Stryke (New Vampire Disorder Book 4) Read online

  Stryke

  New Vampire Disorder, Book 4

  By: Marie Johnston

  Stryke © 2017 by LE Publishing

  Developmental Editing by Tera Cuskaden

  Copy Editing by Razor Sharp Editing

  Proofreading by HME Editing

  Cover by P and N Graphics

  The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  About the Author

  A demon in love…

  Stryke harbors a love so secret, not even the powerful vampire he’s bonded to knows about him. But when a sadistic demoness targets Stryke for breeding, his carefully laid plans dissolve under brutal torture. Languishing in prison, desperate to rescue his female before his captor can have her killed, he uses the last of his energy to escape the underworld and save her. Yet by the time he gets topside, the cunning vampire has rescued herself and would rather shove a blade in Stryke’s heart than claim it.

  A vampire’s duty…

  Uptight vampire Zoey Chevalier lost her mate years ago, and only her duty to her species and her teammates has kept her going. But lately, late at night, alone and hiding from her team, she’s been fantasizing about a male she’s never met. So when she fights her way free of some would-be kidnappers right into the arms of her dream male, she can only conclude she’s finally lost her mind. A demon, a liar, and her mortal enemy, Stryke dredges up hopes and dreams that died with her mate. She’ll lose her livelihood if she succumbs to her attraction. But if he can’t convince her to accept their bond, he’ll once again be at the mercy of the underworld.

  To my editors who help me clean this mess up. And to my unofficial proofers, those friends I can message and say, “Oh crap, I have this book that’s releasing, like, really soon. Can you…” and they always do, and they always turn it around in less than a week.

  For new release updates, chapter sneak peeks, and exclusive quarterly short stories, sign up for Marie’s newsletter and receive download links for the book that started it all, Fever Claim, and three short stories of characters from the series.

  Chapter One

  Stryke stared at the roof of the cave he was being tortured in and almost laughed. Why yes, it was possible to get fucked to death.

  He puffed out a breath and suppressed the following groan. He hadn’t been tortured like this in… Well, in the underworld, it was like picking which day he polished his horns. Last Thursday? Friday? At least as a second-tier demon, he could control something like horn maintenance.

  The demon bitch Hypna rolled off him onto the gritty floor of her cavern. “You don’t disappoint, do you,” she purred in a garbled voice that was as unsexy as she was. Although by underworld standards, she was an eight.

  And yes, he disappointed himself all the time, but no need to dredge up regrets. His personal mission—the female vampire he suffered for—always came first.

  Hypna stood and stretched. He couldn’t do the same. Blood ran in rivulets down his arms and torso where her claws had gouged him. Sex with Hypna wasn’t an erotic experience, it was a special form of hell in the underworld. It’d take a while for his poisoned penis to dwindle. Stryke didn’t orgasm, a rare ability that would get him killed if Hypna discovered his treachery. But he could fake it, make all the grunts and faces, even go so far as calling her name. He should win one of those human acting awards. Sex with Hypna was like pretending to be ecstatic about having his skin flayed off in one-inch strips.

  He’d had to fuck demons before, even pure-bloods like Hypna, sometimes willingly, sometimes not. But she was the first to have an actual reason beyond inherent evilness. A reason that he would do everything in his power to circumvent.

  Hypna’s horns wrapped themselves around her head and smoothed down her back. One of the fantasies that kept him going was cutting off her horns and shanking her with them. Their turgid, purple hue reminded him of a flaccid cock, the way his would be if she hadn’t stabbed him with those damn things and infused a libidinous chemical into his bloodstream.

  Fuck, he hated her. He hated all the pure-bloods. And most second-tiers. Some might assume he’d have an affinity for the weaker demons like himself, those who could claim humans or vampires or the odd shifter in their family tree. They’d be wrong. At least he wasn’t chattel for the rulers of his kind to do with as they willed. With his powers, he was often fought over, the prized servant of the thirteen members of the Circle.

  He shifted his glare from Hypna’s skanky features to the cave walls. Who would’ve thought he’d miss his former boss, Rancor? The male had been as cruel as they came, but the glee he’d taken in violence had often distracted him, allowing Stryke much more time to himself.

  His fellow second-tier demon and sort-of friend Fyra totally owed him. If he hadn’t helped her and her vampire behemoth kill their boss, Rancor, Stryke wouldn’t be in this situation. Rancor had loved lording Stryke over Hypna. But Rancor was dead, so control of Stryke had been transferred to another one of the thirteen who ruled the underworld—and she’d been waiting for him with claws extended.

  Stryke clasped one hand over an oozing wound in his flank and willed himself to heal. At times like these, he couldn’t allow himself to remember why he stayed. If any of the demons roaming the underworld caught wind of the reason, his vampire would have a gigantic target painted on her. As if she didn’t already have one because of who she was, but this would be worse. This would include inducing the maximum amount of pain in order to torment Stryke.

  Hypna spun around and gazed down at him broken on the cavern floor. This had been his nightly routine for the last month since Rancor had been killed: getting mutilated by Hypna as she fucked him in hopes of begetting his child.

  Over his dead body. And even then, she wasn’t getting his seed, thanks to the bond he harbored for another—the vampire who remained oblivious to it. If he hadn’t had that bond, he’d have killed himself or died trying to kill Hypna by now. No one was bringing his child into the world to be used for personal gain. History didn’t need to repeat itself.

  She pushed her black hair out of her face, her lips curled in a sneer. “I bet your dad was a better fuck.”

  He almost laughed, but he wasn’t stupid. His healing had barely begun and a pissed-off Hypna was much more brutal than a turned-on Hypna.

  “His claws were bigger than mine,” Stryke rasped. Enduring Hypna’s attentions in stoic silence wasn’t possible, so his voice needed as much healing as his body.

  “More than his claws,” she scoffed and planted her hands on her bare hips. Her claws fanned out at her waist.

  Yeah, she was right, but his father had been of purer demon blood. And he’d had the size and ferocity that went with it. Stryke’s diluted blood made him second-tier—powerful enough to be useful to the Circle of Thirteen. He was an energy demon, and a powerful one at that.

  It was the only good thing his father’s deception had done for Stryke. The Circle coveted his power, yet they underestimated him since his sire had been outed as just a
nother second-tier. Apparently, the diluted blood went further back than his sire had let on.

  Hypna cocked her head while staring at Stryke with ultimate superiority. “I can believe you came from him, though.”

  The sugary sweetness in her voice stalled his healing efforts. Why was she taunting him with his sire? He stared at Hypna, waiting to see where she was going with her comment while he used the extra moments to heal. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle and the pain was beginning to ebb.

  She squatted, giving Stryke a view he’d endured too many times. “He thought he was so—damn—powerful.”

  Because he had been. Stryke swallowed before he provoked her into her own demonstration of power.

  “Until we gutted him.” Her black eyes twinkled as she straightened. “He also thought he was clever. Does that sound familiar, Stryke?”

  Cold washed through him. His aches and pains dulled, but a well of blood gushed out of his wounds as his heart hammered.

  Shit.

  Rage sparked in her gaze. “I’ve been fucking you for a month. My fertile season is almost over, yet I have no child in my belly. Why is that?”

  Stryke forced his breathing to remain even. If she knew of his deception, there was no reason to bluster.

  She eyed his mangled privates. “You’ve been holding out on me, and I have to ask myself why. No—how. How could a second-tier,” she spat the word, “not spill his seed when he’s been injected with my venom, hmm? How, Stryke? Do you know what answer I came up with?”

  By now he was well enough to struggle into a sitting position, but he stayed frozen in place. She might suspect how, but she couldn’t really know.

  “An energy demon who can’t climax. Who could Stryke be holding out for? Who could he have bonded to?” Hypna circled around him until she blocked the only exit to the hole-in-the-wall cave. “What females has Stryke been around? Fyra’s taken, but I never saw you lusting after her like Rancor did.”

  Stryke’s heart pounded. Hypna was a dead demon walking if she determined the female Stryke had bonded himself to. His mind ran through plans. He could shoot a hand out and send a charge through Hypna’s body that would incapacitate her. “Incapacitate to decapitate” had been his sire’s motto. It had just become Stryke’s.

  But she stayed out of reach. She feared his powers enough to be wary of them, to covet them, and the baby was the key.

  He could transport himself to the human realm. It’d confirm for Hypna that he was bonded to someone in the earthly realm, but he could find his female and protect her.

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Hypna extended a hand toward him, fingers spread.

  Roots sprouted from the floor and dug into his skin. He roared in pain as a hundred needle-like protrusions pierced him and burrowed into his muscles. The agony alone almost made him flee, but he had to know if Hypna was bluffing.

  A cloudy, purple horn flexed over her head and angled toward him.

  His eyes widened and he envisioned the house owned by the human who had agreed to host Stryke whenever necessary.

  Nothing happened. Dammit, he was too weak yet to transport.

  As soon as Hypna speared him with a horn, he’d zap her and wrestle against his restraints.

  “What’s wrong, Stryke? Afraid I’ll find out about your bond to another and kill her?” She gave him a throaty laugh and knelt toward him.

  He wriggled his wrist, stretching to reach her toe, but the roots held him in place. His energy had no effect on the roots. They were inert, lifeless, only controlled by Hypna’s power.

  “Do you know what happened the last time I was in the human realm? My prime vampire host was killed right before I could terminate the vampire bitch I was fighting. My host was staked from behind and I was sent back to the underworld, but do you know what I remember?”

  Stryke’s breath came out in pants. Searing pain racked his body, but it paled in comparison with the terror racing through him. She knew. Fucking Hypna knew who he was protecting.

  “I remember,” her horn inched closer, “the smell of brimstone and it made me ask, what fool demon would save a vampire wench?” A cruel smile stretched her lips. “What? No denial?”

  The sharp tip of her horn stabbed through the skin of his chest. Stryke sent all his remaining energy into her horn. Hypna went rigid before releasing a startled shriek and flying back from the force of his shock.

  He renewed his struggles, but the edges of his vision had gone blurry. He was undoing all the healing progress his body had made.

  “Nice try, second-tier,” she snarled. She stormed back and towered over him. “You wait here while I go release you from her bond. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I send her your regards when I cut off her head.”

  Stryke fought unconsciousness, and a last surge of energy spread through him. The bindings weakened and he let out a bellow.

  Hypna punted him in the skull, and blackness claimed him.

  ***

  The night was young. The sun had just set and Freemont’s nightlife was out roaring their engines. That’s probably about as far as they’d get with the temps dipping into the twenties. Zoey wandered along the sidewalk that had been cleared of snow, having parked a couple of blocks from the convenience store.

  She sipped on a red Gatorade as she walked. The night was still young and it was her first drink. In her backpack, she had two more, orange and electric blue.

  Her team always teased her for her habit, and she just grinned right back. It was in everyone’s best interests to let them think guzzling electrolyte juice was a quirk and not her life’s necessity.

  A vampire with a blood disorder. If they discovered her secret, her position on the TriSpecies Synod would be threatened. She couldn’t lose her spot. Not that she’d wanted to be a part of her people’s government at first, but once her bony ass had been plopped onto the board of vampires, shifters, and a fellow hybrid, well, it’d given her broken heart a reason to live.

  Her phone vibrated and she glanced at the screen. Her mouth quirked at the oddly formal message.

  The Synod requests Zohana Chevalier’s presence.

  The Synod would have to wait. Zoey texted a reply that she was in the middle of a task and she’d be there in an hour.

  Her partner, Demetrius, would cover for her, like she’d done for him countless times. It wasn’t like her errand was top secret. She was low on Gatorade and chips: electrolytes and straight-up sodium with a side of fat. Back when she was younger, her blood disorder had been a challenge to handle and she’d eaten more ham than inhumanly possible. A few stolen salt blocks from some offended cows had gotten her through the worst of it because a girl could only drink so much pickle juice. Then modern times had brought processed food packed with sodium. When Gatorade had been developed, she’d died and gone to heaven. The drink made it so much easier to keep her health issue a secret from those closest to her.

  Ironically, living was so much less difficult now, but her reason for living had been stolen.

  Mitchell’s laughing, brown eyes flashed through her mind.

  Tears pricked the back of her eyes. She blinked them back. It’d be a useless loss of salt from her body. Her true mate was gone, and every day the crippling pain was a tiny bit less. She no longer broke down into soul-shattering sobs when she remembered him. It had only taken five years to get to this point.

  She readjusted her backpack and tossed her empty container into the recycling bin, then entered the convenience store.

  “Hey, Zoey,” the teenaged cashier greeted. “Exciting night?”

  Zoey smiled. “Always.”

  The young girl thought Zoey was some biker chick because she dressed all in black and leather pants but never questioned where Zoey parked her bike. If the girl ever did, Zoey would have to lie—she didn’t own one. Zoey’s severe bun and long hair wouldn’t play nice with a bike helmet. Not that she needed one, but humans questioned someone who could walk away after getting their head smeared across pavement.

/>   Zoey selected her items and brought them to the counter.

  The cashier clucked as she rang them up. “I wish I could eat like this and have your body.”

  Zoey would kill not to be dependent on anything more than blood, but she smiled and said her standard, “It’s not all for me.”

  Even she saw the “bullshit” in the girl’s eyes.

  Zoey packed her items away in her pack and strode out of the store. She was a block away from where she’d inconspicuously parked her black SUV when prickles danced along her nape. She didn’t slow, but she reassessed where she’d stashed her weapons. Two sidearms in a holster under her leather jacket. One tucked into her waistband at the small of her back. No knives. She’d waited to run her errand before strapping those on. Humans lost their shit when they saw someone walking around armed with guns and knives and the occasional wooden stake.

  She tossed her bag into the SUV and discreetly finished arming herself before shutting the door again and wandering into the alley she’d parked next to. Her parking spot had been chosen because one, she’d never parked here before. Any kind of a routine would leave her vulnerable to vampires with grudges against their government, shifters who still hated vampires no matter how integrated they’d become, or demons hiding in human hosts. And two, this spot had several escape routes—including a handy dark alley for fighting without drawing attention.

  The deeper into the alley she went, the less the light of the street lamps penetrated. Faint footsteps crunched on gravel.

  Zoey spun with a knife in her left hand and a gun in her right.

  A tall form marched in her direction, a female vampire from the smell of her. The scent of a pure, strong bloodline flooded Zoey. Ah, a prime vampire. Then a trace of brimstone curled around Zoey.

  Oh…shit. She was alone, facing a possessed prime vampire.

  “So, you’re the one he wants.” The vampire’s voice resonated with the timbre of a powerful demon.