Captiva Craving - Vampire Werewolf Menage (Six Feet Under Series Book Two) (4 page)

Bane pointed right at Sixten. “You can read
all
of this!”

Sixten gave him a magnanimous bow. “Guilty, Beta. Your point?”

“Translate!” He growled, kicking his chair with such force; it embedded into the wall.

Jayce gripped the front of Bane’s throat, holding him back since he was barreling headlong into mid-transformation. “Will you
please
translate, Ambassador?”

So now, it was time for Sixten to negotiate. “You have fifteen seconds to go on record and defer familial blood you hold over my wife. She will come home to me, in my lair, without your continued harassment,” he demanded scathingly. “Only then will I translate.” Partially translate, he mentally corrected.

“Werewolves, your natural-born enemy, are combing the area locating her!” Bane shot back, tamping his Beast. “If you translate, something you find in these may cut down on our search time. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me.” He glided in the way of vampires and headed for the mouth of the tunnel. “I’m a total bastard who walks the edge of madness
daily
. If I lose the only anchor to my sanity, the woman I love, I'll let it
all
hang out.” He rubbed a hand over his glittering eyes, reminding them of what he was. “You Beasts will think we reverted back to the dark ages. No hope. No faith in any God. Black nothingness. My first stop? I’ll lay waste to your precious Pack. Think carefully, Bane Ruyter. What is your family worth? And you, Alpha, think just as hard. What is the Vojaks Sanctuary worth? It’s not a prison. It is a
home
. On record, say the words I want to hear.”

“Say them,” Jayce growled, squeezing Bane’s throat. “If Blythe truly loves him, she’ll hate you for your interference, my Beta. We’re wasting time. Do it.”

“Fine,” Bane spat each syllable with mocking clarity, since he couldn’t disobey his Alpha – nature wouldn’t allow it, “welcome to the family. I withdraw familial dominion over Blythe
Ruyter
.”

Sixten was getting used to the Beta’s sarcasm. With a nasty smile, he turned to Jayce Jordan, quirking a brow. “And?”

No Alpha took orders. And Jayce Jordan was long passed scowling and still holding his Beta by the throat. Although considering this was a
persuasive
request – one benefitting the werewolves, Sixten was sure of the outcome.

“Because I’ve had my queen taken from me, I understand your grim situation. I know firsthand that the rage pumping through your blood is, without a doubt, insurmountable. For that reason alone, I will overlook your behavior, your war-inducing words. Although after tonight, you will never threaten my pack again and walk away with your life.” He brought his free hand up, pointing a purposeful finger at Sixten with his claws extended. “The day you forget my words, I will close the Alpha’s jaws around your throat with such finality even your Vojaks will have no power to make you Undead.” He dropped his hand, fisting it on his mammoth thigh. “Moving on,” he continued without releasing the Beta’s throat with his opposite fist. “For the record, a chosen pack member will work with Maestru to find other locations for our imprisoned Habalines. Even so, a handful will have to go to Captiva Island until we find other habitable accommodations. I refuse to treat any of those who escaped an unjustifiable prison as animals. As long as they have nothing to do with taking Blythe, who is a known Were mixed blood fathered in by my pack, or have murdered any human or creature since their escape, I plan to rehabilitate them, so they can eventually assimilate into human society.” Blue eyes flared out, flashing the Alpha Beast. “I expect your Coven to take the front seat and aid us in this.”

“Agreed,” Sixten said, figuring it was the best deal he could get. After gliding back to the table, he worked Maestru’s laptop furiously and spun it around to face the powerful males surrounding him. “Gentlemen, let’s begin an astronomy lesson you will
never
forget.”

Tonight, he and his brothers-n-arms were going to pop apart several of the hideaways the shapeshifters had marked on those damned scrolls and look for his Blythe.

Bastards.

Not the shapeshifters, he shook his head, but the cocky werewolves for hiding their Scotland score for months! Why in God’s name did they have to keep that kind of discovery to themselves, especially if none of their Habaline Weres could read the scrolls to begin with? Because they were
deceptive
bastards, he reminded himself.

Knowledge is power.

Per usual, they wanted to one-up the vampires. Maybe use that bit of intel to take down Maestru for capturing their queen. Not that Sixten gave a shit if they did. Maestru was born an ass, deserved whatever he got. Still, that particular ass was their Coven leader, and when asked to choose, Sixten’s allegiance would always lie with the Species when up against the werewolves any day of the week.

Even considering his wife was a part werewolf, apparently of the Beta’s bloodline. That fact was probably the reason the scrolls came out of the closet in the first place. His jaw popped until he unclenched his teeth. He was too smart not to realize that the werewolves would try to take Blythe from him the minute he got her back. Or try to get to her first and then hide her on him again. No matter what promises they made, no bloody matter what the Alpha said. As fucked up as Sixten was that singular thought brought a wide smile to his face. He wanted the Beasts to try, because Sixten was dying to sink his fangs into the Beta once and for all. A matchup like that? He would not have to hold
anything
back. And teaching lessons was what his shapeshifter side loved best, besides putting those deep-loving moves on his extraordinary mate.

“Hold on for me, moja láska,” his plea left on a lonely whisper, tearing out what was left of his heart. “I die every second away from you.”

Moving in vampiric speed, he passed the cross section displaying ancient and highly intricate carvings telling the story of the first Vampyr to roam the earth. How suitable that Vojak blood smeared the carvings depicting human sacrifices, like a horror come full circle. Though surprisingly, none succumbed to deathblows here, just injuring many and capturing one person. Taking his wife, the only one Sixten could never live without.

And why just her?

Not that anything in their immortal world ever made sense, but still. Wouldn’t the mixed-bloods have been after something other than Blythe? Or even killed the Vojaks instead of disabling them with Stavz? Hundreds of questions he had, yet not a single answer.

As he turned another corner heading for Kash’s room, blood and burning flesh filled his sensitive nose. The leashed destruction was astonishing. The cool-headed calculation and intelligence behind this attack were somewhat frightening. The shapeshifters had removed her from Kash’s locked bedchamber, taken her away from more than
fifty
guards where Sixten so confidently thought her to be safe. Unimaginable, yet this was harsh reality staring him in the face.

He heard voices ahead.

“You’d better ‘fess up,” Oycher said to Kash.

“Why, I need to add to his fucked-up-ness?” Kash snapped back. “I’m not that selfish. Six is ten seconds from detonation, ‘bout to blow apart.”

“Not that close,” Oycher said, “but
you
are, so get it over with.”

He passed the threshold just as Kash was slipping a clean, black shirt over his head, tucking it into his leathers. “I know what you’re going to say,” Sixten said in a way of greeting. “So don’t bother saying it.” Kash offered to make Blythe Undead. And if he had allowed his friend to do so, she would no longer be a tasty Donor.

“You know?” Oycher asked curiously, his glowing eyes of ocher locking onto Sixten much the way a lion fixates on prey.

“Of course, Kash offered to make Blythe Undead and turn her from Donor. I refused.”

“I see. Turning her from Donor and human life in general,” Oycher added, leaning against Kash’s dresser, his fingers started drumming against the top. “But I wouldn’t have passed on that if I were you, since, after we find her, Blythe has no hopes of returning to a human’s life anyway.”

“Kash, what choice would you make if the situation were reversed?” Sixten argued and wondered why he was the one in the hot seat.

“You didn’t want me owning your girl.” He lifted a massive shoulder, let it drop, but it was a forced gesture - nothing close to casual. “So now, someone else does.”

That’s when Sixten went a little crazy. He removed a knife from his boot and had its sharp edge against Kash’s throat before either of them knew what was happening. Kash didn’t look surprised when a stream of fresh blood dripped down, but his disappointment was evident. Oycher stayed right where he was, watching without interfering.

“We don’t have time to play, do we?” Kash asked evenly, before pushing the blade away with the tip of his finger and shaking those coppery bronze spikes of his. “Or feed. So don’t bleed me, Six. I’m beyond hungry and definitely not in the mood for your kinky shit.” His lavender eyes flashed the Species, bones sharpened under his cheeks. How he managed to keep his fangs from lowering; Six would never know.

Sixten fought to take in air, replace that pain inside his body with tangible oxygen, but it wasn’t happening. “Okay, I should have forced her to die, stopping her precious heart in order for her to become an Undead. Then we would live happily, or, in our unpredictable world, unhappily ever after.”

“Don’t feel so guilty,” conceded Kash, adjusting his weapons and hiding an extra Stavz inside his left boot. “Either way, in your eyes, your concerns are legit.” If a Species vampire turned another Undead, they owned them in every sense of the word. And if that Species happened to die, their next of kin owned the Undead as inherited property. An Undead vampire was no longer mortal; therefore, human laws would never apply. For that evolved ‘creature’ solely belonged to the immortal world.

Kash looked over at his bed, and he followed his gaze. The light crackled right above it, the Sanctuary’s electricity still going in and out, but none of them needed artificial light in order to see. Or to savor what remained delicious over the smells of a strange battle. Sixten had taken Blythe in that bed, and their coupling scent permeated the right side of Kash’s bedchamber. He drew in a deep inhale. And in that moment, all Sixten could think of was falling on Kash’s mattress, rolling over those sheets, and marking himself with the scent of Blythe’s sex. If the others didn’t get here soon, that’s probably what they would catch him doing.

“If you were her Patriarch,” Sixten dared to ask, “could you honestly say you wouldn’t try to keep her from me?” Creators of the Undead were possessive beyond reasoning, much the way immortals were with their mates.

“Would never keep her from you, Six.” Kash turned away from the bed, patting his chest to make sure he wasn’t missing any weapons. “You know better than that.”

“As with most Vojaks, you don’t own any Undead, never wanted to be bothered with the responsibility required of Patriarchs,” Sixten went on, looking between Kash and Oycher.

“Own up to it, Kash,” Oycher said on an exhale, tilting his head to the side, beads clattering in his long, mahogany hair.

In the vampire world, no ‘good deed’ went without payment in return. It was their world, what they were. “Ah, so there was more to your offer than a friend helping out a friend, right?” An odd sense washed over Sixten; he was missing something important here. Or was he? “Kash,
answer me
.”

His friend rubbed a finger over his throat. The deep gash Sixten dealt him closing as he spoke. His eyes narrowed shrewdly, flowing mercury overtook the lavender. Intense, so very intense was his stance. “I. Want. Blythe,” he finally admitted, swallowing roughly. “But who doesn’t, right? If she walks down the street, she causes traffic jams. There’s a damn line to her everywhere I turn. And there you are heading it up.” Kash drew in a long breath, while Oycher busied himself by picking his nails with a dagger. “It’s abundantly clear that she is yours. A position you deserve, and one you fought for…for years.” A trancelike pause before he snapped back to Sixten. “You’ll always be my friend, you know? More than that, you are my brother-in-arms. That’s the part that just sucks, because I’m telling you now, Six.” Another pause overcame him. His chest started heaving, electricity crackling in the air from the growing surge of Kash’s Species. Anger, outright rage, or passion, it could be any of the three. Or maybe all of them combined.
Then a bomb landed in Sixten’s lap when Kash said, “Yes, I would kill for your rights to her.”

“Don’t…just don’t.” Sixten placed his hands on Kash’s shoulders.
He
could kill quite easily, so thoughtlessly, yet this was his friend speaking in a way warriors never wanted to, baring his vulnerability for another to witness. “You admitted she was a total knockout. A vision you want in your bed, yes, it's understandable for any male. Additionally, you tasted her, you long for Blythe’s blood, her flavor. Remember, she’s addictive to those of us who aren’t Dynasty Vampyrs?” Kash was one of the few real friends whom he had left, and he would fight his anger, his possessiveness, the best he could. However, Sixten had recently threatened the Beta of the North American Pack at a faction meeting, meaning anything could happen in his current mental state. “You’re confused, wanting her as a blood pet,” he placated more for himself than Kash. “That’s all. It’s natural to our kind, and my friend, as a vampire…I understand that kind of need.” At least, he was trying to.