Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven 1)

Or somewhere else that wasn’t going to grow back.

With a groan and a rolling of his hips, he let himself go—and as the ejaculations pumped out of him, he didn’t stop. It was like Lydia was some kind of erotic stimulant, the memory of her against his body giving him a stamina that couldn’t be drained in just one release. In two.

In three.

The entire time, he imagined that he was filling her up, releasing into her, pumping off so that her sex got filled.

And all the while, he knew that it was a fantasy that was going to come true.

God save them both.

YES, XHEX THOUGHT, she was going back to the Colony.

As First Meal was breaking up in the dining room, and members of the Brotherhood household were dispersing, she stepped out of the mansion’s grand front entrance with John Matthew right beside her. They were both heavily armed, but they were not going into the field. For one, she wasn’t a Brother and she didn’t fight for the race like that—and even if she was and she did, mated couples were never allowed to engage together.

“Are you ready?”

When she asked the question, it was directed at herself. And when John Matthew nodded in a decisive way, she felt like he was answering for them both. Taking his hand, she pulled him in close, and he dropped his lips to hers for a lingering kiss.

I am with you, he mouthed as the cold spring wind blew into their faces. Always.

“I do not fucking deserve you.”

Yes, he signed. You do.

At that, they dematerialized, both moving in a scatter of molecules even farther north and west, to the flat planes on the far side of the Adirondack Park mountain range.

She felt like she was going into the mouth of Hell.

The Colony had been established because symphaths had not been welcome anywhere near vampires for generations—and for good goddamn reason. Her father’s side of her bloodline was a devil-in-no-disguise. Members of the subspecies were sociopaths with special powers, utterly unconcerned and unconnected to pesky little things like morals, empathy, compassion.

And yup, her brother fit right into that toxic soup.

Re-forming next to a pond that looked like an ad for rural living, she found John was already in place, two deadly guns in his hands, his narrowed eyes scanning the bucolic setting.

The fuck it was a place to relax, though. Despite the bench by the weeping willow and the picnic tables by the bike trail, it was no municipal anything—and nothing you wanted to even pass through, much less cop a squat and hang out at.

But this was the point. It was a trap to bring humans in, a bait so that a switch could happen and toys could be gathered: The entrance into the underground labyrinth of the Colony was that shed over there, a mere thirty yards away. There were about a half dozen of these new outposts spread around the four-hundred-acre area, each camouflaged by the same kind of nothing-going-on-here, stay-awhile snow job. In this particular case, the flimsy, nondescript building by the public bathrooms had a set of stairs, and there was a reason there were no locks on anything, no warnings, no discouragement of human exploration.

Those symphath fuckers really knew how to build a better mousetrap, didn’t they.

John Matthew tapped her on the shoulder, and as she glanced over, he signed, Rehv is here. He’s going to make sure nothing happens.

Given the concern in his eyes, her knee-jerk response was along the lines of, I’m not worried. But she never could hide anything from her hellren.

“Rehv’s a good guy,” was all she could say.

Well, actually, the king of the symphaths was so much more complicated than that. Like her, as a half-breed, he had a combination of characteristics from both the vampire side and the dangerous cesspool of their fathers’ DNA. But at least she didn’t have to take dopamine to constantly keep herself in check. Unlike her, Rehv had to medicate to stay on level—

The shed door opened, and a figure in blood-red robes stepped out, looking like a gospel singer who’d lost his altar spot.

As the wind changed direction, and she caught Blade’s scent, her fangs descended and she unholstered a gun.

The nasty laugh that came across on the breeze made her question this whole thing: The meeting. The quest she seemed to be falling into. The reality that she felt completely out of control. And as her brother closed the distance, he was just what she remembered, tall and powerfully built, his wavy jet-black hair like a flock of crows orbiting around his head.

Either that or an evil halo.

“The prodigal sister returns,” he drawled.

“Spare me the bullshit, okay.”

“Is that any way to greet your bloodline?” Blade looked at John Matthew. “And who is this? Wait, let me guess, he’s your—”