fire engine red lipstick, smoothing on the finishing touches for her upcoming night out.

One of her
extra-special
nights out.

She was dressed in one of her few slutty outfits that didn’t expose her midriff; something she wouldn’t be doing for a while now the tattoo on her belly was shanked through with an ugly red scar. Feck knew where her jewel belly-button ring had chipped off.

A leather romper was tonight’s outfit of choice, the garment hugging her like skin to a grape. Plenty of cleavage was exposed from the plunging metal zipper in front, and the half-moons of her arse were put on display by the short-shorts—although her cheeks were covered by fishnet stockings that rode down to her knees. Below that, she was wearing tall black “pirate” boots, the leather hugging her tight over the ankles and calves then flaring into a wide cuff at mid-thigh.

In the reflection of her mirror she saw Jorgé, the Parthen butler, come to attention in her bedroom doorway. “Your gentlemen friends are here, Miss Pändra.” The butler stepped aside to allow two men access to her bedroom: Bo Bo and Duane.

Hardly her friends.

The two were a couple of deviant masochist grotbags who mucked about with her because they got their rocks off on the shocking and aberrant life she led outside of this prissy mansion…and for the skill she had at terrifying them. Their relationship was symbiotic in its way. Whenever she needed an extra-special night out to blow off a head of steam, these two found her something vile to do. As a reward for their efforts, she lavished plenty of abuse on them.

Bo Bo, real name Beauregard, was short, stocky, and suffering from early pattern baldness. He vaguely resembled George Costanza from
Seinfeld
, but without the glasses. Base humiliation got him off, and he generally didn’t give her much trouble.

Duane was a different article altogether. He was a long streak of piss, tall to Bo Bo’s short, and lanky of build with greasy hair. He had a complexion riddled with acne and beady eyes like a shithouse rat’s. He was into full-on physical domination and pushed Pändra to make things worse for him. He was the dodgy tosser she had to watch.

True to form, as soon as Duane saw the mean look in her eyes, his expression brightened maliciously.

She squinted at the two in the reflection of her mirror. “It’s going to be blood sport tonight, lads.” She needed to clobber someone more than she needed oxygen. “What’s the crack on that?”

“Fight at the pits,” Duane answered.

“Blades?”

“Just fists.”

She turned around and settled her bum on the edge of her vanity, putting the lid back on her lipstick tube with a sharp
click
. “Dull as dishwater, Duane.”

“Well, there’s a—”

“Goin’ out?” Mürk propped one shoulder against the jamb of her bedroom door.

She showed Mürk her teeth in a smile. “Private party, love. No big brothers allowed. Terribly sorry and all.”

Mürk surveyed the length of her body. “It’s too soon afterward, Pändra,” he said quietly.

She caught back a flush of heat. Did the gobbin really think she needed to be reminded that five hours ago she’d been wallowing in a mound of her own guts? She hooded her lids at her brother. “No worries, mate. I’m hale.” She lifted her right hand and wiggled her immortality ring at him.

Mürk shook his head. “You still lost a lot of blood, Pändra.”

She could practically hear Duane snicker.

She flashed her brother a murderous look. Fecking asshole, Mürk, giving away a weakness in front of her minions. Anger moved like heavy mire into her chest. “I’m touched, truly, at your show of brotherly love.” She picked up a pack of Camels from her dresser and pinched out a ciggy with the tips of her sharp, red-painted fingernails. “But if you’re worried I’m too dicky, I could pan your head in to prove otherwise.” She tucked the cigarette between her lips.

Mürk watched her in silence. The threat was real, and he knew it. By some genetic anomaly, she’d ended up with the strength of three of her half-Rău brothers put together. Considering the power of even one half-Rău, that was no piddly thing.

She picked up a lighter and, with a stroke of her thumb, ignited it. A one-inch flame shot up and she leaned the tip of her Camel into it. “You want to see me lamp my brother, lads?”

“Yeah,” Duane answered.

Such a good little laddie.

“Uh, oh, Mürk, that’s hard cheese for you.” She picked a piece of nicotine off her tongue. “I like to please my lads, don’t I, boys?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m taggin’ along tonight,” Mürk announced.

She laughed, then cut off the sound with an abrupt closure of her mouth. “Don’t think you want to be privy to what’s going to happen with me tonight, old mucker.”

Duane made a
mrm
sound and Bo Bo ran his tongue over his lips, back and forth, back and forth. That’s what Bo Bo did when he got excited. Lick, lick, lick…
sick arse
.

She flicked a gesture at Mürk. “Push off now.”

Mürk grinned at her. He had a surprisingly handsome smile for such a nasty piece of work. Fact was, all of Raymond’s progeny were exceptionally good-looking, herself included. But for some reason Mürk felt the need to ball it up. It’d probably been the light of his day getting his nose broken by a Vârcolac during the Scripps Hospital mission when Mürk and her now dead half-brother, Rën, had tried to kidnap Tonĩ.

Mürk folded his arms in front of him. “You don’t think you owe me a little fun tonight, ducky?”

She dragged on her cigarette. She owed Mürk her life. If he hadn’t come along when he did and helped her replace her immortality ring, she’d be pushing up daisies. Had Raymond just assumed that someone would happen by and save his daughter? Or had he given it a moment’s thought? A burning coal lodged in her chest. Jaw squared, she rounded on Duane. “What other blood sport is going on tonight?” she demanded.

“No punch-ups, Pändra,” Mürk intervened. “Not tonight.”

Anger seeped into her head and made Rău red spark at the corners of her vision. Aye, her beastie had been riding dangerously close to breaking free ever since her punishment today. But “going Rău” was like a nuclear temper tantrum; she might grow invincibly strong when she slipped into the demon side of herself, but at the expense of complete loss of control.
No, thank you ever so much
. She didn’t care for that. “You should shut your cake-hole, Mürk. Protective Big Brother doesn’t suit you.”

Mürk merely stared at her again.

She turned aside, sucking in a huge lungful of smoke and exhaling it sharply. Mürk
had
been through this before, though. He must know how weak she was feeling. How painful it was to have this burning coal of helplessness residing inside her. How filled with self-loathing she was. Mashing out her cigarette, she twisted it hard into the ashtray, then shrugged. “All right, I’ll indulge.” She looked at Duane. “What else do you have on the agenda?”

“I know where the
Iron Cock is tonight.”

“Ah! Now there’s a brill idea.” The
Iron Cock was a sex club where anything could go on and usually did. The illegal part of people shelling out brass for “favors” kept the location constantly changing. That, and the drugs that were generally being passed about. She arched a brow at her brother. “You like taking it up the arse, don’t you, Mürk?”

Mürk’s expression didn’t change. “Not the last I checked, ducky.”

“Bo Bo does.” She lavished a nasty grin on her minion. “Don’t you, Bo Bo?”

“No,” Bo Bo squeaked even as his tongue darted out and slithered across his lips. Lick, lick, lick…

They all piled into Pändra’s car: a Porsche 996 Carrera 4-seater coupe, jet black on the outside, pristine beige leather upholstery on the inside, and an in-dash 6-CD changer, plus plug in for an MP3, with speakers that could blow a girl’s head clean off. Blimey, but she loved this car. She ragged it onto the I-5 freeway with hardly a sound from the purring engine. She had the Foo Fighters playing, and the rock band was belting out “Free Me.” Pändra tightened her grip on the steering wheel. How apropos was
that
sentiment? She drove faster.

Careening off the I-5, she came to a red light at the end of the ramp and braked to a stop. Reaching into her small black purse, she pulled out two Camels. She lit them both and handed one to Mürk.

“Hey, we’re back here, too, you know,” Duane whined. “How the fuck ’bout one for us?”

She unbuckled her seatbelt, handed Mürk her ciggy, then leaned into the back seat and slammed her fist into the side of Duane’s jaw. His head bounced off the passenger side window and cracked it.

Duane cried out.

“Shut your fecking trap.” She sat back down. “And if you get blood on my car, I’ll make you eat your own conkers.” She reclaimed her cigarette from Mürk, catching Bo Bo’s reflection in the rearview mirror. His eyes were wide with terror. “Neither of you get to ask for anything tonight. You hear, you lousy piece of shites?”

Bo Bo licked his lips.
Bleeding spacko
.

The traffic light switched to green. She put the Porsche in gear and continued toward Barrio Logan, the scrotty part of town where the
Iron Cock was operating tonight. Dragging steadily on her cigarette, she struggled to ignore the sharp pain in her belly. Her immortality ring didn’t take away all sensation, and considering her intestines had been playing
Twister
on the floor earlier today, she was feeling right cattled. She should be home soaking in a hot bathtub at this very moment, and if there was anyone in her life with an ounce of sense or an ickle of real affection for her, that’s exactly where she’d be.

In a sudden aching rush, she missed Inga, one of the nannies who’d cared for the brood when they were growing up. Raymond certainly hadn’t allowed them to be raised by their mean-as-piss demon mum, Ұavell. When Pändra was a little girl and had an ouchy, Inga always made her feel better with songs and biscuits and kisses. Those days were long away now, though. She couldn’t remember the last time there’d been a nurturing female influence in Raymond’s household.