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  Published by The Hartwood Publishing Group, LLC,

  Hartwood Publishing, Phoenix, Arizona

  www.hartwoodpublishing.com

  Mated in Treason

  Copyright © 2017 by Christa Paige

  Digital Release: June 2017

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Mated in Treason by Christa Paige

  When the kraliyet bodyguard ended up in her hospital bed after an explosion left him in critical condition, Nadia tried to warn herself not to fall in love with him. After all, she's no vampire Cinderella, and happily-ever-afters didn't happen to low-born females of the Kan Asma. But her heart wouldn't listen, and soon she wanted to claim Gunnar as her forever mate, even if it meant taking him the only way possible, as a husband in a disgraceful human ceremony.

  Gunnar fell in love with his nurse the moment he saw her smile. He yearned to claim her as his, but the Council would never allow him to mingle his powerful blood with a female from a poor family. The penalty for an unsanctioned mating is a death sentence. He doesn’t care about the threats and possible consequences of making her his. Though, due to the high probability of genetic incompatibility, he can't complete their blood-bond without knowing if it might take her life. Losing her would be worse than torture.

  Their only hope lies with the treasonous Faction hell-bent on destroying the very people Gunnar calls family. Determined to find a way to be mated, Gunnar seeks out the leader of this hidden uprising. Together, Nadia and Gunnar must break every law and rite of their vampire culture to become bonded for life. Gunnar will play a deadly game of subversion or pay a blood price that would sever him from their people and put a bounty on his head. They must survive a dangerous infiltration of the Faction, because they’ll do anything to be together, even if it means being mated in treason.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to the two people who stood beside me through Chapter One all the way to The End. Michelle, your help was invaluable and kept me on track through the difficult phases of writing. Jan, your support, encouragement, and eagle eye helped me craft Gunnar’s story. You two are an amazing beta-reading team—the DeLux Betas—and I am so blessed to have you alongside me in this writing journey.

  Also, to my infusion nurses at UCI, thank you for the medical information, the support, and the enthusiasm for this book, and especially for Nurse Nadia.

  Author Notes

  Welcome to the world of the Kan Asma Vampires. The Kan Asma are genetically modified humans who've become vampires. For centuries, the Kan Asma lived symbiotically with their human neighbors until the government recognized something had increased their life spans. Scientists and militia stormed their quiet Abkhazian village and betrayal followed. Many vampires experienced brutality and torture. Others died from experimentation. After a perilous journey, the surviving Kan Asma fled their homeland and settled in West Hollywood, California. The refugees cling to their sacred traditions, holding their mating rites above all others because without them, their numbers would diminish. There is no love or emotion in their Council-determined matings. Now, their quiet lives have suddenly been turned upside down. Lines have been drawn between the wealthy aristocrats and an uprising determined to halt the unfair ritual keeping wealth and power out of reach. Those who are lucky to find love in these matches are very few, and they will have to fight with everything they have in order to claim their mates or suffer a broken heart for eternity.

  A few definitions for my readers:

  Arkadaş: Turkish, the formal word for my brother

  Híbe: Turkish, meaning gift; the special talent specific to each Kan Asma male

  Kan Asma: Turkish, meaning Blood Vine, and is the name of this vampiric race

  Kardes: Turkish, the informal for my brother

  Kartal: Turkish, meaning Eagle, referring to Ivan, the civic leader and second in rank of the Kan Asma

  Komutani: Turkish, meaning Commander, referring to Aleksi, the militant and highest ranking leader of the Kan Asma

  Kraliçe: Turkish, meaning queen, refers to the female mate of the Komutani

  Kraliyet: Turkish, meaning royal, refers to the ruling families of the Kan Asma

  Nan: Turkish, meaning mother

  Chapter One

  Don’t look, Gunnar ordered himself. He kept his stare pinned on the foot of the gurney, avoiding any possible glimpse of his injuries. Sure, in his long life he’d seen his share of gore, but this one would take the proverbial cake. Since his body sported the horror-flick deets, he didn’t intend to survey the damage. ’Course, he was the only live casualty. Everything else destroyed in the great big “kaboom” was inanimate. That was the kicker; no one had died, unless the gutted penthouse suite counted in the mortality rate. Hell, what a freakin’ mess.

  Luckily, it wasn’t his place that went up in a ball of flames. Nope, the disaster area belonged to his boss, Traian Komar, who had disappeared almost two weeks ago. He was hiding with his new mate somewhere in parts unknown. The fact Gunnar hadn’t been there to protect his boss when it mattered most added to the crappy situation.

  Gunnar shut his eyes and pressed his aching head into the springy, foam pillow. Goddamn, but he hurt everywhere. Fucking explosion had knocked the shit out of him. And banged him up good.

  He shifted to the side, and a groan escaped. Great, now he sounded like a wimp.

  A distinctive rattle, followed by the shake of a curtain, warned him he wasn’t alone in the little room. He cracked an eye open and peered down at his toes. With a bit more effort, he managed to see a smidge farther. Two blurry shadows looking a lot like people stood at the foot of the bed. One was tall and stocky, the other tiny. He inhaled, trying to use his sense of smell to figure out who invaded his minute privacy. Ah, dammit, that firebomb had torched his nose. Now, he only smelled charred wood. He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus on the taller of the two visitors. That one he recognized as Dominic, the Kan Asma doctor extraordinaire.

  He took in a shallow breath, and his pain receptors cranked into overdrive. Aches turned into throbbing, and the burning morphed into a hellacious sting. Crap, his chest hurt, badly. Maybe he could go without the O-two for a bit.

  Closing his eyes, he went still. Moving was in direct contrast to what his body required. “What we lookin’ at here, Doc?” Great, his voice croaked and crackled. He bet a gallon of water wouldn’t smooth out the roughness in his normally deep baritone.

  “You’ve been fucked over good, kardes.”

  How shrewd. The doctor didn’t bother sugar coating with his my brother nonsense. Any moron could make that diagnosis, but Dominic was no moron. He’d been doing medicine for a couple of centuries. Gunnar was glad for the modern, cutting edge medical practice Dominic had learned in the last few decades. Things would’ve gone to crap fast if this shitty situation happened back in the good ol’ nineteenth century. Gooseflesh pricked his
skin as he thought of blood-letting, leeches, and amputation. Fear curdled his gut. “It’s fixable, right?”

  A long, nasally sigh followed his query.

  Gunnar’s eyelids popped fully open, and he glared at Dominic. “Spit it out!”

  “That’s some heavy damage.” Dominic strode the length of the bed and stopped at his side. The doctor set his fingers at the curve of his collarbone. A chill crawled through Gunnar’s torso to his throat, leaving a trail of frostbite. Dominic employed his preternatural talent, his híbe skill of healing, to try to mend the wound. The icy sensation ebbed away as Dominic removed his hand. “You weren’t found for quite a long time, so my híbe is about useless at this point. The wound is extensive. Though healing kicked in, your injury didn’t set right. Have you seen the worst of it?”

  Gunnar grimaced. “That’d be a negative.” He’d done a ton of ballsy things in his lifetime, but the idea of perusing the worst of the damage made him want to turn tail and run. Some internal instinct warned this was a major impairment.

  “Do you want me to prep and clean the wound first, Doctor?” A gentle, lilting voice came from the entrance to his room, and Gunnar hid his startled reaction. He’d forgotten the doctor hadn’t come in alone, but he could be afforded the lapse in memory since a life-threatening injury took most of his concentration. He tipped his chin and peered at the nurse. Ah, now wasn’t she his angel of mercy? Soft brown curls framed her pretty round face. Wide mocha eyes looked at him with compassion. Lovely plump lips pursed in a no-nonsense simper. Her dimpled chin firmed when she noticed his scrutiny. She averted her gaze and took a clipboard off the foot of the bed. Flipping through the file, she read off some mumbo-jumbo medical jargon. Gunnar kept staring anyway.

  “The patient’s due another dose of morphine.”

  “Yes, please.” Gunnar smirked, but then his face hurt like the Karate Kid had “waxed on and waxed off” his cheeks with sandpaper. So he stopped with the grinning shit.

  “After the examination, you can give him another dose. It’ll keep him comfortable while we prep for surgery.” Out of the corner of his eye, Gunnar noticed Dominic taking out a funky looking device from the deep side pocket of his white doctor coat. On one end was a little rolling “doohickey” with spiked teeth.

  “That a relic from the dark ages?” To remain sane, Gunnar tried levity.

  “Nah, we’re gonna see the extent of the damage.” Dominic brought the device down to the side of the bed near Gunnar’s hand.

  And, quite by accident, Gunnar got an up close and personal view of what was previously his perfectly sculpted arm. His heart went wacko. It cranked up into a certainly dangerous RPM. The monitors behind his bed trilled the cadence of his freaked-out blood pressure. Anyone would have reacted in the same manner. Gunnar’s stomach roiled at the sight of his arm. Holy God! It looked like it belonged in a butcher shop. Though minimal, the blood loss warranted his concern. Skin looked ragged and torn, but the piece de resistance was the stark white bone sticking straight out. Not one inch, or two, but like a half a foot. Gunnar blanched and swallowed down the bile creeping up his throat. A sinking suspicion nudged the panic he’d kept at bay. Alarm ratcheted up into a welling dread. “You can fix it, right, Doc?” He sounded like a little pansy.

  Gunnar’s fear mounted as he waited for Dominic’s reply. This was big-time detrimental to his life. He couldn’t lose the ability to use that arm. His entire existence depended on his kick-ass skills. No random fool with a gun could land his job. It meant everything to him to work for Traian Komar. Without his arm, he’d be totally useless as Tray’s assistant, a valet of sorts, and his more covert role of personal bodyguard.

  “I’ll try my damnedest to fix it. Then hope the altered DNA of our forebears gives you a leg-up in the fight to complete healing. I’ll stick everything back together again, and we’ll keep our fingers crossed your body does the rest. It’d help if you feed multiple times in the next twenty-four hours, too.” Dominic brought the metal gadget down to where Gunnar supposed his hand was. “Can you feel this?”

  Oh, fucking hell. No! Gunnar gritted his jaw. Concentrate, asshole, he yelled at himself. Still nothing. Feel it! Still a big ugly no! Reluctantly, Gunnar shook his head.

  “What about now?”

  A prickling sting rolled across his fingertip. “Yes!” Maybe he didn’t have to shout the affirmative that loud but Gunnar’s sense of relief was all consuming.

  “There’s some nerve damage. Let’s hope surgery will restore that. Okay, now I need to look at the skin around the wound. This might hurt a bit. Can you handle it or do you want the morphine first?”

  Normally, Gunnar would go for the drugs but with the pretty nurse standing there watching them he decided to act on the side of stone-cold bravado. “Go for it, Doc.”

  Dominic snapped on some lavender, what-the-fuck, totally-girlie surgical gloves and set one strong hand somewhere in the vicinity of his bicep. Gunnar was about to crack a joke about adding some pink scrubs and a sparkly surgical cap to Dominic’s ensemble when the first touch got his attention. Instead, he stared at the ceiling and counted the little dots in the panels. And, then, “Ow” did not cover the range of pain that snaked up his arm like a bowling ball and rammed into his receptors like a full-on IED missile strike. He shuddered and sweat beaded on his brow, dripping down his temple to his cheeks. His teeth chattered and tremors wracked his legs. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. What a little wimpy bitch he was being, but he didn’t give two shits about the tough-guy bluster. It. Hurt.

  A soft touch caressed down his other arm. Small fingers found his and curled around them. “Easy, Gunnar. Just breathe.”

  Turning his head, he glanced up into her angelic face. For a split-second he allowed his stare to dip down to the name tag affixed to her sweater right above her breast. Nadia. Right now, Nadia was his saving grace. He squeezed her hand lightly. An unholy burn scorched down his injured arm and sizzled in his fingertips. “Don’t let me go, Nurse Nadia,” he said in a hoarse plea before everything faded to black and his conscious thought was no more.

  ∙•∙

  “He’s out.” Nadia watched the patient’s thick eyelashes sweep down to shadow his pale cheeks. He had dark eyebrows, too. The coloring contrasted with his light hair, close shaven into a severe military style. The bright overhead lighting accentuated the bruise along his jaw. One corner of his mouth was swollen and the dusky hue of his upper lip had vibrant red smears from a wicked gash. His internal injuries must’ve been extensive if his rapid healing hadn’t begun to set in with those more superficial wounds.

  “Strip him down and prep him for surgery,” the doctor prompted as he placed a loose bandage over Gunnar’s mangled arm. “Then, contact Karina about his Adak. She’ll need to be on hand for any supplemental feedings.”

  Nadia handed the chart to the doctor while watching Gunnar’s beautiful face twist in agony. Even in a sub-conscious sleep, his pain still plagued him. He’d hid it remarkably well, but one glance at his battered body would make anyone recoil.

  She released his hand and set it down on the mattress. He had strong hands. The dark ash peppered all over his skin didn’t hide his unusually fair complexion. Everyone knew his lineage came from a Northern European genealogy. If his familial roots didn’t make him stick out, the way he shaved his hair into a blunt flat-top did. Right now, those spiky strands were a mess of blood, dirt, and tufts of material. Debris and splintered wood clung to his sweaty face, too. He needed a bath. He’d be appropriately scrubbed with antiseptic and betadine prior to surgery but that would be on his arm. The rest of his massive body would be draped head to toe, ensuring a sterile environment. Allowing him to stay so grimy went against all her caretaker sensibilities.

  “Is there time to remove some of the soot?” She looked across the space waiting for Dominic to reply.

  He nodded absently while writing something in the chart. “It won’t hurt to make him more comfortable. Administer a bolu
s of morphine before we take him to surgery.” The doctor returned the file to the foot of the bed and the plastic banged against the metal railing. With the loud sound, the patient jerked and then hissed through gritted teeth. On impulse, Nadia touched the thick curve of his shoulder. She soothed her fingers across the tight muscles, rubbing with gentle sweeps until his body stopped trembling and he quieted.

  “I’ll have anesthesia come by and take care of putting him under. Do you want to scrub in?”

  Nadia bit her lip and considered the doctor’s offer. She wanted to be there for Gunnar. No one else had stopped by to even see how he was doing. He should have someone there beside him, but she had so much to do before the night ended. There were three charts sitting on her station needing her attention. Plus, she hadn’t eaten since sundown nearly ten hours ago. Still, she wanted to go into the operating room, if only to hold this brave male’s hand. “I’ll join you.”

  “Grab something from the vending machine first. You’re on empty,” Dominic ordered before he pivoted on his heel and left the small area.

  Nadia scowled. Right now, she wanted to wash the grime off Gunnar’s face. Maybe after that, she’d be able to snag a bag of chips and a soda.

  Crossing the linoleum to the nurse’s station, she swiped her ID card at the back-office supply room. The door unlocked with a chime and she pushed it open with her hip. She typed the code on the keypad to the narcotics cabinet and retrieved a vial of morphine. After collecting some bathing supplies, she made her way back to Gunnar.

  Nadia utilized the rolling cabinet and set the hot water basin and cloths on top. Before doing anything further, she administered the pain medicine in the little IV port. As she pushed the plunger down, she watched the patient closely. His jaw had clenched against the intense pain and sweat rolled down the side of his angular face, but as the medication merged with the saline drip, he relaxed. Even his breathing seemed to become less labored and more regular. Satisfied by the response, she retrieved the scissors from her pocket and snipped at the hem of his tattered shirt. Each slice cut into the material and it parted at the midline of his torso. Nadia clipped the last inch and pushed the rent cloth away.