Fallen Captive Read online

  Fallen

  Captive

  Aliya DalRae

  Fallen Captive Copyright © 2019 by Aliya DalRae

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition, 2019

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, organizations, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, locations, events or establishments is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by RM Designs

  Image Contributor: zacariasdamata from Deposit Photos

  Image Contributor: Tverdohlib.com from Deposit Photos

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Once again, I have to thank Renee at RM Designs for the fantastic cover. She works tirelessly with me to put together the perfect covers for my books, and this one is no exception. Mostly, I thank her for keeping her eyerolls to herself and for never making me feel like I’m being unreasonable. You totally rock!

  To my fabulous friends and family who have been with me from the beginning. Your support means the world to me.

  Many thanks to Jesse for his help and guidance with my Japanese. It’s minimal in this book, but things will pick up in Fallen Warrior, at which time you will be thanked again, and profusely.

  To Kelly and Renee – thank you for your edits and advice, and to Sarah for your proof-reading. Your time is invaluable, and I can’t tell you how much it means that you give so much of it to the cause. I can’t even begin to thank you.

  And to Kirk, my immortal beloved, the wind beneath my wings as I soar through this incredible dream.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Visit Aliya

  Also by Aliya DalRae

  Prologue

  I t was amazing how utterly old this Vampire was. Charles Magnus, who had held at least a dozen names before this one, was ostensibly an actual father of the entire race of blood-sucking monsters. And yet, to look at him, you would think him no more than forty human years. To believe he was anything but powerful would be foolish, and Helmut Fuhrmann had not raised a fool.

  Ulrich Fuhrmann stood before the Primeval of what was now called Great Britain, with his eyes averted in feigned respect. While he held no love for the creature before him, it never hurt to show a little esteem. Especially when circumstances called for an obsequious display.

  He maintained his silence, eyes on his shiny black loafers, while the Primeval considered what he’d just been told. Uli called upon all the tricks his father had taught him, before his untimely death, to maintain a sense of calm, and it took every ounce of resolve the Sorcerer possessed.

  Uli peeked through pale lashes to see if the old male had fallen asleep, snapping his eyes to the floor again when the Primeval caught his surreptitious gaze. He could be mistaken, but he would swear that the Vampire smiled.

  Magnus was fucking with him.

  A door in the back of the chamber opened, and with it a gust of fresh air slipped in from the grand entrance doors beyond. Soft footsteps made a hurried pace to the front of the room as the door boomed closed. Uli tensed at the touch on his shoulder and the feel of paper someone slipped into his hand. He ground his teeth as the footsteps retreated, then opened the paper before his lowered eyes. The message contained two words: She’s here.

  It was time to take control of this meeting once and for all.

  “Your Excellency…”

  “My lord, will suffice.”

  Uli looked up and met the Primeval’s flinty eyes. “Of course. My lord.” Magnus offered a brief nod and Uli continued. “I realize what I am telling you is difficult to imagine. A betrayal of this magnitude is not something to take lightly.”

  Magnus sat back in that big throne of his and crossed one long leg over the other. Despite the tailored suit, Uli was well aware of the muscles flexing beneath fine linen as the Primeval gripped the arms of his chair. After an extended moment, Magnus sighed. “Mr. Fuhrmann, it is beyond difficult. You’re asking me to believe that a faction of my own Legion, the Warriors and Soldiers sworn to serve me, to serve our race, are conspiring to overthrow the Primeval and take control of our government. Do you have any idea how absolutely ludicrous that is?”

  “I do, sire…er…my lord…but it is true, nevertheless. I’ve just returned from the States, where I was able to observe the situation closely. I barely escaped with my life. And really, is it so hard to believe that the males I speak of would be wanting revenge? One of them was your captive here for centuries.”

  “I hear your words, Sorcerer, but I’m not blind to your motives. I know who you are, who your parents were, and I haven’t lived as long as I have by believing every conspiracy plot that was brought before me.”

  “Nor have you lived so long by ignoring them, my lord.”

  “This is true.” Magnus stared at Uli again, then relaxed against the back of his throne, offering his palms in supplication. “But you bring me no proof. Only your word that Raven and Nox have turned Mason’s Legion against the race. I’ve spoken to Mason just recently, and by all appearances, things are status quo.”

  “But wouldn’t he want you to believe that, my lord? If he were planning a coup?”

  Magnus frowned.

  It seemed the old male required more convincing. It was time for Uli to bring out the big guns. “My lord, if you cannot believe the information I’ve provided you, perhaps it would be more trustworthy coming from one of your own race.”

  Magnus sat forward on his throne. “You’ve brought one of the Soldiers to confirm this?”

  “Better,” Uli smiled. “I’ve brought to you your very own Seer, the Vampire, Victoria.”

  The chamber doors opened again, and a regal woman swept into the room. She was tall with auburn hair she wore piled atop her head, her golden-brown eyes focused directly on Magnus. Uli offered a flourishing bow then stepped aside to allow her the Primeval’s full attention.

  “Victoria,” Magnus said, his expression shuttered as his former oracle offered a low curtsey before standing to her full height to stare directly into his eyes. “It’s been a long time.”

  “It has, my lord,” Victoria said, her words respectful though her tone lacked any level of sincerity.

  “So, you’ve had a vision?”

  “I have, my lord.”

  Uli held an expectant breath as Magnus l
ooked from him to Victoria and back again. The Primeval pushed a button on the arm of his throne and a buzzer sounded.

  “Yes, my lord,” a voice answered from a speaker hidden somewhere in the chair.

  “Giles, prepare a table. It appears we have guests for dinner.”

  Chapter One

  R achel stood before the fireplace, swirling a glass of Cabernet as she contemplated the painting hanging above the mantel.

  “Is this a Pollock?” she asked.

  “Yes,” the male in the kitchen replied. “I picked it up at Sotheby’s, I believe. Normally I find Pollock incredibly busy, but I liked the subtlety of this one.”

  “It suits you, I think.” She turned and offered Mason a small smile as he chopped vegetables at the butcher block island in the kitchen. She’d offered to help, but as with the Legion, this male was all about control. Soldier, Warrior or Caesar’s salad, it mattered not. All would receive the same detailed attention, no outside interference required, thank you very much.

  Mason returned the smile as he transferred the veggies into a large wooden bowl, then washed his hands in the stainless-steel sink. “How are the children?”

  “They’re doing well,” Rachel said. “Talon is a bit resistant to his studies, but Phire has taken to them rather enthusiastically. She’s like a sponge, that one, eager to learn. Talon would prefer to spend his time with the Soldiers learning to throw knives and kill ferals.”

  “He shows promise,” Mason said, and Rachel arched a single brow as she joined him in the kitchen.

  “You’ve been watching him?”

  “Of course. I try to keep track of all my charges. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Talon make Warrior someday.”

  Rachel leaned against the breakfast bar and studied the male before her. She was still unclear as to what she was doing there. At the last House meeting, Mason asked her to stay after the others had gone. Harrier’d shot a warning glare at his Warlord, always the protective brother, but Rachel waved him out. Curiosity peaked, she wondered what she had done to gain the male’s attention.

  His invitation to join him for dinner took her off guard and stunned her into accepting. She assumed that one did not turn down an invitation from the man in charge. And so, here she stood, watching him mix together ingredients for a salad dressing as the scent of roast beef permeated the air.

  Once he had everything prepared, they sat down to an incredible meal. The food was delicious—Mason proved an excellent cook—and while she wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, the same didn’t hold true for her host. If Rachel hadn’t driven the conversation they would most likely have eaten in silence.

  As they enjoyed a dessert of homemade chocolate mousse, Mason began that finger-tapping thing she’d noticed him doing in meetings when he was thinking or disturbed. Perhaps she would find out what this whole evening was about after all.

  “So,” Mason said. Nothing else. Just so.

  “So,” Rachel responded. She smiled warmly, hoping to put him at ease.

  Mason cleared his throat. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” he said, his eyes wandering to a spot somewhere behind Rachel.

  “I beg to differ,” Rachel said. “Dinner was amazing, and you are quite the chef.”

  Mason smiled, but this one looked like he was pulling it out of a box of unused facial expressions and trying it on for size. Something was definitely bothering the male.

  “Mason, if you’ve something to say, please, for the love of all that is holy, just come out with it. I swear, I’ll not bite ye, literally or figuratively, and if it’s bad news, I’d much rather you get it out quick like, and save both of us the sufferin’.”

  This time Mason’s smile was more like him, not easy exactly, but slow and subtle, just short of reaching his eyes. “You don’t mince words, do you Rachel. I think that’s what I find most fascinating about you. You’re never at a loss for something to say, and it doesn’t matter who you’re talking to. Warlords or children, we all get the same treatment.”

  “When I was growing up, my mother was all about rank and station,” Rachel said. “I hated it. I vowed that I would never treat anyone as if they were better than me or less than. We are all the same in my book. If someone thinks they deserve better they’re barking up the wrong tree looking for preferential treatment from me.”

  Mason studied her now, the look on his face not something she could discern. Perhaps she’d overstepped. “Apologies, Warlord. Sometimes I get a bit carried away.”

  “Not at all. And please, call me Mason.” He tented his fingers, another of his “thinking” habits, and Rachel fidgeted under his scrutiny.

  When the silence drew on, an overwhelming desire to escape suffused her. Things were getting awkward, for her now as well, and she simply didn’t like awkward. She placed her napkin on the table and stood. It was time to take her leave.

  “This has been lovely, Mason, but I need to check in on the children. Lots to do tomorrow, so…”

  “No, please.” Mason stood quickly, bumping the table in the process and knocking his glass of wine on its side. Rachel grabbed the napkin she’d just dropped and reached across the table to sop up the crimson liquid, a reflex she’d acquired since Talon and Phire had arrived. Mason fell a short beat behind her, his hand landing on top of hers with his napkin in between.

  When their eyes met, his normally tranquil grays sparked a brief flash of silver, and things became shockingly clear. Rachel pulled her hand to withdraw, but Mason gave it a quick squeeze before allowing her to retreat. She took a step back as Mason did the same, that clumsy silence building between them again.

  She looked at the ceiling, the floor, anything to avoid looking at him as awareness bashed her over the head. Holy shite, she thought. This was a date.

  Mason rounded the table and moved to stand in front of her, forcing her to look at him. It’s not that he wasn’t handsome, he was a fine male in every aspect, with that flawlessly styled dark hair, sharp cheekbones and perfect lips. He was tall—well over six feet, as most of the Warriors were—and he had a fastidious nature that flowed through him and into everything he touched. His clothes were impeccable—even in a casual setting his slacks held sharp creases and his shirt, though untucked, bore not a single wrinkle. For all intents and purposes, he was the perfect male.

  And he did absolutely nothing for her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “As I mentioned, this is not something I’m good at. Since you joined us, the Legion Manse has taken on a new atmosphere. You are amazing with the children, the Warriors and Soldiers all like and respect you. I suppose I felt it would be nice to get to know you on a more personal level. Perhaps I went about this the wrong way, but consider it, Rachel. I believe we would make a fine team.”

  Rachel shook her head. He was, indeed, perfect—pure blooded, a Warrior of the highest standing. Exactly the type of male her mother, previously the Oracle to the British Primeval, would have begged to pay attention to one of her daughters after her very public fall from grace. He was high class all the way, and perhaps that was exactly why Rachel hesitated. Was she being childish? Quite possibly, yes, but there was still the minor detail concerning her lack of attraction.

  The image of a dark male, fierce and stunning, even after the loss of his eye, flashed through her mind, and she shook her head to erase it. Nox was not someone her mother would have approved of, especially considering the role the Seer had played in having him imprisoned for the better part of five hundred years. Still, there was something about that infuriating male that did make her breath catch and her heart beat just a little faster than it should.

  Mason’s monologue continued. He was determined to convince her that their match made sense, but Rachel heard only noise, the words failing to arrange themselves into any semblance of order. He may be Warlord around here, but this was insane. The fact that she was the only female of proper age in the manse probably had a lot to do with his attraction to her. The male just needed to get out
more.

  “I’m sorry, Mason,” Rachel interrupted whatever rationalizations he currently spewed. “I truly am, but I’m afraid this isn’t going to work. I appreciate the meal and the company, but this—whatever it is that you’re looking for from me? It’s simply not possible. Forgive me, Warlord. I—I have to go.”

  Rachel picked up her sweater and left the suite without a backward glance.

  Chapter Two

  N ox left his apartment across the hall from Raven’s in a sour mood. His rooms had belonged to Jessica Sweet once upon a time. Now, however, she and Raven were inseparable, splitting time between their Legion suite and her old farmhouse. She never liked the rooms anyway, and since they provided Nox quick access to his twin in the event of an emergency, the Legion had gifted the suite to him. He loved the Louis XV furniture and classy décor, which, he was told, Jessica had found stuffy and cold. To each their own, he supposed.

  Of course, none of that had anything to do with the mood he was currently sporting. That, he could place firmly at the feet of his brother. You would think a male with a child on the way would have a better grip on his self-control. It seemed, however, there remained a great deal of work where his twin’s beast was concerned.

  Tonight, for example. While out on patrol, one of the Soldier’s said something about Jessica that Raven took exception to. Now, the Soldier was in the Medical Wing and Raven was in the Club, the Compound’s exclusive Warriors-only gym, destroying heavy bags at an alarming rate.

  Nox had just settled in to enjoy a Perky’s kitchen sink pie (topped with everything, including anchovies) when his phone dinged a nine-one-one text from Tas. Now, not only did he have to deal with his brother, but his pizza was going to be cold. Call him a rebel, but warmed-over pizza just didn’t do it for him.

  When he reached the elevator, he hit the down button and swore as he waited. The lift wasn’t moving quickly enough for him, so he hit the button again—repeatedly—until the doors opened. Nox continued to swear under his breath as he stepped into the car. He pressed the “one” followed by the “close doors” button, then took a step back to lean against the mirrored wall.