Rated: M

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like writing about them

Chapter Nine

Sam had two distinct thoughts.

The first was regret that she didn't take her ass home when she had the opportunity. Oh, no, she had to let her pride get in the way of the instinct that told her that Jake's was not a place she wanted to be this evening. Now look where that pride got her. In the middle of a potential shoot out. The seven men dressed in black filed into Jake's with the deadly automatic weapons clutched in their grip and the bar went frighteningly silent as people scrambled for safety.

Everyone knew about the mob war being waged on the streets of Port Charles between the Alcazar and Corinthos organizations. The crushing blows dealt to the former were broadcast on the local news for most of the week. The sinking of the two Alcazar ships managed a note on national news. While it was no surprise to see these men, no one wanted to have the bad luck of being in the vicinity when the Alcazars retaliated.

All that remained in the bar now were a few terrified murmurs, the trailing notes of a slow song coming to its conclusion and certainty that someone was going to die tonight.

Sam's second thought was more personal and startling than the first. Amazing, considering that she knew there was a good chance that she or Patrick could be caught in the crossfire of bullets being sprayed through the bar. Yet, actually finding the source of that voice in her head that had seduced her for most of the night made the greatest impact.

Seeing his face for the first time filled her with the sensation of déjà vu. She knew him. There was no explanation for it, but he was not a stranger. Her eyes greedily consumed his visage, especially the strong features that stared mercilessly at the threat before him. A mouth darkly sensual, tawny hair that her fingers itched to thread through and just so deliciously appealing that he left her breathless. Massive shoulders filled the leather jacket he wore open in the front to reveal a tight black tee molded to the muscle that ripped through his stomach and lord help her, those leather pants stretched over his thick-corded thighs looking positively sinful.

He should have been terrifying. Instead, she had the melting sensation of wanting to curl up next to him and purr. A very feminine desire to feel the warmth of his skin sliding against hers, to feel his powerful body pressing into her and that hungry ache spread straight to her core leaving little room to deny how drawn she was to him.

Eyes cold as ice, deadly, glared out a threat of his own, one she instinctively knew he would have no difficulty backing up. Her body tensed half in dread, half in anticipation. If only she could remember where she had seen him before. Maybe then she would understand why she was reacting so strongly to his presence.

Jason knew things could go very bad, very quickly, if he didn't take a moment to reason out his first move. While it was true he cared not for the humans in this bar, his Samantha was here and that was of the utmost importance. He could not risk her coming to any injury but he could not allow these fledglings to sense any hesitance in his actions.

"Bailey?" He sent out the mental call and felt the simmering of violence in her an instant before she answered.

"Kindreden?"

"Are you well?"

"Just taking out the garbage," she snickered a bit. He could hear her elevated heart rate and the fresh heat of blood coursing through her body. "Alcazar knew me, plans in the toilet."

This told him that she had just sent Diego Alcazar back into the Mist. Jason opened his senses and found the pounding heart of the other Alcazar Scion behind him. She couldn't risk shimmering out of the room until the action started, trying to avoid his notice. "I need you in here to keep the humans inside."

"How many?" There was only one reason he would call for assistance and that was if he were ready to fight.

"Seven, but at least twenty humans." And his mate, he finished silently. "Are you able to able to perform a cleaning of that size?" She wasn't a fledgling but erasing the memories of that many humans at one time took power and ability.

"Probably not," she admitted reluctantly, "I can hold them still until you're done though."

"Good," he nodded, pleased that she was truthful and didn't attempt something that could have dire consequences and possibly injure her. "I'm taking this outside; I need you at the door. Don't let any human out." He wanted to order Bailey to protect Samantha, to do everything in her power to ensure his woman came to no harm but until he figured out how to proceed with her, he would keep the knowledge of her existence to himself.

"I'm at the door," she informed him and he could hear the metal opening.

He turned his attention back to the seven who looked like they awaited orders. In a blur of movement, he dropped his jacket and had his two crescent knives in a death grip. The first running steps were so fast, none realized he had moved, as his arms crossed in front of his chest to whip the blades outward.

The two fledglings at the edges of the semi-circle caught the blades in the throat, blood spurting forth. Both men fell back to the floor their guns exploding in a spray of bullets into the ceiling. They weren't dead but incapacitated. A neck wound took effort to heal and considering his blades carried an atropine release mechanism by the time they managed to pry them free he would be finished with the others.

Chaos ensued as screams of terror filled the bar not quite drowning out the sounds of the song someone had programmed, the hammering tribal rhythm of Aerosmith's Eat The Rich, poured from the jukebox. It heated his blood, dragged out his Hunting instinct until the Knowing blazed golden in his eyes. Slowing his movement, so that he was visible to the human eye, he grabbed the coat of the vampire in front of him, rushing the medium sized window behind them and threw him out.

He felt more than saw the others turn in his direction, the cock of guns sounding, bullets whipping past as he dove out the window, shimmering into Mist the instant he hit the cold night air.

"Oh my God," Sam jerked to her feet as she watched the men jump through the broken window. She took three instinctive steps forward before strong hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her back. "What?" She turned back to see Patrick's stunned face.

"Stay back or you'll get hurt," he demanded as he pulled her closer to his body. Where as before she had tried to enjoy that sensation, now that she had seen him, there was no way she could deny the need, that connection between them she had been so determined to ignore. She had no idea what was going on but intuition said it was lethal.

"Whatever those men want it has nothing to do with us. We're lucky that no one was hurt."

She wanted to struggle against his hold, but what could she say, 'this is going to sound crazy but I hear voices inside of my head and I know that man that dove out the window is the source.' If that didn't sound insane, the fact that she had been dreaming of those intense blue eyes was definitely a punch in a one-way ticket to Shadybrook.

The metal door of the entrance slammed open an instant later, eliciting a gasp of fright from a far corner of the room. A woman stalked inside, dressed in all black with raven hair a mass of wild curls around her face. The freezing look on her face matched the one of the man Sam was focused on and without confirmation Sam knew they were together. In woman's hands was a pair of daggers that gleamed their deadly intent and the knowledge that she wouldn't hesitate to use them. Azure eyes scanned the room and Sam watched her lip curl in a snarl as the woman focused on another sitting in the back of the bar.

Outside a burst of gunfire sounded through the night along with screams, and deep terrifying growls. The newcomer flicked a glance over her shoulder, and then whipped back to her target, "Don't even think about it."

The woman that Sam had spotted earlier tonight at the docks slid from her seat, her fur coat dropping to the floor around her heeled boots. She was elegant in deep blue wool pantsuit, her long dark hair pulled back into a neat chignon to emphasize her boldly sensual features. A Glock clenched in her gloved hand, she backed toward the wall, her dark eyes revealing her fear as she glanced first at the men twisting on the ground who had knives embedded in their throats to the woman who had spoken. Sam figured the gun was an advantage but it was obvious these two thought otherwise.

"I don't want this," she shook her head. "I did nothing to warrant this."

The woman with the blades took two steps forward, the look on her face unrelenting, "Not my problem. That's just how death sentences are."

"It isn't fair, what if this were you? How could you be without pity?" Sam watched a tear slide down her cheek and something, sympathy, clenched in her chest. She had no idea what they were talking about, but the words death sentences left little doubt what the ending result would be. "I'm to be punished for the sins of my Sire."

"If you didn't want to return to the Mist, you should have left Port Charles. You knew your choices, so don't expect any mercy." she took two more steps forward, "You would have been banished from your House, but you'd still be alive."

"Bitch," the woman's lovely face turned into a grimace of hatred as she raised her gun higher.

"That's the second time tonight someone has called me that foul name. Be glad that I'm not taking offense." Sam could hear the disgust in that answer, "First the runt outside, now you." The woman ran, her steps faster than Sam could have imagined, just as the other began firing. Patrick jerked her down to the floor as glass behind the bar exploded in a spew of alcohol and shards but her eyes stayed on the scene unfolding.

The woman spun on one foot a second before jumping into the air, her thin lithe body contorted in the air then launched herself onto the other sending her crashing to the floor. There was a high-pitched shriek that Sam inwardly cringed from and it galvanized the other patrons of the bar into action. Several stood from their hiding spot, moving to escape the unexpected violence. One man had his hand on the door getting ready to swing it wide, when the woman with the blades suddenly back flipped off the inert body on the floor.

"Stop!"

And Sam felt the command in her voice all the way down to the depths of her soul as her muscles froze. Terrified she tried to move and found her body uncooperative, legs refusing to straighten, arms braced on the floor. A glance around the room, met the confused faces of the others, as they all seemed frozen in place as well. Sam returned to that face, and the blue eyes from before now blazed golden, the hand that still held the blade dripping scarlet in front of her as an unfelt breeze seemed to rustle through her hair.

"Bailey."

Sam heard the voice from her head just as the man stepped back in through the broken window. It was only then she realized the silence of the night he left. Her gaze ping-ponged, witnessing some silent communication passing between them. He looked just as lethal as before and she wondered what had happened outside. Where were the five men who chased him? It was ridiculous, this one man couldn't have stopped...she paused feeling her heart hammer in her chest. They had guns, the incredulous voice in her head screamed. This was all impossible.

Somehow that was reassuring, because there was no way this could be happening now. She was not crouched on the floor of a strange bar unable to move. There was no man with blue eyes, no matter how vivid his face was, how much her body ached to be close to him. There was no woman who commanded them to stillness.

Because if this was real, then she really needed that room at the mental hospital.

"Are you okay?" He walked forward and placed a strangely gentle hand on her face, inspiring a spurt of envy. No way should this be happening.

"I'm fine," the woman reassured him, "The others?"

"Dealt with. I need you to do something for me, and don't ask any questions."

"Jason?"

"Do you hear me!" he snarled in a sharp fury that made the young woman flinch.

"Yes, of course kindreden," she immediately lowered her head in supplication.

Regret creased his features and he lifted her chin to press a kiss to her forehead, "Forgive me systir, I did not mean to raise my voice so. I'm sorry. However this is important." He waited until she opened her eyes before speaking again, "Important to me, Bailey."

"I will do whatever you need," she told him and another silent moment of communication passed between them. She nodded once, then opened her jacket to slip the knives into an inner pocket. "The Alcazar Scion?"

"I will deal with her and the two others, do as I ask Bailey."

Sam felt the muscles in her body go limp as control returned, terrified, she scrambled from Patrick's grip to her feet. He looked helplessly up at her and Sam realized she was the only one moving. Before she could squat down to Patrick, a strong hand closed around her upper arm, "What? What are you doing?"

"Come. We must leave." The woman tugged her toward the open window, her face solemn as Sam realized this was what the two of them had been discussing. If this was a mob hit, which organization did they work for? The young woman unconscious on the floor was evidently an Alcazar but these two couldn't be any of Sonny's people. They would know that she and Sonny were over.

"Not until you tell me what's going on," Sam tried struggling against the grip but she might as well have tried to bend steel. Frantic eyes glared from the slender hand back to the youthful face, "How the hell?"

"Quiet!" The growled command sounded furious but Sam didn't miss the curious glance the woman tossed at her.

Sam glanced back into the bar, her eyes seeing Patrick's panic then drawn to the tall masculine form in black. She watched him bend over to jerk a knife out of one of the men's throats, the swift ruthless flick of his wrist severing the head from the body. Before she could scream in horror, the body on the floor jerked once, then shimmered into a fine gold mist and disappeared, leaving her goggling in shock. Slowly he stood, a pull of muscle and power rippling through his entire body. When he glanced back over his shoulder, their eyes clashed in a clamor of emotions that sent a shiver of longing to her core.

Amazingly, his incisors began to lengthen into a monstrous set of fangs and those cerulean eyes began to glow. Hell, his very skin seemed to shimmer with golden light. Unconsciously her hand rose to him, imploring, and his face softened from that harsh violence to something akin to tenderness.

"Samantha."

The mental brush was like the very caress his hand had given the young woman pulling her away. But more, so much more. And she responded to it, everything in her warmed at that voice, embraced the brush of feeling pulsing through her. "This is not happening," she managed aloud.

"Sleep mi alma," he murmured gently.

"No!" she shouted. her body began to shut down, going limp as her feet tangled beneath her in the snow. Her eyelids grew heavy, her mind drifting away. The woman paused to grab her around the waist before she could collapse to the ground and hoisted her over her shoulder as if she were no heavier than a purse. "No! I won't. Please don't," she begged in a feeble voice, unable to struggle, as blackness closed in around her.

"I will come to you soon, Samantha. All will be well." They were the final words that penetrated the fog.

Sam jerked awake as if someone had dashed freezing water in her face. Eyes wide she took in the darkened room, noting the hammering of her heart. A pale light on the desk across from her barely penetrated the shadows. Her body released a violent quake, as her fingers clenched silk then snatched away as if she had been burned. The deep burgundy sheets she was wrapped in were not her own.

This wasn't her bedroom.

She didn't need the heavy masculine furniture to tell her that. Nor that wonderful scent of man and something forbidden that filled her lungs and exploded in a downpour of fiery sweetness leaving her wet and achy. Scrambling from the huge bed, through the thick fall of silk hanging from its canopy, her butt hit the floor making her cry out in pain. This only encouraged her to push back on the plush carpet her bare feet curled into.

That's when she noted her bare feet.

Shock had her running her hands down her legs revealed by sensual black silk that rode high on her hips. Her clothes! Someone had stripped off her clothes. She twisted quickly to her feet, feeling the cool air caused by her movements brush along the length of her arms. A glanced down told her she was completely naked beneath the black sheath, nipples swollen and taut, her skin sensitive to the brush of material.

"How?" She noted a mirror and rushed over, seeing her deshelved image, hair shaggy around a sleep mused face. Seductive. Aroused. "Where the hell am I?"

"Here with me."

This time that voice wasn't inside of her head.