Punished Page 17

It came for her next. She held her hand out, noting the lack of tremor in her fingers. The tip bit through her palm in one fast slice before falling back to the ground, once again liquid.

  Jeremiah stuck his hand out. Mary shook it, combining their blood to seal their arrangement.

  “Sunday, half an hour before sunup,” Jeremiah said, turning to Vale. “We’re finished here; now get me out of this godforsaken city.”

  Still frowning, Vale touched the other man’s shoulder and the two disappeared. Mary looked around her. They really were gone, dissolved into the air. She inspected her bleeding palm, noting it would soon become infected.

  She dialed Aiyanna, absently adding this instance to the list of things for which she and the werewolves owed the shapeshifter. There will come a time, I’m sure, that we will be able to repay her.

  As Mary waited for Aiyanna to arrive, a sense of peace, of utter rightness came over her. She didn’t know what it meant to be a thysía for someone, and she knew nothing of the ways of werewolves, but this arrangement would change everything.

  She knew that just as she knew breaking the blood bond would kill her.

  Electric thrill buzzed through her body, exciting every muscle, almost causing her straight hair to curl. I can keep my Raphael.

  But at what cost? The voice of reason cut through her joy, but she shoved it back, opting for a moment of peace.

  Besides, Raphael had saved her and Leila when he barely knew them. Now she could do something for him and those he considered friends.

  Aiyanna pulled up, her convertible top down and her hair pulled into a severe, wind-proof knot. When Mary held her bleeding hand out toward the healer, her eyebrows lifted over the top of her large, round sunglasses. “What happened to your hand, girl?”

  She got out of the car, immediately pulling Mary’s hand into hers. Instantly, the stinging pain lessened, the skin of her palm weaving itself together until only a faint scar was left.

  Smiling at her friend, Mary said, “I set something right.”

  My Prince Charming isn’t going pumpkin on me after all.

  Aiyanna’s golden eyes narrowed knowingly. She pulled a wet wipe from her purse and dabbed away any traces of blood. “I hope you’re sure about that, screamer.”

  * * * *

  Jeremiah was back in New York City, his favorite residence. Its location was the reason he’d been given the only clan prohibitum in the eastern United States.

  He expected it when Vale turned to him, his claws out and eyes blazing.

  Jeremiah had seen a business opportunity and taken it, but Vale couldn’t know that.

  “She’s an innocent,” Vale growled, shaking his lethal fist at Jeremiah. He knew Vale would kill him if provoked; the man’s temper was legendary. Which was why it was so damn funny that Heath, the reasonable brother, had been exiled.

  Heath was also the more powerful of the two, making it more…beneficial for Jeremiah to oversee him, rather than his brother.

  No one would pay ludicrous amounts to keep Vale out of their pack—he wasn’t a threat to anyone. In fact, as a head soldier, he had close friends, powerful friends Jeremiah didn’t want for enemies. He couldn’t kill Vale tonight, but he couldn’t let the other were disrupt his plans, either.

  He leaned against the polished door to his penthouse on the Upper East Side, choosing to appear unaffected by Vale’s show of aggression.

  “She chose.” Jeremiah shrugged as if it were all out of his control. “She approached us, as I recall.”

  Red mottled Vale’s face. “She didn’t know, still doesn’t know, that she’s going to die for him now.” He brought his claw in front of Jeremiah’s face. “What if she could be his mate? That would automatically free him.”

  To punish a werewolf was to punish his or her mate, which was generally frowned upon. Mates were supposed to be treasured, never harmed, as many weres never found theirs. For Raphael to be mated with this woman would mean his freedom.

  Jeremiah couldn’t let that happen.

  Five hundred years ago, he’d made a blood bond with Hans Ivar, a stone-cold alpha who’d had hundreds of humans killed, all without the Elders’ knowledge. An alpha who couldn’t control his pack, he became a member of the church and correctly blamed the crimes on werewolves, but pointed the finger at regular humans. Every couple of decades or so, Ivar would raise an orphaned human boy to trust him, to owe him so much he would do anything for the church he’d grown up in.

  Raphael never stood a chance, the poor bastard.

  When Raphael learned that all the interrogations, and the two executions in which he’d delivered the killing blows, were farces created to save face for a failing leader, he’d demanded the Elders to be taken far away and punished.

  Worried his ill-kept secrets would be revealed, Hans paid Jeremiah enough he could have bought the Louisiana Purchase himself in exchange for a blood bond to ensure Raphael would stay in exile, his word worthless to the Elders and active pack members, until he died.

  Jeremiah would contact the old ally, the terribly weak leader, and courteously inform him of Raphael’s imminent death.

  As for the girl, Mary, her head would be a wonderful gift for Richard Van Otterloo. The man was still livid over the death of Gaspar and wanted her blood for what she’d done. He was waiting for the right moment to seize the banshee, but Jeremiah had stepped in first.

  He smelled a bonus check, maybe another wing added to his funhouse in Miami. Another dungeon-themed wing, perhaps.

  Having been raised in abject poverty, his stomach never more than half-filled until after he’d been bitten in adulthood, Jeremiah appreciated the finer things in life. Now he liked to fill himself with expensive meats and wines. He preferred to have many plush options on which to lay his head each night, with just as many plush options to lie next to him.

  It required many constant incomes and creative ways to gain them. So far the botos proved to be more lucrative than he’d initially anticipated, supplementing the yearly payments made by those who wanted to keep his other four exiles out of the way. With the financial stability they provided, the botos could be long-term partners.

  Jeremiah was almost certain Raphael and Mary were mated, linking their lives. Their deaths would cement the relationship and fulfill his bond to Ivar, freeing him from the bond’s death threat.

  “If she were Raphael’s mate,” Jeremiah said carefully, “the Elders would have lifted his sentence. They haven’t. There was never any question: Raphael must die.”

  Lies. The eight Elders had questioned him shrewdly, judiciously, and argued amongst each other for hours before deciding Raphael should be put to death. Arrogant in their age, they didn’t suspect Jeremiah would dare lie to them, which would merit severe punishment. He’d been doing so for years, weaving tales about his criminals that shocked and disgusted. Some of the things he told them were acts he’d done. He liked to see their reactions, the frowns sinking into their lined faces.

  They simply had better things to concern themselves with than to suspect a lupus dux with a spotless record.

  “I still don’t understand why she would have approached you at all if she weren’t his mate,” Vale said thoughtfully, unconvinced.

  Time for Plan B. He needed to draw his attention away from Mary and Raphael, and toward Vale’s own interests. He would tell Vale what he most wanted to hear, causing the powerful were to be in his debt. “A life is being taken,” Jeremiah said, examining his lazily expanded claws, “I don’t see why one the Elders didn’t initially sanction has to be taken as well. I’ll speak to them about today’s events, and clear Mary to be thysía, as it hasn’t been done in over two hundred years. Heath doesn’t have to die this week,” he finished gravely.

  If Jeremiah cared to feel such emotions, he would have found Vale’s expression to be heartbreaking. Tears swam in the man’s eyes, an expression of unanticipated happiness crossing his features.

  “Thanks, man,” he said, thumping his hand on Jerem
iah’s shoulder. It hurt; the oaf didn’t realize his own strength. “My pack—my family will never forget this. We owe you.”

  Jeremiah intended to receive his compensation too. The Elders didn’t yet know Heath was to be executed, so this change was convenient for Jeremiah.

  He simply wouldn’t tell them about Mary; he had no doubt they would bring in a witch to break the blood bond.

  “I’ll see you Sunday,” Vale murmured, swiping at his eyes.

  The blubbering fool used his air ability to take himself back to Asheville, where he would sing Jeremiah’s praises to his pack. Life is sweet.

  What Vale didn’t realize was, there would be a huge bonus for killing Heath, which Jeremiah fully intended to do…eventually. Something heinous would be done by each of the remaining exiles. They were breaking down in their prison, going mad without their powers. They would deserve to die, and in turn Jeremiah would receive a massive parting check for each of them.

  In time, all of their sentences would end in death.

  The system in which Jeremiah worked was beautifully flawed, and he would expose those flaws for his own gain until the moment the risk outweighed the reward. The Elders were so blind, he would never be at risk for exposure. He’d been fooling them for twice as long as it had taken to convince them he was worthy of their trust.

  In the end, Jeremiah had the protection of five very powerful, ruthless immortals, and now a pod of botos. He swung open the door to his apartment where a prostitute wearing only gold pasties greeted him, a hundred-dollar glass of cabernet in her hand.

  He was untouchable.

  Chapter 12

  “There you are,” Raphael exclaimed, a smile spreading across his face. Mary found him in the living room sitting with an irritated Heath, who stiffly nodded at her before trudging off, muttering under his breath.

  A soft-looking navy T-shirt stretched across the expanse of Raphael’s chest, his strong arms relaxed at his sides. Mary wanted that shirt off, those arms wrapped around her.

  His expression was the most open she’d ever seen it. There were no shadows, nothing but trusting contentment, just from the sight of her.

  Mary couldn’t help it; she launched herself at Raphael, straddling him and kissing his chest, his throat, and then the palms of his hands.

  “I’ll give you your toast later,” Raphael said, his voice muffled from her kisses. His deep laughter turned to hums of pleasure as pieces of clothing came off and lips pressed against bare skin. She took him into her mouth, warm and soft and utterly rigid, but he pulled away with a groan, reversing positions to lick her until she shook, shouting his name.

  This time it was she who pulled him back up. She straddled his waist again, pressing herself onto him slowly, so slowly as he threw his head back. She could barely control herself as she rode him, losing that control when she shattered around him, his arms holding her tightly against his chest.

  Soon he cried out his release, taking her over the edge again. Raphael kissed her temple when she slumped against him, exhausted from their lovemaking.

  “Next time,” he whispered to her, more than a little amusement touching his voice, “let’s close the doors.”

  She gasped, realizing too late that the doors to the living room were wide open, exposing them to anyone passing by. “Did anybody see—”

  “No,” Raphael reassured her, rubbing his hand down her back. “If they had, I would have had to clean their eyes with sandpaper.”

  A giggle rose in her throat and escaped.

  “I love you, Mary.” Raphael ran his thumb along the lines of her smile, his eyes shining.

  “And I love you.” Mary kissed the underside of his chin. “There was talk of toast?” Raphael made her favorite treat better than she did.

  He fed her by hand while Mary needled him about what foods he liked. She was surprised to learn of his affection for the beignets she’d introduced to him. They decided to grab a few before sundown, talking as they walked down South St. Peters. Tonight was the last night of the full moon.

  Raphael filled her in on Sebastian’s sister Sophia’s role for tomorrow, worry filling his voice, the reality behind his unease causing Mary’s stomach to sink. The woman had to be incredible or insane.

  Beyond the concern for Sophia, who might be sacrificing herself for countless women, a part of her was screaming for attention, pleading that maybe, just maybe she’d made a grave mistake in being Raphael’s thysía. She forced a smile to her face even as she wondered about the meaning of the strange word, and what it would mean for her on Sunday morning.

  It’s done. All she could do was enjoy the time she had with Raphael, and pray everything fell into place.

  Mary wiped powdered sugar from Raphael’s cheek, sipping hot chocolate as a light breeze tickled her legs. Determination, relief and fear mingled within her. Soon the botos will be gone, and there will be no threats toward Raphael. Of that, she was certain.

  They stayed as close to sundown as they could, preparing for the following day while they watched the barges float by.

  * * * *

  From Sebastian’s description, Sophia was not who Raphael expected her to be.

  He’d thought she would be tall and muscled; an Amazon warrior woman who’d never lost a fight.

  Everyone agreed to meet at the brewery, which Sebastian said was Sophia’s favorite place in the city. Raphael suspected she was proud of her brother, as the rest of his pack was. When she entered Sebastian’s spacious office, doubt wrenched apart their plan for the night.

  The woman they were sending into certain danger stood at least five or six inches shorter than Mary, her frame tiny. Her delicate face belonged on a doll, not a soldier going into battle. Indecision had Raphael exchanging a look with Heath, whose green eyes flashed toward Sebastian, his expression angry.

  “You’re letting her be taken by those sickos?” he exclaimed, disbelief coloring his voice. “Why don’t you just kill her yourself?”

  Sebastian flew at Heath, but Sophia was quicker. Her head didn’t reach Heath’s shoulders, yet her presence was every bit as large as his. Her gaze didn’t waver as she looked up at him. “My brother couldn’t stop me from doing this,” she growled, her small claws coming out to aim at him. “So why don’t you pull your misogyny out from your ass and focus on how we can help these humans.”

  She’d kept her elemental power to herself out of a kindness that belied her words. After that day at Pat O’s Raphael had done the same thing, unwilling to see the sadness in his friends’ expressions.

  Beside Raphael, Mary grinned. “I think I’m going to like her,” she said in voice so low the others wouldn’t understand her. Despite himself, Raphael’s opinions of the sprite-sized were raised. Very few could stand toe-to-toe with Heath without backing down.

  Alexandre, Raphael realized, was the only one who hadn’t been surprised by Sophia. He must have met her before. “You’ll nail their balls to the wall before they can touch you,” Alex told her encouragingly. The way she still eyed Heath, Raphael didn’t doubt she was capable of it.

  Maybe she could walk away from her time among the botos with minimal scarring after all. Raphael, Heath, Sebastian and Alexandre would equip her as best they could given their limited knowledge of what went on inside the botos’ houses. Cael still flat-out refused to be involved in the plan. As of that morning, he’d left more disgusted with them than ever after hearing Sophia would still be sent in.

  A few minutes ago, Raphael might have conceded Cael was right. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  They told Sophia everything they knew about the botos. They didn’t believe the mind control would work on her, but they knew it was unsuccessful on banshees. They warned her she might be chained, and of the human guards who feared the results of disobedience more than anything else.

  At that Sophia nodded knowingly. “They’ll be dangerous,” she said, pity filling her wide blue eyes. “I’ll watch out for them.”

  The last piece of
information they gave her sent Sophia into a round of cursing that sounded odd coming from her high, feminine voice. The woman uttered words even Raphael never spoke.

  “Jeremiah is in on this?” Sophia shrieked, throwing her hands up. Steam wafted from her skin. Her auburn hair rose, as if alive. Her element must be fire.

  An almost imperceptible gasp sounded beside him. Mary almost fell, her knees going out from underneath her. The color had leeched from her face, which was now as pale as her hair. Raphael lifted her into his arms, cradling her close. She was his top priority, and something was wrong.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mary said in a way that screamed I’m not okay. She refused to meet his eyes. Trembling, she still pushed at his chest, demanding to be put down. “I just locked my knees for too long,” she said, but he wasn’t convinced.

  Raphael set her on her feet, keeping an arm wrapped around her waist. She didn’t protest but leaned against him gratefully, ignoring his probing stare. Her attention was on Sophia’s tantrum. He decided to address this with Mary later, instinct telling him his mate was in danger.

  He wanted to lock her in his room until the storms passed, but he knew she’d never forgive him if he did. Raphael would have to be vigilant, watching out for her as well as his pack. It would be tough, but it was doable; it had to be. He’d been practicing his powers out of sight, gaining the strength he would need to kill Jeremiah. He only hoped adrenaline would help him control the ice he still couldn’t use forcefully. Now it shattered against walls, slowly breaking into pieces.

  On more than one occasion, he’d seen Jeremiah use ice to drill a hole through brick, likely just to show that he could. I’ll get there.

  “I knew he was a corrupt bastard. Working with the human trafficking botos, the dickhead,” Sophia shouted. “You never should have been sent here, Sebastian, and for this long …this is just—” She broke into another string of cursing. Next to her, Alex blushed crimson.

  Sebastian’s hand on top of her head stopped her rant. The image caused them to look like the twins that they were. Their coloring was the same, their frowns similar where one side of their mouths drew down more than the other. The great difference between them was their height: Sebastian stood over a foot taller than her, his muscles prominent, while Sophia’s were lean and subtle.