Sin Undone

Fifteen

They always leave, Con. Always.

Sin’s last words before she drifted off to sleep stayed with Con, had him nearly shaking her awake to tell her he wouldn’t leave. But it would be a lie, because he never stuck with anything. So why in hell did he feel like saying that to her?

Because Sin had lived a waking nightmare, that’s why. As he fell asleep, he’d thought about everything she’d told him, had nightmares about it, and now, as he prowled the house in the early-morning gray light, seeking out all of the secret exits, he couldn’t stop thinking. Sin was still sleeping, but he knew she’d awakened several times during the night.

Once, she’d sat up from a dream, panting and holding her hands over her ears as though trying to block something out. Another time, she’d taken her Gargantua-bone dagger off the nightstand and held it against her chest, cradling it like a teddy bear, before falling back to sleep.

Those images haunted him as much as the things she’d told him.

She wasn’t an assassin because she wanted to be. She’d been sold into it. She wasn’t master of her den because she wanted to be. She’d done it to spare her brother’s mate. And because she was who she was—tough, intense, determined—she’d made the best of the situations. Self-preservation instincts hadn’t allowed her to feel sorry for herself or to feel anything or, probably, to even think much on what she’d done or had to do.

And he’d gone and torn down the one defense she had to protect herself.

Fucking idiot.

“Hey.” He whirled around, unable to believe she’d caught him by surprise. She stood at the base of the stairs, clothed, wet hair up in the messy knot she favored, a splash of shy color on her cheeks. She didn’t look like a hard-as-brimstone, cold-blooded assassin. Probably because she wasn’t a cold-blooded assassin like he’d once thought. No, she looked like a woman who had been well loved for the first time and wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

Yeah, well, neither did he. He’d been with a lot of females. Too many couplings had been nothing but one-nighters where they didn’t even exchange names. But he’d also made love to sensual, experienced females he’d liked. He’d spent hours in bed with them, hours talking, playing, doing real “date” stuff. But with the one exception so many centuries ago that had ended in disaster, he’d always kept relationships casual.

Suddenly, this thing with Sin did not feel casual.

The things she’d shared had leveled him. She had mad skills when it came to killing and surviving, but she had little practice with emotion or relationships, and she was lost. Yet she’d opened up, trusting him with a piece of her past, and he knew how monumental that had been for her.

It was a mistake for him to have coaxed any of it out. She needed her thick walls, and who the hell was he to try to breach them?

An arrogant bastard, that’s who.

She’d been a challenge. A puzzle he’d wanted to solve, a code he’d wanted to break.

Well done, asshole.

He’d had a human friend once, back during the Civil War. John had nursed an injured coyote back to health, taught it to trust humans despite Con’s warning to scare it off, throw rocks at it… whatever it took to keep it safe. And one day, it approached the wrong human and was killed.

Con hoped he hadn’t created a coyote out of Sin.

“Hello… Con?” Sin waved a hand in front of his face.

“Ah, hey. Sorry.” He gestured to the stove. “I made breakfast.” If powdered eggs and dehydrated hash browns could be considered food.

Wordlessly, she slipped past him, and he caught the fresh scent of lavender soap from her shower, and underneath the floral notes was the earthy tang of their lovemaking. His blood stirred and heated, but he kept his baser instincts leashed as Sin scooped up the eggs and potatoes onto a plate and scarfed every bite. When he shoveled more onto her plate, she didn’t argue.

“Have you thought about who’s after you?”

She looked up at him, one dark eyebrow cocked. “Um… assassins?” Her fingers slid absently over her breastbone, and he tracked the motion with greedy eyes. “Speaking of which, I lost another one this morning.”

“Should I offer my condolences?”

She snorted. “Hardly.”

He propped one hip on the counter and folded his arms over his chest. “Well, here’s the thing. I get that they want your ring, but that doesn’t explain the horse guy who tried to kill you and then save you. It also doesn’t explain my house.”

“I know,” she muttered. “Someone who wants my job wouldn’t blow up a house with me in it. It would make finding the ring nearly impossible.”

So someone wanted her dead, and not for the ring. But why? Unless…

“Valko,” he snarled.

“The pricolici leader?”

He nodded. “With you dead, he might hope that no cure would come for the turneds.” Rage filled him, made all the more potent by the fact that he had no proof of his suspicion, and by the fact that he could do nothing about it at the moment.

Sin was a hell of a lot more level than he was, shrugging as she finished eating, giving him time to cool off. He watched as she washed her dishes, taking an extraordinarily long time.

She was stalling.

Finally, after she’d put away her plate and fork, cleaned the sink, and wiped the counter, she swung around. “Thank you.”

He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “It was just breakfast.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She looked down at her boots. They were scuffed, beat to hell. Con had never worn a pair of shoes long enough for them to look like that. “I’ve been an ass to you, but somehow you’ve put up with it. You’ve helped me when you’d have been well within your rights to kill me for what I’ve done to the wargs. So… um… thank you.”

Coyote.

Her admission cracked his heart right open. He should throw rocks at her, should be thinking only of ways to make her raise her defenses again, but instead, he was thinking about wrapping her in his arms and never letting her go.

You’ll let her go. When her coffin is lowered into the ground. Fuck.

Rocks. He had to throw rocks. Maybe pebbles.

“Sin—”

She held up a hand. “Whatever. I’m done talking about it. We should go.” She brushed past him, and the moment they touched, it was like an electric jolt went through him. His brain short-circuited, and without thinking, he tugged her against him and tried to ignore the sound that his vampire senses picked up: the thud whoosh of her heartbeat. They definitely needed to go. They had to contact Eidolon, too, who would probably be going crazy about now. But Con’s body was tweaking out, his fangs were thrusting downward, and if he could get a taste of her first… He leaned in, slowly—

“Yo.” Sin slapped her hands on his chest. “Ah… do you need to feed?”

The vein in her throat pounded, and her pulse became a roar in his ears.

“Con?”

A wash of red colored his vision, the color of merlot. Or blood.

“Con!” She slapped him hard enough to rock his head back and clear it enough to think. “What’s going on? I can sense your hunger, but it’s weird.”

“Damn.” Stepping away from her, he scrubbed his hand over his face and wondered how the hell he was going to explain this.

“Hey. Straight up, what’s going on with you?”

She deserved to know the truth. He’d asked too much of her, and it was time to give back, even if he had to spill another of the many dhampire secrets that kept his race shrouded in mystery and, to outsiders, very grounded and stable. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“You know how I said that dhampires don’t mate with each other?” His voice was gravelly, as though every word was being dragged from between his lips. “It’s because males become addicted to blood. If we feed from one host more than a few times, it takes root.”

“So… why would that be a bad thing if the couple was mated?”

“Because the male can go out of control and kill the female while feeding.” Shit, this was hard to talk about, and not because he was violating some ancient dhampire rule. He was way too intimate with the consequences of addiction. “That’s why there are very few mated dhampire pairs.”

“How could there be any?” Her eyes widened with curiosity, and for the first time, he could see a little of Eidolon in her as she dug into the mystery. “Do the mated males feed from other males and females to keep from getting addicted to their mates?”

He nearly laughed. “That only works temporarily. Eventually addiction happens because feeding and sex are intertwined. At that point, males inject a venom that bonds the female to him and he to her, and that ends the addiction.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“There’s a catch.” Strange how nothing good came without strings. “We don’t produce the bond fluid until we become addicted. By then, your control is shot and what you crave is the high you’ll get when they die. So instead of injecting the bond fluid, you run the risk of draining the female and killing her instead.”

She hooked her thumbs in her front pockets and propped a hip against the kitchen’s log entryway as though settling in for a long convo. Which wasn’t going to happen. “You sound like you know something about that.”

“It’s how my mother died. My father killed her.”

A thousand years ago, before the two dhampire clans had merged, his parents had belonged to separate clans, both from royal blood. It was hoped that by mating his parents, the clans would join peacefully. It went well… Con and his younger brothers, Dubdghall and Eoin, had been conceived without his father succumbing to addiction, mainly because he took his pleasures—sex and blood—from other females except during his mother’s breeding heats. And then, during his mother’s fourth heat, his father lost control, and instead of bonding with her, he drained her.

“Oh, wow,” she said, her dark eyes shifting from the rapidly lightening dawn back to him. “What happened to your father?”

“The death of the female ends the addiction, but he couldn’t live with what he’d done. He destroyed himself.” That was the understatement of the century. Con’s father had burned himself alive.

Sin rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly looking a little pensive and, for the second time in the last few hours, vulnerable. “Have you ever…”

For a long time, he considered his answer. For an even longer time, he considered lying. And then he hurled the answer like the rock he needed to throw. “Yes.”

“Did you bond with her?”

“No.” He hadn’t gotten the chance… Hell, he hadn’t wanted to. He’d wanted blood and sex from her, but not a lifetime commitment. And even then… the desire for sex hadn’t even been a fraction as intense as what he wanted from Sin.

“Did she die?”

“Yes.”

“Your fault?”

“Yes.”

He expected her to react with disgust, but she just cocked her head, stared at him, and then gave a definitive nod.

“I’ve killed a few dudes after I slept with them. Mostly it was because they tried to kill me.” She shrugged. “It happens. You shouldn’t punish yourself.”

It was his turn to stare. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she did a one-eighty and reacted in the exact opposite way he’d anticipated. He loved that. No one had ever kept him on his toes the way she did. Even if she was utterly annoying about it.

“I knew better, Sin. I knew what would happen if I fed from her too many times, and I did it anyway. I wanted to take feeding to the very edge, to see how far I could go without crossing the line. I played with her life, and she’s the one who lost.”

“And that was how long ago? Have you done it since?”

“It was eight centuries ago, and no.” He pinned her down with his eyes, making damn sure she understood what he was saying. “Until you.”

Oh, yeah, she got it, inhaled a ragged breath and swallowed hard. “Are you…”

“Close.” Too fucking close. Even now he was inching toward her, his mouth watering.

“And what, exactly, does that mean?”

“It means I have an overwhelming desire for your blood. Only your blood. Eventually, feeding from anyone else will make me sick. Probably already will. The addiction grows with each feeding. It’s like a drug. I’ll need more and more, until I can’t stop.”

“Is the only way out to kill the female or to bond?”

“It’s possible to detox. But it takes a long, miserable time. Some dhampires have died before the addiction broke.” Kicking the habit wasn’t easy, and even once it happened, dhampires couldn’t so much as be in the same room as the female whose blood addicted him, or it started up again, even more fiercely.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing the virus is out of your blood.”

“Thank the gods.” He gestured toward the back door before he lost himself to temptation again. “We’d better go.” He paused. “How long before you need sex again?”

“Several hours, probably. You seem to have some powerful juice.”

It was such a male thing to puff up with pride over that, and sure as shit, he did. “I’m not surprised.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you aren’t.”

“Ah, hey…” He eyed her curiously, realizing that what he was about to ask her probably wouldn’t rub her the wrong way, but he wasn’t sure he truly wanted to know the answer. “What about vampires? Pure vamps. Does their… juice… work for you?”

“It does,” she said, and he had to bite back a growl at the unwelcome images burning into his brain. “The effect just doesn’t last very long.”

Not surprising. Vampires didn’t produce sperm, but since they ingested blood and any other liquid they wanted to drink, their bodies produced fluids like anyone else’s. They could cry, piss, spit, and ejaculate, all in smaller quantities.

“Why do you ask?”

“Curious.”

She started toward the concealed door at the rear of the house with a shake of her head. “You medical people are way too curious about stuff like that.”

Funny, but even though he’d been working as a paramedic for years, he hadn’t ever considered himself a “medical person.” The job had been… a job. A hobby with a bonus of a massive danger element involved, which was cool. But now that he thought about it, the life had seeped into his bloodstream, and the fact that half of his favorite TV shows were on the Discovery Health channel should have been a clue.

The other half of his favorite shows were on the Playboy channel. He mentally measured Sin for a naughty nurse outfit, and when she gave him a sultry glance from over her shoulder but kept walking, her rear swaying temptingly, he knew he’d been caught.

“I’m a succubus,” she called out in a teasing, singsong voice. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Of course you do,” he muttered as she opened the door, which was concealed on the outside by a vine-covered trellis. As they stepped out, he halted, sniffed the wind, but nothing unusual was on the crisp, morning air.

“Do you sense anything?”

“No,” she said, “but—” She cut off with an oof, and he whirled to her, a cry of his own somehow making it past his heart, which had jammed up in his throat.

Sin staggered backward, her face pale and twisted by pain, her chest caved in by what looked like a pool table’s eight-ball—with spikes. It was a demon weapon, designed to punch through armor and skulls. Once the victim was impaled, the spikes would grind, slowly, so the victim died in excruciating pain.

Sin sank to her knees, her mouth working soundlessly. Fear strangled him as he hooked her beneath her arms and dragged her inside the house.

“Sin? Sin! Hold on. Just… hold on.” Shit! He lay her on the braided carpet in the living room as gently as he could. Blood streamed from her mouth, and each breath wheezed loudly through her closing airway.

Oh, gods, she couldn’t die now. She’d been through too much, had led a miserable life, and she deserved better than this. Fighting the urge to panic, he called on all his medical training and reached deep for the clinical detachment he always had when treating patients.

It didn’t work. Inside, he was terrified. Outside, he was sweating bullets. But at least his voice was level, and he hoped Sin was fooled.

“I can’t remove the thing,” he said calmly. “You’ll bleed out. I’m going to get help.”

Her trembling fingers closed around his wrist. “No,” she rasped. “Too… dangerous.”

“If I don’t, you’ll die.” This time, his voice wasn’t so calm.

“Don’t… leave… me.”

They always leave me. A lump formed in his throat. “Listen to me, Sin. I swear, I’ll come back. I won’t leave you.”

A single tear dripped down her cheek as he squeezed her hand and leaned over to brush his lips across hers. A deep, primal rage rose up in him. He would get her brothers, and he would tear apart the bastard who had done this to her.

The pounding on Eidolon’s apartment door came as he was getting ready to leave for the hospital. At this hour of the morning, pounding was not good. He was getting a late start, but he’d been up until three A.M. with a full emergency department. Diseased and injured wargs had been crammed into every nook and cranny, and as he was leaving, injured demons had come in as well—demons caught up in the escalating warg civil war.

The only good thing that had happened in the last few hours was that his father had gotten Eidolon, Wraith, and Con a reprieve from torture, and he’d pulled some strings and gotten the Carceris to lay off until Justice Dealers could determine whether or not the Warg Council had a case against Sin. It wasn’t much, but at least she didn’t have to run from the demon jailers for now.

He just wished he’d hear something from her.

Tayla answered before he did, but her shout kicked him into high gear, and he jogged down the hall, nearly tripping over Mange as the dog darted between rooms, chasing Mickey, Tayla’s ferret. Eidolon cursed when he saw Con standing in the foyer, bloody and holding his arm at an awkward angle.

“What happened? Where’s Sin?” Eidolon caught Con by the wrist and powered his gift into him. Con hissed as the pain started.

“Call your brothers. Come with me. She’s dying.”

“I’m on it,” Tay said as she flipped open her cell phone. “I’ll have them meet us at the 84th Street Harrowgate.”

The desire to rush to Sin’s rescue was nearly overwhelming, but after years of yanking Wraith out of deadly situations, he’d learned to be prepared. “Tell me what happened,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel, but Con jerked away.

“We have to go. Now!”

The guy’s eyes were wild, his panic rattling Eidolon as much as anything. Con was always level. Gently but firmly, Eidolon shoved him against the wall and started the healing process again. “Listen to me. You’re no good to her if you’re dead. This will just take a minute.”

“She might not have a minute,” Con rasped, but he didn’t fight. “She’s been hit by an exomangler. It’s ripping her apart.”

Eidolon’s blood pressure bottomed out. He’d seen the damage those things caused, and it wasn’t pretty. “What happened to you?”

“Had to go through a forest full of assassins, all lined up to kill Sin.”

Tay came down the hall, her blood-wine hair up in a ponytail. She was dressed for battle, including red leather pants, jacket, and weapons tucked everywhere. “All your brothers are on the way.”

Eidolon breathed a sigh of relief. He’d expected Lore and Wraith, but Shade was iffy. He wouldn’t want to leave Runa and the kids.

“Wraith is leaving Serena and Stewie with Runa, and Kynan will stay in the cave, too.”

Good. Nothing was getting past Ky. Eidolon checked his watch. Gem was on shift at the hospital, so no worries there, and Idess was all but living at UG because of the overload of souls needing guidance out of the hospital and into the light. It was also the safest place for her now that she was basically human, and the assassins after Sin had taken a new tack to get her by using family.

Con’s last wounds sealed up, and they were out of there. They met Eidolon’s brothers at the Harrowgate just as E’s cell rang. Gem.

He flipped open the phone. “Quickly.”

“The disease is affecting born wargs now,” Gem said.

Eidolon’s chest constricted, and he could barely speak. “What happened?”

“It’s Bastien.” There was a rare hitch in her voice. “It seems to be moving even faster than the original strain. E… he’s not going to make it.”

Holy hell. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The call-waiting beep sounded as he entered the Harrowgate, and he switched over.

“It’s Arik. We have trouble.”

“Thank you, master of the obvious. My hospital is overrun by victims of the warg conflict. I have to go—”

“It’s not that. SF… it’s affecting born wargs now.”

Eidolon slapped his hand on a glowing patch in the black stone that amounted to a Hold button for the Harrowgate door, which, if closed, would cut off the phone’s signal. “Fuck me, I know.”

“Not in this lifetime.” Arik took a deep breath. “Our specialists are freaking out. Born wargs share a lot of genetic code with wolf-shifters. Wolf-shifters share a lot of genetic material with leopard and other shifters. And as you know, all shifters are related in some way to anything that can shift.”

Iced adrenaline trickled into Eidolon’s system. “You think SF is going to jump species.”

“Yes. And once that happens, there’s nothing to stop it from jumping to humans.”

Or to any other creature on the planet.

Including Sems.

Someone had run over Kar with a truck while she was asleep. That had to be what had happened, because she’d woken up on Luc’s couch feeling like, well, she’d been run over by a truck.

She’d followed him upstairs and ignored his stomping around while she showered and dressed in a pair of his sweats and a green flannel shirt, both of which swallowed her whole. He’d thrust a bowl of stew at her, stared until she ate it—and then watched, wide-eyed, as she promptly threw it all up.

The morning-sickness thing was weird—she’d had a couple of bouts of nausea around the time she found out she was pregnant, but she’d been fine since. She would have chalked it all up to nerves, except that now she was so miserable that death was starting to look good.

“Kar?” Luc’s deep voice was a strangely soothing murmur in her ear. “You were moaning in your sleep… Holy fuck, you’re hot.”

“Not hot,” she mumbled. “Cold. Need a blanket.”

She heard him shuffling around, felt a blanket come down over her, and then he was nudging her head up. “Hey. I have some Tylenol. You need to take it.”

Her stomach rolled. And then she coughed… so hard her ribs screamed. “Luc… do I have an infection? From the gunshot?”

“You shouldn’t. It healed with your shift.” He frowned as he thumbed up her eyelids. “Your pupils are dilated.” He sank down next to the couch and peeled the blanket away from her chest. “I’m going to take a look at you.”

She felt her shirt being unbuttoned, and despite her misery, she smiled. “Any excuse to get your hands on me.”

“I don’t need an excuse. You’re easy.”

“You—” Her eyes flew open, but when she saw the rare smile turning up his lips, she knew he’d been teasing her. Which was weird, because she would not have taken him as the playful kind. “You should smile more often.”

“Can’t.” He grunted as he opened her shirt to expose her chest. “My face might freeze like that.”

She laughed, but immediately cried out at the pain that wrenched through her abdomen.

“Shit.” Luc jerked his hands away from her. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she croaked. “Hurt to laugh.”

His gaze swept her with the intensity of an X-ray machine, and she suddenly felt like he was seeing all the way through her. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

About the baby, was what he meant. “Don’t be.” She swallowed, and grimaced at the sudden soreness. “The sex was great. You were only my second, but it was so… good.” Another swallow, another grimace. “And the baby is the best, most normal thing that’s happened to me in years.”

Luc averted his gaze, so it was impossible to tell what he was thinking as he finished unbuttoning her shirt. He peeled the flaps open to reveal an odd bruise around her navel… and the color drained from his face.

“What?” she whispered. “What is it?”

“SF. Jesus Christ, I think you have the virus.”