Ethan whined, straining his neck to see what was happening to his mate. The warrior carrying Jan leaned over the chaise lounger beside him and gently placed the shivering vampire on the blue-and-white striped cushions, protecting his blonde head with one arm so it did not bump against the wooden frame. Jan's eyes remained closed, and he was deathly pale. Ethan's fear doubled, spiking his heartbeat.
"Jan?" He called, forgetting he was still in wolf form and could only talk over the channel.
Zyga crouched beside him, naked like the guards circling them. "Easy, son. They'll take care of him, but I need you to finish this. You're showing signs of fatigue."
Simmons' men returned with white beach towels stolen from the unlit coven pool house they had retreated to. While they wrapped Jan up in the terry cloth to keep him warm, Zyga unscrewed the cap off a plastic pouch and jammed it into Ethan's mouth. Fingers stained with cinnamon-scented blood squeezed the contents down his throat.
Simmons stood opposite him, eyes still wide with awe and reverence. Had he not been distracted, he might have noticed the dark, swirling cloud hovering unnaturally close to the ground. As such, he jerked in surprise when a stocky Russian vampire stepped out of the darkness three feet away.
As the only other blooded warrior alive in America, Ivan's shadows felt less solid than Jan's. They swirled around him like a soft billowing smoke that cloaked his presence but did not entirely hide him. Unlike his brother's blanket of pitch-black aura that swallowed everything it touched and blended seamlessly with the night, Ethan could tell where the Russian was even before he showed himself.
Spice-scented blood drenched Ivan's hands and clothes like every warrior here. And Ethan doubted any of the witches it belonged to had survived the encounter.
Without a word, the stocky man strode to his brother's side and knelt beside the lounge chair. He felt Jan's pulse and touched his forehead, whispering in a foreign language. Shivering, the blond vampire curled further into himself.
Whining, Ethan shuffled closer, dragging his furry bum on the floor when his feet refused to cooperate.
"He needs to feed," Ivan announced, turning dark red eyes on Ethan.
"Alpha tried, but he wouldn't bite," Simmons defended, scowling at Jan's brother.
Ivan's gaze roved over Ethan, taking in the stains around his snout and the damp torso and legs, which had now changed from white and gray to dark red. "You're covered in witch blood."
Ethan looked down his fur as understanding dawned on him. The nauseating hag scent was disagreeable to his mate. "Blessed Luna, I'm so stupid!"
Simmons, on the other hand, was quick to rectify the problem. The lieutenant grabbed one of the decorative flower pots by the lounge chair, emptied its content on the floor, and dipped it in the Olympic-sized pool. Then he rushed back, nearly spilling half the water in his haste.
"Sorry, Alpha. It's slightly cold," he apologized before dipping a towel in the pot.
The irony that Simmons stood butt-naked while the gray wolf at least had his fur to keep him warm was not lost on Ethan. But he held his tongue while the helpful man scrubbed off the worst of the stain with quick, vigorous strokes. Then, the lieutenant helped his wobbly limbs climb onto the chair so he could place his neck close to Jan's face.
"Allow me," Ivan's rough voice intervened.
He parted the soft, wet fur at the gray wolf's neck and made an inch-long cut with a sharp talon. Ethan flinched but held himself still as drops of hot, tangy blood dripped into Jan's mouth.
YOU ARE READING
Blooded Mate
Fantasy[[MATURE CONTENT]] Pack, family, mate. Loyalty, respect, honor. These are the words that form the foundation of the wolf society. At six years old, Ethan had to choose between his Alpha title and his survival on the night of his father's death. As a...
