by C. C. Hunter
“He didn’t say it, but he’s a guy. Of course he enjoyed it.”
Kylie made a face. “Okay, I won’t argue with that, but it sounds to me like you’re looking for a reason to distance yourself from him. Maybe what’s really going on is that you know how much you like him and you’re just afraid?”
Della opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn’t push the damn words out. Was Kylie right? “I still can’t stand that he kissed her—even if she started it,” Della muttered, and then, wanting to change the subject, she popped up. “Is Miranda still here? I should go eat crow now and apologize. I hate cold crow.”
Kylie smiled. “Nope, Perry called her and asked her to meet him.”
“So they’re off sucking face, huh,” Della said, hoping to take the conversation off her own boy issues by focusing on someone else’s romance.
Kylie pursed her lips as if all too aware of Della’s ploy. That chick was just way too smart. “Look, you don’t have to like that Steve kissed her. It’s natural that you’re pissed, believe me, I know, but it doesn’t have to be a deal breaker. Look at Miranda and Perry’s and my and Lucas’s relationships. We both had some similar rough spots. And don’t think I’m looking out for Steve’s interest here, I’m looking out for yours. Take my advice and give this thing with Steve a chance. Don’t give up on him.”
Della looked at the clock on the bedside table. She had to meet Chase. “Crap, I’ve gotta go.”
“You know we should at least talk,” Chase said, his words not even a whisper.
At least her hearing wasn’t out. “About what?” Oh, she knew what she’d like to tell him, but she wasn’t sure now was the time.
Della looked across the table, wishing it were someone else sitting there. Wishing she didn’t appreciate the width of his shoulders, the daredevil way he carried himself, or the sharp cut of his jawline that made him look more like a man than a boy. They’d met and flown to this old abandoned house in the middle of the woods that the local gang had turned into a blood bar. Not a nice bar, but there were at least six vampires here. Supposedly the local gang in the area thought they had enough traffic through the place to make a go of the business.
Della did another causal visual around the room and took a sip of the blood Chase had ordered her. It was A positive, and it wasn’t fresh, but she hadn’t had dinner, so she drank it without complaint.
“I don’t know. We could talk about the weather, sports, or maybe what’s got you so pissed at me,” he said, obviously deciding he didn’t need to whisper anymore.
“I hear it’s supposed to rain tomorrow?” she said sarcastically.
He laughed.
Della glanced at a couple of guys sitting across the room. Rough-looking vamps with a bottle of whiskey that they kept adding to their blood. One was blond, one dark-haired, but it was long and hung in a ponytail.
For the first fifteen minutes all the patrons, even the bartender, had stared daggers at them, but now they seemed to have lost interest. Della remained on guard. She had to. Her sense of smell still hadn’t come back. So she was studying people, looking for anyone suspicious. Anyone with short dark hair, or who looked like a killer. Not that she knew what one looked like, but damn it, she could still try.
“Come on. What did I do to tick you off?”
She met Chase’s eyes, her fury still equivalent to that of a wet hen with PMS, but her need for vengeance would have to wait. They had a case to work on.
“Funny, I didn’t take you as the type to hold your tongue,” he taunted.
He’d gotten that right. She’d never been one to believe silence was golden. Oh, what the hell, they could talk as long as they didn’t say anything about their assignment.
“You meant to cause trouble when you brought my phone back.”
He pursed his lips as if debating his answer. “Maybe.”
She scowled.
“Okay, probably. But I thought the guy needed to know he had some competition. While you were away on Friday, some chick—the same chick—called him three times. And she was flirting with him. I don’t know what you two have going on, but I didn’t think it was right.”
Della’s heart nosedived to her stomach. Jessie had been calling Steve? Ahh, but now wasn’t the time to get caught up in that heartache. She cut Chase a cold look. “It’s none of your business. You shouldn’t have been listening to his calls.”
“True, but I’m making it my business. Like I said, I like you. I think this thing we’ve got going might lead somewhere. So I want to look out for you.”
“I don’t need you to look out for me. And for this to lead anywhere, I’d have to reciprocate in the liking.”
“You like me,” he said with a confident smile, and damn if her stomach didn’t flutter at the sight of his sexy grin. “You just don’t realize it yet. I’m an acquired taste. Like one of those strange beers from other countries. It takes a while for a person to get used to me.”
“I don’t like beer. And I don’t like—”
“But you’re here.”
“Only because…” She caught herself. “There’s a dozen other people I’d prefer to be with right now.”
“Only twelve? You care to tell me their names? I’ll start knocking them off.”
She showed him her fangs.
He laughed and picked up his blood, staring at her over the rim of the plastic cup. “How are you doing with … the whole cousin thing?” The lightness had vanished from his tone.
She recalled his story about losing his whole family. He’d probably made it up. “How are you doing with your whole family thing?” she said with accusation.
Something flashed in his eyes … anger, grief. Maybe he hadn’t made it up.
“So you weren’t lying?” she asked.
“No.” He cut his gaze around, lifting his nose up to check for familiar scents.
“Anything?” she asked.
He looked back at her, almost too fast. “No. You?”
No way was she going to tell him her sense of smell was out. She lifted her face as if testing the air. “No.”
Footsteps heading their way sounded in the background. Della prepared herself for company and possible trouble. One of the rough-looking guys drinking whiskey dropped in the chair beside her and leaned close.
“Hey beautiful,” he said, his mouth way too close.
Chapter Twenty-five
“You two are new around these parts.”
Della backed up. He looked to be in his early twenties, but he also seemed as if he’d had a rough life. He looked her up and down and then glanced at Chase.
“Since you don’t seem to be her type, I thought she might like me better.”
So the creep had been listening. Not that she hadn’t been eavesdropping on him and his friend. But their talk about how they’d played football in high school hadn’t been all that interesting.
“We’re just having a bit of a tiff,” Chase said, his voice deepening. “She’s with me.”
“Is that right, Sweetie?” he asked Della. “You know, at first, I thought you worked here. You know, as a professional girl.”
Had he just told her she looked like a prostitute? She frowned. “First, I don’t work here. Second, my name’s not Sweetie. And third, if I’m anyone’s girlfriend, I’m his.” She turned to Chase, and when he tilted up his mouth in a wicked almost grin, she rolled her eyes. “Which I’m not,” she added quickly.
“A shame,” the half-drunk vamp said, his gaze shifting back to Chase. “You see, I’m not an acquired taste, I’m delicious from the first bite.”
He showed his canines—which could use a good brushing—and Della suspected the pun was intended.
But that didn’t stop him from stretching his arm across the back of Della’s chair and touching her hair. She’d like to play with his hair—as in grab ahold of his ponytail and give him a good swing across the room.
“Where are you two from?” he asked. His touch stirred at her neck
and she suppressed a shiver. And not the good kind!
Della debated breaking the guy’s fingers. She could reach back and crack his bones before he could say uncle. But she didn’t know if playing along for a few minutes might get some information.
“I’m from California,” Chase said. “She’s from the Houston area.”
“What brings you from California?” Ponytail asked Chase, tilting his head to the side as if listening for an untruth. Della tried listening, too, but couldn’t tune in. Instead of worrying, she studied Chase’s expression.
“My mother moved here,” Chase said.
The jerk sitting beside her appeared satisfied that Chase spoke the truth. Yet, hadn’t Chase told her his mom was dead? Yes, he had, and she’d listened to his heart beat to the truth then, too. Della recalled how Chase’s eyes shifted to the left when he’d just answered the half-drunk vamp. She’d heard that eyes shifting to the left was a small sign of someone lying.
She’d been right not to trust him. She tucked that info away to concentrate on the problem at hand. “Hand” being the key word. The creep’s palm was slipping under the collar of her shirt to touch her lower neck right now.
She shifted her shoulder, as if to shoo away a pest, hoping he’d take a hint.
He didn’t.
Chase’s gaze shifted to her collar. His eyes brightened with discontent. But if anyone was going to teach this jerk a lesson, she was. She cut Chase a glare that said stand down.
“I’m looking for someone,” Della said, struggling to ignore the man’s touch. “I think he was newly turned. Short dark hair.”
“Is he one of those twelve guys you just told this boy you’d prefer to be with right now?” The man nodded at Chase, but didn’t look at him. Good thing, too, because the quick glance she got wasn’t pretty. Fangs out, eyes a neon green.
“Yeah, I’d rather be with that guy.” She focused on the jerk, knowing her heart sang to the truth. She’d rather be with Lorraine’s killer right now. She even hoped he’d give her a fight, so she could give some fight back. Teach him a few lessons before she turned him over to Burnett.
The jerk nodded. “I heard a fresh turn was in the area last week. The Juggler gang was trying to recruit him.” The jerk’s fingers slipped farther inside her collar, all the way to her shoulder. Her skin crawled, but she wanted answers more than she hated his touch.
“Where can we find the Juggler gang?”
“Don’t know. I don’t belong to any gang. Don’t need ’em. I can take care of myself. Of course, every now and then I like to take care of some pretty young thing like you.” He shifted his chair closer, and his hand slipped a little farther inside her shirt. His whole cold palm rested on her bare shoulder. And she no longer wanted to break his fingers. His neck would do just nicely.
“Do you know any of the gang members?” she asked between clenched teeth.
“Nah, I’ve only been here a week. But I noticed one or two hanging around.”
She lowered her voice. “Any here now?”
“Don’t know. Since you walked in, all I’ve noticed is you. Young. Soft.” He wiggled his fingers.
“Why don’t you take a look around and see if any of them are here?”
He didn’t answer. His fingers shifted beneath the bra strap on her shoulder. She adjusted her lips to hide her lowering fangs, and from the corner of her eye she saw Chase watching, his face a mask of fury.
Why was he so upset? The creep wasn’t fingering his underwear. She had to clench her hands to keep from coldcocking the half-drunk jerk.
“Glance around,” she said again. “Please.” She wiggled her brow in what she hoped would appear to be a flirty gesture.
He shifted his gaze round the room, his finger moving back and forth under her bra strap, each stroke a little closer to her left breast. Each stroke bringing her closer to going apeshit on his ass.
“Nope, none are here now.” Ponytail’s eyes found hers again. “How about you and I go take a walk?”
“How about you telling me what you heard about the fresh turn?” It took effort to keep her voice soft. “Did he have short dark hair?”
“How about we talk after we walk?”
A growl, deep and sinister, sounded across the table. “How about you get your dirty hands off her?” Chase leaned into the table, his fangs fully extended, his eyes now such a bright lime green, you needed sunglasses to look at him.
The jerk glared back. For one second, he reacted to the brightness of Chase’s eyes; then he seemed to toss the worry aside. Della wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.
“Now, buddy,” Ponytail said. “I don’t hear Sweetie complaining.”
The name was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And would probably wind up being the straw that broke this freak’s wrist. “I told you, my name’s not Sweetie!” She yanked the guy’s arm from around her and twisted it almost to the point of breaking it.
He growled, almost reached for her with his other hand, but she gave the limb another tight twist, letting him know one move and his arm would be dangling at an odd angle. And she’d make certain it wasn’t at a pretty angle. Sure, vamps healed quickly, but she’d heard a broken bone still hurt like hell.
The scoundrel glared at her.
She glared right back, then cut her gaze around the room. All the bar patrons watched with malicious intent. And she had a feeling it wasn’t aimed at Mr. Ponytail. She and Chase could probably take on four, but if they all teamed up, she might be testing the broken-bone theory herself. They had to get out of here. She glanced at Chase, and cut her eyes to the exit. Then she dropped her tight hold of the guy’s arm and shot toward the door, assuming Chase would follow, and follow fast.
She’d assumed wrong.
She stopped at the last table on the way out.
Chase, taking his time, stood from his chair, but never stepped away from the table. He glared down at Ponytail. Chase’s posture and hostile expression practically begged the jerk to try something. Was Chase nuts? Didn’t he feel the glares from the crowd?
Did he not realize how outnumbered they were?
“Let’s go,” Della said.
She no more got the words out than she knew that had been a mistake.
“You always do what your whore tells you to?” the jerk, rubbing his arm, asked Chase.
“Did you just call her a whore?” Chase clenched his fist.
Every muscle in Della’s body tightened, prepared to fight. But before she took one step, Chase had the asshole against the wall. And not the wall beside the table where they’d sat, but the one on the other side of the bar. How? She hadn’t even seen him move. Holy crap! Just how fast was the panty perv?
He held the guy by the throat, pressing him against the faded paneling. The jerk’s feet dangled a foot off the floor. He should have been kicking, but from the color of the lowlife’s face, he wasn’t getting air, and probably knew one wrong move and his windpipe would be crushed.
“Tell her you’re sorry,” Chase demanded.
“You wreck this place, you pay for it!” the bartender, leaning against the bar, yelled out. “You wanna kill each other, do it outside. We’ll join you and take bets on who’ll make it.”
Chase, obviously ignoring the bartender, didn’t move. “I said, tell her you’re sorry!”
The jerk, his face now blood-red, couldn’t talk, but he moved his lips.
“I didn’t hear you,” Chase seethed. “Try that again.”
The man’s friend shot up from his chair. Della flew toward him, but before she got there, he’d slung a table at Chase.
Chase never looked back, but with his free hand he caught the table by one leg and held it up in midair like some kind of circus performer.
“Sit your ass back down,” Chase growled, and while he never looked at the table thrower, there was no doubt who he was talking to.
Della gazed around the room, watching for the next attack, prepared to intervene, if needed. Oddly enou
gh, only the man’s friend who’d thrown the furniture seemed to be a threat. Everyone else just seemed entertained.
Chase set the table down. Almost gently, not breaking it. He turned his head, giving the room a quick glance. “I said sit down!”
The man’s friend remained standing, as if still debating his next move.
“I have a free hand,” Chase seethed, and waved his left arm. “Put your butt in that chair or you’ll be up against the wall with this guy and I’ll choke the life out of both of you! And if anyone else tries anything, I’ll do the same to them the second I’m finished crushing the windpipes of these lowlifes.”
The friend of Mr. Ponytail flopped back in his seat. “I never really liked his ass that much anyway.”
The bartender and the few other patrons laughed.
Chase didn’t seem to appreciate the humor. He stared back up at the red-faced, bulging-eyed vamp he held against the wall. “Now, you want to apologize? Or do I break your freaking neck?”
The guy croaked out a sound. Chase must have been happy, because he moved his hand from the guy’s neck, allowing him to fall to a heap on the floor.
The vamp coughed and rubbed his throat. Chase stood there for several long seconds, watching the guy try to draw air through his bruised throat, as if giving the creep a chance to get up and start more trouble. When he didn’t, Chase started for the door. He moved slow and with confidence. Not a bit worried anyone would attack.
He stopped beside her, and motioned for her to go first.
Unfortunately, Della didn’t follow orders. She waved him ahead.
He rolled his eyes, but then he walked out. As she moved through the door, she heard someone say, “I don’t know what kind of blood that kid was drinking, but I want some of that.”
Della stepped out into the cool October air. The night had grown darker. But the moon, almost full, cast silver light down on the woody terrain. She glanced around for threats, spotting only a couple leaning against the back of the building, their clothes half off.
Looking away, she studied Chase’s back moving in front of her. She didn’t want to be impressed. But, damn it! Color her impressed. She wanted some of whatever Chase was drinking, too.