With Everything I Am(213)

By: Kristen Ashley

I would know what that was when sickening, warm gushes of blood spurted across my chest and neck about a half a second before I saw a canine head (with no body, mind) roll across the asphalt in front of me. More blood splashed the pavement beside me in a hideous surge and I heard the heinous noises of body after lifeless body thudding to the ground.

Then I was up, my own body swinging like it was flying through the air but I felt hands on me. A breeze was blowing through my hair, I was moving so fast, and then my back slammed against the brick wall of the building at the side of the alley.

I blinked, feeling the wall at my back but the intense, hard-muscled warmth of a body pressed to my front and before my eyes, a man.

A shock of black hair.

An intriguingly tilted set of eyes, the hue I couldn’t make out in the dark but, shockingly, I could see one was a color that was light the other a color that was definitely dark.

Strong jutting jaw, sharp cheekbones, heavy brow.

The slash of an angry scar that went across his forehead, through his left eyebrow, disconnected then rejoined on his cheekbone to slide all the way down his face, curling around his jaw and disappearing.

I panted in his blood-stained face.

He stared, intense and frightening, into mine, his gaze, honest to God, like a touch.

I stopped panting because I stopped breathing.

His face came closer and my stomach clenched, my muscles tensed near to snapping, my chest burned but his head veered and he touched his temple to mine, slid it back, rubbing it through my hair.

I sucked in breath only to hold it again when his hands left my armpits. One to travel down my side and then curve to become an arm around my back holding me so strong, I was plastered to his front. One going up, over my shoulder and in to curl tight and freakishly warm around the side of my neck.

His chin dipped and I felt his lips at my ear.

“Mine,” he growled in a deep, guttural, forceful way that even I, who had no clue what was happening, I just knew I didn’t like it one… single… bit, agreed.

When he said “mine”, he meant me.


* * * * *

Lucien stood in the alleyway with Gregor who had summoned him.

They both stared at the smoldering remains of three vampires and the blood and gore of the beheaded corpses of two violently mutilated wolves still in wolf form.

He felt Gregor’s eyes on him and he cut his to the vampire.

“Five against one,” Gregor noted.

Two immortals could do that.

Lucien and Callum, King of the Werewolves.

Now, the third.

“I’m thinking the third set of lifemates have been found,” Gregor went on to mutter drolly.

Lucien cursed and pulled out his phone. He hit one button and put it to his ear.

Four rings later, he heard a wolf growl, “This better be good to interrupt my honeymoon.”

“The third lifemates have met.”

“Fuck,” Callum grunted.

“My thought exactly,” Lucien concurred.

There was silence from Callum then he remarked, “My wife and I have had a good night. I’d like her to enjoy the rest of it as I intend to enjoy the rest of it with her. We’ll be on a plane tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, Callum,” Lucien murmured.

“It’s begun, therefore it’s closer to done,” Callum replied.

“Indeed,” Lucien muttered.

“We’ll taste victory,” Callum told him.

“We fucking will,” Lucien agreed.

“Tomorrow,” Callum stated.

“Tomorrow, Callum.”

He heard Callum disconnect and he slid his phone back in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

His dark eyes again surveyed the carnage.

Then, without another look at Gregor or any of the other members of The Vampire Council on the scene, he turned away and strode to his Porsche so he could leave the slaughter behind, for now, and get home to his bride.

It had begun.

They had very little time

So he and Leah were going to fucking enjoy what little they had.

The Three Series will continue…

With the story of the final two.


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