Moon Kissed Page 2

  “You look well.” Taylor settled as he spoke, undoing the buttons on his expensive navy jacket. He smoothed his snazzy tie with a swipe of his hand. His straw-blond hair had been neatly combed, his skin clear of stubble and baby-bottom smooth.

  How nice. He dressed up for me.

  “That’s always good to hear,” Wolfe replied smoothly. “I’d hate to know I looked like shit.”

  “So that’s your game?” The thin smile on Taylor’s face evaporated. “Playing the role of the asshole?”

  “No game, I’m just not in the mood for bullshit. We’re here for a reason. Let’s hop to it. Tell me what it’s going to take for the pack to smooth things over with your people.”

  Taylor sniffed and glanced down at his shirt. “Lucius is willing to accept your olive branch, but he has a stipulation.”

  “I wasn’t aware this was a negotiation.”

  “If you want to keep the peace like you say you do, a display of goodwill will go a long way to prove it.” Taylor’s once-brown eyes went black. “Your alpha killed a powerful master, someone who cannot be easily replaced.”

  “Shit happens.” Feigning disinterest, he shrugged. “But for the sake of conversation, let’s pretend I’m interested in your offer. What exactly do you want me to do?”

  Taylor smiled and leaned forward, interlocking his long, pale fingers. “Simple. Someone followed us here. Someone we want taken care of. You do that for us and all is forgiven.”

  Wolfe snickered and lowered his head, smiling. It figured. Vampires were never good at ridding themselves of unwanted problems. They were fast and powerful, but relied on brains, not brawn.

  “You want me to kill someone?”

  “That would be preferable.” Taylor nodded, smile intact. “But a maiming would work just as nicely. We want to send the message that acting against the king isn’t in anyone’s best interest—especially hers.”

  Wolfe’s narrowed his eyes, his good humor fleeing. “Her?”

  “Surely the prospect of cowing a female doesn’t intimidate you.”

  “I don’t attack women, Taylor.” He couldn’t contain the throaty snarl that accompanied his words. “Hell no. Fuck off.”

  Any form of friendliness in Taylor vanished, replaced with an uncompromising finality. “That’s the price for peace between the vampyren and the lycae. You want us to get along? You’ll do as I say. Take it or leave it.”

  “I won’t kill a female for your king.”

  “Then don’t.” Taylor’s retort was laughable at best. “Leave her breathing if you must. We only need her to understand the position she places herself in by killing off our kind. We’ll appreciate a hard lesson learned equally as much as a loss of life or limb.”

  A female killing off leeches can’t be that bad. “She’s killing vampyren?”

  “Yes,” Taylor replied, his clipped motions as he swiped at his shirt revealing his fury. “And she’s targeting masters specifically.”

  Damn. I like her even more.

  “Seems to me”—Wolfe sat back and placed his large arms along the back of the booth—“that a Master should be able to take on one measly little female. If he can’t, he’s not worthy of leading an army or nest.”

  “She kills them while they rest,” Taylor spat, fingers clenching into tight fists that landed with a heavy thud on the table. “No vampire—vampyren, Thymeria or otherwise—can defend themselves when the sun is at its zenith.”

  His curiosity was officially piqued.

  Arching a brow, he asked, “She’s a slayer?”

  “No.” Taylor inhaled sharply and shook his head. “She’s something far more deadly.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Taylor slid from the booth and the vampyren in his accompaniment rushed to take their places behind him. “If you want to know, you can find out right now. Will you accept the terms? Or do I need to tell Lucius you’ve decided the vampyren and lycae must go to war?”

  Fuck a duck.

  The elation he felt quickly died.

  Why did he always have the shittiest fucking luck?

  Arden quietly slipped from Greyson’s Pub as soon as the vampyren slave rose from his seat across from the lycae. She took refuge in the shadows across the way, moving to stand alongside a large black limo with tinted windows. She waited for her target to exit the building.

  Her body hummed, adrenaline flooding her system. Like a drug, the powerful sensations zinged through her veins and went straight to her head. Anticipation spiked, turning into a dizzying high.

  Taylor was the only known individual with access to Lucius Mercoix. The man was the liaison for all vampyren matters, speaking on behalf of the king in all things. Tracking him had been absolute hell. Vampyren were reckless because of bloodlust, but they weren’t stupid.

  She closed her eyes and forced calm to replace eagerness.

  Now wasn’t the time to bask in the promise of retribution. Years of diligence were about to pay off, but only if she focused. The information from a dying master vampyren had led her to Taylor, but she hadn’t killed the bastard yet. That would only happen if she played her cards right.

  This opportunity was good—too damn good to fuck up.

  Remembering her purpose, she removed her gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of her coat. With a shrug of her shoulders, she removed her warm, leather jacket. The worn material glided down her tight black turtleneck, drifted over her hips, and pooled at her feet. She watched the door as she readied for an opportunity to strike. Taylor was accompanied by four assassins who could tear an immortal in two, and he was meeting with a lycae of all things.

  She shivered when she recalled how massive the hound of hell was, envisioning him sitting relaxed and imposing at the table. His chiseled body, chin-length black hair and darkly shadowed face were impressive as hell. But there had been a very real danger beneath his cool façade, something inexplicable hovering in his dark green eyes.

  The danger was called death.

  Regardless of the male’s reason for meeting with Taylor, lycae detested vampires. It was a well-known and indisputable fact. However, for some reason, the two were in bed with each other. Had the local pack decided to work with their enemies? Was her job about to become much more difficult?

  There’s no way to know. Time to prepare.

  Her fingers drifted over daggers attached to harnesses on each of her legs. The Berettas slung beneath each of her arms were securely in place. She went through the weapons with a familiar, lingering caress. Clips were arranged along the back of her belt, ensuring ammunition wouldn’t be a problem.

  With a deft motion, she removed the gun beneath her right arm and popped the magazine free to inspect the rounds. Once done, she returned the Beretta to the holster and reached for her back pocket. Her fingers glided over metal and plastic. There they were, ready for action.

  Pliers—the poor man’s dental device—her favorite tool of the trade.

  She drew a deep breath and released it slowly, savoring the moment and what it meant.

  The time was at hand. A vow would soon be settled and a life would be avenged. She’d been patient this long—a little longer wasn’t asking for much. She’d done far worse in her life. Right now, she wasn’t tracking down evil beings and killing them for money. She was doing something with importance.

  Soon, Portia.

  Wistful, she perched her shoulder against the brisk brick wall. Optimism merged with hope. Once this was done, she was taking a vacation from all things violent. Only Mai Tais, lone beaches and all the relaxation she could stand.

  After all—this time around—she’d earned it.

  Soon.

  Chapter Two

  Wolfe squeezed out of the booth, growling as his knees hit the bottom of the table. It was a blessing and a curse being so large. On one hand, it meant a heated glance got the job done in most cases. On the other, it meant low ceilings and too-small furniture were a common occurrence. Once free, he tossed
money on the table and followed Taylor and his men from the pub.

  Along the way, he glanced at the corner. The girl was gone.

  Damn it to hell.

  His lack of a sex life hadn’t bothered him before, but it did now. It had been decades since he’d been interested in any female and even longer since he’d had a decent fuck. He hated dredging up memories of Deidre Varmour, but he couldn’t always control his mind or emotions. His hackles rose in disgust. The bitch had used magic to bewitch him, wanting him as a pawn in her personal fucking vendetta.

  The experience had almost ruined him.

  People had talked and he’d been a laughingstock. Worse? His wolf had been duped by magic, believing it had found its mate. Once the cobwebs had cleared, he’d felt like a total tool. He hadn’t had much use for females after that, swearing them off permanently. Perhaps it was best the mystery woman was gone. He’d likely take his contempt for one female out on another who’d done nothing wrong.

  “We’ll take the lead,” one of the vampyren announced, moving in front of Taylor and striding to the entrance. The human exited the building with the remaining leeches directly on his heels. They were all business, scanning the area as they opened the door.

  The crisp autumn air swept into the building, the delectable scent of jambalaya and red beans making Wolfe’s stomach rumble. Dinner was next on the agenda. Most definitely. Nothing took care of a werewolf’s hunger like fresh biscuits, refried beans and rice and a side of gumbo. He hadn’t had the opportunity to enjoy a proper meal prior to his journey to the pub.

  Alcohol on an empty stomach was just asking for trouble.

  The vampyren in front of him came to an abrupt halt. Wolfe stopped thinking about his ravenous appetite and peered over the heads of the guards. A small black shape appeared, blocking the progression of the group.

  “I suggest you move,” a soft feminine voice warned.

  Her request was met by the threatening baritone of the vampyren in front. “Move me.”

  A wet gurgle, bubbly and out of place, followed. Wolfe watched in disbelief as the vampyren’s head wobbled and detached from its shoulders. Taylor pressed against Wolfe as the remaining guards flew from the building and went on the offensive.

  Growling thickly and shoving him away, Wolfe demanded, “What the fuck?”

  “It’s her.” Taylor’s fear was apparent in his face and voice. “I told you the bitch would be here. She’s not smart enough to leave well enough alone.”

  Wolfe watched the small figure spin and duck, dodging blows and kicks from the vampyren. He stilled, taken off guard when he recognized her. Son of a bitch. The female from the bar. Her skill at physical combat was impeccable, her speed uncanny and definitely not human. The daggers in her grasp were like an extension of her hands, delivering deep slices that sent blood into the air in a vivid red spray.

  “If you want peace with Lucius”—Taylor wheezed like a ninny who’d cashed his last check—“stop her.”

  “Why should I?” Wolfe’s gaze followed the girl as she moved with a grace that belied her nature. She was too damn fast to be mortal. He turned to Taylor with a sarcastic sneer. “You’ll be too dead to tattle.”

  “Fool,” Taylor snarled and pressed his back into the door, obviously wanting to escape. “My death is how he’ll know. If I don’t return, he’ll take it as a declaration of war. He’ll come here. He’ll expect you to answer for my death. You invited me here. I traveled as a display of goodwill. Mark my words. You’ll pay.”

  “Your king doesn’t want to fuck with the lycae. He knows better.”

  “Adam Trevlian doesn’t need another burden on his back. We didn’t come here because you fear our kind. We came here because we’re an obstacle you can’t cross. Think with your head, not your morality.”

  Wolfe’s vision shifted, allowing him to see in wolf clarity.

  Taylor had stopped sneering and backed away, but not before Wolfe delivered a hearty blow to his nose. The bones beneath his knuckles gave way with a satisfying crunch. Taylor’s pitiful cry was muffled by the hand he pressed to his injury. Blood trickled through his fingers.

  “You’re right. It’s an obstacle Adam doesn’t need. But don’t threaten me or mine. You might get what you want, but you won’t leave happy.”

  Wolfe turned and watched as a vampyren moved closer to his opponent and the female seized the opportunity, pushing into his body with her smaller one. Her fingers gripped his jaw and she forced his head up and back. The dagger in her hand severed tissue and muscle with practiced ease, nearly decapitating the vampire. She released her foe and went back to work.

  The two remaining vampyren went for guns hidden under their jackets. In a blink, she slid her daggers into sheaths at her sides and retrieved the weapons tucked against her ribs. She fired her sidearms, leaning forward for better aim. Bullets whizzed past her as the vampyren returned fire and she ducked behind an alley. In a breath, she reappeared with fresh clips and resumed shooting her weapons.

  “What the hell is she?” he whispered.

  Taylor removed a handkerchief from his pocket. “She’s an outcast, unwanted by either of her races, living off the lives of others. She’s of no concern to you. Do what I’ve asked. No one will miss her.”

  Wolfe’s jaw ticced and he stared at the vampyren servant. “She moves like a vampire and fights like the Thymeria.”

  “That’s probably because she was a member of the Thymeria human faction, but that was years ago. As for being vampire—”

  Wolfe stopped listening, forced to intercept the oncoming female in question. The remaining vampyren were down and squirming weakly atop the blocked concrete. She was focused on one person—one he didn’t particularly care for, himself.

  Taylor.

  Damn it.

  Subduing an unwilling female wasn’t how he envisioned his first night back in New Orleans. He had wanted to relax with decent food and even better music. Not engage in a scuffle with a tiny girl who’d just put the beat down on four vampyren.

  Should be thanking her for the community fucking service.

  “Get the hell out of here,” he snarled at Taylor and took a step forward.

  If the beautiful female was intimidated by his much larger size, it didn’t show. She never slowed, releasing the magazine in her sidearm with a flick of her thumb, sending it dancing along the asphalt. Her free hand wound behind her back and returned with a fully loaded clip. She slammed the ammunition into the gun and locked it in place with her palm.

  She moved forward and he finally got a glimpse of her eyes. Her irises were a deep-hued blue, as dark and vast as the clearest midnight sky. And the determination glimmering inside those devastating, beautiful orbs was unshakable.

  “Out of my way, lycae.”

  Her soft voice was like velvet rubbing against his spine, causing his skin to ripple in pleasure. The hair on his arms lifted, the wolf inside him stirring to life, an inner key sliding into a lock. The bones in his body seemed to thrum. Something that had been dormant his entire life took hold. How could he have been so blind in the past? The way he’d felt for Deidre hadn’t even come close to this level of recognition. He shook his head and faced the furious female who had the voice of a siren, the face of an angel and the body of a goddess.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Of course you can,” she purred and lifted the gun.

  Christ, but she’s ballsy.

  Mindful of the shiny obsidian sidearm, he reminded her, “Bullets don’t work on us, cher.”

  “Sure they do.” Her voice was husky and slightly accented, as lulling as the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle radiating off her skin. “If they’re made of silver.”

  He took a step forward and was rewarded with a bitch of a sting in his chest. It was followed immediately by another. The excruciating burn scorched the skin, seeping into muscle and bone. He withheld the grimace that would reveal the pain she’d caused and glanced down at the holes in his chest.
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br />   “I missed your heart intentionally,” she said and he lifted his head to meet her gaze. She peered around him, then returned those glorious blue eyes to his face. “I won’t a second time.”

  “Do you want him that badly?” he wheezed, rivers of blood seeping into his shirt, staining the white material.

  She didn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t be facing off against something like you if I didn’t.”

  Wolfe recognized the look in her eyes because it was one he’d seen displayed many times by his brethren. She wanted blood—Taylor’s blood—and she’d die to get it.

  Even if it meant going head-to-head with a lycae three times her size.

  He felt a pang of shame at what he was about to do, but there was only one way to ensure she didn’t skin Taylor’s worthless hide. He lowered his eyes, shifted to the side, and murmured, “Then by all means. Take him.”

  Her blue irises flickered, becoming bright before going dark. Her full, rosy-hued lips parted and her brows furrowed. As if to clarify, she said, “I hold no grudge against your kind.”

  He considered smiling at her newly projected nervousness. Thinking better of it, he shuffled his feet and gave her room. “Glad to hear it.”

  She edged around him slowly, until she was closer to Taylor. When the vampyren slave was within her reach, she snagged his shirt, forced him from the door and slammed him into the building. For a moment, her indigo gaze drifted in Wolfe’s direction. He remained where he was, as insubstantial and nonthreatening as a fly on the wall, waiting for her to lower her guard.

  “All right, you sorry piece of shit,” she snarled at Taylor and turned away from Wolfe, reaching for her back pocket. She produced a small pair of pliers and shoved the metal into Taylor’s face, pressing against him. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, or so help me—”

  Wolfe rushed her, moving faster than she’d likely expect. She attempted to go for her gun but was hindered by the pliers that snagged her leather holster.

  “Forgive me,” he said softly, striking fast.

  He pulled the blow back just enough to send her under without causing serious damage.