Bozena and Sveta (Neuripra) Read online

  “We didn't kill Seithe! Darise did. It's not our fault Zaria ran to you and left Darise for dust. And as I recall, at that time Darise was too busy sucking on Zena's face to notice that he was driving Zaria away. It's because Ellindt is the obvious choice that I don't think it's her. I think what happened with Jowendrhan tonight exposed Venix for who and what he is. And he's not an angel!”

  Zauran's veins and extruded muscles deflate, and his voice drops to a deadly whisper. “Are you saying Venix is vampyre again?”

  “It makes sense. It also explains why he's here and not in the heaven he claims he can go to anytime he pleases. It also explains why he's raising Jowendrhan's vampyre twins. How come all is quiet and peaceful until Venix magically reappears?”

  I step closer to Zauran, reverting to telepathy, Why is Venix fathering those twins? They're Jowendrhan's children, not his. If they get rid of us they have free access to the slakax women. Božena, Phoebe, and Zaria, are half slakax. They're proof there are more of them hiding in Belgrade. This entire war isn't about us Zauran, it's a fight for the right to own the only light left to redeem humanity from evil.

  He gives me an exasperated stare, so I continue, Look what they did to Phoebe and Zaria, they made them so paranoid those girls were living in fear of constant attack. If they do that to Zena, god help them Zauran because I will go on a murdering spree. That kind of fear would destroy the little that's left of her. Jowendrhan nearly took her final breath with his surprise pregnancy. She's suffered enough.

  “I hear you, and that's why we're gathering intel. I don't need you going all vigilante on them until we have the facts.”

  I nod, that's fair. “You're my alpha, but you're also my brother. I'm giving you my perspective because you won't ask for it. I see things you don't. And the next time Venix appears in the middle of a highway I'm going to accelerate, not brake.”

  “What are you going to do now?” says Zauran, gesturing to my bike.

  “It's scrap metal. You know where I live, I can only get home by bike. I need to borrow one of yours, if you don't mind. Then I'm going to see Božena.”

  “She's sleeping now, Sveta. Don't allow worry to turn you into a total dickhead.”

  “She's not sleeping. I know her better than anyone, Zauran. I nursed her back to health. I helped to keep her alive. I was there when she was in a darkness so absolute her mind revisited her life. She's in constant emotional pain and if she doesn't hear from me she falls right back into that pit.”

  “What pit?”

  I glare at my brother, “None of your fucking business.”

  *

  Zarak:

  She's in a comatose state of sedation and I take the window of opportunity to report to Zauran.

  Reappearing in the abyss of the back passage, I stalk the corridors to his office.

  Only Akae is here.

  “Where is he?” I ask my brother.

  “Venix attacked Sveta, after Sveta attacked Jowendrhan. This entire hierarchy is falling to ruin. Why? What did you discover?” says Akae.

  “I'm keeping her at my place for a day or two. The only way to truly know if she's behind the attacks is to keep her out of their reach. Without a leader to give them orders, the attacks will stop. Then we'll know Ellindt is the reason for the uprising. If there are no attacks, it's her. If they continue, then it's someone framing her.”

  “Zauran says Sveta thinks it's Venix.”

  That strips my bones of calcite and I sit down in the chair opposite Akae's. “What?”

  “He has a point, Zarak. Venix comes back and the minions go berserk. What are the odds?”

  “He doesn't have time to play war, he's raising twins on his own. Vampyre twins are impossible to watch and keep under control. There's no way it's Venix,” I say.

  Akae give me the razor smile that spells doom, “That's your opinion. Good luck with it.”

  “Are you telling me I just put Ellindt through hell, for nothing?”

  “You love putting her through hoops of fire, so shut the fuck up and quit complaining.”

  Standing again, I look at him. We're a mirror image of each other, deliberately. It's a disguise we both choose to wear. Black hair, black eyes, no pupils, built like dragons... I'm annoyed he'd insult me like that. If anyone knows the truth, it's Akae.

  He stands, confronting me, reading my thoughts as clearly as if I'd spoken them out loud. His eyes flicker into spotlights. “Go back to her. I'll call you if we need you.”

  I nod, only too happy to comply.

  Reappearing in the crypt, I check on her first.

  I wish to god she hadn't caused murder. The red in her irises is blood guilt and a dead giveaway for being the direct cause of human death. Before that she was just another vampyre, a fallen angel looking for redemption.

  She still looks like an angel to me. Her hair is long enough to sit on. Thick, voluminous, so pale it looks like moonbeams catching starlight, and wavy to soften her features and give her a comforting air.

  Her eyes are so blue they make Arctic icebergs look insipid, and her lips are naturally the color of pomegranate pulp. They part when she inhales and her black eyelashes part to stare bottomless eyes at me.

  There she is, the angel I keep rescuing.

  Her smile is demure and she moves to caress a palm down my face, pressing it against my jaw, calling to me like a siren in a fog.

  I healed her before I left. I'm many things, but monster isn't one of them. The reputation suits me and I use it to my advantage, but it's a far cry from the truth.

  Floating in my bed, she lifts up, moving to sit in my lap, soft lips tracing my face and breathing innocuous temptation across my mouth.

  The hate is gone. The fear destroyed. Her true nature is back, in my face front and center, and it's only in this tiny window that I get my old lover back. She only loves me for a little while and then the blood guilt starts to flood her body again, turning her from everything good, turning her away from anyone who loves her unconditionally.

  I will always be that creature. I'm bound to her forever and it's a living hell watching her want anyone and everyone, but me.

  I loathe the vampyre who watches her back, always there to prevent me from clearing her mind of sludge and filth, preventing me from kissing and holding her heart to heart, soul to soul.

  Arelstin is the darkest vampyre I've met, and yet she trusts him with her life. I truly wish I knew what hold he has over her, because I'm damn powerful and I can't break the chain-mail he has wrapped over her inner light.

  Slowly, deliberately, she unbuttons my shirt, marking each button opening with a kiss on my chest. Completing the motion, I shed the annoying garb, fisting hands in her hair and pulling her back into the lake of iridescent fabric.

  It buoys, swallows, buries, it responds to my mind and changes temperature with my moods. It's an extension of myself, one that she will never comprehend.

  Feeding on her mouth, listening to the cooing noises chaffing the back of her throat, I follow the vixen back into the pond of dreams.

  Releasing her to the linen, it turns and curls her, holding her in a satin cradle, freeing me to lick the dark vein trailing down her neck into her collarbone.

  I love it when she returns to her true state, soft and delicate, fragile and in need of another's strength. My strength.

  She thinks being a femme fatale makes her sexy, but her like this, after the fire, when she's vulnerable and weak, this is when I find her irresistible.

  A vampyre body is unlike any in creation. It morphs to fit its mate, and it cleaves my spirit in twain when she snuggles her spine into my torso and rests her head back, her eyes closed, cuddled into the vales of my chest and shoulder.

  Arresting my attention, she owns my body, sliding ambrosia so sweet over my hard-on it stalls my image for a second.

  I let the bed hold her captive, curling satin over her eyes so I can be naked. I can't let her see who I really am, and I can't pretend when she does this...
I have to surrender or the craving will burn me worse than the pyre of suffering she endured at my hand.

  “Zarak,” she croons, bubbling my blood with the husky love she infuses into her tone when she's all mine.

  I have twenty-four hours... I won't waste a second of it.

  Chapter 7

  Božena:

  I check my phone for messages out of numb fear, sitting at the window watching dawn burn its way into the darkness and tinge the sky with an angry smear of salmon light.

  It's the first time since he saved me that he hasn't contacted me at all. If he can't visit, for whatever reason, he always sends a text.

  Worrying my bottom lip, I look out the window again at the glaring sunrise. Birds have been taunting me with their cheerful twitter since four, and I can't stand the cacophony a second longer.

  He's different. I feel it on a soul level... he just gets me.

  But now, all the doubts are clawing at me, and it hurts. It hurts so much I don't know how to cope. Tears blur the view and I stare into my lap, letting them drip while I claw at my arm, digging fingernails into my skin to alleviate the emotional turmoil. I need to hurt to distract my heart from the spurs piercing through it.

  Sniffing, desperation wins. With my heart breaking, I know all my fears are rising up and sneering at me. He's hot, hunky, sensitive, and perfect. His brother owns the Belgrade Pravus, so he's around hot chicks every single god damn night.

  This day was coming. Someone gorgeous bopped her way through those doors tonight and blew him away, and he's lost in her now.

  I'm not good enough. I'm ugly, and stupid, and don't deserve to be happy. It's like mama said, I'm ugly and stupid.

  Remembering her slapping me and calling me a whore long before I lost my virginity rises up to flood my mind's eye, and the thread I am clinging to snaps. I break the bird chatter with a wail, bursting from my lookout to bury my head in the pillow, stifling my cries.

  Crying is weak. Pathetic. Useless.

  Crying lets people know they've won. It boldly announces what a fucking loser I am. Crying leads to punishment.

  What was I thinking? I was so fucking stupid to let him into my heart, to trust him. I know better than that. I can't love anyone because no one will ever love me. It's just a doorway to pain and hurt and endless torment.

  Wiping my nose on my sleeve, my mouth clenched in a bitter struggle, I'm shaking so bad. I just hurt.

  I hurt. So deep.

  So deep inside, no one can fix me. Not him... no one.

  I'm broken where no one can see... where no one can reach.

  There's no hug big enough, or man loyal enough, to fill the chasm in my soul.

  Staggering to the bathroom I bang the door wide, sliding to my knees at the bath and gripping the only thing that will stop the agony. Unashamed I cradle my arm while my sobs echo and bounce hollowly at me.

  I'm empty. There's nothing inside.

  Nothing lasts.

  Swallowing down the lump of mucous lodged in my throat, I hold still just long enough to slice the blade over my arm, experiencing immediate relief when blood swells up.

  It's calming.

  When blood wells up to cry for me, the destruction inside shows on the outside, and seeing it always makes me feel a little saner.

  I'm gonna be okay. I don't need him.

  I don't need anyone.

  Keening, rocking, crying, my throat so tight it feels frozen, I wait for the heartache to subside, for my heart to stop banging accusation in my chest, for the loathing to abate...

  I want to die.

  I don't want to feel anymore.

  I don't want to feel this any longer. I can't keep living in this eternal hell.

  *

  Sveta:

  Pulling up at her door, the lack of movement strips my last nerve.

  Diving off the Fury, I sprint, trying the door handle before banging the wood, “Zena!”

  Something's wrong. I can feel it.

  She always waits for me, and right now she's nowhere to be seen. Bolting for the window, I cover my eyes and peer inside, watching her long slender fingers grip the bathroom door, and her terrified peek around the frame.

  “It's me! Let me in!” I yell to her.

  She ducks back, but not before I catch her wiping frantically at her eyes.

  Fuck!

  Vaulting over the geranium bushes back to the front door, I ram my shoulder into it, again and again, until wood starts to splinter.

  The bolt sliding pauses me for half a second, and when I shunt my shoulder against it again, it flies wide, hurtling her back against the passage wall.

  In an instant I take in the tears, the swollen eyes, the red nose, the blood.

  Jesus!

  Diving in, lifting her, holding her up against the wall, I paw the hair off her face to kiss her.

  “I'm sorry,” I promise, swear, curse.

  Sobs crack through and she shudders, trembling her face against my neck

  Kicking the door shut with the heel of my boot, I wedge her against it, raining kisses on her skin, wishing I could climb inside her and kiss away the welts left on her heart and mind.

  I wish that woman was still alive so I could kill her with my bare hands.

  Rocking her, I shhhh, smoothing her hair and holding her so tight she can barely breathe. Crushing her with my strength, I know it makes her feel safe. I just squeeze, using my free hand to sculpt long black hair off her shoulder, letting her hot tears soak my neck.

  When the sobbing slows, I grip her chin and force her to look at me, “I fucking love you. Nothing and no one can take that away.”

  Her eyes fill with sad heartache and her bottom lip slants with grief. I move her, slamming her from wall to wall down the passage balanced in my arms, raping her mouth with the violence I need to express... With the passion I need her to feel.

  Dropping with her onto her bed, I release her just long enough to get the padded leather jacket off, hurling it away and hearing something topple and smash.

  I rip her lace underwear down her legs, knowing she finds the pain a balm rather than a hardship.

  Kissing her, pinning her down with the force, I balance, unzipping and shoving inside her. The clamp of her legs, the way her heartbeat calms, the way her touch morphs from tentative to loving...

  Thank god.

  She's okay.

  God damn it Zena.

  You scare me to death.

  Diving into her head, stroking in and out of her, my mouth on hers, my tongue against hers, I whisper my heart to her heart, I love you. I fucking love you. If you die you have to take me with you because I don't want to live without you.

  Nails claw into the back of my neck and it makes me laugh, changing polarity so I can bite her lip so we can both be covered in blood. I smear it over my face and hers while fucking her hard enough to cripple a normal woman.

  Lifting, smiling back at her giggle, her relief, I tease, “If you want to bleed sweetheart, I can make you bleed. I promise if I do it will be way more fun.”

  Soft palms stroke my face and deep eyes burn into my heart, “I love you too.”

  Dire urgency and panic sedates, calms, and I relax, sagging onto my elbows to rest my forehead against hers.

  Daring to close my eyes, I am so fucking relieved it wasn't worse. This is the very last time I let Venix get between me and the woman I love. She needs me more than all of them put together, and not a day goes by that I don't know it with every heartbeat. I'm so tuned to the passing of time I know instinctively the second I'm late, and how much it begins to destroy her.

  “What took you so long?” she wheedles hotly into my ear. It's laced with insecurity and fear.

  I lift my forehead so I can stare into her worried eyes.

  How do I undo this? How do I make you better?

  “I was in an accident. I lost control of the Harley on the highway and ended up breaking my leg, and dislocating my hip.”

  She sits up so fast
she almost decapitates my dick with her muscles clamping into me. “What? Oh my god! Are you okay? Let me see!”

  “I'm fine,” I say, shoving her back down and burying a perfect boob in my palm, squeezing until it bites her skin.

  I know this chick better than she knows herself. I'll never tell her, but I was there in her darkest pain and was shocked at how she didn't complain once.

  She believes she deserves to be punished. She believes no one could possibly want to love her of their own free will. She was so familiar with torment she just accepted it as something destined for her.

  Now, I know that pain is a release for internal suffering, and she only relaxes when she's on the edge of agony.

  I squeeze harder, hurting her, close to shooting my load and needing her to be there with me.

  Her breathing is a dead giveaway, and the way her eyes half close, her chin lifting when she arches her neck. Slipping back into her head I read her body language, synchronizing us.

  When she's right there, I slide my hand up, gripping her throat and clenching until her veins bulge and her face turns red.

  It gives her an insane orgasm. I won't pretend to understand. What I do know is there's nothing I won't do to relax her and make her feel the love. If it's what she wants, it's what she'll get.

  It doesn't take concentration because I'm tensing too.

  Fuck! I want this every morning for the rest of my life. Do you get that? I can't always be with you, but I'll always come back... to you.

  “You feel amazing,” I whisper, fucking her mouth with fingers and then my tongue.

  It makes her gush again, milking me with the weird way her body ripples around my hard-on.

  Jesus Christ, why can't you be just that little less damaged? You'd be perfect. Perfect!

  A random thought runs through her head and it ices my blood, making me freeze and tense in anger.

  She was beaten by a teacher and didn't dare tell her mother. But she withdrew, becoming introverted, emotional, in so much pain just sitting down hurt. Covered in purple bruises from her chest down, she hid the harm; her mother ripped her out of bed and began slapping and hitting, demanding her to explain what the hell was wrong with her.