Big Game

Vivian

The soft hum of the jet fades into the background noise of the small cabin. Rafe exits the cockpit and locks eyes with me across the tight space. His rugged face carries a tired grin, and his blue eyes look weary. He's been flying through the daylight hours as we make our way down the globe to Argentina, where our final destination is a small private island off the southeastern coast.

His muscular form, encased in well-worn jeans and a snug black t-shirt, looks as delicious as ever. Worry pinches my husband's expression as he heads back to my location opposite the plane's bar. Chelly, lounging on a brown chenille couch, shifts her attention from her eReader-more than likely trying to catch a last glimpse of Drew who took over flying duties. Her long blond hair hides her expression from me, but I'm sure I'd see a hint of longing on her face. She deflates when she sees Rafe and goes back to her reading.

She and Drew, the one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old vampire who came to our resort as a guest last fall before joining our seethe, began dating this winter. Now he only feeds from her, taking bagged blood for extra nutrition when needed. To my knowledge, he hasn't yet claimed her by exchanging blood to make her his servant. He does treat her better than a simple blood donor, more like one does a companion. His old-fashioned ways make for a cute courtship display, but I doubt Chelly can take much more of the long tease. When Drew invited her on this trip, she nearly jumped his bones on the spot.

Bob, one of our ground crew, plays cards with Tommy -our imported Aussie who usually mans the inn's front desk-and Paul, our fledgling vampire. The three men crowd around a small table set between four plush seats, each wearing an intense look while examining his own cards. Their voices are pitched low, but every so often their excited chatter fills the cabin. Tommy glances up as Rafe walks by. The sandy-haired young man folds his cards and slips into the aisle behind my husband.

Rafe leans down and kisses my cheek before settling into the club chair next to mine. A half-glass of red wine sits before me on the round cocktail table bolted through the cream carpet. In honor of our destination, I've changed to South American wines instead of the Alaskan vampire favorite of hot coffee. To appear uncouth at Tribunal gatherings holding a mug instead of a crystal goblet filled with bloodwine would be an unacceptable faux pas. But I admit, I do miss the mild caffeine jolt.

"Tired, darling?" I ask.

"Yeah." A heavy sigh escapes him as he runs a hand across his forehead and back over his short light-brown hair. "Flying through the last storm was a challenge. Head winds slowed us down quite a bit."

On our right, Tommy stands behind the glistening marble-topped bar. "Can I get you something, sir?"

"A Yuengling, thanks."

The young man pours beer into an ice-cold pilsner glass and sets it on the low table. After a nod of appreciation from Rafe, Tommy heads back to his cards.

Rafe stares at the amber liquid but doesn't drink. "I'm worried, Dria."

"I know."

"The talk with the seethe about your manipulator abilities went well, but it won't be the same with the Ancients."

"Yes, our group took it surprisingly well." I stifle a smile at the reminder of that night after the hunt. No one will ever forget Paul's confusion and mini-freak out. Asa, our ex-military vamp, only nodded as if confirming something he suspected, and Drew listened in stony silence. I haven't quite pegged him yet, but he pledged his loyalty again with the others easily enough, showing no hesitation.

Glancing at the shaded window blocking the night sky, I debate on raising it to view the stars. "The idea isn't to tell the Ancients; I'd never risk that. The plan to arrive earlier than in previous years is to surprise them-find out who knows or suspects what I can do."

"And then what? Slip into their minds and alter what they know?" He shakes his head. "Too risky."

"The alternative is to kill them." I stare at Rafe and see the concern he never tries to hide. "Depending on how many of the Inner Circle we're talking about, that might not be smart-or plausible."

Rafe grips the chair arms, his frustration and anger quickly outweighing his previous concern. "Twenty-two members of the Circle and eleven Ancients, not to mention an unknown number of powerful gophers and lackeys on the fringe doing their bidding. Too many variables. I prefer a concentrated and planned attack."

"We've gone over this before, love. What choice is there? Let them come to us in Alaska where we have over a hundred humans in our care?" I shake my head. "I won't put them at risk. Not an option. Besides, we normally head down south when the season changes, making it impossible to run the inn for vampire guests. This early fact-finding mission in Buenos Aires is the best way to go."

"Yes, yes, your 'beard the lion in his den', crap. I get it." He reaches for his beer and drains half the glass before setting it down. "I worry there's more than the three members you've speculated on."

Bitter resentment and rage coil in my middle. For years I've hidden my ability and ran from certain death, only to find I'm now cornered in a remote location with twelve dozen lives at stake. Fight or flight. That's what any predator would do when left with no options.

"I don't plan on running again." Anger leaks through my tone and the tension in the cabin rises. "The only option is to infiltrate and bring a stealthy battle to them."

"Won't they be expecting that? Coraline visited back in January. It's foolish to think they haven't done anything in three months."

"If it were me," I say with a deadly smile, "I would have attacked immediately."

"Agreed. So why didn't they?"

"Coraline could be the main force driving the entire witch hunt after me. With the alterations I did to her psyche, Cora's cohorts will need a while to bring her back up to speed-maybe even weeks to unravel what I did and how I did it. I'm not sure they could repair the damage if they weren't able to slip into her mind, as well."

"What about that damn charmed brooch? Someone made it for her. Maybe the person is a strong magic user and has countered what you did?"

I speculate on his suggestion for a bit and focus on letting go of my fury. I try to center my thoughts and picture myself mentally moving through a few sun salutations. The yoga moves work for mental balance, even while sitting still. The anger deflates, and I focus back on Rafe's suggestion, again.

His idea is possible, I suppose, but I've never met a witch or wizard who's that powerful. Most of them can do what Diane, Dr. Cook's witchy daughter, does back home. She can cast minor spells and contrive complicated charms, given enough time and the right ingredients... but a witch with mind powers or the ability to cast a complex spell to counter my mind altering? Not likely. Could it be a wizard? They are known to do more mental damage, but the spells are quite intricate, and having no innate elemental powers like those a witch is born with would make it unlikely a wizard could pull it off.

"I don't think so," I finally answer. "But, you're right. It could be an option."

Paul, our undead head chef, saunters toward us. He's become a sleeker version of himself, thanks to the liquid diet, and is now able to keep up with his kids and slim wife much easier. He nods to us on his way to the lavatory in the rear of the plane.

After emerging from the tiny room, Paul leans against the bar. "Smooth flying, Rafe." He brushes a lock of dark wavy hair off his forehead. "Will I ever get to add 'pilot' to my growing list of super-cool things I know?"

"Ask Drew to teach you," Rafe answers with an easy-going smile. "The facilities are better in Alaska, but you could probably start on the basics while in Argentina."

Paul sighs. "This trip would have been great to share with Bunny. I'm still bummed she and the kids couldn't come."

"We don't know what we're walking into, Paul," I say. "Bringing them wouldn't be wise."

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it. And why are there only male donors for me, Viv?" At my sly smile, he laughs. "What, you thought I didn't notice Tommy and Bob were guys?"

"Bunny asked me to make sure you were loyal. No temptations for you while I'm on watch."

Paul looks stricken as he faces away from the passengers in the cabin and leans in, speaking low. "What happens when the men become tempting?"

"You close your eyes," I whisper, "think of your wife, and jerk off when they leave."

The smile is absent from his usual jovial face. He nods like he's received a death sentence. "Okay."

I flash him a wink. "There's also a large supply of donated blood on ice coming with us. You'll do fine." I reach out and grab his sleeve before he leaves. "You're gaining control, Paul. Getting stronger each day. Don't let the urges get the better of you."

"Put the shoe on the other foot," Rafe says. "Would you want Bunny spreading her legs every few days when she got hungry?"

Anger colors the cheeks of the good-humored vampire. "No!"

Rafe drains his glass and stands. "Then keep that anger front and center in your brain when you get horny for another person." He slaps Paul on the back then moves to the bar.

"How do you do it, Vivian?" Paul asks. "Do you ever crave another lover?"

My mind flashes to Jonathan, my hunky werewolf servant with the compact wrestler's body who tastes like dark chocolate. I've stashed ten pints of his blood for the few months in Argentina. Yum. "You channel it back into passion for your mate. You can't control what your body craves, but you can control what you do with those cravings."

His shoulders slump. "Why is it so hard?"

"Most vampires want the sex and the blood together. It's only as we age we can channel the blood-lust into pure sexual lust." Beeps and a whir come from microwave in the bar area.

"You mean, someday I might want sex from everyone rather than their blood?"

I laugh. "We're talking centuries, Paul. And maybe not sex from everyone, but some days it may feel that way."

"Won't I still need blood?"

"Of course, but not as much. As time passes our kind can feed from other means, like sexual energy." My thoughts turn inward, remembering some of the old vampires who fed on fear and pain. When their appetites overtook sanity and too many humans were terrorized, the Tribunal of Ancients would send an enforcer to end their madness. I pull my mind away from those horrible years and pat my fledgling's cheek. "Trust me, Paul. There are a lot worse things than sex and lust to crave energy from."

The smell of corned beef wafts our way, teasing me of times long past in Ireland. Rafe sets a large plate holding a Rueben and chips on the cocktail table then eases into the chair. "Paul, thanks for making this for me. It heated perfectly, not soggy."

Paul smiles at the praise and heads toward his card game. Bob and Tommy look up at his approach and then back to their hands. I wonder what they are wagering to make them so serious.

I lean closer to my husband. "Do you think Bob and Tommy will do okay on the island?"

Rafe nods, swallowing a bite of his sandwich. "They're good guys. Tommy will make sure everyone stays in line; he's pretty good at herding cats and managing without being overbearing. And I trust him to anticipate Paul's needs before Paul does. Bob can help when Paul decides to cook-which you know he will-and maybe work with the gardener during the day." He swigs another long drink and a few harsh lines of exhaustion soften from his face. "Our main issue will be the housekeeper's barely-legal daughter, doubling as a maid this year."

The ends of my lips curl up as I recall the dark, good looks of Rosia. Her eyes snap with life, and she knows exactly how to sway her hips to attract a man's eye. "Dalton might exert his fatherly protection and insist his daughter work in the gardens with him while we're in attendance."

"Last we spoke, he said his wife called her younger twin sisters to help out this season."

Picturing the women we've met before, I can't help but feel amusement. They're all as pretty as Dalton's wife, Flavia, and will provide ample distraction for the two men, not to mention a major temptation for Paul after Rafe and I leave for Buenos Aires alone. Chelly's light hair and full curves will stand out like a beacon compared to the small-breasted, exotic-looking brunettes.

"Paul might have a hard time resisting Dalton." My eyes dance with humor, teasing my spouse. "He's a suave and sexy guy."

Rafe wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin and tosses the fabric onto the empty plate. "You've managed to resist him for almost two decades." A warm palm lands on my thigh, caressing the leg through linen trousers. "However did you cope?"

Heat fills me, burning a path from Rafe's hand to my privates. "I've got this big stud of a husband I ravish daily. Thankfully, the old man doesn't need Viagra yet."

Rafe's laughter booms across the cabin. The four other passengers glance in our direction, then back to their interests. "All thanks to you, dear-and those magical sips of blood I have every now and then."

My lids lower, and I gaze at him through my thick lashes. "Surely, it can't all be just me?"

Rafe leans in, and our lips meet. His soft mouth molds to mine, the tip of his tongue gently begging entrance. I open, and he deepens the kiss, plundering my mouth like a starving man at his first meal in weeks. A throaty growl escapes one of us. Could have been me-I've been known to growl once in a while.

A soft, electric tingle enters my mind as my husband telepathically speaks to me through our mate-bond. The day I need a pill to be ready for you is the day you need to shoot me.

Put the old dog out of his misery, eh? You'll not get rid of me that easily. A warm hand caresses the back of my head and holds me in place while Rafe pillages my mouth. When I hear a throat clearing, I pull back. No need to put on a show. Should we retire to the bedroom?

Rafe ends the kiss and stares into my eyes. Sixty-five years together and you still have to ask? Heat fills his gaze, as a predatory grin curves his lips. Get your ass in there or I'll pull a cave man and throw you over my shoulder and carry you back.

I rise from the chair and sashay toward the bedroom cabin at the end of the narrow hallway, feeling the burning gaze of my lover on my backside the entire time. The cell phone clipped to my waist vibrates, with its usual horrible timing. I answer while opening the privacy door and hear the gruff tones of my werewolf servant across thousands of miles.

"Have you landed?"

In man-speak that means, I'm worried you haven't called. I try to swallow the humor in my response. "No, we haven't."

"What's the hold up? Problem at one of the refueling spots or weather?"

A sigh escapes me as I climb onto the queen-sized bed and recline against the upholstered headboard. A feral look in his eyes, Rafe closes the door with his foot, hands already pulling off his shirt.

"You guessed it," I say. "We hit several storms, and the winds were against us."

A muffled "hrmph" reaches me from the other end of the line and I stare at the flesh slowly revealed by my spouse. The hard sculpted planes of his chest slip into view, and he tosses the shirt at my face-his not so subtle hint to get off the phone.

Rafe stretches his arms over his head, bending at the elbows to avoid hitting the aircraft's low ceiling and then leans right and left working his cramped muscles. God, that man has delicious abs. Saliva fills my mouth at the thought of licking the hard stomach ridges.

"The werewolves will be landing in two hours."

What? Oh yeah, I'm still on the damn phone. Jon's referring to the inn's summer guests, who plan to hunt Alaska's native game during their stay. The upcoming arrival must be what triggered his call; he'll be tied up for the rest of the day. Rafe reaches for the button on his pants, and I track every movement of his supple fingers. "Good. Any last minute questions for me, Jon?"

"No. Our mind connection is getting fuzzy. I can't feel much of you in my head."

"I think it's the distance." He should count himself lucky-I doubt he'd want to see my husband getting naked. Then again, knowing Jon's conflicted emotions regarding Rafe and me, he just might enjoy the view. "You'll do fine this summer. We're only a phone call away if you need us."

"Yeah, and including stops, you're over a full day via plane. I'm not reassured. And for the record, it's not me and the pups I'm worried about-or even Asa, for that matter."

Jon loves teasing Pat and Eric, our new permanent werewolf members, by calling them pups. Makes the two grown men squirm in their desires to correct him-but both are pretty smart and resist his goading well. "I'll be fine, Jon."

"This is your first year in seven without me there. What if you need me?"

Rafe's vampire-sharp hearing listens to both ends of the conversation. He snorts his disagreement on the likelihood of needing Jon and thrusts his jeans down past his hips, taking his tight boxer briefs with them.

My mouth dries at the sight of my husband in all his aroused glory. I clear my throat to hurry the phone call along. "This year we've got Drew and Paul here. Things will work out."

Rafe steps out of his clothing and leaps onto the bed, straddling my body. His muscular arms bracket my torso propped against the headboard, and the heat of his breath fans my cheek.

"Okay, gotta go. I'll call you when we land."

"Wai-"

I click off the phone and toss it to the floor before wrapping my arms around the man I love more than anything in the world, including my own semi-immortality.