The Warrior Vampire(85)

Infuriating! “There are more than demonic forces that could do you harm, Naya.” Her own gods-damned people for starters!

“Paul’s not going to hurt me.”

Again, so fucking confident. “You don’t know that.”

“Ronan, Paul’s power isn’t absolute. With Bororo pods, every decision is made by the elders. We don’t have a king. This isn’t a monarchy.”

As if Mikhail would ever make a decision without counsel. But aside from that, did she think he was an idiot? “And I suppose the thought that he’d go rogue never occurred to you?”

“No,” she said flatly. “The tribal structure relies on community. Why do you think this house is a secret? I have an apartment downtown. We all do. We’re required to live on the same city block, Ronan. A sacred circle. If Paul broke that circle, he’d violate the tribe’s trust. And he’d be punished for it.”

So apparently the Bororo tribe was a lot like the Mafia. Once you’re in, you’re in for life. Where did that leave them, then? If he wanted to be with his mate, he’d be forced to stay in Crescent City? Become a part of Naya’s life and sit in the prison of her home during the daylight hours while she was out doing gods knew what with gods knew who? Would he remain a secret—like this house—a part of her life protected from the tribal circle?

“Stop growling,” Naya said as she slung a jacket over her shoulders. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I might not be here when you get back.” In the back of his mind, common sense screamed for him to shut his fool mouth. But anger, frustration, and helplessness had taken control of his words.

Naya’s annoyance flared and the sulfuric tang of her anger scented the air. “There’s a bounty on your head, Ronan.”

Did she think he gave a single shit about that? He was no coward. And he certainly wasn’t afraid of a pack of shifters. “My sister is still missing, Naya.” He matched her scolding tone, unwilling to back down. “I’ve done little to find her since the day I woke up cuffed to your bed.”

Her eyes widened with shock and hurt and Ronan wished he could take back the accusing words. “Stay. Go. Whatever. You’re not my prisoner or anything else, Ronan.”

A stake to the heart would have been less painful than her dismissive words. Naya spun on a booted heel and strode for the door, slamming it behind her. A moment later the front door followed suit and a sickening silence settled over the tiny house.

“Gods damn it!” Ronan ground out from between his clenched teeth. Cold snaked up from the pit of his gut, fanning out in tendrils that wove around his limbs like lengths of ribbon.

The dark force within him surged up, glutting itself on his negative emotions like he’d glutted himself on Naya’s blood. That insatiable hunger chilled him to the bone and Ronan shivered violently as he fell back to plant his ass on Naya’s bed.

Fight it.

You’re not my prisoner or anything else. She’d discarded him. Treated him as though he were as inconsequential as the boots on her feet. Icy cold snaked up his neck, winding to the base of his skull. Ronan clenched his head between his hands, the low growl in his chest building to a pained roar.

Let go. Don’t give it fuel.

He wanted her. Needed her. She belonged to him, damn it. How could she treat their tether as though it were nothing? How could she leave him behind, trapped within these fucking walls until the sun set?

“Arrgh!” Ronan slipped off the bed and crashed to his knees on the floor. His fangs punctured his bottom lip and a trickle of warmth dripped down his chin. His limbs went numb, the cold unbearable. Fluorescent greens and blues rose to the surface of his skin like beads of sweat and Ronan panted through the pain. Darkness rose up like a tide and his lungs seized up as he was dragged away from consciousness by the undertow.

No.

If he gave in, let the darkness take him, Naya would be left unprotected. He couldn’t let that happen.

Ronan sought the shelter of the Collective. Its presence had been all but nonexistent in his mind with the amount of blood he’d taken from Naya over the past few days. The power lent to him by feeding from his mate fortified his mind against its pull, but now he needed to lose himself, to hide from the magic that threatened to eat him alive. Perhaps submerging his psyche in potentially unhappy memories wasn’t the best idea, but at this point Ronan didn’t think he had any other choice.

Weeding through centuries of memories for only happiness wasn’t as easy as you’d think. Ronan’s concentration was shot to shit thanks to the effect of the dark magic that coursed through him, coupled with hours of intense sex and the blood he’d taken from Naya buzzing around in his skull until he wanted to bash himself with a hammer in order to quiet the shit down. The blanket Naya had thrown over the window kept the room dark. Still as a tomb. But he wouldn’t be trapped here for long. Twilight was fast approaching, and with any luck Ronan would be five by five and ready to hit the streets in search of Chelle—and Naya—once the sun set.