Page 32 of Bound

Shit.

“West—” I croaked as the first gossamer tendrils of magic crawled over my skin. Phoenix Richards closed his eyes, swaying in place.

Caldwell’s magic targeted emotions. He could amplify feelings of fear, lust or loneliness. Then neatly snip the strings of a pack bond, binding his targets to him instead. When his magic got under your skin it felt like that dizzying rush of a first kiss, a wicked shot of adrenaline and oxytocin rolled into one. You couldn’t get enough. Never wanted to get enough. That first night when my wolf had wanted nothing more than to die and his monstrous beast clamped onto its neck as we were falling down to the endless bottom of that icy lake, refusing to let go, his magic tasted better than the Dr. Pepper ice cream floats my grandfather used to make for me and Kieran when we’d all sit out on the back porch in the summers after dinner. Like comfort. Like home. I hadn’t tried to get away. Hadn’t wanted to get away. After a year of nonstop agony at the hands of the undeads, maybe what happened that night had been as much the fault of my wolf as his. I’d only wanted to stop hurting, and in that moment, his magic had cradled me in protective arms, erasing hunger, fear, pain. And now, standing here, blinded by the strobe lighting, that magic made me think of cinnamon gum, laundry detergent, and what I could have sworn was the creepy fake pine aroma of the Robert Pattinson air freshener I’d hung from Cedric’s rearview mirror not two weeks ago.

I inhaled sharply. West stiffened, his magic recoiling as if I’d stabbed him.

“I… need some air.”

“Mind if I join?” Phoenix asked casually, like I wasn’t even standing there. A hot wave of jealousy threatened to sear my bones to ash.

“Sure.”

“West,” I rasped.

But he backed away, refusing to look at me. Phoenix followed, the crowd swallowing them in a swaying, churning mass.

I ground my teeth. It was time. Our contact would show up at any moment, and I had to be alone when they did. And maybe Caldwell could get a handle on his unexplained magic surges without me there, amping him up. But that didn’t make the sight of them walking off together any easier to stomach. I didn’t care that he was doing it for me. The only toxic thought slamming through my skull was that I was the one who’d been forced on him. I was the burden. The obligation he couldn’t escape. While Phoenix had been a choice.

A heartbeat later the first vampire roared into my consciousness. My pulse jackknifed, instincts screaming on red alert. The band’s pounding rock anthem raged around me like the world’s worst migraine, the lighting down on the floor making faces impossible to discern. Concentrating on the vamp’s signature, I pushed my way through the crowd towards the back of the club. I was nearly to the dark hallway leading to the bathrooms when three more fang-heads materialized in the shadows close to the stage.

My blood froze.

Instantly I reversed course, diving into the crowd. Angry shouts rang out. I ignored them, pressing on. Where the hell was Caldwell? Faces blurred as a spotlight panned over the crowd. Was that him, over by the sound system? The fog machine released a blast of vapor, clouding the stage as I fought my way back the way I’d come. The crowd swayed in a dark, gyrating mass, cell phones held overhead, oblivious to any danger.

West, I shouted through the bond.

Nothing. Because he’d blocked me. Now, when we were all about to be drained by vampires. Only Caldwell. I would freaking kill him. He would have to park Cedric in the next zip code. Fangorn Forest? He would need hedge clippers to find his parking brake by the time I was through with him.

Fumbling for my phone, I tried to send a text. No signal. Cursing, I shouldered my way forward—

—and without warning came face to face with a slim young man with pale, blue-tipped hair.

Most vampires fell into two categories. The elite upper castes were trained in multiple forms of combat and privately schooled within their coven’s compound. For the most part they appeared virtually indistinguishable from humans at first glance other than canines that elongated when they fed and subtle biometric differences like temperature and heartrate. The lower castes were all but enslaved in their individual coven houses, with no rights to gather, organize or own property within vampire society. The vampire elite used them as domestics and low wage workers, as well as soldiers they forced to amp up on stimulants and shifter blood before being sent to raid enemy covens, which due to the devastating neurological effects of the lycan virus on vampire physiology, eventually led to disability and death.

This particular undead was pale and far too thin like most of the lower caste. He had on ripped jeans, scuffed Doc Martens, and one of Hayden’s vintage Daisies tees, like they were all the rage over in fang-head central.

In the last picture I’d seen of #DashCamVlad, his hair had been dyed black and he’d sported gauges in both ears. He’d been hunted relentlessly for the past four years, a fugitive from the human government and the Vampire Nation alike ever since he’d outed supernaturals to the world during a traffic stop. A lifestyle which apparently now required frequent costume changes.

And he had my brother.

“Change of plans,” Vlad said smoothly. “It seems our meet has been compromised.”

His hand shot out with inhuman speed. I started to shout, but by then the room was spinning. A kaleidoscope of shattered glass swirled across my visual field, a lightning storm of bloody crimson and deep aubergine shards pummeling me mercilessly as I tried to claw my way free from the vampire’s grip. Blindly, I flailed and struck only empty air. Darkness engulfed me, squeezing the breath from my lungs. Tears rushed to my eyes, my chest searing with pain. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. And then without warning, I slammed into hot tar paper and gravel. The muggy Texas night clung to my skin while I emptied my stomach, cicadas screaming in my ears.

“You did better than most for your first time,” said a voice from behind me. “All things considering.”

I staggered up. We were on a rooftop, forty, maybe fifty stories up. Far below us, the streets of downtown Austin hummed with partiers out enjoying the Saturday night club scene, the glimmering waters of the Colorado River snaking out towards the hills west of town.

When I took a step back, Vlad shook his head. “Calm down. If I’d wanted to hurt you, I could have done so countless times before now. I brought you here to talk.”

“Vlad,” I panted, wanting to throat-punch him for dematerializing me without my permission, which at this point would probably only get me tossed off the top of whatever high rise we were currently borrowing. “Is that even your name?”

“The person I was before is dead,” he said simply. “Vlad will do.”

“Where’s my brother?”

“Somewhere you’ll never get to him without my help.”