She owed him. Not because of all the horrible things her family did to him and his race. But because her family had done all those horrible things and he loved her in spite of it.
Now she just had to hope it wasn’t too late.
RIKER HADN’T SEEN Nicole, except in passing, for four days.
It was killing him. He’d left the ball in her court, letting her decide if she could believe he’d fallen for her when she was still human.
Apparently, she didn’t believe him.
He kept playing with the little origami animals she’d made, smiling at how they reminded him of her, delicate and complex, beautiful and yet capable of cutting deep. The dragon figure had cut his thumb, but she’d slashed his heart.
“Nicole showed me how to make birds.” Seated at the kitchen counter, Bastien touched his finger to the wing of a paper butterfly Nicole had left near the toaster.
Today was the third day in a row he’d come to Riker’s quarters after they sparred in the exercise room. Myne had taught Bastien well—the kid was a fast learner, and he was starting to gain control of his ability to briefly turn invisible. Once he mastered that, the power to flash invisibly out of the way of an incoming strike would make up for his lack of fighting experience. Bastien was going to be one hell of an asset to the clan someday.
“I’d like it if you made me a bird sometime,” Riker said.
“I’ll carve you one out of wood. Baddon showed me.” Riker had to smother a grin as Bastien swung off the bar stool. The boy had grown, not just physically but emotionally. “I’m going to shower and help Grant in the lab. Are you going to teach me how to read the wind tomorrow?”
“You bet. You’ll be hitting the bullseye with arrows in gale-force winds before you know it.”
There was a single knock on the door, and then Myne strolled in with a six-pack of beer. “Swiped it from a hunter’s camp.” He gestured to Bastien. “If you guys are busy, I can come back.”
“I was just leaving.” Bastien started out the door but turned to Riker at the threshold. “Later, Dad.”
Bastien disappeared, leaving Riker’s mouth dry and his heart pounding. “Did you hear that?” he asked Myne, hoping his buddy had heard it, too, and it wasn’t all in his head.
Grinning, Myne tossed him a beer. “Yeah. Pretty cool. Guess he’s over his daddy issues.”
Riker didn’t raise his hopes that much, but it was a good start. “I heard you haven’t found Chuck.”
“Fucker is practically on lockdown since Nicole was taken.” Myne sank into the overstuffed chair kitty-corner from the couch. “It’s going to be a while before we can do the world a favor by removing his head.”
Riker looked down at his beer, wondering how Nicole was going to feel about that. It was one thing to say you didn’t care what happened to your brother and another to experience it.
“And Bastien? Have you felt him out about this?”
“He says he doesn’t care what happens to Chuck.” Myne clinked his bottle against Riker’s. “Personally, I think we should catch the bastard, toss him into the prey room, and let Bastien have him. We’ll call it alternative therapy.”
Riker had always believed in alternative therapy. Even when he’d been human, he’d known that a well-placed bullet in a terrorist’s chest could heal the mind and spirit.
“How’s Lucy?” He planted his ass on the couch, figuring they were stuck talking for a while. “I haven’t seen her since I got back.”
“She’s been making friends with Bastien. He reads to her like a big brother.” Myne leaned back in his chair, cradling his beer like a lover. Myne’s therapists had always had names like Henry Weinhard and Captain Morgan. “Now, what’s up with Hunter? No one has seen him in days. He’s been shut up in his chambers. Won’t even let in any females.”
“No females?” Riker frowned. “That’s disturbing.” Almost as disturbing as seeing the change in Hunter when he spoke to Kars. Both chiefs had radiated a certain sinister energy that had raised the hairs on the back of Riker’s neck. Then there had been the crimson lighting in their eyes. It was almost as if they’d been tapping into a well of power so strong their bodies couldn’t contain it.
Myne twitched one shoulder in a half shrug. “I’m happy enough not seeing him every day.” He took a swig from his beer. “Have you talked to Nicole?”
Her name was a blade to the chest. “I was hoping she’d want to talk by now. Guess I underestimated how she felt about me.”
“So you want to see her?”
Riker inhaled raggedly. “I’d sell my soul if she’d walk through my door.”
“Huh.” Myne chugged his beer and slammed the bottle down on the coffee table. “Gotta go.” All Riker could do was stare as his friend popped to his feet and took off. Before Riker could even process the fact that Myne was gone, he was back, pulling Nicole inside with him.
“What the hell are you doing?” The feather mark tingling, Riker stood, unsure if Nicole needed help or if she was completely cool with being dragged into Riker’s quarters.
“She’s been waiting in the hall.” Myne shoved her forward. “She didn’t want to come in if you weren’t willing to talk to her. Since you said you’d sell your soul, I took that as a good sign. Now, if you two will excuse me, I’m outta here.”
“Well,” she said, after the door closed, “that wasn’t how I imagined this would go down.”
“I’m pretty sure Myne has a disorder that makes him completely oblivious to social etiquette.”
“Hmm.” Nicole smiled wryly. “I noticed that when we first met. I didn’t think it was polite of him to kill Mr. Altrough after knowing him just sixty seconds.”
Riker nearly groaned. This conversation wasn’t going well. At all. “Ah, yeah. There are some things in both our pasts we should probably move beyond.”
“I agree.” Nicole glanced at the bedroom door. “But if you’re not ready to let go of everything, I can leave—”
“No!” He cut her off, unwilling to let her go now that she was here. Screw it, he wasn’t going to waste another minute while he waited for her to come around. Letting her go was a stupid mistake, and he was going to rectify it. He wanted to grab her. Haul her against him and never let her go.
“You really mean that?”
He grabbed her. Hauled her against him. Wasn’t going to let her go until she forced him to. “God, Nicole,” he murmured into her hair, “I’ve been wanting to see you for days. I haven’t eaten. Haven’t slept.”
He inhaled deeply, taking comfort in her scent, which seemed stronger, spicier than before. The imprint, maybe? Whatever it was, as her feminine fragrance penetrated his lungs, a warm sense of calm came over him, like everything was right in the world.
Arms tight around him, she buried her face in his chest. “I’m sorry, Riker. I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
The tremor in her voice broke his heart. “For not believing you.”
He pulled back to look her in the eye. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I believe you love me, and I don’t want to be apart anymore.” She cleared her throat. “And it only took twenty shots of Kool-Aid flavors that should never be mixed, imaginary chest pain, and girl talk with a female vampire and a male vampire who plays Go Fish when everyone else is playing Five-Card Stud.”
“I don’t understand any of that, but if it got you here, that’s all that matters.” He slid one hand around to the back of her neck to caress the warm, satin skin there, only to freeze as something she’d said rang in his ears. “And wait . . . chest pain?”
“Imaginary,” she muttered. “But it did feel real.”
“When did it go away?”
She shrugged. “A few minutes ago, I guess. Why?”
He wasn’t ready to share his theory yet, so he took a page from his favorite tactics manual and went for a distract-and-evade maneuver.
Framing her face in his hands, he kissed her deeply. It took a whoppi
ng two seconds for his body to harden and heat, and with a low growl, he swept her up and carried her to the bedroom.
In his arms, she tensed. “Are you really okay with this?” she whispered.
“You belong here. You belong in my bed and in my life. Every aspect of it.” He placed her gently on the mattress. “But I have a confession.”
She smiled shyly. “So do I.”
He sank down onto the bed with her and carefully laid her on her back. “You first.”
He tucked a pillow under her head and stretched out beside her. What he really wanted to do was stretch out on top of her, but they were at a critical junction in their relationship, and he didn’t want to mess it up by moving too fast.
Anxiety all but bled from her pores, and he got real fucking nervous, real fast. “Nicole? What is it?”
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted.
Every muscle in Riker’s body vapor-locked. “You’re . . .” He swallowed. Cleared his throat. Remembered to breathe. Couldn’t think. “When?”
“At ShadowSpawn.”
ShadowSpawn? Darkness closed in around him, and he started to pant. Nicole . . . oh, Jesus . . .
She shoved herself up on one elbow. “No, oh, Riker,” she rasped. “It’s not what you’re thinking. No one touched me. I swear.” Reaching for him, she cupped his cheek in her warm palm. “It was the night I went to your cell. Fane made me take the fertility drug. Apparently, it works.”
“We’re having a baby?” His heart went crazy, tapping spastically against his rib cage. Excitement and fear sucked the air out of his lungs. There was nothing he wanted more than a family, but childbirth was extremely dangerous, and with no midwife to help, he could lose both Nicole and the baby.
“I can feel your fear.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “But please don’t worry. When I researched the fertility treatment, I found that Daedalus hadn’t lost a single female or child during birth. I believe fertility and childbirth are related. I have nine months to get it figured out. It’s not the ideal timing, but—” He crushed her in a bear hug. “Okay, okay,” she said on a laugh. “What’s your confession?”
Slowly, he eased himself out of her grip. The curiosity etched in her expression made him squirm. She was here because she loved him, but would she believe he loved her after he told her about the imprint? He hesitated, wanting to stretch this out, because it might just be the last intimate, happy moment they had.
“Well?” she prompted, and pressure built in his chest.
He cleared his throat, stalling for more time. Finally, when she started tapping her foot on the mattress, he asked, “You believe I fell for you before you turned, right?”
“I do.”
“You’re sure?”
She scooted back, eyeing him warily, and he hated that he’d done that to her. “What’s this about?”
Gripping the hem of his shirt, he peeled it off over his head. Her gaze immediately dropped to his chest, and he had to admit he enjoyed the way her eyes grew hungry. He tore open his fly and pushed one flap aside to reveal the new feather glyph pulsing on his skin.
Frowning, Nicole leaned forward, and then she straightened so fast she nearly fell off the bed. Might have if he hadn’t grabbed her.
“Oh, my God . . .” Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “Is that . . . an imprint mark?”
“It was the night you got pregnant,” he said in a rush, stupidly, because when else would it have happened? They’d only had sex once since she’d turned into a vampire. Trying to sound a little less addled, he added, “I think it’s why you felt chest pain. Vampires can sense emotions in others through scent or physical manifestations, but they have to be in close proximity . . . unless the male is imprinted. It’s rare, but sometimes the female can actually feel the male’s strong emotions even when they’re miles apart.”
“So you’re saying I was feeling . . .”
“My pain,” he finished.
Her long sable lashes flew up as her eyes shot wide open. “Oh, my God. If I’d known earlier how much you were hurting, I’d have come sooner.”
He leaned over and kissed her, going again for the tried-and-true distract-and-evade strategy. “I guess we just have more time to make up, then.”
“I’m being manipulated, aren’t I?” she murmured against his lips.
Laughing, he eased them both back down on the mattress, eager to get her out of her clothes. She seemed on board with that plan, reaching for his fly. But instead of going where he thought she was going, her fingers found the raised crimson lines that defined his imprint. An intense, almost orgasmic shock shot straight to his groin, and he hissed with pleasure. An impish smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.
“I do believe I could have fun with that,” she murmured.
He thought she could, too. “As often as you want.”
She nipped his bottom lip as she traced the glyph, each feather-light stroke of her finger making him breathe faster. Between his legs, his erection ached, wanting the same attention.
“I also believe,” she said, in a husky, intimate rasp, “that I’ll take the timing of your imprint and my pregnancy as a sign.”
“A good one?”
She slid her hand to his cock, and he groaned. “What do you think?”
Think? That ability had just gone AWOL. Drawing air into lungs so tight they felt like fists, he relieved her of her sweatshirt. She was gloriously braless, and he showered kisses on each breast before blazing a trail with his lips and tongue to her abdomen, where his child was growing.
“I’m so glad I found you,” he said against the soft expanse of skin between her hip bones. “I gave up on life when Terese died, but you gave it back to me. You also gave me a son, and now you’re going to give me another son or a daughter. I can’t thank you enough.”
“This again?” she teased. She shoved her fingers through his hair and forced his head up so their gazes met and held. “I’ll let you thank me over and over, several times a day.” Her smile grew wicked. “Maybe I’ll demand it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
It was his turn to get naughty, and he ripped open her jeans. She wasn’t wearing underwear.
“I got tired of the granny panties,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
He let out a purr of approval and tugged her pants down her legs. “Are you ready for some serious thanks?” he asked as he prowled up her body from the foot of the bed.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Thank me. Thank me hard and fast. And then hard and slow.”
He did. Over and over. And afterward, as they lay together in a tangle of arms and legs, he knew without a doubt that he could never thank her enough.
But he’d sure as hell try.
EPILOGUE
HUNTER STOOD OUTSIDE the ceremonial teepee he’d erected near clan headquarters decades ago, his heart racing. Every year on his birthday he came to this rocky cove to seek guidance from the demon that had started all this. And every year he came out of the buffalo hide tent with no answers. He’d never once seen the legendary demon, and bit by bit, doubt chipped away at his beliefs.
This time had to be different. It wasn’t his birthday. And this wasn’t about answers or proving the demon’s existence. It was about a curse that was going to activate the moment he took a mate. A curse he knew he wasn’t strong enough to survive.
Baddon and Myne flanked him, daggers drawn, waiting for his signal. Myne was the most bullheaded, disobedient son of a bitch on the planet, but even he didn’t shirk ceremonial duty. He was a born vampire through and through, and Nez Perce honor flowed thick through his veins. He respected tradition and ritual.
He also liked making Hunter bleed. So yeah, this was always great fun for him and the only time Hunter could count on him to show up when ordered to.
Fresh from Riker and Nicole’s mating ceremony, Hunter squared his shoulders and let the ceremonial robe pool at his feet, leaving him naked in t
he biting cold night. Signal given, Baddon swung around in front of him. His silver blade flashed in the moonlight as he slashed a shallow cut across Hunter’s chest. The sting from Baddon’s knife was fleeting, but Myne’s wouldn’t be.
Baddon stepped aside, and Myne took his place, an eager smirk curving his lips as he jabbed the tip of his dagger into Hunter’s sternum. Pain made Hunter clench his teeth as Myne took his time carving a deep gash all the way to Hunter’s navel.
Myne was such an asshole.
Satisfied that Hunter was bleeding enough, Myne stepped back. “May your spirit quest bring you good fortune,” he murmured, the genuine sentiment behind the words leaving Hunter slightly astonished.
Baddon bowed his head. “Spirits be with you.”
Hunter acknowledged them both with nods. But he wasn’t here to talk to his totem animal or to contact any spirits. As third-generation born vampires, they wouldn’t know about the demon, and Hunter couldn’t tell them. They probably wouldn’t believe it anyway.
Sometimes even Hunter wasn’t sure what to believe.
He strode inside the teepee, his bare feet coming down on the soft animal pelts that lined the floor. In the center of the tent, the small fire Baddon had prepared crackled, its flames beckoning him closer.
Nervous energy made Hunter’s hand shake as he dragged his palm across his bloody chest and then gathered a handful of herbs and grasses from the plain wooden box placed near the fire.
Kneeling, he tossed the herbs, coated in his blood, into the flames. Almost instantly, the tent filled with a fragrant fog that teased his nostrils. Hunter closed his eyes and breathed deep, taking the smoke into his lungs.
“Come to me,” he whispered.
A grayish mist clouded his mind, and the ground fell away beneath him. Pressure built in his chest, a crushing, squeezing sensation that turned every breath into a searing whip of agony. At the same time, an intense buzz vibrated every cell in his body. He felt as if he could come apart at any moment. He hated this part of the ritual, when he was torn between wanting to throw up and wanting to scream with the ecstasy of it. This was the point where his totem animal, a grizzly bear, would often appear to him, but that wasn’t what he’d come for, and through a thickening haze of swirling colors in his head, he called out again.