Tempting the Dryad Page 9

  And just like that, he was dead.

  Tiago tossed him aside and turned to Jorge.

  The other shifter’s chest heaved. He strained against the floor, his face purple, trying but unable to move, as helpless as a bug pinned to a board.

  Tiago’s lips stretched into a dark smile. He reached for the helpless, straining man.

  “Oh, Goddess.” A woman’s voice. Soft, nearly inaudible.

  He swung his head to look at her. He could scent Jorge on her. In his crazed state, she was the enemy’s woman. She came to her feet and looked at him, a hand to her throat, her eyes huge with fear.

  “You,” he grated. “Sit down.”

  In that moment of inattention, Jorge twisted from his grip and scrambled to his feet.

  Tiago swung back. “Halt.” The force of compulsion was behind his words.

  Jorge halted. A shudder ran through his body. The compulsion held him in place, but he could still talk.

  “Tiago.” He stretched out a hand, palm out. “Acalme-te, irmão. We didn’t know—”

  “I’m not your fucking brother.”

  Tiago started forward but the simmering pain erupted, liquid fire eating a path along his nerves as the aphrodisiac reached its full force. He staggered and lost his ability to focus on anything but the agonizing sensation of being burned alive from the inside out.

  Jorge escaped into the hall, slamming the door behind him. A lock clicked in place. A moment later the front door slammed as well.

  Thwarted, the beast raged. Chase. Kill.

  Tiago started after him. One kick and the door swung open, half off its hinges.

  A whimper halted him. He swung toward the woman curled up on the mattress.

  Take.

  The enemy was gone, but she was still there. Smelling like them.

  Tiago clenched his fists, his chest working like a bellows. The pain receded but in its place was the primal urge to fuck.

  He took a step toward the woman. She whimpered again and scrambled backward, landing on one of the bare, stained mattresses.

  “Stay there,” he growled. Compelling without meaning to. “You’re not going anywhere until I’m finished with you.”

  She froze, her hand on her throat. He stalked toward her.

  By the gods, he needed to fuck. Craved it. Burned to have it, urged on by the wildfire scouring his veins.

  But more than that, he required revenge. And she represented both. Now that he was closer, he scented Jorge, Benny and the other two men on her—and that she hadn’t been unwilling.

  She hissed at him, claws sprouting from her fingertips. But he could tell she lacked the energy to complete the change.

  He pushed her down onto the mattress.

  “No.” She struggled to get away but he easily controlled her. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t want this. They tricked me, drugged me. Brought me here, same as you. Don’t. Please—I’m begging you.”

  But her body said otherwise. He scented her arousal, mixed with fear and an odd, dizzying aroma that both drew and repelled him.

  She saw his nostrils flare and drew a breath as well.

  “It’s the aphrodisiac,” she explained frantically. “Don’t give in to it. Don’t make me give in to it. Please, Tiago.”

  She was an earth fada. It was there in her scent and warm Caribbean coloring. Which meant she could scent him as well as he could scent her.

  His hands tightened on her shoulders, the need to fuck wrenching his balls. The beast slashed at his skin, urged him to take her.

  She wants it. She needs it. Look, she’s hurting, same as you.

  He kneed her legs apart.

  “No,” she moaned. “Please. Listen to me.” A tear slid down her cheek.

  He halted and stared at her, his breath loud in his ears. Then he touched a finger to her tear-streaked cheek. Another tear slid over his finger. Hot and wet. His senses were so jacked up he could practically taste the salt.

  He jerked back his hand and came to his feet, back arched, fists at his side. His head dropped back on an agonized groan. “Damn, woman. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  She stared up at him, crying those silent tears.

  He flung himself away from her and fell on another mattress, curled into a ball and shaking with a desire so strong it was torture. The woman remained still. He wondered why she was still there and then the fire flared again and sent him into a dark, blessedly pain-free void.

  Now Tiago slanted a look at the woman from where he sat on the mattress. She was still gazing at him warily.

  He scraped his fingers through his hair and sat straighter. He felt marginally better, although weak; vomiting had probably helped rid his body of the last of the drug. And the damn hard-on had finally subsided.

  His internal clock was out of whack but from the height of the sun, it was around nine in the morning. Too much daylight to do anything about Benny’s body. Tiago was lucky Jorge hadn’t come back for it while he was still unconscious—he’d be dead, more than likely.

  What a frigging mess.

  “Can I go now?” the woman asked. “Please?”

  He moved a shoulder. “Sure.”

  “Say it. Tell me I can go.”

  He gave her another look and then it dawned on him why she was still there. He’d put a compulsion on her powerful enough to keep her where she was all this time.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “You’re free to go, whenever and wherever you like.”

  She placed a hand on the wall and dragged herself to her feet. She took a step forward and then hunched over, an arm to her stomach. A small, hurt sound escaped her lips. He forgot his own battered body and struggled up as well, but when he started toward her, she thrust out a hand.

  “No. Stay where you are.”

  He froze. “I’m sorry—I just wanted to…”

  She drew herself upright and tilted her chin at a proud angle. “I’m fine,” she said and headed toward the door, taking short, stiff steps like an old woman—or one who’d been hurt in the most basic way possible.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, she was at the door.

  “Listen,” he said, speaking in the same calm tone he used with skittish animals, “you can’t go out like that. Not without any clothes.”

  She glanced at herself. She was a fada, and nakedness was unremarkable in a shapeshifting people. But they were in Baltimore and although the house appeared to be on a little-used side street, people were out and about.

  She crossed her arms over her stomach. “I thought I’d shift. I can change to my cat, keep to the side streets. But first I need water—and to pee.”

  “But Jorge and the others could still be around somewhere—”

  “They’re not.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I was listening for them.”

  Hell. She must have been up all night, huddled on the mattress, wondering if the men would come back—or if Tiago would wake up and she’d have to fight him off.

  He expelled a breath.

  She hunched a shoulder and waited—still wary of him, he realized with a stab of shame—and when he didn’t say anything further, slipped out of the room and into a bathroom across the hall.

  Well, at least he could make sure she was safe. His nose and ears told him that she was right, they were alone in the house. Jorge and the other two men had probably gone into the water to heal. But just to be sure, he did a sweep of the first floor, confirming that it was empty save for a few sticks of furniture.

  The upstairs held another bathroom and two bedrooms, also empty except for a broken chair and a pile of blankets in one of the rooms. It was clear that Jorge and Benny, and maybe the other two men as well, had been squatting here. Tiago was surprised the Baltimore shifters had allowed it.

  He returned to the bathroom and stuck his head under the tap, drinking the water in great gulps. It tasted of chemicals, but it was nectar to his parched throat. His most pressing nee
d taken care of, he used the toilet and then glanced at the shower, hoping against hope it worked. He smelled rank, and he was smeared with dried blood and Deus knew what else. Stepping into the bathtub, he turned on the faucet and sent a prayer to the water gods.

  They must’ve taken pity on him, because it came out in a decent stream. Ice cold, but that was fine with him. He took a sliver of soap from the sink and stepped into the chilly spray. He winced and then heaved a sigh. It was heaven.

  For a minute he stood there, letting the water wash away the blood and sweat and the acrid scent of alcohol and the drug still working its way out of his system. But he was afraid the woman would leave without him, and even though that might be for the best, he felt responsible for her. He scrubbed the soap over his head and body, rinsed it out and then reluctantly turned off the water.

  The only towel was encrusted with grime. He ignored it to shake himself like a dog. As he squeezed the excess water from his hair, he caught sight of himself in the cracked mirror above the sink. It wasn’t pretty: a black eye, split lip and a mass of reddish purple bruises on his abdomen and thighs. If he didn’t have a fada’s strength, he’d be in the hospital.

  He scowled. One way or the other, Jorge was going to pay.

  To his surprise, the woman was waiting in the hall.

  “I found our clothes.” She thrust a bundle at him and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. If there had been a lock, he was sure she’d have turned it. “You can go,” she told him through the closed door. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll wait,” he growled back.

  He was damned if he was going to leave her to make her own way home. Not just the honor of his clan was at stake, his own personal honor was as well. If he hadn’t gotten so drunk that Jorge and Benny had been able to drug him without his knowledge…

  His shirt and pants smelled almost as rank as he had, but he didn’t have anything else, so he put them on. While he waited for the woman to finish her shower, he found a shoestring in a drawer and tied his wet hair back, before checking the front- and backyard.

  There was still no sign of Jorge or the other two. He did find his sandals, though, where they’d been tossed out the back door into the bushes. And the S.O.B.s had taken all his money. He went back into the front room and glared down at Benny. Even though he hated that he’d lost control of his beast, the scum had deserved what happened.

  He picked up a pair of pants and searched them. No money, but he did find a switchblade, which he shoved into his back pocket.

  The woman was in the shower for a long time. He went to the base of the stairs and looked up, wondering if he should check on her, but while he was debating, the water shut off. When she came back downstairs, he was at the kitchen counter, tearing the remains of a loaf of Italian bread into pieces.

  She appeared in the doorway, black hair slicked down and dressed in a wrinkled tunic, loose-fitting pants and a pair of sandals. Despite their rumpled state, the clothes were of a rich fabric—silk, he guessed—and the sandals were of a soft, expensive-looking leather. She obviously had a high status among her own people.

  Tiago swallowed uneasily. The Baltimore shifters would love an excuse to war with Rock Run.

  “You’re still here,” she said flatly.

  “Don’t worry—I swear I won’t bother you. All I want to do is make sure you’re safe.”

  She acknowledged that with a slight nod.

  He offered her a share of the bread, got them each a glass of water and invited her to take the only stool in the room. As she walked toward it, he was relieved to see she was moving more easily. He closed his eyes against a fresh wash of shame. If only he’d been in a condition to stop those bastards from hurting her.

  The bread was stale. He took a drink and chewed mechanically. He had to get some food in him. He was still too weak. There was no way he’d be able to fight off Jorge right now, let alone two additional men.

  The woman was studying him surreptiously. He glanced at her, then away. Now that his head was clearer, he had the uneasy feeling he should know her name.

  He set down his glass of water. “My name’s Tiago, by the way. Tiago do Rio.”

  “I know.”

  He recalled then that she’d called him by name last night. He waited for her to introduce herself in turn, but when she didn’t, he said, “Okay—you don’t have to tell me who you are. But please allow me to escort you back to your den. It’s the least I can do.”

  “The sentries wouldn’t let you within a mile of it.”

  “Then I’ll leave you when we see them. Please, miss—I want to make sure you’re okay. Let me do that much, at least.”

  He left his greatest fear unspoken, that Jorge was somewhere nearby, waiting. Jorge didn’t like to lose.

  “What about him?” She jerked her chin in the direction of the front room.

  “Benny? He can rot for all I care. But I’ll contact my—Lord Dion, let him know. He won’t want to bring the human police into it. This is Rock Run business.”

  The police didn’t like the local fada—water or earth. The Baltimore commissioner’s hands were tied by the treaty the fada had made with the federal government, but he hated that they were a law unto themselves. He’d jump at the chance to crack down on them, curb their comings and goings.

  The earth shifter eyed him another moment, then inclined her head. “Marjani. My name is Marjani Savonett.”

  Hell. No wonder she looked familiar. “Adric’s sister.”

  “And you’re the youngest brother of the Rock Run alpha. Interesting, hm?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The street outside the rowhouse was empty save for a woman pushing a stroller on the opposite sidewalk. Tiago inhaled, testing the air for any sign of Jorge or the others. Nothing, save the stale spoor left behind when they’d passed through hours ago.

  He glanced at Marjani, who was sniffing the air herself. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her sooner. True, the only time he’d seen her had been five years ago at Cleia and Dion’s mating ball, but she hadn’t changed that much. On the other hand, he’d been so upset that day that he hadn’t registered much besides the fact that he’d lost Cleia to his brother.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  Yesterday’s rain had washed everything clean, leaving the sun shining in a bright blue bowl of a sky. While he waited for her answer, he took another deep inhale. They were in southeast Baltimore, just yards from the water. He could scent the Patapsco River, the last ten miles of which was a tidal estuary that formed Baltimore’s harbor. A biting wind blew off the water and overhead, seagulls wheeled and screeched.

  The rich, fertile mix of salt and fresh water tugged at him like an umbilical cord. No matter that this water carried an unhealthy measure of pollution as well. In the past twelve hours he’d been drunk, drugged and beaten. Like a wounded animal, all he wanted was to go to ground until he healed. He glanced toward the harbor and promised himself that as soon as Marjani was safely with her own people, he’d change to his dolphin, swim out to the clean, open waters of the Chesapeake and spend a few days floating with the currents and dining on fresh fish.

  “That way.” Marjani pointed west toward the Inner Harbor. “Adric is meeting with Queen Cleia today. I—I want to go to him.”

  He nodded and fell into step with her. So the meeting was today. He hadn’t heard the results of Cleia and Dion’s argument, but he was sure Dion would be there, too. There was no way his brother would let his mate meet with another alpha, especially Adric, without him.

  He scowled. Dion was the last person he wanted to see right now. He’d want to know what had happened and Tiago’s secret was bound to come out. Too many people knew about it now—Marjani, Jorge, the other men in the room last night.

  And besides, there was Benny. Dead, with no marks on him to explain why he died—and that look of horror on his face.

  Tiago squared his shoulders. Maybe it was for the best. He couldn’t
hide what he was forever.

  Marjani touched her throat as if feeling for something that wasn’t there and he realized her throat was bare.

  “Your quartz,” he said. “Where is it?”

  “They took it.”

  He frowned. An earth fada could focus the energy in a quartz crystal, use it to amp up his or her Gift. But it was more than that; they were attuned to their particular quartz in some odd way. He knew that little Merry needed it to help her shift, too.

  “You’re not hurting?”

  “No,” she said shortly, but she couldn’t conceal her grimace.

  He’d have known it was a lie anyway from the bitter spike in her scent, but he didn’t call her on it. If he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t want to betray a weakness either.

  “That doesn’t mean I’m powerless,” she added, seeming to read his mind. “I still have my claws. And I can use any quartz to focus my Gift.”

  “But that one was special.”

  “Yes. That one was special.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “And for the record, I’m not the enemy. I’m guessing you must be hurting. If there was anything I could do to help, I would.”

  She blew out a breath. “Sorry. I know you were under the influence of the drug as much as I was.”

  They walked another few yards. “I am hurting,” she admitted in a low voice. “It’s like they ripped out a part of me. And they did it deliberately. He—Benny—forced me to give it to him and then he—he smashed it into pieces in front of me and threw them in the harbor.”

  She said it as if they’d killed a living thing. And perhaps, for an earth fada, they had.

  “Bastards,” he muttered.

  “Yeah. They wanted to make sure I couldn’t be traced—or call for help.” She dragged in a breath before continuing, “My brother must know by now that I’m missing. He probably has people out looking for me. I only hope he didn’t call off the negotiations because of this.”

  “Cleia’s pretty reasonable. I’m sure if he explained what happened to her, she’d reschedule.”

  “Would she?” She shot him a hopeful look. “I’ve heard she’s not like most fae, not, you know—”