Defiant Mate: Lethal Legacy Vampire Series, page 7
I had always been in great demand as a lead ballet dancer, but I used to hide behind makeup and masks to protect my identity. In the past, my father or Tristan would have killed me if I was ever recognized on stage. As a choreographer, I wasn’t in the spotlight and hadn’t planned on being there. I still wasn’t sure what my father would do if he ever saw me on stage.
My anonymity as a choreographer was incredibly liberating, and I would have never agreed to appear on stage until I saw Drako’s latest picture in the gossip rags. Over the years, I had tried to remain numb to his machinations, oblivious to the parade of women in his life. I had avoided any attempt by my in-laws to make excuses for his behavior. The humiliation of his rejection was one thing, but there was nothing that could equate to the jarring pain that raked my body at every sighting of him with other women.
Chapter Six
Danika
“A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.”
- Ingrid Bergman
The latest pictures and stories about him, however, were something else entirely. It seems his former mistress, one of them at least, had been less than happy at being dumped. Despite the NDA that she admitted to signing, she disclosed personal stories and habits of her ex-lover and family that I’m sure my husband would not appreciate. But none of that really impacted me as much as the intimate pictures she allowed to be published.
There were no words to describe the pain of seeing someone you love being so graphically intimate with someone else, not just one woman but so many women. I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t even bother counting the different women. It was clear that Burak had indeed hidden quite a bit from his reports. I felt bludgeoned by the knowledge displayed in pictures and in black-and-white print.
For sure, this was my second painful lesson in the destructiveness of loving a man.
I threw the paper across the room in rage and made a new vow right then and there. All bets were off, and I was going to do what I damn well pleased. Mob father, mob brother, and prick-ass husband be damned. From today on, I was going to live my life as I wanted.
Two years and five months after my wedding, I was preparing to make my debut as the lead hip hop dancer for the number one trending song of the year on the MTV VMAs. Besides this appearance, I had already agreed to join the artists, the duo of a rap and R&B singer, on a number of other award shows and would also be joining them when they appeared as musical guests on Saturday Night Live when the show opened in a few weeks.
My entourage of protectors, especially Burak, tried to dissuade me, but I was beyond anyone’s reach. I was living for me now.
Hours later, under the spotlight and in the presence of screaming fans, my long hair cascading down my back in an ink-black silk curtain, my dark-honey skin sparkling from the glitter lotions, and my legs encased in silk clear tights that accentuated their toned contours, I felt acceleratingly alive and the happiest I’d ever felt in my life. The beat filled every nerve ending in my body. I couldn’t miss a step, a flip or choreographed gyration of my body. Every move ebbed and flowed in perfect sync. The dancers around me seemed to have caught the same rhythmic fever.
The music artists were doing their thing, whipping up their female fans into a frenzy, and when the rap artist sidled up to me as his female love interest as part of the routine, the noise level rose to deafening. We were all dressed in the same color scheme of gold, red, and black. The rapper’s outfit was more street bad-boy and mine was pure sexy siren. I was in the best shape of my life and was not ashamed of the revealing outfit that broadcasted that fact to billions of viewers around the world.
All was going well and according to our rehearsal, and then the rap artist got a bit carried away and grabbed my ass. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jason and Drummond breaching the stage from different directions. They were my husband’s men.
Ah shit! I braced for impact.
But before the impact, I heard what sounded like a roar.
“Don’t fucking touch!”
What?
Even as the words reached me, an advancing male bounded onto the stage, moving so fast he was a blur as he lifted me off my feet to throw me over his shoulder. Simultaneously, I heard a loud pop. It was only as the music artist was sprawled out on stage that I realized that someone had hit him.
But who? I was certain that the man holding me prisoner had never touched him.
The crowd went wild, the noise level rising to deafening proportions.
I was carried off as though I weighed nothing, swiftly and before I could mount a protest. Now I began to appreciate why Tristan had forbidden me from on stage performances for just this fear. That some asshole with more muscle than sense would accost me while on stage.
With my head dangling down and unable to do any damage to his massively broad back because my arms and legs were pinned, I couldn’t move. I also couldn’t reach any of my hidden weapons in my dance outfit. For the first time in my adult life, I felt completely helpless.
My inability to see his face only increased my agitation. I used the only option open to me to try to get free. I butted my head crazily against his hard back and tried sinking my teeth into him. Whether it was the stiff material of his jacket or his hard, no-give skin, it was like trying to bite into cement. I growled in frustration as I finally gave up struggling to instead yell. Not that I had much hope of being heard above the noise around me.
“Put me down!” My voice was ineffective even to my own ears.
Where the hell were my bodyguards?
This crazy man hadn’t broken stride yet! How was he moving so fast?!
“It might not seem like it, but I have bodyguards that will obliterate you if you don’t put me down this instant.” Hell, usually I could get myself out of these messes, but the absolute strength in this man’s grip told me that I didn’t have a chance in hell of getting out of his hold.
He wasn’t hurting me in any way, and yet, I knew that fighting him would be a pointless endeavor. And then the heat of the August summer air hit my arms and legs as he thrust open a back entrance to the arena.
“Put me down!” I shrieked, in absolute panic mode now. We were out of the building. I shouldn’t have bothered for all the attention my kidnapper was paying to my demand. Fear gripped me.
He didn’t break stride as he passed streets, traffic, and buildings. He was moving so fast that the scenes we passed through seemed to be going by like the fast-forward on a movie reel. It felt as though we were flying. There was no way that this was real!
“Help me, sweet Jesus!” I hissed from frozen lips as my eyes rolled back in my head and I blacked out.
I came to awareness slowly. The feel of the hard body against me had the memory of my kidnapping rushing to the forefront of my mind. I was afraid to open my eyes. Me. Afraid. That alone pissed me off enough to have me snapping my eyes open. Big mistake. I was immediately assailed with dizziness and nausea, not just from the upside-down position I was still in but probably from the rollercoaster ride he had subjected me to.
We were at a standstill, but I had no idea how much time had passed since he’d brought me to wherever the hell I was.
“Release me,” I croaked, past the rolling sickness I felt in the pit of my stomach. I tried taking a few deep breaths in and out and then a massive swallow before trying again. “Let me go!” There! That was a bit stronger, I thought.
“Mate,” he muttered as though that was the explanation to some phantom question that I had not asked.
His guttural deep baritone voice washed over me. Why the hell did I feel a tingling shiver deep in my pelvis that quickly coiled up in my belly? I knew that voice, but I was sure I’d never heard that deep and rich baritone with a British accent before. It pierced my senses viscerally and reminded me of the first time I heard a song that was potentially going to be a favorite. I could listen to that voice for the rest of my life and never be bored or disappointed. Even his scent was familiar. How was that possible? Maybe I was going insane. This guy had just kidnapped me!
“Look, I have no idea who you are, but you have interrupted a live televised performance!” Yes, thank God my voice was stronger.
“I don’t give a fuck. No one touches what’s mine,” he growled.
Mine?! Was he…? “Who are you?” I asked, annoyed that I was still upside-down, fearing his answer but excited at the same time.
He let me slide from his shoulder, down his hard body. The sudden contact of his muscular body against mine sent my senses into a frenzy. Every inch of his hard contours against me ignited blistering shocks of awareness. I definitely knew that body! I tried to pull away from him, but his arms were bands of steel around my waist and back, not an inch of space between.
“Tvoy drug!” His voice became harsh and determined when he muttered those foreign words.
“What the hell does that mean?” Was that Russian? I was fast losing my bravado and was quickly having another cold frisson of fear. “I am a married woman. You have no right to touch me!”
He pushed me away from him so fast that I stumbled at the suddenness of it. I looked around me and wondered how we’d arrived in this house. It wasn’t just any house. My husband’s New York mansion. The “mausoleum” I usually called it. And it was also where my crew and I were currently living while in the city.
“What did you say?” my kidnapper was asking, each word precise and crisped, his accented voice deepening with escalating anger. It was as if he was finding it difficult to get the words past his lips.
I turned toward him, even as he started moving closer to me with languid, elegant fluidity that captivated me. And then I was staring into the depths of the clearest sea-green (or was that turquoise?) eyes that I had ever seen. The sight of him felt like a hard punch to my stomach. I had no breath left in my body, making me lightheaded from the shocking impact to my senses. I hissed, low and deep, realizing that it was an unconscious effort to suck some much-needed air into my lungs. I kept thinking that his damn pictures didn’t do him justice. Cliché. Yeah, I know. But…
Oh my God! It’s him! He came!
My brain refused to process anything past the earth-shattering awareness that this was the man in my dreams and the husband that I had become obsessed with. Nothing I had seen in my dreams had prepared me for his sheer masculinity. My thoughts ran chaotically from one nonsensical thing to the next. I couldn’t catch a thought and process.
And then, desire hit me hard. Thick and all-consuming.
My heart felt as though it would pound out of my chest. My senses were wired with sensations I couldn’t even begin to comprehend or control.
I’d thought he was a gorgeous man before, but he was more than that was my next breathless observation. The masculine beauty in his silky black hair, jewel-colored eyes, dark olive skin, angular aristocratic features, and tall chiselled body would have been enough to make him irresistible. He was more than even that though. And I was hard-pressed to get my breathing and heartrate under enough control to not embarrass myself. He had that whole tall, dark, and dangerous vibe that called to me on so many levels. Yeah, I was a hot mess, and I was straight-up melting from his devastating presence.
My psychic senses kicked in, and adjectives were popping off him like billboards: dominant, intelligent, assertive, confident, aggressive; and then came the softer ones: sincere, caring, honest, generous… I closed my eyes, too overwhelmed with data.
Part of me was numbly aware that he seemed to be having the same problem as I was. And long seconds had passed with both of us locked in this intense mesmerized fascination in our physical presence. The silent air around us was thick with our complete absorption in each other.
Unfortunately, he was the first to recover.
“How could you be married?” His eyes glistened with rising fury, and his voice so deadly menacing I couldn’t help but snap out of the stunned paralysis I had been in.
“I have seen you,” he continued doggedly, “dreamed about you, and I even felt you in here!” He thumped his chest. His fist slamming against the hard muscle of his chest was loud in an otherwise silent room. “You’re mine, dammit!”
My psychic ability to decipher truth told me that he believed what he was saying. “Seriously?” I wasn’t sure about what emotion to settle on. So many were assailing me at the same time. Anger. Bitterness. And inexplicably, joy that he’d finally come for me. That last emotion made me pissed at not just him but with myself as well. “You’ve been parading around with three or more women for years, and now I’m supposed to be yours?!” Was I going crazy or was he crazy? Definitely me, because even though I reminded myself of his transgressions, my senses were still clamoring for him. I wanted to kiss him so badly and be held by him that I was trembling with it. I craved him like a drug addict on crack.
“Do I look as though I’m hard up for such a man?” I doggedly went on as though moisture hadn’t collected between my thighs and my heart wasn’t trying to jump out of my chest from wanting him. I felt as though I was in some messed-up twilight zone where nothing made sense. Where my head, my heart, and my body were on totally different planets from each other!
“I’m not that girl,” I drawled sweetly. Yup, still lying to myself.
“You’re my mate!” He glared at me as though expecting a major dispute.
“Is that what that piece of paper said?” I infused every ounce of sarcasm I could muster while ignoring the blistering pulsation of awareness trying to override my common sense.
“You have ignored me for years, and now you want to do what?” I forced myself to breathe in and out slowly, even as I sent him a hard, derisive glance. “What happened, Drako? You suddenly woke up this morning and decided to finally claim me?”
“I looked everywhere for you, but I didn’t have much to go on.”
Does he think I’m that gullible? That stupid?
And then we both turned as two men, who looked like close relatives of Jason and Drummond, advanced into the room as though ready to guard both of us, followed by Alexi and Xander.
“Get out,” my husband said through clenched teeth, giving the men a hard stare-down.
“There is a contingent descending on you shortly,” Xander imparted dispassionately, even though there was a slight smile about his lips.
Xander, of all the family members, had been the hardest for me to read. Yes, he always seemed to wear a smile on his lips, but the smile never quite reached his eyes, which were usually void of emotion whenever you looked at him. Although his eyes were the same color as Drako’s, they were less expressive, much less expressive.
“What the fuck?” Drako exploded. “How did they know so quickly?”
“I don’t think they know that she’s your mate, only that she is important to our family,” Xander told him. “Father, my presence, and that of the wolves, has alerted them of her value.”
My husband erupted in a stream of colorful curses while his brother and father looked quite unaffected by his outburst.
I was just as confused now as I was when he first grabbed me off the stage. Drako and I had been married for over two years. Why would anyone care about me now?
Alexi finally spoke. “We need to move your mate.” He barely spared me a glance as he addressed his son.
“Shit,” Drako gritted out before he grabbed me again.
And then I felt as though I was falling into a dark abyss.
Chapter Seven
Drako
“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”
- Plato, The Symposium
I had been looking for her for two years, ignoring my family’s attempts to reach me, and sure as hell ignoring my unconsummated marriage. I teleported periodically back to the London flat every time I hit a dead end. The last few weeks, while not producing concrete answers, I finally felt as though I was on the right track.
She was a ballet dancer, but for reasons I didn’t understand, her fellow dancers were pretending not to know her. I knew that they had danced in Australia some months back, but she hadn’t been with that group since. Someone had bought their silence or had instilled such fear in them that they were even afraid to acknowledge that they knew of her.
A few days ago, I accosted the curator of the opera house in Rome, a man who knew our family’s reputation and fortunately feared us more than they feared my mate’s protector.
“What you ask is impossible, Signor Petrov.” The curator twitched nervously.
“Nothing is impossible.” I give him an icy stare, saying without words that if he didn’t get to the point, I would bury his ass.
“W-w-ell,” the curator stammered and paled. “Look, no one knows her name, I swear. Her people bring her in already in stage makeup so we can’t identify her. Further, we aren’t allowed to even speak to her. She is one of the most accomplished dancers on tour and a little prima-donna behavior is expected.”
I returned to London both frustrated and hopeful at the same time. However, I was not at all pleased to find my family camped out at what I had been treating as my sanctuary.
The flat was certainly big enough to house all of us. What we called a flat was really the three top floors of a five-star hotel. The hotel has been in our portfolio since the 1600s. It was one of Alexi’s first investments in the secular world. And it was now an exclusive international chain. So, there was very little chance that the set of suites weren’t big enough for all of us.
Alexi and his human-turned-vampire concubine, Meredith, Luka with his pregnant mate and his four-year-old daughter, Zora, who was watching television in the next room, and Xander in his new normal, icy façade. Xander has been in that freakishly emotionally frozen demeanor since the attack on Luna, Luka’s mate, years ago. And it was seriously worrying all of us. We were stumped as to what to do about it.
