Bound To You: Vranthian Vampires – Book 1 Page 2

  The woman suddenly appeared beside him, her hand extended in greeting. “You must be Kantella?”

  He’d forgotten how forward the women here were. The instant the dulcet tones of her smooth whiskey voice poured over him and the wash of her spicy fragrance spilled through his senses, he let the irritation pass. Kantella fought the urge to take her right there against the bar. Instead, he gritted his teeth and stood up from his bar stool using his height to his advantage. He knew he towered over her, but he didn’t care. He wanted to show her that he would rule her, that he would dominate her.

  Kantella also knew that he had to be careful where the human was concerned. That he had to control his emotions so not to scare her too easily, until he could take her out of this place.

  “I am,” he replied easily, despite the need rushing through his limbs, the fire burning in his loins. With a control he barely recognized, he took her small hand in his and brushed his lips against her knuckles. He felt her tremble and pleasure washed through him, delighting his senses. Her initial fear and uncertainly filled his senses, and he relished its intoxicating aroma. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Um, sure,” she blinked as if coming to her senses. “Diet Coke, Charlie,” she told the bartender, taking the stool next to his. Kantella watched the way the soft light played across her features; the way she casually studied his face. He thrilled in the tremor of trepidation that coursed through her when her breath caught, her eyes finding and pausing on the scar that ran the length of the left side of his face from just above his eye, down across his lid, over his cheek bone and past his jaw. His arousal grew as her breasts rose and fell; her eyes quickly averted from his hideousness.

  “So,” she finally stated after a moment’s pause, carefully blinking away any comment that ran through her mind before better judgment and good manners stopped her from remarking. “What brings you to McKellon’s?”

  “You, Leah,” he told her plainly. “I’ve come for you.”

  Chapter Two

  Leah lay in a ball, her head pounding, the pain in her side unbearable. What the hell happened to me last night? She groaned, trying to put the hazy puzzle pieces of the previous night back together. Vaguely she recalled her set at the bar; predictable as the night had been normal, the Wednesday crowd thin, the door fees thinner. Then there was Cyn, and the reminder of her blind date with Mr. Tall-dark and…Oh, my God, she inwardly cringed. What the hell did he do to me?

  She tried to move, and pain lanced through her entire body. Eyes clenched shut, she forced her mind to play back the last of her memories while she relearned how to breathe.

  Slowly, images formed: She had met Kantella at the bar where they had sat, talking. At first he had seemed nice enough. His long dark hair had looked so enticing in the dim lights of the bar. His dark eyes were mysterious, inviting. He had kissed her hand when they’d initially met. Bought her a Diet Coke. They’d talked about her singing. He really seemed to like her singing. Said she had a beautiful voice. Then they talked about her job and her friends. It had all seemed to be going so well. Then he bought her another drink, and…

  Son of a bitch, Leah cursed. The bastard must have given me a Mickey. Or...or…slipped me a Roofie, or something. She knew there had been something about him she shouldn’t have trusted. That big-ass scar should have been your first warning, you idiot, she berated herself.

  Leah tried to roll over, and an even greater pain sliced through her. With another moan, she cursed her friend Cyn.

  “Ah, I see my little human slut is awake.” Laughter followed in the wake of the taunt, and Leah instantly knew who was with her. She could only cringe when the remaining hopes at further memory fled.

  “Where in the hell am I, you fucking psycho?” The words were hissed between clenched teeth while she struggled to breathe, sit upright and not vomit all at the same time. Her anger got the better of her judgment despite her wounds, and she cursed him some more. The more alert and awake she became, the more apparent her injuries. Her ribs were definitely bruised if she were lucky, cracked if she weren’t. Her legs and feet were freezing from a lack of shoes, not to mention the fact that she was missing the pants that she’d started her evening out in. With the chill of fear and desperation running through her mind, her aches and pains seemed almost trivial by comparison. “What the hell did you do to me? And just where the hell do you think you’re taking me?”

  “Mouthy little bitch, aren’t you? If you must know, you’re on my ship in the middle of the Zaybien Galaxy. The nearest planet is Rhina, and beyond that is Vranthia and its moons. And you, my pathetic pile of compost, are about to be dumped.”

  A sudden gleam of light filled the room, and Leah had to cover her eyes with her arm to block out its blinding radiance. Hands at the nape of her neck pulled her unceremoniously to her feet like you’d clutch a beleaguered pet. Pain brought her eyes open and tore the remaining breath from her lungs. Frantically she clawed at the hands that clutched her like a rag-doll, then she was tossed across the room.

  Pain exploded down her spine when her back connected with the wall. Spotty yellow lights danced across her vision. With a hiss, she slumped in a heap on the floor.

  “You stupid human bitch,” Kantella cursed stalking toward her. “Wasting weeks of my time when you’re not even breedable.” He kicked her in the stomach and Leah groaned in agony, unable to understand the cause of his ire, why this was happening to her.

  He crouched down before her, his breath lousy with the stench of alcohol, his eyes dark with blue flames. “It’s a damn good thing I didn’t waste my seed on you,” he growled.

  “Fuck you,” she groaned in a heated whisper.

  His fist connecting with her jaw slammed her head against the floor. His dark scowl of fury was the last memory she had before her world faded to black once more.

  * * * * * *

  Latronda knew she had to seek out Draven’s help the instant she saw the girl. Her wounds were far too grave. However, the thing that she feared more was the dark look in Kantella’s soulless eyes before he’d left her. Strangely, it belied his parting words.

  Latronda was certain that he’d left the girl in the alley to either die or to be found and sold amongst the Runners that frequented the Outpost. It was his gaze however, that frightened her most. The fire that burned in them anger, rage, hunger…evil.

  She was certain that Kantella still wanted the girl, but he’d chosen to walk away. What she wanted to know was why.

  There was something special about this human. Something that would change all of their lives. She knew it with the certainty of age and wisdom; two thousand years of life had taught much. Fear and survival had taught her the rest. She had seen many of the Elders come into their power and sit at the counsel table. She had lived through two other Kings before Belacjeks had taken power. When greed, power and hunger became too much, internal wars amongst the ruling houses erupted, families were slain. Eventually, new rulers took the reins. It was the way of things on Vranthia.

  When The Wasting had killed Draven and Kuthar’s mother, Queen Srionna, their father had chosen to go into the light, unable and unwilling to live without her. He’d left three sons to rule in his stead. In the end, it was Kuthar and Draven that had stepped up and carried their people through these dark times. And Kantella…well, Kantella sought his own ends.

  Now, she watched silently as Prince Draven held the human girl gently in his large arms, engulfing her tiny, battered frame. He held her tenderly as he willingly prepared to bind her to him. They both knew it was the most expeditious way to heal her. It would protect her from anyone attempting to lay claim to her. But would it protect her from Draven?

  * * * * * *

  Her scent filled him; jasmine and warm nights. Sunsets and warm breezes. It was heady and sensuous. Disturbing and intoxicating. Even as the aroma mingled with the distaste of bruised and beaten flesh, dirty skin and suffering, Draven couldn’t drive away the hunger that simply holding her in his
arms stirred inside of him. The need that touching her filled in him.

  Carefully he tipped her head toward his chest, leaned over her and with an inner growl of delight drove his fangs deep into her neck. In a burst of light, the flames of desire and life tore through his body as the fire of her blood flowed past his parted lips. Images like burning stars exploded in his mind. His body stirred. His temper flared, and in the midst of it he learned of the woman he held in his arms; a man and a woman dancing, she in a white gown, beautiful, smiling, happy. People, like passing ships darted in and out of sight, names and places unknown to him, someone calling her name. Leah…Leah… they chimed like the wind. Then one name struck through his heart like a sword…Mommy.

  The words were followed by a vicious scene. A mangled car, shattered glass on a roadway, sirens and flashing lights; a battered and torn teddy bear, its shredded body alone in the street. The scene was followed by two graves and the haunting echo of heartache. All of it washed though him. Pain. Emptiness. Sorrow. Then one last image, almost too quick in passing, swept through him. Hastily, Draven latched onto it, forced it from her mind before the blood exchange slowed. Another loss; one final blow. The memory was brief, fleeting. A babe too new for a name, a heartbeat – gone. There were more of Leah’s tears. Then Leah was completely alone.

  Draven pulled away from her and brushed aside a lock of dark hair from her forehead. His heart stalled by the memories of such grief and emotion sustained by one so young. There were other images, of course; her friends, her job, and her meeting with Kantella.

  Draven ground his teeth, a growl of rage escaping his pursed lips. This he would deal with separately. For now, she needed time to heal. Time to adjust. And when she did, only then would he come for her.

  Taking one of his blades from his arm sheath, Draven made a small cut down the pad of his left index finger. A bright burst of crimson welled and he pressed it to her lips, forcing it past them so that the rejuvenating powers in his blood would heal her wounds. He steeled himself against the sensation of power that arced in his veins, the nuance like a supernova--heat and thunder, lightning and fire. He stared transfixed while the power of his Vranthian blood worked through her veins.

  Like magic, the bruises faded and torn flesh was instantly repaired. Silently, he watched as labored breathing steadied, a small sigh escaping her now ruddy lips. Where marred and battered flesh had been moments before, the silky cream of soft white skin met his view with approval. Where a swollen eye had been, now dark, dusty lashes crested the high arc of her sweetly blushed cheek.

  Draven’s desire stirred. Her blood was an aphrodisiac that lingered on his lips, her lush scent filling his senses and her sumptuous body filling his hands. He knew he had to force these thoughts away. He had to walk away and leave her in Latronda’s capable hands. But he didn’t want to.

  With a force of will he didn’t know he possessed, he laid her back onto the pallet and rose. Then, turning to Latronda, handed her a bag of coin, saying, “Provide her with whatever she needs.”

  “And what of you, my Lord?”

  Draven looked at Latronda, unsure how to respond. No one had ever cared for his needs. Not his mother or father--they left him to deal with the disease that had stricken their people. Maybe his brother Kuthar cared, but he too was just trying to survive in his place of power. To rule and not be over-ruled. To survive and somehow see that their people survived The Wasting before there were none of them left to worry over.

  Was this girl their hope? Was any human their hope?

  “I’ll be watching,” he told her, disappearing into the night.

  Chapter Three

  The melody strolled through Leah’s bones, a wanderer of old memories and a different time; soft, bluesy, somber. It stirred things in her heart she couldn’t quite grasp. Hazy visions that warmed her blood. “What am I to you?” she sang, her fingers gracefully gliding over the piano keys, the somber notes of the Nora Jones tune drifting through the dimly lit bar.

  There was still an hour of daylight left, if you could call it daylight. She’d learned that on this particular Vranthian Outpost, the light was more a sooty shade of copper and when the winds kicked up the sands, it blurred the land and the sky into a red sea of nothingness. An endless oasis of tarnished hope.

  It had been three weeks, and she was still uncertain how she’d even gotten here or where exactly here was. One thing she was sure of, it definitely wasn’t Kansas and there was no going home. Sure, she had some vague memories; another bar, another life, friends and places. None of it really mattered. Here was where she was, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  She remembered opening her eyes and finding herself in a strange room in some strange place with the feeling of someone with her, in her mind, distant yet a part of her. She also had the distinct memory of being held, cared for. Protected in a way that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was almost as if she were a part of someone. It was all very odd, these feelings. They warmed her blood, stirred a longing in her. Worried her.

  A woman had been there when she’d first awakened...Latronda. Leah couldn’t help but smile thinking of her. She was old, but she wasn’t. Beautiful and worldly. She reminded Leah of some sort of chic, cultured librarian. She was comfortable in her own skin, but still accepting of others. She owned the bar that Leah now found herself working in. Latronda had also been kind enough to take her into her home deciding that it would be for the best if she helped her. She declared she would take care of her until Leah’s world righted itself. This, according to Latronda, would be soon.

  Personally, she wasn’t so certain. Who wakes up in some strange world with vague memories of her past life on some distant planet? That is definitely where she was, a distant planet. Leah felt like she was stuck in the Twilight Zone. She about had a meltdown the first time she went outside and saw the three moons.

  It had taken Latronda three days to calm her down enough to explain to her some of her situation and that of their people. Slowly bits and pieces of her memory were falling back into place. Latronda had explained how after thousands of years of inner marriages and selective breeding that the Vranthian people had succumb to what her people called The Wasting. It was some sort of disease that fed on its women...destroyed their molecular structure. At first their ability to bear children stopped, and then it began to break down their cells, their body, until nothing remained.

  None of it really made sense to Leah, and she didn’t understand what any of it had to do with her, but Latronda tried to explain that there were some on Vranthia that slave traded women. Stole them for the sole purpose of breeding. As Latronda’s words coalesced through Leah’s mind, she understood why she was here. It was the how behind it she was still uncertain of.

  “Time to open.” The rough timber of the words carried across the bar, distracting Leah from the song and her reverie. Looking up, her hands stilled on the keys. Ook, Latronda’s bartender slash bouncer slash enforcer. He was a huge, burly sort of fellow with an odd bluish-colored skin tone, enormous muscles and tri-colored eyes the shade of garnets, fire and lightning. His head was perfectly rounded, bald and despite the firm perfection of his lips, he never smiled. He appeared as lost as Leah felt, and it broke her heart.

  Latronda had said that Ook was a Darengy grave-warrior. His people had all but been decimated in the old wars between the Vranthian Elders and the Shadow Dwellers. It was the grave-warriors that had saved the Elders from extinction. But royalty, being royalty, feared their power and killed them before they could be overtaken again. Ook was but one of a handful that survived.

  Ook had watched over her since she’d awakened. His presence calmed her. Comforted her. And every time their eyes met, tiny pin-pricks of anticipation ran along her flesh. Anticipation of what, she wasn’t certain of, but he stirred something within her.

  Briefly she wondered what it would be like to kiss such an intense creature, those soft, full lips against hers. Those large arms wrapped
around her, holding her. Comforting her.

  With a shake of her head, she pushed her wayward thoughts away. “Okay, Ook,” she told him, rising from the piano to help pull down chairs. The bar seemed to be getting more crowded every night since she’d started singing here. The clientele was a bit shady, but singing was what she knew, what she was good at. So Latronda let her sing, and her bar began to fill. Life was returning to normal.

  * * * * * *

  “This is not good, brother.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Draven ground the words out. He paced the austere chamber of his brother’s receiving room with a tight rein on his fury. “It has been reported that Kantella has been slave trading for the past three years. Women from four different galaxies. Bodies have been left all over the place. And I’m the one who has had to clean up his mess.”

  Draven stopped his pacing and turned to look at his brother, Prince Kuthar, who stood by the open balcony. Light from Vranthia’s first moon pooled around him, casting an eerie glow on his ice white hair. His eyes, drowning pools of frigid blue, held a restrained cold fire.

  His elder by a hundred years, Draven held Kuthar in the highest regard. Kuthar was born to lead. Groomed for the position from birth, he and his twin, Kantella, were cut from a different cloth. Kantella wanted to rule Vranthia, no matter the cost. Draven was content to stand at his brother Kuthar’s side, guard his flank and protect him and their people. He was a cut-throat warrior, deadly as a viper. Yes, he was exactly where his father had intended him to be, and his brother, Kuthar needed him. Draven was still unsure where Kantella had gone astray.

  “What of the girl?” Kuthar questioned, his eyes boring into Draven like a stake to the heart.

  “I feel her.”

  “And?” The arch of his brow reflected the depth of the unasked questions.

  Draven growled and began to pace. A myriad of feelings spiraled through him where the girl was concerned. He felt her like a shadow to his soul. Their blood exchange was only the beginning, and he knew it. He’d received word that Kantella had learned that she still lived. That Latronda had kept her alive and now Kantella intended to take her back, no matter the cost...breedable or not.