Excerpt:
"Shaw, open up." Gunner jabbed the intercom button on the security panel half a dozen times. "Open up or I’ll rip this damn thing off the hinges." He reached up to punch the button but hesitated when the cylindrical lock cycled and the door opened.
"I’d like to see you try," Commander Braden Shaw said, stepping into the hallway, his tone relaxed and jovial. "I was assured that would be impossible, my friend."
Braden was tall and lean, rangy, his arms muscular, though not bulky like Gunner’s. He had the body of a runner, a martial artist or a professional athlete. Where Gunner was dark haired and blue eyed, Braden was the golden boy with flaxen hair and thick arched brows, his complexion fair, as most of his Irish brethren.
His eyes changed from hazel to emerald depending upon his mood, and were currently a friendly olive with brown undertones, which was about to change. He stepped into the hallway to catch his first glimpse of Gunner’s face, his eyes going wide when he saw the gravity of his expression.
"She’s…dying." Gunner motioned in the direction of Braden’s quarters and stepped past him. "I can’t make it stop."
"Slow down, man." Braden was right behind him, keeping pace, their movement nothing but flashes of ephemeral, light. "What are you talking about, Shaw?"
"I don’t understand what’s happening—" Gunner shook his head, frustration adding a cold, deadly edge to his voice.
He laid her on Braden’s king-sized bed, and she curled into a tight ball, suffering with every ragged breath.
"She’s not transfiguring." He wasn’t good at this, wasn’t good at asking for anything, especially not help, not from anyone and definitely not for personal reasons.
Gunner could do his job, cut and dry. He was a hard-assed warrior, a soldier. It bled from his lineage of French and Sioux Indian. Fighting had never been his problem. It was second nature.
Asking for help, that was fucking difficult.
"What the hell?" Braden lifted a brow in concern, leaning in and catching a whiff of air, inhaling deeply. "Blood?" His fangs erupted from his gums as he honed in on the scent, his eyes bursting into dazzling fragments of color, shining like multifaceted emeralds in the light, brightening to an almost painful vibrant green.
"She was shot." Gunner leaned down, taking her hand, which was cold and clammy, and bringing it to his lips, praying she’d awaken though prayer was something he hadn’t done in a century. "It was femoral—I had no choice…but she’s not transfiguring."
"Impossible," Braden scoffed. He swiped a hand over the cleft of his clean-shaven jaw, shaking his head in disbelief.
"She’s not changing," Gunner said with a growl, his frustration growing. There was an edge of panic to his voice, and anxiety in the stiffness of his shoulders, the rigidness of his body and he hated himself for it.
He’d never been weak, was rock solid, and he could feel all of that crumbling because of Nevada, because he’d chosen to bite her.
He was a fucking fool.
Braden’s hunger was obvious as he drifted toward her, stepping closer, reaching out and preparing to touch her, his lips parted, fangs cumbersome and growing in his mouth.
"You’ve bitten her?" Braden clarified as he reached out and checked her pupils, his hand stilling against her brow. He leaned close, hovering.
"Of course," Gunner hissed. He paced across the room, desperate to save her, trying to stop himself from tearing the shelves from the walls.
He didn’t do this shit. Helplessness didn’t get him off.
He’d do anything to keep her from dying…though he still had no idea how that was even possible at this point.
"You exchanged fluids?" Braden checked her gums, looking for any signs of transfiguration and finding none. Her nails were short and trimmed, her eyes a normal, human shade of brown, though they were beautiful, they weren’t lit with mystical luminosity. "There’s no marked change in her incisors, no signs of transfiguration."
"Of course we exchanged fluids," Gunner hissed, forgetting himself for a moment and letting his temper get the best of him. "We shared blood."
"That’s…just…impossible." Braden shook his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed. "If she drank your blood she should be well into the change."
Gunner cursed. He’d have said Braden trusted him explicitly.
Until now.
"You’ve never turned anyone before," Braden said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Why now? Why her?" He stepped away from the bed, his hands on his hips, turning to face Gunner.
"She was going to die."
"So you killed her anyway," Braden snorted.
"She was shot and she’d…already tasted my blood," Gunner admitted.
"You’ll explain that to me later." Braden grimaced. It was a command, not a question.
"That’s a game changer," he sighed, letting out the breath he seemed to be holding.
"Exactly." Gunner stalked back to her side, the only sound in the room the squeak of his soles on the tile floor and Nevada’s labored breathing.
"This is virtually unheard of, you know that, right?"
Gods, that was terrifying. In the century of fighting at Braden’s side, Gunner hadn’t known him to hesitate with anything, hadn’t known him to be in doubt, and if Braden hadn’t seen it, it didn’t exist.
His commander pressed the back of his hand to Nevada’s face, feeling her body temperature against his skin and growling. "She burning with fever."
"She was like ice," Gunner told him, kneeling at her side, grateful that at least her body temperature had risen, even if it meant a fever.
It killed him, standing by and doing nothing while Braden touched her face and leaned in close. His heart shredded, jealousy ripping through him like a jagged blade. It was the scourge of his kind, though it had never been an emotion he had experienced.
Until now. Until Nevada.
Gunner spun around, desperate to control the violence blowing through him like a hurricane.
This wasn’t the time to go all vampy and possessive.
That could come later.
"You’re timing is brilliant. We’re on standby for a mission," Braden said.
"Fuck the mission." Gunner reached out and stroked her hair, pushing a strand back from her face. "Help her or I won’t go on another mission. Period. I’m done."
Braden’s fist slammed into him. He lifted Gunner off his knees and pinned him to the wall before he’d even seen him move. His commander wasn’t as large as Gunner, but he was a thousand years older and more powerful, making him nearly invincible.
"You forget your place, lieutenant." Braden’s eyes were a livid green, his jaw clenched and his lips pulled back into a snarl over extended fangs.
"Help her," Gunner said after a moment, his voice cracking. He made sure his tone was unchallenging, though he wouldn’t back off. Not about this, not about her. He knew he was out of line.
That he was risking his life by pushing Braden, the very man who’d handed him eternity, allowing him to seek revenge upon the man responsible for murdering his niece.
He respected Braden on every level, but the way he felt about Nevada…it was the game changer. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t expected it, but he had to deal with it and he certainly wasn’t ready to stand by and watch her die.
They’d lost enough time.
"She’s in pain," Gunner said after a moment’s hesitation. "She’s suffering. I can feel it every time I touch her."
"You aren’t going to like this," Braden said with a low curse. He released Gunner, and stepped back, holding his gaze, his brow creased. "Gods…I can’t guarantee that it’ll even work."
"I don’t care what the hell you have to do," Gunner snarled, staring down at Nevada’s face and willing her eyes open. He reached out and touched her cheek, smoothing his fingers over her skin. "Just. Do it."
"Very well." Braden made a show of unbuttoning his black Hugo Boss and laying it upon the leather chair beside the bed. He waited for Gunner to step back, and reached out and turned her head to the side.
"And if this doesn’t work?" Gunner asked. "What then?"
"She could die," Braden said with a shake of his head. "Or perhaps turn into something worse."
"What could be worse?" Gunner’s tone was thick with sarcasm. He couldn’t imagine anything more horrific than what he’d become when Braden had turned him a century ago.
"Not a human, not a vampire, but something…in between."
"That’s a myth." Gunner had heard the stories over the years, but he’d never seen nor heard of anyone who’d been bitten and hadn’t transfigured. "A scary nursery rhyme used to frighten humans…to keep vamps from turning them like cattle."
"Until now," Braden added. "Until you brought her into my compound."
"Her name is Nevada," Gunner said. "She fought to live, fought valiantly to save her partner’s life. Hell, she deserves to live more than most."
Gunner folded his arms over his chest, and glanced up at the low-hung ceiling. He felt the room closing in around him like a small, cramped cave. He wished they were topside, that he could smell the air and see the ocean, that he could clear his mind.
Braden cursed in his native Gaelic language, and reached out and took Nevada by the hand, glancing over his shoulder at Gunner. His eyes were shining, his mouth open, fangs extended, ready to clamp down upon his prey.
He hesitated as if expecting Gunner to stop him. As if challenging him to try.
"Just do it." Gunner grimaced, his jaw clenched.
Braden sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over her, her head falling to the side as he drew her in, groaning in anticipation, wasting no more time. He buried his fangs deep within her vein and Nevada moaned, crying out.
Gunner snarled, the sound morphing into the horrifying roar of an angry, wounded beast. He turned away, wanting to flee the room and not being able to move, as if his boots were fastened to the ground.
He had to force himself not to go on the attack, clenching his fists, his knuckles white and his nails digging into his palms. He curbed his rage, possessiveness and resentment consuming his rational mind like fire burning dry grass.
She belonged to him on an elemental level. She was his. He’d bitten her, claimed her by drinking her blood and sharing his vein, something he’d done before.
There was nothing more primitive, more primal—and to stand by and watch another vampire consume her was maddening, an abomination.
Braden drank his fill, massive, greedy pulls from Nevada’s vein, as if his thirst was spurred on by the magnificent flavor of her and he couldn’t get enough. Her breasts were full and round, her nipples erect, and Gunner could still feel them against his tongue, his lips.
Braden pulled her against him, holding her in a lover’s embrace, his chest pressed against hers, and it enraged Gunner to the point of lunacy. He spun around and slammed his fist into the wall, roaring when the steel gave way, though his hand felt as though it’d been pulverized, crushed, splintered into hundreds of tiny fragments.
Braden panted and leaned in, his hips bucking. He was seconds away from lying her flat against the bed and sliding atop of her, from grinding his cock into her thigh.
"Enough," Gunner roared. He couldn’t do this anymore. He reached out and grabbed Braden by the shoulder, pulling him back.
"Her blood is…" Braden’s body stiffened, his eyes popping open, shining emeralds, his pupils pinpointed black dots. He released her with a gasp, licking his lips, his nostrils flaring and his breath shallow and quick. "Powerful."
"Yes," was all Gunner could say.
He couldn’t blame Braden for becoming sexually aroused, for they were forever intertwined, the taking of blood and the feral, hedonistic desire for sex.
His own cock was throbbing, and as much as the idea of watching Braden with Nevada incensed him, the mere scent of her blood, rich and honeyed, a floral note of jasmine tickling his nose, made him hard. The marking of her flesh, the sound of Braden feeding, the sucking and moaning, caused his teeth to ache and he lost his mind, the sharing of fluids, the transfiguration of a human, a potent ritual for his kind.
Even when Braden had bitten him a century ago there’d been the desire to surrender himself in some way. It was foreign, and he was sickened to think about how vulnerable he’d been while on the verge of death.
It’d been Braden who’d controlled himself during his transfiguration, who’d fed and taken nothing more than his blood, and for that he had been eternally grateful.
Gunner closed his eyes and could still feel the beat of her heart thrumming against his chest, the feel of her body beneath his as he consumed her in every way.
Her pussy had been so tight, gripping him like a vice each time he sank into her wet heat, working him as he pounded into her.
Yes, her blood was powerful, her body insatiable, her soul joined to his.
She was his.
Braden bit into his own wrist and cupped her chin, opening her mouth, turning her head into his arm. She parted her lips and Braden gasped when her tongue touched his flesh, her body arching, her lips, her mouth clasping onto his arm.
She drew from his wrist, wanton, as if Braden’s blood was the only sustenance she had consumed in days.
Gunner hissed in contempt. He couldn’t help but feel betrayed and worse, like a failure. For he alone had not been strong enough to turn her.
Braden purred as Nevada drank, pulling back and breaking the connection with a sigh, his body humming, the air in the room electric.
"There’s never been an underling with two masters," Braden said after a moment. He released her and cursed, as if it physically pained him to do so. "If she lives, it will violate our laws."
"I don’t care about our laws," Gunner growled. "I’ve asked you for nothing in the century of my existence."
"Aye." Braden wrapped a towel around his wrist and crossed the room to retrieve his shirt. He glanced at his watch and then to Gunner out of the corner of his eye, lowering his voice as if someone might overhear what he was about to say. "But, I think this might be asking too much, lad. Too much."
Gunner inhaled, smelling the unique aroma of her blood, a fragrance that belonged only to her. His mouth watered and he swiped a hand over his face, having watched her drink from him was too much. He battled the overwhelming desire to kill his best friend, his commander, his sire.
He was long dead, but he was in hell just the same.
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