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Lover Released	By : Hoping4More Category: A through F > Black Dagger Brotherhood Views: 3573 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Black Dagger Brotherhood, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 34
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The blow Mel delivered to Lucian’s jaw reverberated up her arm, a jolting ache in her knuckles, elbow and wrist, but she absorbed the pain without a wince or a sound. She knew it hurt his face a hell of a lot more than her hand. She would probably feel it all later, but not now, not while that cocky grin still rested on his bleeding lips.
“I’m going to take immense pleasure in wiping that smile off of your face,” she sneered, cleaning his blood off of her knuckles with a small white towel handed to her by Thrett.
The Commander had been a silent sentry in the room, allowing Mel and Kryhm to run the interrogation, only nodding or shaking his head to indicate if Lucian was telling the truth or lying. His gift was not as far-reaching as Tara’s, but he could read emotions and intent, and that allowed him to tell when he was being lied to—which had been quite a lot since they had started Lucian’s questioning.
They were all starting to lose their patience, but there were rules, even when it came to interrogating known criminals. Seven of the thirteen council members were overseeing the process via the four overhead cameras mounted in each corner of the room. Each had been verified by the King and Thrett as neutral parties. As the law required, they had started the interrogation by giving Lucian the opportunity to speak his piece in either defence or admission—he had chosen to opt for silence. Then the fun began. Question, time to answer, punish, repeat.
“Let’s try this again,” Kryhm stepped in front of Lucian, towering over him where he sat, shirtless and restrained to a steel chair.
Mel had been smiling herself as she bound his wrists and ankles as tight as she could with the manacles attached to the legs of the chair—the metal cuffs digging into his skin at the slightest movement.
“Who else is involved with the rebellion?” Kryhm continued, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides.
“There is no rebellion,” Lucian drawled, locking on to Mel’s eyes as he lied again.
Mel didn’t need to look at Thrett for confirmation, it was the same answer he had given the last three times they had asked it. His face was swollen from a shattered cheekbone and blood dripped sluggishly from a cut above his left eye—paired with a broken nose, and a split lip he looked like he had a run-in with a truck. His loyalty to Bharron and the others was almost impressive. He hadn’t lasted half as long before he admitted to killing Phyrie—granted they did break two of his ribs.
He had hoped to marry into the Brotherhood through her and when she turned him down he decided no one else would have her either—but not before he claimed what he perceived to be rightfully his. Thrett had needed to hold Mel and Kryhm back from separating Lucian’s head from his body. Seeing how his words affected her made Lucian crass and loose-lipped about her sister’s death, which earned him that broken nose, but he wouldn’t tell them anything about his fellow rebels or their leader.
Of course, they already knew that Bharron was in charge, his interrogation would begin as soon as Tara was well enough to pry open his fucked up brain, but if they wanted to bring in the other rebels before they went into hiding they had to get names, and fast. They hadn’t told him that his leader was a few cells away, bound in a similar fashion. He probably thought that Bharron was going to get him out of the mess he was in, and they weren’t going to take away that shred of hope if they could help it. If he realized just how dire his situation was, he would have no motivation to talk at all. For what he had done and been involved with he would be facing execution, and without a get out of jail card from the head council member, he was a dead male. That left pain as a motivator.
The air whooshed out of Lucian in a rush as Kryhm buried his fist into his stomach. With the wind knocked out of him, he struggled to get his lungs to inflate, straining pointlessly against his bindings. The small cement room was eerily quiet as they waited for him to take a breath. They were a mile beneath the ground in an isolation room built for interrogation and imprisonment. A toilet sat in one corner and a mattress was propped up against the opposite wall. The light grey paint from floor to ceiling was bleached white by stark fluorescent lighting. When they left they would take the chair with them and Lucian would await sentencing in the eight by eight cell. If Mel remained a Warrior, one of her duties could be patrolling the halls of the underground prison and the cemetery that hid the entrance on the surface.
A gasp broke the silence, and then Lucian was coughing in long wheezy barks. His coughs turned into harsh laughter and the sound crawled up Mel’s spine until she was shaking as nausea gripped her throat. A lifetime of nightmares had been filled with that laugh. A dark alley. The smell of garbage and urine. Blood blooming like a morbid rose over Phy’s heart.
“You look just like her; same great tits, same terrified look in your eyes,” Lucian goaded, his eyes heavy-lidded as he exposed his elongated fangs.
Mel snapped out of it, dousing her lingering memories with a good dose of rage. She glared at her sister’s killer and the tremors racking her body ceased. Walking slowly forward she visualized every possible way she could make him feel pain. She settled on the most fitting penance for what he had done to her sister.
“Give me names, or I break another bone,” she said, lowering her voice into a seductive purr.
She crouched down in front of him and flashed him her own fangs. Movement behind the fly of his jeans had bile rising in her throat. She suppressed a shudder of revulsion and dared him with her eyes to lie to her again.
“I could think of other things you could do with my bone,” he said with a cocky grin.
Mel heard her sire growl from behind her, but she didn’t glance back. Placing her left hand on Lucian’s knee she dug her nails into his thigh as she slowly inched toward his crotch. He hissed through his teeth and his pupils dilated in excitement. It always amazed Mel how stupid males could be when their blood travelled south.
“Is that your final answer?”
“Turn about is fair play little vixen, and I’m going to enjoy tying you up and…FUCK!”
With a swift grab and twist and a satisfying crack she hadn’t known was possible, Mel reduced Lucian to a screaming pig. She released his deformed erection and dodged out of the way as his writhing sent both him and his chair over backward. Mel turned to find both Kryhm and Thrett looking a little pale, but neither of them reprimanded her methods or offered to help her pick Lucian up off the floor. The veins in his neck were bulging out and his skin was beet red as he thrashed against the metal cuffs restraining him to the chair. A constant string of nearly unrecognizable cussing spewed out of his mouth as she gripped the back of the chair and hoisted him back upright. The jolt of all four legs hitting the ground drew another agonized shout out of him, and Mel had to fight back her satisfied grin.
“Answer the fucking question!” she demanded, standing her ground in front of him. “Or are you ready for more foreplay?”
“Elldrihk, son of Ashur; Cohl son of Niklaus; Ryhth son of Rehnshaw; Hrodland son of Roche…” Lucian spewed out names in a long agonized rush.
His words turned into gibberish after close to twenty names, some of whom Mel knew to be among the casualties of the night’s attacks. Looking over her shoulder once again Mel didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed when Thrett nodded to confirm the truth behind Lucian’s admission—she didn’t feel as though enough blood had been shed to cleanse the pain of what he had done. The sudden silence in the room signalled Lucian’s loss of consciousness. Mel looked to her sire for their next move.
He knocked on the locked door and slipped out when it was opened for him. Moments later he returned with a large pail of water. Kryhm approached the slumped over male with a chilling stillness and control to his stride. He emptied the entire bucket over Lucian’s head and tossed it to the side. Lucian came to with a gurgling cough and a loud groan of anguish. When he had returned to some version of coherency Mel could see the dawning of fear widening his eyes and a thrill went through her. Kryhm grabbed hold of Lucian’s chin and forced his eyes to meet his own.
“You’ve been very helpful. We’ll be sure to tell Bharron how cooperative you’ve been,” he said with a satisfied grin.
The blood drained completely from Lucian’s face as the words sunk in and his reality shifted into place.
“I look forward to our next meeting,” he continued, unsheathing his black dagger from the holster on his back and pressing the lethal tip to the heaving chest of their prisoner. “I will enjoy watching you die.”
*********
Tara would be lying if she said that she wasn’t nervous as she stood in an elevator with her sire, her future hellren, and the King of their race with a medium-sized golden retriever at the his side. The three males towered over her in the small space and none had said a word since the debriefing at the compound. She could sense the tension and unease surrounding her, which amped up her own anxiety. This was going to be a long night.
The elevator chimed and the steel doors slid open. Tara shook off the creepy feeling lingering between her shoulders and followed the others through a lifeless grey waiting room and adjoining security check. The male guard manning the locked steel reinforced doors bowed in respect to the King and nodded at the rest of them in turn. Tara returned the gesture and breathed a sigh of relief at the honest reverence emanating from his thoughts. It was good to know the male keeping the bad guys at bay was solidly on their side.
She tried not to dwell on the desolate feelings the permeated the hallways they walked down, but every living being behind each of the steel reinforced doors they walked by was isolated and afraid or hopeless. They couldn’t hear or see the four vampires passing by their cells, they could only hear their own thoughts and see the blank walls surrounding them. It was terribly depressing and Tara was forced to put her shields in place to maintain focus.
The underground prison was surprisingly large though many of the cells were vacant—death was still the main recourse for crimes within their society. Tara had only walked down three hallways lined with ten doors on either side, but she knew from in-class training that it stretched out over six acres of land. The multilevel facility was built to contain any threat to the vampire race and though they all hoped to never need such a vast stronghold they would not let the present absence of a threat cripple them should they ever face a time of war. In the next few days many of those cells would be occupied by the remaining members of the rebellion, that is if Tara could manage the task they were asking of her. Some would serve out a century or more in solitude for their involvement, others would face the fade for crimes against their race and their king.
The group stopped outside of a guarded door. The male standing at arms, Jehrricoh, was one she knew well. He had taught her everything she knew about hand-to-hand combat. She gave him a subtle bow of her head in respect and took a deep breath as he smiled in return. Tara wasn’t at all thrilled to have another male she looked up to watching over her first real interrogation, but she swallowed back her apprehension and face the door as Thrett punched in a code and pushed it aside.
The male sitting manacled to the metal chair in the centre of the small cell was every bit the cut-throat business mogul that had sat at the head of the table in his large white colonial house. His head was held high on his Armani-clad shoulders and the stern cut of his jaw never altered as the King and Tara’s sire entered the cell and the door closed behind them. Tara walked with Tru and Jehrricoh into a room across the hall, leaving the king’s dog to stare intently at the closed door. The tiny office space they entered was set up with three chairs behind an interactive desk that faced floor to ceiling monitors. All of the screens were filled with different angles of the cell across the hall, giving her the physical sight to add to her mental one. She took the central seat that was offered to her by Tru and focused in on the minds of the males in the cell. The king was a veritable fortress and Bharron had closed off his mind as she had expected, but her sire’s mind was open to her.
Thrett’s mental signature was easy for her to hone in on—his was the first mind she had read, and later influenced. He had been the one to discover the early onset of her gifts and then tutor her by becoming her first test subject. Tara glanced at Tru, thinking of a very different training session on the floor in front of a fire…
“Keep looking at me like that and this interrogation is going to need an early recess princess,” Tru drawled with a sly grin.
He was picturing her bound to one of those chairs while he had his wicked way with her. Tara widened her eyes and felt a blush spread over her cheeks. She motioned subtly toward their former instructor and tried to shake the image from her mind.
“Bharron son of Khawnor you are being charged with high treason, espionage, murder, aggravated kidnapping, and extortion. What say you?” Thrett started the interrogation, his words coming through the sound system around her, as well as through their mental connection. Moments passed and Bharron sat motionless, staring at the camera within his line of sight. His rage was palpable.
“Not even going to say a word in your own defence?” Thrett prodded.
“You have nothing, and you will answer to the council for this,” Bharron said with an icy calm.
“You are an arrogant son of a bitch you know that Bhar?” Thrett said. “Did you really think you could try to start a civil war and not get your own hands dirty?”
“I have nothing to do with any war Thrett. That you and your pack of soldiers find the need to pin the unrest of the glymera on me just goes to show how desperate you’re becoming for a scapegoat.”
“Tread carefully.” The king cut in, tremors of righteous anger rippling out from under his mental shields.
“I meant no disrespect my king.” Bharron bowed his head in a show of respect Tara knew he did not feel. “I only propose the notion that maybe the problem is not the missing civilians, but the so-called protectors that are failing to keep the peace.” Bharron responded.
“Peace is impossible if we are working against each other.” Thrett pointed out.
“Why can’t we all just get along?” Bharron role his eyes.
“We could you know.” Thrett ignored his sarcasm. “Our society has grown and taken great strides in the past century and you threaten to undo all of the progress we have made; for what? For more power? You really think that our people would follow you?”
Bharron squared his shoulders and stared into another one of the four mounted cameras in the room.
“I would never challenge the king. I only strive to lead justly and serve the best interests of the glymera and the civilians of the new country within the role they have elected me to fulfill. I can respect that you had to follow whatever miss-guided lead brought you to me as this so-called conspirator, but I can assure you that I have done nothing wrong, and I am sure my co-council members can attest to my good character and support of our political system.”
“Damn, he’s good,” Tara said aloud.
The male was reminding the council members he knew would be watching just who it was they were accusing and what it would mean if they were wrong. If they were wrong, but they weren’t.
“You were a promising recruit; strong, smart, driven, and as you’ve pointed out, you’re a strong leader. It must drive a male like you crazy not knowing why you weren’t sworn in as one of us.” The king’s unprompted statement shook Bharron’s composure, letting a bit of his weariness seep out for Thrett and Tara to feel.
“I wasn’t nominated.” The bitterness, both in his tone and lacing his thoughts clashed with the calm demeanour her was trying to maintain.
“Yes you were, Krush nominated you as soon as his scars were sealed.”
That revelation shot through Bharron’s shields and started a ripple effect of uncontrolled emotions—guilt, regret, fear and confusion. Tara probed her way into his subconscious as the affirmation of his part in Krush’s death played out before her.
“What was it then?”
“You knocked yourself out of the game. You only wanted the title of Brotherhood to stroke your ego and bolster your pedigree, a fact that became blatantly clear near the end of your training.”
Tara probably wasn’t supposed to know the information she was getting from her sire’s open mind—that the final test was an offer to become a full-time Warrior, and that the subsequent reaction determined whether or not you would receive an invitation into the Brotherhood.
You are going to have to keep that information to yourself Tehrrify, Tru warned. She reassured him silently
“My bloodline doesn’t need your affirmation to remain strong. We are males of worth with or without a black dagger.” Bharron said.
“Your bloodline exists because of me and mine.” The king spoke in the old language.
There was a tense moment where the room fell silent and Bharron struggled to keep his mouth shut. He was reeling with indignation and pride. He believed that the king was holding his bloodline back, that he would deny Tru for the same reason that he was denied—still too stubborn to see his own fault in his failings. Tara passed that information onto Thrett.
“I wonder, what will fuel your misguided rage once your own son is sworn in as one of us, and your unfounded accusations of prejudice are proven false?” Thrett asked.
Tara and Tru both stiffened in their seats.
“Was that an interrogation tactic or was he being serious?” Tru asked
That, you will also keep to yourself Tehrrify, Thrett spoke sternly through their connection, realizing she had seen the truth in his mind. Tara worked to keep her expression from changing while her heart raced in excitement. Tru would be a brother by years end Virgin-willing.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” she said aloud, grateful that her voice was steady.
“What is your plan here?” Bharron spoke up finally, putting on a bravado he didn’t truly feel.
“This is a courtesy extended to you as a member of the council. To tell the truth—to explain yourself,” Thrett answered.
“The truth is that I have done nothing wrong and no matter how many lies you throw my way, or how many of my bones you break, I will not incriminate myself.”
“That’s it?” Thrett replied. “No justification for your actions, or even a plea of temporary—albeit decades long—insanity?”
“I’ve done nothing wrong besides voice my waning faith in the brotherhood system. Apparently that gives you the right to abduct and harass me.”
“Denial, so original.”
Thrett reached out and gave Tara the go ahead to join them. She nodded even though he couldn’t see her, and rose shakily to her feet. The males stood in response. Glancing sideways at Tru she felt her stomach knot. You’re sure this is what you want? She asked him. He’s your sire and I’m about to condemn him to death. Tru didn’t answer out loud—he opened up his thoughts to her so that she could see his resolve. He was at peace with what needed to be done. They had talked about it at length before coming to the holding cells, but she needed his reassurance that this wasn’t going to come between them. Tru reached out and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. I love you, he thought loud and clear.
Tara grabbed the chair she had been using and took it with her across the hall and waited while Jehrricoh disengaged the locks and opened the door to Bharron’s cell. He was surprised to see her, his thoughts mirroring the confused look on his face. She could tell the moment he caught a glimpse of Tru in the hallway before the door shut behind her. His body went rigid and his thoughts spun in a whirlwind of betrayal and anger. He worked to keep his face from showing the riot of emotions he held at bay, but in present company it was a pointless battle.
“This is my daughter, Tehrrify. She is going to get the answers we need in order to bring in the rest of the co-conspirators,” Thrett spoke directly at the camera in the far right corner of the room.
The cell felt claustrophobic with the four of them locked in together. The whitewashed space was too bright for the darkness that weighed heavy on them, infusing the air with aggression and hatred. Bharron glared at her with tight lips, scrutinizing every detail from the top of her tight ponytail to the steel toes of her boots. He wondered if she shared her sire’s gifts or if they planned on letting her torture the information out of him. She wished it had been the latter. After seeing the pain this male had caused Tru and the rest of his family, she wanted nothing more than to seek vengeance with her fists, but she would have to settle with tearing his mind apart instead. She withdrew a syringe from the inner pocket of her leather jacket and popped off the protective cap. Bharron’s panic spiked momentarily but his face barely registered his accelerating heart or jittery nerves, a small intake of breath was the only indication that he had even noticed the needle.
“A little something to help you tell the truth,” Tara explained. “You shouldn’t have any objections, seeing as how you have nothing to hide, correct?”
He clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders, neither confirming nor denying her statement. He held perfectly still as she stabbed the syringe into his neck with more force than necessary and slowly injected the saline solution. The small spot of blood that appeared when she withdrew the needle made her wish Thrett had given her more than one ‘dose’ just to have the excuse to stab him again. The useless syringe was a ruse to hide her gifts. Her sire wanted to keep her gifts hidden for as long as possible, even from the members of the council, and the King had granted his request to do so. It was the wise thing to do, the safe thing, and Tara was grateful that Thrett had been looking out for her, even if she wished she had thought of it herself. Replacing the cap, she returned the empty syringe to her pocket and faced the determined male who still held his chin up, as though he was in control even manacled to a chair.
“Bharron, who do you trust?” she asked, setting the chair down backward in front of him so that she could straddle it while she faced him, putting the steel backrest against her chest between them like a shield.
“No one,” he replied evenly.
“Oh come on, there has to be someone that shares your secrets,” Tara hedged, placing her right hand on his knee.
The contact brought his mind into sharper focus. He stiffened at her touch and instinctually his mind began to raise barriers against a possible attack. Too bad she was already in.
“Lucian wasn’t your only ally, who are the others?”
He tried to keep his mind blank and focus on his breathing to even out his heart rate before answering, like a human trying to beat a polygraph. Every face he tried not to think of filtered out of his mind and into hers. She fed each in turn to her sire and the king. She recognized a couple, but not all were known to her. She had to hope the other males would know who his accomplices were.
“I don’t know why you would call him my ally. If he is part of the rebellion that is of his own volition. He’s on my security detail, in charge of keeping me and mine safe. What he did off the clock should not condemn me.”
“Are any more members of the council involved in the rebellion?” Tara continued, ignoring his carefully worded lies.
Again she passed along the information he was holding back, surprised at the male he had inadvertently revealed as a traitor. A long time supporter of the training program and a male of high esteem in the glymera.
“The council would never rebel against our king!”
Tara rolled her eyes. This was going to take forever if they were relying on any form of cooperation from him. She eased into his mind further, pushing aside his shields and anchoring herself in his subconscious. The more she used her gift the more fluent she became in the language of the mind. It was like a sixth sense—like a phantom limb that could reach in to grasp and mold the unseen. Tara channeled a strong sense of calm into Bharron’s mind, urging him into a trusting, willing frame of mind.
“If you die, who takes over?”
“If I die, the rebellion dies. None of the other males have the drive or the dominance to spearhead the upheaval of the brotherhood.”
Tara eased his alarm at admitting his guilt and coaxed him to keep talking.
“Lucian was promising, but if you already have him then the only other possibility is Gharrette and he’ll buckle at the first sign of aggression from the brothers.”
Cut the head off the beast and the body with fall. It was crazy to think that someone as smart and as driven as Bharron would be so easily defeated. Then again, he couldn’t protect himself from what he didn’t know existed, and he sure as fuck had never encountered anything like Tara in his lifetime. If she hadn’t been snooping through his thoughts during their first dinner, hell if she hadn’t been paired up with Tru to begin with, how many more civilians and brothers would have gone missing? How many would have died before suspicion was cast his way? She wasn’t sure how she felt about the whole fate deal, but it was hard not to believe in destiny when it was staring her right in the face.
“Are you holding anyone else captive?” she asked thinking of all of the citizens that remained missing.
“No, Lucinda was our pièce de résistance. The ripple effect of her capture and liberation has spread unrest like a virus through the glymera.”
He spoke of that female’s tragedy like a work of art, his chest swelling with pride. It was nauseating how cavalier he could be about kidnapping and colluding with the lessers. He was so far removed from reality, that he didn’t see the hypocrisy he was committing against his own cause; to protect the citizens of the new world.
“Where is Klash?” the King’s voice cut through the room like a blade of ice, rousing Bharron’s panic until she soothed him back into complacency.
“His ashes were buried beside his sire’s. The Scribe Virgin would not have looked kindly on our cause had I not given him that honour.”
This surprised Tara, she had assumed, as everyone else had, that the brother had been killed, but she had not expected the killers to honour him in death.
“And murdering one of her soldiers would garner her favour?” Tara asked.
“It was a fair fight, not murder, as was the case with the civilian casualties. They were all given weapons and the option to fight for their freedom. Lucian was simply a better fighter than most.”
Leave it to Bharron to find a twisted loophole to excuse the killing of innocent civilians.
“Most?”
“Zaikai used his wits to gain the upper hand in his duel, but he opted to join our cause when I stepped in and offered him the option.”
Dammit. Zaik had been young, only a year or two older than Tara. How many more had been swayed by Bharron’s web of lies and deceit?
“You seem proud of that recruit, how about the others? Tell me about those who fight with you.”
And he did. His mind fell lax under her persuasion and he spilled like an overturned pitcher, leaking any and all information that they needed to dismantle what was left of his rebellion.
By the time his words ran dry and they ran out of questions to prod him with, Tara’s body had begun to tremor and tiredness weighed on her as though she had been treading water fully clothed. The mental energy it took to maintain his willingness to cooperate drained her like an open vein. When the king addressed those watching the video feed, signalling the end of the interrogation, Thrett came forward to help her up from her chair where she leaned heavily against the backrest supporting her chest. The moment she lifted her hand from Bharron’s knee she retreated from his mind also, letting go of the reins so that he could shake himself free from her influence. The dawning fright that overtook him made him gasp aloud. She smiled at his wide-eyed look of panic and wanted to lambaste him with fear until his very heart was seized with terror, and maybe if she wasn’t so drained she would have done so, but now the law would run it’s course—the very rules Bharron had helped govern their citizens with would be his undoing.
Pulling together her last ounce of strength, she straightened her spine and walked out of the room, thankful that the door was opened for her as she wasn’t sure she could have held herself up a moment longer. Her knees gave out the minute the door shut behind her. Unfamiliar arms caught her and kept her from hitting the cold concrete floor. She fought back the darkness that rimmed her vision, hating the weakness and vulnerability of unconsciousness. The low rumbling growl that pierced through the silence of the hallway quickened her heart rate and brought the profile of Jehrricoh’s face into focus. Without the energy to maintain her own shields, she was subject to his wariness and the barely tapped rage that inspired it. She followed the direction of the predatory noise and found Tru crouched and ready to pounce from the doorway of the monitoring station, his fangs fully exposed and a murderous look in his eyes. Her body reacted immediately, a shiver running over her skin until every hair stood on end, even as heat began to bloom in her core.
“Just preventing a concussion, no harm intended son,” Jehrricoh said evenly.
He carefully braced her back against the wall and stepped back with his hands outstretched to mirror the look of caution in his eyes. She could tell he was unsure of whether she could hold herself up, but no one voluntarily stands between a bonded male and his mate. Head lolled back against the cold cement block wall but her eyes were fixed on the barely visible pulsing that caused Tru’s carotid to swell with each beat of his heart. Her fangs tingled as they slowly descended, her need for his vein becoming her sole focus.
“Every inch of this place is monitored 24/7 so unless you want an audience you might want to take this party elsewhere.”
The words had barely left Jehrricoh’s lips when Tara was swooped up into Tru’s arms and being carried, bridal-style down the hallway toward the elevator they had taken down from the surface. Within the comfort and safety of his embrace the adrenaline that had kept her alert started to wane, and her eyelids became heavier with each blink. Closed and open cell doors blurred by, the thoughts and emotions of the prisoners flitting in and out of her mind as Tru raced them toward their exit.
She must have drifted off while he navigated the final hallway, because the sudden shift of the elevator starting its climb to the surface startled her awake. She attempted to wiggle free from Tru’s hold on her, but he just tightened his grip. Tara lifted her head to meet his eyes, but he was staring stoically at the numbers above the elevator doors. She reached up with her free hand and ran the back of her fingers along his jawline, still smooth from that evenings shave. He flinched slightly and his jaw clenched beneath her touch, but he didn’t turn to meet her eyes. Fear spiked through her, stripping away the lingering tiredness as her stomach knotted with anxiety.
“Are you angry?” she asked, wishing she had the mental energy left to seek out the truth herself.
“No, why would I be angry?” he replied, still watching the numbers as they slowly counted down to one.
“I just exposed your sire to the king and the council,” she explained to the side of his face.
“And?”
“And, now you won’t look at me.”
“If I look at you, I’ll take you right here in this elevator.”
Tru laughed and hugged her against his hard chest. She could feel the thick muscles of his biceps as they flexed beneath her thighs and her upper back. His words sunk in and she swallowed back a moan as he lifted his mental shields and let her feel the riot of sexual energy coursing through his mind and body. Tara threw her head back as her sex came alive like a lit match to a fuse, igniting every pleasure centre she had until she was squirming and pressing her thighs together in a desperate attempt to release the pressure that was building up inside of her.
“Hold still,” Tru ground out through clenched teeth.
The command made her inner walls clench in anticipation and she struggled to hold back the full-body shiver that was building at the base of her spine. The elevator pinged to announce their arrival at the ground level and again Tru burst forward like horse out of the gate, barely pausing to get clearance from the Warriors posted at the exit before shouldering his way into and through the mausoleum that hid the entrance to the facility.
The cool night air brushed her face like a caress as he navigated swiftly around tombstones and statues until they reached the small lot where his truck was parked next to Thrett’s Jeep. Tru lowered her legs to the ground but kept her by his side as he wrenched open the door to the extended cab and hurriedly cleared off the bench seat with an aggressive swipe of his arm than sent his gym bag and empty sports drink bottles crashing to the floor of the truck. His eagerness was held at bay as he helped her carefully into the back seat—crowding in after her and closing them in.
Her heart was pounding and her breaths came in shallow gasps as his large body shifted them both until she was straddling his lap with her back to the windshield. Safely hidden behind steel and black tinted bullet-proof windows, she finally let her lightheadedness get the better of her and fell forward into Tru. Her body sunk into him as her lips sought out the sustenance she needed. The pulsing of his blood beneath the soft skin of his throat was a siren call to her weakened body and she answered it by sinking her fangs into his flesh and taking in everything he could give her. The dark spice of his bonding scent enveloped her as the power of his life-blood began to rejuvenate her mind and body. As her strength returned with each swallow so did the aching desire pulsing from deep within.
Breaking away and drawing in a steadying breath, she reached between them and fumbled with the fly of his jeans in a futile effort to free the hard length she could feel pressing into her through the layers of denim between them. Tru stilled her shaking hands with one of his own—shuddering as their skin came into contact. The reverberations of lust that Tru could no longer keep suppressed began to seep into her, until she was panting with the need to be filled by him. With deft fingers he released the button and lowered his zipper with a roll of his hips that pressed his erection more firmly against her aching sex. Tara moved forward, rising up on her knees on either side of his spread thighs to allow him the room he needed to push the waist of his pants down. She grasped his face and pressed her lips eagerly to his. His hungry mouth slowly moved with hers, parting so that he could sweep his tongue between her lips to tease her own. She got lost in his kiss, his soft lips, his scorching need pulling her deeper with every second. The pulsing of her sex was reaching critical mass when Tru broke away by lifting his chin. Tara continued to place kisses along his jaw and down his neck, pausing over her bite mark to lick the drops of blood that remained, and sealing the punctures she had left there. He trembled beneath her.
“Are you particularly attached to these jeans?” he asked, his voice thick with need.
“No, not really,” Tara answered, already knowing where his mind was at.
The loud tearing noise of her jeans splitting down the centre seam was one she had heard before and would never get tired of. The fact that he couldn’t even wait the fifteen seconds it would take to remove her pants was one hell of a confidence booster. She smiled against his collarbone as he slipped his hand between them and caressed her exposed sex with his long fingers, teasing her with slow exploring strokes and shallow thrusts that drove her crazy. She was greedy for him by the time he brought his erection to her opening. He continued to tease her with shallow strokes, only giving her the head of him. Taking matters into her own hands, Tara sat back suddenly, taking in as much of him as she could.
Tru cried out and bucked beneath her, driving into her further until the fullness kissed the line of pleasure and pain. She used his shoulders for balance and took control of their movements, smiling as she watched him try to hold back his orgasm. Increasing her tempo she found the perfect rhythm and within moments she was falling over the edge, her inner muscles gripping him like a fist. He came with a shout, thrusting his shaft up into her as he spilled his seed.
She collapsed against his chest, her heart rate easing back to normal as his hand swept beneath her shirt and drew lazy circles on her back. She let out a contented sigh.
With their minds open and their bodies entwined there was a sense of oneness that gave Tara both a peace and a strength she hadn’t even known was possible. She felt invincible, centred and grounded; like she could take on anything the world could throw her way. But first, she would take this male, and make him hers forever.
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