But not the one he really wanted.
He glanced around, having lost track of her when she’d cut through the chaos of lycans and mages. Damn. He didn’t see her.
He narrowed his eyes. A lesser being, the female should have been his prey weeks ago. Yet she continued to evade him after stealing his quarry. Disappointed, he had to content himself with the fact that he’d at least tracked down the headquarters of the Crimson Claw pack. They knew about the artifact. He had orders to bring it back to the goddess he “served.”
Kraft winced. Serving any kind of deity went against a vampire’s very nature. They didn’t worship anyone but themselves. Not gods, demons, magir, or humans—all of whom vampires considered lesser beings. Kraft in particular, from the toughest of all the vampire tribes, bowed to no one. He respected his patriarch, of course. And he appeased the goddess currently bossing him around due to a bloode-debt incurred by his old clan.
But no way in hell he’d worship her. Secretly, though, he liked what she and her servant had done by binding him and his new kin together. The Night Bloode—a new clan of vampires filled with six warriors from different tribes.
He smiled, so pleased that his good friend, avrykolakasvampire from the Greek island of Santorini, had finally returned.
His smile soured. Unfortunately, the vryko had returned with a mate.
Kraft scowled as he watched the fight below break up. Of the six original members of his clan, not counting the non-vampire additions, three now had mates. Mates that lived with the group and would likely remain well after they gave birth. So unlike the way normal vampires existed.
Kraft himself had never known his mother. His bonds with his sire had been nothing but biological, having been raised by his clan as a whole. Thenachzehrertribe were known to be fierce, savage killers with a strength beyond compare. Probably why Kraft liked the vryko so much, because Orion could give Kraft the kind of battles he used to get at home.
Hisoldhome, back in Germany.
But he was Night Bloode now. A member of an elite group of vampires who controlled the city of Seattle, no matter what the local upir clan might think.
He paused in thought as the lycans below stopped and stared up at the tree from which Kraft watched, which in turn caused the mages to focus on him as well.
“We’re not alone,” his prey muttered and with a snarl at those near him, pointed up. “Bring it down.”
“Alive?” one of them asked.
“Or dead. Trespassers aren’t allowed,” an older lycan said. This one likely an alpha, power radiating from him like the light of the moon, strong and thick. “Come down, son, or die like the dog you are.”
“Well, with that invitation, how can I resist?”Enthused over the fight he could sense coming, Kraft jumped down and landed light on his feet. The grin on his face widened when his prey recognized him.
The lycan—Max, Kraft thought he’d been called—paled and said, “Oh, shit.”
“Ja.My little friend. I’ve missed you.” Before they could blink, Kraft had the male in a headlock. One wrong breath and he’d break the lycan’s neck. “Your move.”
CHAPTERTWO
Riley had just grabbeda load of clothes for the washer when her door banged open and a panting soldier with panicked eyes rasped, “Vampire.”
“Great. I’m home for five minutes and we have even more drama than that stupid free-for-all.” She followed him out the door. Secretly freaking out, because she now had a feeling she knewexactlywho had been following her, she pushed past the soldier, raced to the field, and found Max in a large vampire’s arms.
Unlike others of his kind, this fanger had massive height and brawn in addition to shaggy dark hair, burning black eyes, and a grin. She hated when they grinned. Especially because the fangs on this guy put most lycans to shame.
“Let him go,” Uncle Jack ordered, every inch the alpha despite the faint trace of trepidation she could scent thanks to her berserker sharp sense of smell. Not that she blamed him one bit.
Everyonefeared vampires. They were incredibly hard to kill, fast, lethal with sharp claws and fangs, and determined. Plus, they viewed death and dismemberment as a game, enjoying wounding others and lavishing the ending of lives.
“Come now, where is the fun in letting this little fish go?” the vampire asked in a light German accent. He also felt...wolfish...to her.
Though most of the vampires in this region of the States tended to be upir, she’d seen other tribes from afar. The revenants and strigoi tended to be tall yet lean, and both tribes possessed the ability to seduce prey. But this guy felt like something else. From what Max had told her of his imprisonment, his captors had seemed very different from one another, as if from different tribes, which should have been impossible.
Vampires could only gather in small groups, instinctively hating others not in their family collectives to the point they would fight until the death.
Max had sensed something wolflike about one of them, which made Riley think the vamp might be nachzehrer, especially with that faint German accent and all that brawn. Geesh. He stood as tall as Max, and Max was one of the biggest lycans in the pack in human form.
But the Crimson Claw didn’t falter. To her relief, she felt the presence of many direwolves gathering. Though one vampire could take on a good dozen enemy, he couldn’t take ontwodozen, the alpha, and a berserker without feeling some pain.
She repeated her uncle’s order. “Let him go.”
