Davina (Davy Harwood #3)(10)

By: Tijan



Over the last four months, Lucas depended more and more on his fastest warrior. He was tempted to ask again about the tattoo, but he always held his tongue. Bastion would share if he chose to.

The vampire responded now, “I think he could love this one, too.”

Lucas was not normally taken aback, but his eyes widened a mere fraction. “You think he will fall in love with Davy?”

“You two have similar tastes . . .” Bastion moved over, a slight inch.

“Christian fell in love with Talia because he spent two summers with her. I was gone, training for the Roane Army. He will not fall for Davy, and even if he did, it doesn’t matter. He knows she is mine.”

“I hope as well.”

Lucas frowned at him. “If that is my biggest worry, then I gladly embrace it. I am more worried about finding her alive.”

“She’s alive.” Confidence emanated from the lean warrior.

“You are sure of that?”

Bastion nodded his head in an abrupt movement. “You would feel it if she were not.”

“And as of yet, I have not felt it.” Then Roane frowned. He cast a sweeping look to his left and searched into the shadows. They stood in a valley, alone for miles except for his men, but a slight tingle warned him of a new arrival. And then, though nothing moved and no one reacted, he knew this new person was coming toward him. When a shadow separated from the rest of the night, he knew who it was. She had evaded Bastion’s scouting.

Saren approached. She had watched as the vampire felt her arrival. Not many could detect her, let alone know before she wanted them to. This vampire had gone up a notch in her opinion, but she should’ve expected as much. Davy would choose her love wisely.

Roane spoke first, “Do you share in Bastion’s concerns?”

Saren’s nostrils flared.

Bastion’s head whipped to the side. His own flared, but in a different emotion.

Her voice was curt. “I care not about your human emotions. Love or jealousy, both are wasteful to non-human species.”

“Such as yourself?”

Her eyes narrowed, but not before a flame leapt in them.

Roane didn’t react, but the sight made him pause. This thing was becoming more and more than he knew what to do about. His gut was telling him that she was a fighter, probably the best he would ever see. An ally like her was priceless, but her presence didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t factor her in, she was a variable given to him, perhaps a gift or perhaps a curse. They would all have to wait and see.

Bastion spoke, “They are here.”

“They moved faster than you thought.”

“I said within the hour.”

“It’s been a minute.”

Saren’s eyes skirted between the two. She tilted her head to the side. “Do you always argue as comrades? Is this another wasteful emotion?”

Roane’s arm shot out before she could react. His hand grabbed her throat and lifted her in the air. He growled, “I don’t know who or what you are, but the only reason I don’t kill you is because I can smell her on you. And I can smell that you’re as scared for her as I am.” He settled her back on her feet. “So you can keep your ridicule to yourself. I am in no mood to hear it.”

Her eyes were cool as she reached up and untangled his hand from her throat, one finger at a time. Their gaze never broke, but the flame increased in her eyes. The fire touched the air and the smell of smoke swept around them. When his hand was free, she moved back one step. “You will not touch me again, vampire. The only reason I have not killed your kind is because I know how she cares for you. If she did not, I would slaughter all of you.”

“You don’t like vampires.” Roane nodded, but his gaze shifted to the tree line before them. He had smelled the werewolves when they were five miles away and they were near now, very near.

“I don’t like anything.”

“You like Davy.”

Saren’s lips clamped shut, and then she took a whiff of the air and turned. Her arms were flexed, ready for a fight, and her legs were bent, ready to leap forward. The wolves had arrived. They sat watching them, their heads outside the tree line and their bodies hidden in the shadows. All of them were in their wolf forms except a group in the center. The young man was Christian Christane, leader of the Christane Pack. The young girl smelled of Davy. Saren knew this had been the girl that Davy considered a friend, who had helped her. The other two, both older men, reeked of their power. They were ancient wolves, each a lineage amongst themselves. Still, though they were old and powerful, both adhered to the younger man. They remained behind as the other two moved forward.

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