Hunting His Vampire Mate (Blood Bonded Mates #4)

CHAPTER SEVEN || DANNY

M y throat hurt like a motherfucker. That was the very first thing I noticed, when my awareness returned to me. It was dry and scratchy, for one thing. For another, it burned like I had one of those ridiculously hot peppers—the ones that are illegal in the United States—stuck in my windpipe.

I sucked in a gasp and then stopped abruptly.

I froze.

There was no automatic sensation of relief that accompanied the breath. The movement was fine—I could still do it no problem, on a purely mechanical level. But it didn’t mean anything to my body anymore. I didn’t need it.

Case in point, I held my breath.

One minute elapsed. Then two. I was afraid to move so much as a muscle.

The entire time, I expected to feel the familiar, instinctive panic rising up in me at the withheld breath. But as two minutes turned to three, I finally exhaled.

There was nothing. No panic. Not even the slightest bit of discomfort. And I didn’t need to gasp for another breath right after.

No, my body didn’t need to breathe anymore, did it?

Mentally, my stomach totally lurched, and I might’ve been sick. I wanted to be sick. But my body didn’t care about my feelings. Physically, I felt perfectly fine.

Except for the burning in my throat.

Oh, and except for the gnawing hunger boring a hole in the very center of me, like there was an endless chasm that could never be filled. It was there so abruptly that it must’ve been present all along. I had only just now noticed it because I had focused on it directly. Very, very odd. And definitely not how I had ever experienced hunger before. Usually, my body just told me—in no uncertain terms—when it needed food. I didn’t need to ask it to first.

But I didn’t need food. I needed fresh blood.

That probably had something to do with why I was tied to a wooden post in a barn. I was in a sitting position, with my legs splayed out in front of me. And while I was out, someone had wrapped a sturdy-looking nylon rope, over and over again, at least a dozen times, around my whole torso. But whoever had tied me up had gone under my arms with the rope, purposefully leaving me the use of my hands.

Strange. Why would someone go through all the trouble of tying me up, but then leave my hands free? I reached behind myself and felt the knot. It was a good knot, but not impossible for me to get undone, provided I had enough time.

The beam I was tied to was, oddly enough, not uncomfortable. Neither was the position I’d woken up in. If I had still been human, it would’ve been.

But I wasn’t human anymore.

The thought struck me like a blow. And again, I wanted to be sick. And again, my body firmly told me that it was fine. Better than fine, actually. I felt strong. And as soon as I ate something—or, fuck no, some one —I would be back at one hundred percent.

How?

How the fuck had this happened?

I had a hard time focusing on anything at all, apart from the burning in my throat. And the empty gnawing sensation of my hunger, clawing at my insides, demanding to be sated.

I remembered the alley. The van filled with hypnotized humans. The realization that the vamp nest was way bigger and more organized than Michael and I had originally thought. Then I had killed the idiot in the waistcoat. And the murderous female vampire had jumped me. She had held me down and forced me to drink her blood. I hadn’t meant to, but I had swallowed some of it. I’d heard Michael screaming my name and the sound of shoes slapping the concrete, presumably as he ran toward me, which meant he’d followed me out of the club. And then it was all just darkness.

A new sort of fear filled me.

Was Michael okay? Or had the vampires hurt him? Were they tying me up here so that they could—what? Question me? Find out if I was working with anyone else?

And why the fuck did I feel so immobile? Nylon rope, even looped around me multiple times, should’ve been no match for vampire strength.

I gave it an experimental tug. It felt roughly as easy to tear apart as it would have if I were still human. In other words, it wasn’t going to happen. But when I pulled my hand back, I immediately saw why. My palm was shiny and metallic. Someone had coated the rope in powdered silver. No doubt they’d gotten it from my pockets, after I had used it on them.

Clever vampires.

Speaking of which, where were they? I was alone in here.

The barn was quite large and clearly hadn’t been used in years. There were a half-dozen holes in the roof overhead, plenty large enough for a person to fall through if they were dumb enough to be up there in the first place. The sky was visible through them: clear and dotted with stars. That meant I was far from any sources of light pollution. We were somewhere remote, then. And there was moldering hay scattered haphazardly on the ground, dotted here and there with broken slats of wood, presumably originally part of the roof. There were surprisingly dry and intact bales of hay stacked in the corner farthest from the doors, which were hanging open like yawning jaws that wanted to devour the whole world.

I breathed in through my nose, expecting to immediately get overwhelmed by the stench of mildew. Instead, I smelled… leather. And orange. It was… well, it was a warm scent, if such a thing was even possible. Could something smell warm ?

It immediately brought back a cascade of memories from my childhood. From when my mom and dad were still together, holding hands in the front seat, on our way to our next town during the summer months—another monster for them to hunt while my older brother and I ate pizza and watched cartoons in the motel room. For an instant, it was like I was there again, with Kyle in the back seat, the warmth of the sun on my face as I drowsed, the feel of the wheels beneath us tearing up mile after mile, the pleasant scent of the leather seats mingling with the sharper smell of my brother’s orange soda as he took a swig.

I’d been safe and happy, then. I had felt like nothing could ever hurt me. And I had known with the simple certainty of a child, that I belonged to them.

Now, I blinked rapidly, trying to shove the memory away. I wasn’t safe. And I wasn’t happy. And my brother and my dad were both gone now. And my mother couldn’t stand to look at me for long anymore, so I had stopped trying to visit. I’d grown up to look just like my father, after all.

The scent was drifting in from outside the barn doors. When I focused on it, I could suddenly hear the sound of something solid striking the earth. The scrape of metal on dirt. And then the sound of soil dropping to the ground, a moment later.

Someone was digging a hole.

One of the vampires? Perhaps getting ready to dispose of my body, once they were done with me?

But no. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t a vampire at all. Because I could hear the sharp exhalations of breath with every strike of the metal against the ground. A vampire wouldn’t have made that sound.

They— we —didn’t need to breathe.

Another possibility slid into place. And I knew it had to be true.

It was Michael, outside. He was digging a hole. A hole large enough for a body, from the sounds of it. For my body, most likely.

That was a good thing. Though, I would have preferred that he destroy my body before I woke back up, but he’d made me a promise that I would never become a monster like we hunted. This was him keeping that promise. After he was done digging, he’d come back in and do what had to be done.

The thought didn’t fill me with any fear. Instead, I felt crashing relief.

I had done the right thing, trusting him. Loving him. There was no way in hell he’d let me spend even a single day walking the earth as a monster.

But why let me wake up at all? Michael knew what to do: sever the head. Or burn the body. Or drive a wooden stake into the heart. Any one of those things and I never would’ve woken back up.

Or maybe he didn’t know for sure that I would turn? Maybe he thought I was just dead, full stop, and he was out there digging my grave?

But that didn’t make any sense, did it? Because why would he have tied me up, then?

And why the hell would he have left my arms free?

The thought was unsettling because it didn’t line up with any of the possibilities in my head. If he knew I was going to turn—and he obviously did, because he’d tied me up with silver-coated rope—then why give me any chance to get away at all? He’d knotted the ropes with a good knot, but not that good. I could’ve undone it, if I wanted to. Michael knew I was capable of it, too.

So why even take that chance? Why give me any hope of stopping a blade from taking my head off? Or a stake from piercing my heart? Why give me any hope of delaying the inevitable and making things worse for both of us?

I couldn’t make sense of it.

So, I just sat there, not breathing, my throat on fire, hunger gnawing away deep inside of me, and listened to him outside, fighting the instinct to free myself. I heard the definitive thunk ! of metal sliding into soil—probably him sticking the shovel into the earth. Then, a moment later, he grunted faintly and I knew, from the sound of that, much clearer than it should’ve been, that it was Michael outside. Then there was a faint thud. I recognized the sound perfectly well. I had been raised with it. It was the sound of a body being tossed into an unmarked grave. After a long pause, there was another grunt and another thud, just like the one before.

Make that two bodies being thrown into an unmarked grave, then. I listened for the sound of a third body—there had been three vampires, after all. But instead, there came more sharp metallic sounds and the unmistakable noise that falling soil makes as it strikes the ground. Michael was filling the grave back in.

So, he’d killed two out of three of the vampires. The third one must’ve escaped. And he’d taken the time to clean up, which meant that he hadn’t been followed by the police.

And we were clearly somewhere secluded but still nearby—easy driving distance from Ontario, at least. And then it clicked for me: we were at the abandoned ranch in southwestern Idaho, practically right on the border between Idaho and Oregon. We’d found it years ago and stocked the farmhouse next door to the barn with some of the basics: a stash of non-perishable food, some water, a large bottle of high-proof whiskey that could double as a better-than-nothing antiseptic in a pinch, a couple of the more essential toiletries, some blankets, a length of nylon rope—which was obviously what was securing me to the post, now that I thought about it—and a first aid kit. And, of course, we’d also stashed a pair of machetes—because you never know when another weapon might come in handy. Maybe he’d use one of them on me. They were sharp enough that it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go. Better than if he doused me with gasoline and lit me on fire.

It was smart of him to come here, too. There was nothing but desert in all directions, surrounded by low foothills, and not a neighbor for miles. Hell, the ranch wasn’t even visible from the main road. It was an ideal setting for this. And the country around us was desolate, but pretty in its own way. Not a bad place to be buried.

After what seemed like an eternity, Michael stopped filling in the grave outside. I heard footsteps as he came into the barn. He was moving cautiously, almost warily. Like he expected that I might jump out at him or something. I watched as his eyes raked the barn, a gun in his hands, already at the ready, held in front of him with both hands on the grip and one finger on the trigger, so he could fire at a moment’s notice. It was filled with either wooden or silver bullets, no doubt. He carried both on his person at all times.

In movies, you’ll often see the good guys with their gun in one hand, at waist level, when they’re hunting down a bad guy during the climax of the film. That’s mostly wrong in a life-or-death situation. Because then you have to spend an extra couple of seconds to bring the gun up, put your other hand on the grip, and aim. Those extra seconds could cost you your life, especially if the other guy is armed, too. That’s triply true when dealing with creatures that can move with blinding speed and don’t even need a weapon to kill you.

Good. He was being smart, then. Cautious. He knew what I was, now. He had no illusions that I was safe to be around, just because he had known me in life.

I watched him as his gaze landed on me, right where he’d left me.

He let out a long exhale. It sounded way too relieved. He stepped closer and then paused, eying the ropes that held me. I clearly hadn’t even tried to undo the knots and I was certain he saw that.

“You had to wake up alone. I’m sorry about that. I overestimated how long it would take you to come back.”

I frowned.

Why was he apologizing for that? Shouldn’t he be apologizing for letting me wake up at all? And where the fuck was that machete? A gun wasn’t going to do a goddamn thing, unless he had a wooden bullet in the chamber, and he got me right in the heart with it. Michael was a great shot, but anyway, why would he waste bullets when he didn’t have to?

“I’m guessing you’re upset,” Michael said, settling down cross-legged right in front of me, just outside of reach.

“Not upset,” I corrected, feeling my eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “I’m just waiting for you to get on with it.”

“On with…” Michael trailed off, frowning back at me. Then, a moment later, understanding dawned in his eyes. His expression went grim. “Oh. Right. That. ”

“Yeah,” I said stiffly, feeling dread squeezing up my insides. I had the horrible feeling that I knew exactly where this conversation was headed. “Preferably before I murder you for your blood.”

Michael let out a long breath at that, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he just looked at me through narrowed eyes, his brow furrowed. I could hear his heartbeat, if I focused on it. It was faster than his otherwise calm exterior would have suggested. He was nervous.

Of course he was fucking nervous. He was sitting across from a monster, and he knew exactly what I was capable of now. If I had been able to, I would have gone right for his throat, and he knew it. I let my gaze wander down to his throat, to the pulse beating there. And I waited for my new instincts to kick in—for my body to want to kill him for his blood. Maybe if he saw the fangs, it would help move things along to their inevitable conclusion.

But nothing happened. His pulse hammering in his throat was just that—a pulse hammering in a throat. My body had zero reaction to it. No fangs. No bloodlust.

Zip. Zilch. Nada.

In fact, in Michael’s presence, the burning in my throat abruptly stopped. And the gnawing hunger faded into background noise. It was still there, but it was like the volume had been turned way down on it in an instant. The moment he’d stepped into the barn, actually.

What in the actual fuck?

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was used to my body betraying me by now, wasn’t I? Maybe bloodlust was tied up with sexuality? Maybe because I wasn’t into Michael sexually, I didn’t want his blood either? But that didn’t make any sense, did it?

And besides, when Michael crossed his arms over his chest, I couldn’t help but notice the muscles in his arms. And how enticing his well-built shoulders abruptly were. He looked good. Strong. Strong enough to—

I blinked, alarmed at the sudden heat of arousal that ignited within me at the thought of him taking those big, strong arms, and holding me, pinning me…

Yet again, what in the actual fuck?

My eyes were probably wide with alarm, like a deer about to get mowed down by an oncoming train, when they met his. And I was reasonably sure that if I could’ve still blushed, I would have.

“Yeah, no. I’m not doing that. Sorry,” Michael replied, still eyeing me. His warm leather and orange scent enveloped me. Oddly enough, even against my will, it was gently calming me down. It was making it harder to hold onto the grim certainty of my own impending demise. He added, “You’re not dying tonight, Danny. Not again.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I demanded, outrage tearing through me. “You made me a promise!”

He winced at that. “Yeah, I know.”

“I could fucking hurt someone! I could hurt you. ”

The thought filled me with fresh dread. Even now, even when I wanted to clobber him over the head, the idea of hurting him was unthinkable. My body seemed to vehemently agree, because the gnawing hunger faded even further into the background, like it wasn’t even there at all.

“You won’t,” he replied, sounding far more certain than he had any right to.

“You don’t know that. The safest thing for you to do is to go get the machete and—”

“I’m not doing that!” He snapped. “I shouldn’t have promised you that I’d stop you from turning, or that I’d ever do anything to hurt you.”

“I’m not me anymore,” I reminded him.

He let out a sharp bray of laughter. “Are you sure? Because here you are, berating me for being a fucking idiot.”

“I don’t berate. I gently chide.”

He snorted. “Right. See? Classic Danny. Next you’ll start lecturing me on chupa-whatevers.”

“Chupacabras,” I supplied, giving him a narrow-eyed look. “And this is hardly the time. Besides, they don’t even feed on people. They feed on the blood of livestock.”

Relief flooded into Michael’s face. And it was awful—he actually had to bite the back of his hand and look away from me. After a long moment filled with ragged, shuddering breaths, he blinked rapidly and turned back to me. His eyes were shiny, and his voice was all wrong—way too thick—and he said, “I’m not hurting you. Ever. Please don’t make me go through losing you all over again.”

I stared at him, really letting myself see him. He looked objectively awful. His clothes were caked with earth. His face was far cleaner than the rest of him, like he’d recently rinsed it off with a bottle of water or something, but his hair was tangled and filthy. In fact, he looked very much like he’d recently been buried in an unmarked grave himself.

What the hell had happened to him?

I scowled, but for some reason I suddenly couldn’t bring myself to say no to him. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to say yes, either. What exactly was his plan, though? Sooner or later, I was going to need to drink blood. And yeah, I still felt like me— mostly —but for how long? How hungry would I have to get before the beast inside of me tore some innocent person to shreds?

And then Michael would have to kill me. He wouldn’t have a choice.

“What’s your game plan?” I demanded. “You know you can’t just leave me tied up forever.”

“It’s not going to be forever,” Michael told me. “Help is coming.”

“You called another hunter, then?” Relief washed through me. Selfishly, I would’ve preferred it if Michael was the one to do it, but it would be better if someone else put me down, right? Better for him. And, therefore, better all around.

Belatedly, I hadn’t considered what killing me—even if he was putting me out of my misery—would do to him. Of course it was better if someone else did it for him.

Maybe Aubrey would be game. She hunted a couple states over, so it wouldn’t take her too long to get here—a day or two at most. And she’d never much liked me. Granted, she’d never much liked most people. But still, she was more prepared in every way to handle this than Michael was. In fact, she might even—

“No. No other hunters.” Michael replied, scowling at me. He shook his head. “Dying has kind of given you a death wish, hasn’t it?”

“Then who?” I demanded.

But I already knew, didn’t I? If he wasn’t going to kill me and he wasn’t going to ask some other hunter to do it, then that meant—

“Bryan and Tobias. They were handling a pretty nasty bus accident in Topeka, Kansas, that hurt a lot of people, apparently. They’re on their way, but it’ll be a day or two before they get here. They’re sending someone else in the meantime—a friend of theirs. He should be here sometime before sunrise. He’s going to help.”

“Help with what?” I demanded.

But I already knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say one bit.

“I promised you that I wouldn’t let you turn into a monster,” he said flatly. “And that was back when we thought vampire automatically equaled cold-blooded killer. So yeah, we’d both thought it meant we were making some kind of fucked up murder pact. But now we know that isn’t true, right? You don’t have to die at all. There’s another way.”

I stared at him, feeling my jaw drop open a little with my dismay. “Michael, what the fuck are you saying to me right now?”

Michael’s face settled into a familiar stubborn expression I’d seen a million times before.

“And look, this is me keeping that promise, alright? I’m not going to let you turn into something like what we hunt. I’m going to help you through all of this,” he replied evenly, staring me down. “I swear it.”

“Call them back and tell them not to come! I don’t want this! Call Aubrey instead, if you won’t do it yourself.”

Michael shoved himself to his feet. His eyes were on fire with fury. “You’re living through this, Danny!” He snarled, glaring me down. “And you can fuck right off if you think you’re not! They’re going to help you learn how to be a vampire.”

I felt so taken aback, thrown so off-kilter by his strange conviction, that I almost did still feel human. Almost. Because Michael had spent years hating vampires—hating the supernatural in general. Why was that suddenly different now?

“Why are you doing this?”

Michael swallowed hard, his eyes going all shiny again. And it was just as terrible as before. “Look, I said it before. I’m not going to lose you again.”

“Michael—”

“Fuck you, Danny!” Michael yelled, something inside of him clearly breaking free. “I’m in love with you, too! That’s why!”

My mouth snapped shut and about a million emotions collided inside me, all at the same time. Michael’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes were hard when he glared back at me. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the barn, leaving me staring after him in stupid shock.