Blood Betrayal: A Blood Curse Novel (Blood Curse Series Book 9) Read online

  Slowly, and over time, Kyla, and others like her, would help to usher in a new age, a purer society, where the strong ruled the weak, and the mighty inherited the earth. Their goal was simple: First, cleanse the earth of the Vampyr; next, claim dominance over unworthy humans.

  “So what do you think of this color eyeliner?” Kiera asked, in her usual, welcoming tone. “It’s kind of a blue green…maybe aqua. I’m not sure if it goes with my eyes.”

  Kyla plastered an insincere smile on her face and glanced at Keira’s makeup. “I think it looks gorgeous on you.” What else could she say? Her identical twin was a stunning beauty, just as Kyla was. In the end, what did any of that triviality matter?

  She was just about to suggest that they leave the bar, perhaps try to find a good movie—at least then they wouldn’t have to talk through a show—when she noticed something both curious and intriguing on Kiera’s left arm.

  Kyla stepped closer to the mirror and stared into the glass.

  The gentle hand that held up the eyeliner pencil was softly rotated outward, and as inexplicable—impossible—as it seemed, Kiera’s inner wrist was changing, metamorphosing, right before Kyla’s eyes. She reached out to grasp Kiera’s wrist. “Let me see that,” she whispered, suddenly feigning interest in the pencil, even as she secretly shielded and surveyed her sister’s arm.

  Wow.

  Whoa!

  This could not be happening!

  Etched into Kiera’s flesh, and becoming more and more distinct as each second passed, was a series of enigmatic lines and cryptic dots, all of them intersecting to create a clear, discernable pattern, a celestial constellation: Cetus, the sea monster.

  Kyla swallowed a gasp and tried to remain calm.

  She knew exactly what she was staring at: After all, she and her other vampire-hunting cohorts had learned all the celestial constellations—correction, they had learned all of the celestial gods, those who ruled over the lighter vampires—and they had committed the pantheon to memory.

  Ever since the end of June of the previous year, the society had begun a new, intensive series of trainings, after their formerly indifferent regional Head Hunter had suddenly stepped things up…with a vengeance. No longer content to keep the lower echelons in the dark, Xavier had flooded the militias with information about the race they were hunting, about the history of the Vampyr, about their culture, their practices, and their religions. Kyla hadn’t understood it at the time—if the higher-ups possessed all this knowledge, why had they kept it to themselves for so long? Why had they been so content to simply order the militias around while they, themselves, remained in the shadows, and led from afar?

  Why hadn’t they shared all this history and culture decades ago?

  While some of the secrecy remained—Kyla had never met their region’s Head Hunter, and she doubted she ever would—the most important element had definitely changed: The militias were now armed with more information and a deeper understanding of the enemy than they had ever possessed before.

  Careful not to alert Kiera, Kyla sauntered to the bathroom door and double-checked the lock—yep, the door was securely fastened.

  No one would walk in.

  But that wasn’t going to hold for long.

  Somewhere out there, either close by, in the bar, or within a few city blocks, was a vampire, gazing at the moon. And he would be feral, desperate, and determined—searching like a lion intent on protecting its pride—to find the unsuspecting female who was standing in this cubicle.

  And he would not be denied.

  And maybe, just maybe, if Kyla could pull it off, she could somehow switch places with Kiera before the monster found them.

  Wouldn’t that just be the deception of a lifetime?

  The greatest advantage the militia had ever had?

  Knowing that the moon would not be visible to her human eyes, Kyla immediately switched her tack: She hurried to the small, rectangular window on the far side of the lavatory and pointed at the sky. “Kiera, come here! Quick! Look at this! Do you see what I see?” Her voice was thick with wonder and awe.

  Kiera tucked her pencil into her purse, still unaware of her arm, and paced to the back of the bathroom. She glanced out the window and her jaw dropped open. “Holy moly!” she exclaimed.

  Yep, there it was…

  Confirmation!

  “The moon is the color of…blood. And the stars? What the heck is that? I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Kyla didn’t bother to respond.

  She didn’t have time.

  She reached into her purse, retrieved her cell phone, and pecked out an urgent text:

  Owen! It’s Kyla. Still at the bar with Kiera, and you’re not going to believe this—she has the mark of a destiny on her left arm! Does Travis still own his tattoo parlor? If so, you need to get him and his tools down to LoDo, NOW! There’s a door in the bathroom that leads to an alley (it’s behind the bar). Kiera and I will be waiting for you. I don’t have to tell you what all of this means. If we can pull this off, I can take out this vampire. Hell, we can infiltrate their lair!!!

  GET HERE RIGHT AWAY!

  Chapter One

  Saxson Olaru had traveled about ten and a half blocks from the lower-downtown bar when he felt a sudden surge of electricity course through his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled; his skin began to tingle; and his field of vision narrowed, which only meant one thing—his pupils had just constricted.

  Being over seven hundred years old, he recognized the physiological changes for what they were: manifestations of a primal instinct, his feral nature rising, something happening to his body on a purely primordial level.

  Something ancient.

  Something primitive.

  Something that called to his inner nocturnal beast.

  He slowed his pace, tilted his head to the side, and tuned in acutely with all five senses: He could hear songs streaming through various headsets; music playing on apartment stereos; lovers in their lofts, whispering sweet nothings, enticing one another to bed. He could smell perfume and cologne, shampoo and body wash, all intertwined with the stench of carbon being emitted from various tailpipes. There was a hot-dog stand ten blocks away, and a small coffee spill on the corner. Someone was firing calzones in an old-fashioned brick oven, and someone…needed stronger deodorant.

  He could sense moisture in the upper atmosphere, a bitter cold-front developing rapidly, but it was moving quickly east—it would likely arrive as a winter storm in Kansas no later than Tuesday morning. Yet and still, as he tuned in to all the various stimuli, there was nothing he heard, smelled, or felt that explained his rising tension, the feral heat igniting his blood.

  And then he glanced at the sky.

  Great celestial gods of his ancestors, the moon was shining crimson: cerise, saturated, and luminous. Like the lens of a camera slowly zooming out to capture a much wider picture, he broadened his focus to the sky as a whole and gawked at the brilliant black canvas: The celestial constellation Cetus the sea monster was illuminated above him, blazing like a heavenly bonfire.

  Saxson Olaru was staring at his own Blood Moon.

  His fangs began to throb in his gums; his naturally manicured nails lengthened; and his vampiric nature took over. A low, feral growl rose in his throat as he spun around lithely and stalked back in the direction he’d come from.

  Kiera Sparrow screamed as the back door to the restroom flew open, and two terrifying men rushed in from the dark, narrow alley: The first of the two was tall, dark, and masked; the second was short, stocky, and covered in tattoos. She dropped her purse, reached instinctively for her sister, and drew back in sudden alarm—Kyla shook loose from Kiera’s grasp, shoved her toward the men, and shuffled out of the way…with indifference.

  “Kyla!” Kiera gasped, trying frantically to read the situation. “What the hell is—”

  “Shut up!” the tall, masked stranger barked, placing his palm over her mouth from behind.

&n
bsp; “I’ll get her arms!” the second man shouted, swiveling around to face her.

  “Hurry,” Kyla chimed in. “Do you know how fast a vampire can travel?”

  Kiera froze for the breadth of two heartbeats, totally stunned by the sudden invasion, as well as her sister’s odd statement.

  Do you know how fast a vampire can travel?

  What the hell was happening?

  And then her survival instincts kicked in, and she began to twist wildly, trying to break free from the masked man behind her, even as the tattooed intruder restrained her by both biceps.

  Everything happened so fast.

  Kyla reopened the door, the one that led to the alley, and the man behind Kiera, his hand still over her mouth, began to drag her backward, into the cool night air. The temperature was frigid. The alley was putrid. And the dark, haunting sky loomed like a red-mooned nightmare above them as the masked stranger hauled Kiera, kicking and grunting, into a nearby van.

  She tried desperately to scream.

  She tried to bite his hand.

  But his grip was too hard, too firm—too unyielding—and his buddy was helping him out.

  And Kyla—where the devil was Kyla!—why wasn’t she helping Kiera escape?

  Kiera’s gaze shot wildly around the vehicle as she tried to locate her sister.

  Kyla was perched on her knees in the back of the van, leaning over a box full of tools. She was rolling up her sleeve and exposing her wrist…cleansing it with some sort of antiseptic.

  To hell with this shit!

  Were they about to shoot drugs?

  Kiera didn’t care to find out.

  She summoned her courage, gave full vent to her rage, and began to struggle in earnest.

  She would fight to the death if she had to!

  And that’s when the van started to sway. Kiera was assaulted by nausea, and a wave of dizziness engulfed her.

  A terrible realization set in…

  The guy behind her, the one in the mask, had something soft—and wet—in his hand.

  Why hadn’t she noticed this before?

  As the chloroform kicked in, he tightened the seal over Kiera’s mouth, and she fixed her panicked gaze on Kyla. “Why?” She tried to groan the words, but they came out muffled and ragged in the masked man’s hand. “Kyla…sister…why?”

  Chapter Two

  It took Saxson Olaru nearly an hour to make it back to the LoDo bar. He had to search every passing vehicle for female passengers; peruse every open restaurant, scanning for the same; and enter every high-rise apartment along the city route while rendering his body invisible.

  He could not leave a single stone unturned.

  Not when it came to finding—and claiming—his destiny.

  As it stood, she had to be within reach—reach being a relative term. At that fateful moment, when the moon had turned bloodred, his destiny had been somewhere close…nearby…within his grasp. The Curse of their kind guaranteed it. But thirty seconds here…sixty seconds there…an extra block or two, traversed; and Saxson could have easily missed her.

  He had missed her.

  And if he didn’t find her soon, he was going to call out to Julien Lacusta and Saber Alexiares, ask the vampires to get their asses to Denver, post haste. He had already briefed the tracker on the final resolution of the VOSU stalkers, and he hated to bother him again—but he would if he had to. With the help of Nathaniel Silivasi, Saber could set up a perimeter—make sure no one got in or out—while Julien started hunting, tracing every female scent he detected from the bar to the freeway, working his way, one soul at a time.

  Scent by scent.

  Block by block.

  Female after human female.

  It would be painstaking, methodical, and slow, but Saxson wouldn’t hesitate to ask the tracker to do it…at least, if it came to that.

  His muscles tense, his fangs still throbbing, he yanked on the door to the bar, nearly tugging it off the hinges. He stalked inside, scanned the barstools and booths, and started to pace toward the kitchen—and that was when he saw her, standing in the hallway, just feet from the door to the restroom. He immediately sent an imperious mental command to all the bar’s gawking patrons: Look away! Nothing to see here, folks. Then he turned his attention back to the woman.

  She was clutching her left wrist in her right hand, staring at the cryptic markings, and as Saxson zoomed in, he was taken aback by the glaring, unsettling visage: the constellation, the stars of Cetus, looked more like abrasions, dark painful wounds, than a seamless stamp by a deity. For lack of a better description, the enigmatic emblem looked more like a fresh tattoo.

  But that wasn’t possible—unless the gods had chosen to harm her.

  But why?

  He blinked in confusion and stared at her face. She was breathless; she was flushed; and she looked positively petrified. Well, that at least made some sense—she had to know something unnatural was happening. And as for the raw, mysterious nature of the brand on her wrist, humans did not know about the Vampyr, and they sure as heck didn’t know about the celestial gods. There was no way this frightened human female could’ve known about Saxson’s Blood Moon, orchestrated what was happening in the sky, and predicted that his ruling lord was Cetus.

  There was no way she could have manipulated the Curse.

  Saxson was staring at his destiny.

  And he needed to get her out of there.

  He peered briefly inside her mind to examine her most recent thoughts, and once again, he drew back in surprise. She wasn’t thinking anything. Her mind was curiously—if not purposefully?—blank. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was one particular thought, a repetitive refrain playing over and over in an endless loop: What’s wrong with my arm? What’s wrong with my arm…

  What’s wrong with my arm?

  Saxson licked his bottom lip, stole her name from her frontal lobe, and seared an imperious compulsion directly into her mind: Kyla, come to me. He held out his hand and waited.

  She jerked back, let go of her arm, and stared fixedly ahead, biting her lower lip in trepidation. Her dark brown eyes met his, and she inhaled sharply, before brushing a thick cluster of waist-length blond hair behind her ear and over her slender shoulder. She gulped, and he repeated the command: Come to me, Kyla.

  She began to shuffle forward, instinctively tucking her arm behind her. Again, that was odd, but it really didn’t matter—Saxson had already seen it.

  He knew who she was.

  “Shh,” he whispered as she trembled before him, her toes almost touching his. He bent his head to whisper in her ear, and placed a soft, gentle hand on her shoulder. “Take my hand, little one, and follow me outside. Do not be afraid. I will not harm you.”

  She linked her hand in his and held on loosely as he led her out of the bar, around the corner, and into a dark, concealed storefront: a narrow, shadowed nook.

  “Be at ease,” he rasped as he gently rotated her body until she was leaning against the wall, and he was towering above her. He took in her appearance a second time, studying her more closely: She was pretty, very pretty…beautiful, actually. Her dark brown eyes were the color of chestnuts and perfectly oval in shape. Her features were elegant, almost aristocratic: soft, noble, and refined. Her cheekbones were high and distinctly outlined—the same with her delicate chin. And her complexion was smooth, baby-fine, and unblemished. Her lips were heart-shaped and perfect—not too thick, not too thin—with a soft rosy color that seemed natural.

  He deepened his compulsion. “Kyla, my name is Saxson Olaru, and I have waited a lifetime to find you. I know that none of this makes sense—at least not right now—but please, don’t be afraid of me.” He swept the backs of his fingers along her sculpted cheek, ever so slowly, and whispered, “I have no intentions of harming you. If anything, I wish to learn how to worship you. Come home with me this night; it is time for our journey to begin.”

  The last sentence was rhetorical, of course.

  No sane
, self-respecting woman would simply comply with such an entreaty from a stranger, but Kyla was under Saxson’s compulsion, and his voice, his vampiric power, left her no room to refuse him.

  Which is why her ensuing reply caught him so off guard. “Saxson…” She tried his name on her tongue, just a tentative whisper, and then she nodded. “Your words…your speech…it’s definitely unorthodox, but it doesn’t frighten me—not at all.”

  Her heart was racing.

  Her palms were sweating.

  She was lying about her fear…but why?

  “This might sound crazy—as crazy as you sound to me—but I think…I think I know you somehow. I think I’ve always known you.”

  He swallowed his desire to speak and listened more attentively.

  “I…I…” She reached up to smooth her thumb along his jaw, and he almost jolted—it was so unexpected. “I’ve seen your face a dozen times in my dreams.” She glanced askance, shyly, as if suddenly ashamed. “Does that sound crazy?”

  He shook his head; of course it didn’t.

  “I mean, I don’t believe in soul-mates or even divine coincidence, but the moment you stepped into that bar…I knew you. I remembered you. I felt your presence like someone I’ve always known, someone I would recognize…anywhere. And now, you’re standing here, beneath the most amazing, supernatural red moon—it almost feels like an omen, if that makes any sense.”

  He was about to question her further—ask more about these dreams—when he thought better of it. She was speaking from her own free will, in spite of the compulsion he had woven around her, and she was studying him so intensely, memorizing his features, that he didn’t want to break her concentration.

  Above and beyond all that, she had both seen—and made note of—the Cetus Blood Moon.

  Perhaps the gods had already seen to their pairing, prepared the groundwork for a decade.

  When her dark, curly lashes dropped to half-mast, scanning his lips, his eyes, then his lips again, he nearly shuddered.

  Saxson Olaru was no babe in the woods—he was no stranger to female flirtation. While most vampires avoided intimate liaisons for fear of getting too involved, for fear of an unplanned pregnancy, Saxson had always sought…and needed…the intimacy of a woman’s touch. His strikingly handsome face had drawn females to his path like moths to a flame, and he had learned to discern their intentions…hell, even their psyches. He knew which ones he could find solace in, share a tender moment with, versus those who would end up being hurt. Or attached. He knew how to give pleasure, and how to take the same, how to leave a human female feeling fulfilled, rather than empty. And he knew how to use protection.