Lost Angeles

by Mantchev, Lisa

  “We need to get as much of my blood into Jess as possible,” I tell him. “Then you need to take her to CasDec. Ask for a Doctor Osamu.”

  “He can save her?” There’s tentative hope in Asher’s voice now.

  “He can try,” I say, with a pang of regret, because it doesn’t seem like much.

  “Hell, Lourdes, I can try. I have tried.”

  Spinning on my heel, I look him right in his hugely-dilated eyes. “He brought me back from the dead, Ash. Literally back from the dead. I don’t know if he can help Jess, but he’s your best bet. That, and you were there, at that vampire testing facility. You know where it is, so if all else fails? You can go get a little vengeance for me, for Jess, and for the guys you lost before.”

  I reach out and gently touch his cheek. Asher stares back at me, high as a kite and apparently taking it as an invitation. His hands clamp down on either side of my face, and his body pins me against the door, which slams shut with a bang. Then his lips are on mine. It takes a second for me to fully comprehend exactly what’s happening, and by the time my mind processes the fact that Asher Reece is kissing me, I’m already shoving him back. Thankfully, he immediately stumbles away.

  “Gross, Ash,” I tell him, spitting a little. “Ew.”

  “Sorry.” A bright red flush crawls up his chest and into his cheeks. “I have no idea why I did that. I don’t grope people…”

  I wait a long moment for him to qualify it with something like “in broom closets” or “without asking first” but instead, he trails off, looking at the wall and letting it hang.

  “You don’t grope people… like, ever?”

  If anything, he turns ten shades redder, mortified to his horny man-toes, but manages to fire back, “Yeah, well, not all the men in LA have had four hundred years and a thousand fuck buddies to practice on, you know. I work. A lot.”

  With impeccable timing, Xaine’s voice reverberates through the metal barrier. “Lore? What the hell’s going on in there?”

  “There is absolutely not one thing going on in here,” I answer, giving Asher the hairy eyeball as I ease the door open. “We’re good.”

  Xaine eyes me, his skepticism changing to outright disgust the moment Asher comes into view, naked from the waist up, fifty shades of burgundy, and sporting a highly visible pant-leg pup tent.

  Asher clears his throat and mutters, “This isn’t what it looks like, Xaine.”

  “Yeah? Then why are you wearing Lore’s lipstick?”

  The expression that crosses Asher’s face then would be fairly hilarious, if I hadn’t just watched Xaine disembowel a sin-eater. Without explanation, Asher starts scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand, and I can’t help but feel a little offended-yet-squeamish over the whole deal.

  “Hooookay,” I say, clapping my hands together. “Who’s ready to transfuse a little blood?”

  That recaptures Xaine’s attention. “What?”

  “Really, really long story short,” I tell him, “I think my blood can help Jess.”

  Asher eases past the two of us with a muttered “’Scuse me,” and Xaine’s whole body tenses. I get a hand on his arm before he can go ballistic.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I tell him. “You’ve done enough ripping and stabbing for one night.”

  The look he gives me borders on petulant. “But—”

  “Nope,” I tell him. “We’re going straight to Jess’s room for a little bloodletting, and if you’re good, I’ll let you hold my hand while they do it.”

  Of course, I only make it half a dozen steps with Xaine in tow before the sound of cocked weaponry brings us up short. In a flash, I’m barricaded behind three bodies, squished into some sort of protective circle between Xaine, Jax, and Tamsyn. Asher shoves past us and keeps walking, like there’s not a bevy of weapons pointed in our direction by enough muscle to row a Viking ship.

  “At ease, idiots,” he grumbles, then raises his voice. “Everyone, meet Phantom Firearms.” Gesturing to each newcomer in turn, Asher fires off names. “Rebel. Jude. Sullivan. You assholes should have been here thirty minutes ago. What were you doing when the alarms went off?”

  “Chasing that demon across town.” One guy—Rebel, I think—steps forward, detaching himself from the group as they collectively lower their guns.

  My eyes zero in on the c-curve prosthetic he’s got on one leg. Like a little kid, I can’t help but stare at it, wondering how he ended up sans-a-limb. His face is familiar too. I’ve seen him before but I can’t quite place where.

  “You know, like you told us to?” The man Asher introduced as Jude takes a look around at the blood splatter and beat-to-shit civilians gathered in his workplace. “What the hell happened here anyway?”

  “I kissed a sin-eater and I liked it?” I offer.

  Asher swings around, pointing a very serious finger in my direction. “Not funny.”

  Tamsyn laughs anyway, and Jax elbows her in the ribs. The rest of them stare at me like I’ve lost my damn mind, except that I haven’t lost my mind at all.

  I’ve gotten it back.

  “Alrighty then,” I tell them. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

  “Hold on a second.” Asher turns back to his crew and gives the order to retrieve Benicio’s corpse from the alley. Apparently, the plan is to take samples, call the cops, and have the body hauled downtown to run DNA tests.

  I wonder if they’ll drag Xaine into the precinct… again.

  The moment our small crew is alone, Asher looks to me. “Okay, explain to me why you think your blood will help when no other blood has?”

  Deadpan as anything, I pop off with, “Because I’m a special snowflake, asshole.” At his unappreciative frown, I tack on, “Call it a hunch?”

  “Hunch or no hunch,” Xaine says, “you’re in no position to offer up blood, Lore.”

  “Why?” Asher snaps. “Because it belongs to you now?”

  “Yeah,” Xaine tells him, “as in it’s ‘belonged to me’ twice in the last twenty-four hours. If you take anymore, you’re going to kill her.”

  “I won’t die,” I tell him. “Trust me when I say I’ve survived far worse.”

  Asher frowns. “Jess wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want you—”

  I cut him off. “If all else fails, hook me up to Xaine.” Now they’re all looking at me like I’m loony. “Trust me.”

  I can tell that they don’t, so I start walking, heading out of the main room while they’re still trying to pick their jaws up off the floor. Leave it to Jax to be the first to recover. Calling out my name as I round the corner, he tugs my attention back to his irritated face.

  “You still got that coin I gave you?”

  My forehead crinkles. “Yeah. It’s at home, on my dresser. Why?”

  “Keep it close to you,” he says. “Like, real close. In-your-pocket close. Just in case.”

  I nod tentatively, ducking out of sight and leaving the menfolk to follow, but all the way down the hall toward Jess’s room, one question circles around and around, like water going down a drain.

  Just in case of what?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Xaine

  Naturally, we didn’t make it out of the warehouse before the police showed up. We might have, if the horse we rode in on wasn’t a PFC vehicle. Turns out, Asher doesn’t lend his armored cars out to civilians, and the police aren’t so keen on letting suspect vampires head home while they clean up the bloody mess in the alleyway. They didn’t book me this time—the one time I actually did kill someone—but between the questioning and giving my statement, it took a couple of extra hours to get the hell out of there.

  It was probably for the best, because after Lore pumped more blood than she could really spare into Jess, the EMTs on the scene pulled half a sidewalk’s worth of asphalt out of her elbows and kneecaps. By the time I got her loaded into a car and on the way back to the Palisades, she was looking more like a mummy than a girl, and I spent the whole police cruiser ride beating back
little pangs of I-don’t-know-what.

  Guilt, maybe. Anger, probably.

  Lust, definitely.

  Not that I have a thing for mummies, but I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.

  Lore doesn’t look all that distressed, though. Contemplative, she sits quietly through the entire ride, her pretty face tilted toward the window, watching the lights go by on the other side of the tints. I don’t know what she’s mulling over, but it must be some pretty deep stuff. She’s chewing the inside of her lip again, digging that wrinkle in her chin a bit deeper, so it’s not much of a surprise when she turns toward me, frowning.

  “What is Jax Trace?”

  “A douchebag,” I say, because this is the last thing I want to discuss right now.

  “Seriously, Xaine.” Lore gives me a look of censure.

  “Seriously, sweetheart.”

  With a small sigh, she lets her head loll on the headrest, eyelids fluttering shut. Here I am again, tensing, waiting, bracing for an argument, a fight, whatever it takes for her to dig the information out of me, but then she lets it go. No battle royale, no fight to the death, no gloves, no helmets, no American Gladiator batons, just a shrug and an “I’m starving.”

  “Same here. It’s been a long fucking night.” I say. “I’ll dump you in the tub and call for a pizza.” Or six. “Sound good?”

  “Mm… pizza.” I can practically hear her salivating, but after some consideration she shakes her head at me. “It’s okay, there’s stuff in the fridge. I can forage.”

  The cruiser pulls to a stop in my driveway a second later, and Lore’s already popping the door open. I jump out on the other side, chucking a quick wave and a “thanks” to the officer who drove us home before I swing around the car and catch my girl by the elbow.

  “You’re not eating leftovers,” I mutter. “You need to keep your strength up.”

  “Leftovers have just as many nutrients as new food, Xaine,” she tells me. “And I hate to let things go bad.”

  “You can eat old food tomorrow.” Planting a kiss at her temple, I pull her tight against me, steadying her new-colt wobble. “Really, sweetheart, what do you want? I’ll order the whole menu.”

  “Please don’t do that.” Lore wrinkles her nose, dropping her forehead against my shoulder as I lead her up the stairs toward the house. “It’s such a waste of food.”

  “Not when I do it.”

  Her laugh is light and clear, and it settles some of the twisting in my gut. “How is it less of a waste when you do it? You don’t even eat. If I wasn’t here to clear out your refrigerator, there’d be nothing left but mold and O-neg.”

  “Rosa takes it all home at the end of the week before the restock,” I say, towing her up the stairs and making sure she doesn’t faceplant on the travertine. “What did you think happened to it before you got here?”

  “Hungry herds of Playboy bunnies?” Lore grins into my face, showing me two perfect rows of blunt, white teeth.

  “You’re the only fuzzy bunny that I want in the house.” The admission flies out before I’ve even realized what I’ve said. Lore goes wide-eyed; it’s not real surprise, though, and I know I’m in for a doozy of a smartassed remark.

  Right as she takes a breath, I reach beneath her knees and sweep her off her feet. The sudden shift from vertical to horizontal forestalls any reply save a squeak of surprise. Just to be sure, I dip my head down and seal my mouth over hers. Her arms slip around my neck, holding on tight, and I pretty much kick the front door in because I can’t be arsed to go for my keys right now.

  Lore arches against me, wanting more, wanting me, still a little looped up on sin-eater juice when she murmurs, “You don’t have to stay on your side of the bed tonight.”

  Her hands pluck at my shirt, her smile is shy, but her pupils are still dilated, her breath the tiniest bit ragged.

  Food and shower are going to have to wait.

  The minute I plant Lore’s feet on the checkered marble in the front hall, I’m on her, dragging the T-shirt up and off because I’ve waited all night to be this close to her and a sin-eater has gotten more play from her than I have. I don’t want her thinking about Benicio. Not now. Not here. One of my hands digs into her waist and the other has a death-grip on her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple until Lore moans into my mouth. Her sweet lips part, her nails raking against the back of my neck, fingers carding through the tangle of my hair.

  Suddenly, the master bedroom seems too far away.

  Walking her backwards, I hook my fingers into the waistband of her jeans. My fingers work at the fly, unhooking the rivet at the top and snagging the zipper, separating the little teeth until the backs of my knuckles brush against bare skin. Lore’s hands slip from my hair then, traveling down the length of my body until she slides them beneath the hem of my shirt. She tugs at the worn cotton until I relinquish my hold on her, pull it over my head, and hurl it aside. She’s plastered against me, working at my pants, trying to get me as naked as she is by the time the backs of her heels hit that bottom stair. I cradle her as we both go down, shielding her from the worst of the awkward tumble, and next thing I know we’re a heap of tangled limbs and denim. There’s a mad scramble to kick off what’s left of the shoes, the jeans, her underwear. God knows I’m not wearing any, and thank fuck for that. The next second, she’s got those mile-long legs wrapped around my waist like she doesn’t give a single shit if her back is one giant bruise in the morning.

  “I don’t,” she huffs out between kisses, and I realize I must have said that bit out loud. “I don’t care.”

  I don’t either, really, because the bruises and the bite-marks and everything else will heal with time, but nothing will ever take away the sensation of poising my dick over her entrance, feeling her liquid heat lick over me. I hook my arm under her right knee and hitch it up, teasing her until she’s writhing against me, pinned between the stairs and my body and not going anywhere.

  Mine.

  The thought slams into me as I push into Lore, absorbing her moan with my mouth, her shudder with my chest and arms, giving her all of half-a-heartbeat and a single breath before I pull back and ram into her again. She tears her lips away from mine with a keening noise that would give me pause if she wasn’t already whimpering and urging me to do it again. It’s been building. This has been building. All night, hell, all week, since the second we met; it’s all culminating right here. Right now.

  “Xaine.” Lore clings to my body, pulling me closer, sealing us tighter, whispering the next words against the shell of my ear. “Bite me, Xaine.”

  I let my head drop forward, dark hair falling over her face, my nose buried in the crook of her neck. Beneath me, Lore’s hips rise in little canting jerks that bring her closer to me, draw me deeper within her. For a long moment, I don’t move; I just hold there, so still inside her. I stay like that until she’s undulating against my cock and panting against my shoulder. Her fingers rake up the skin of my back, and her nipples are hard points digging into my chest. I want to taste them and her and it’s too much and not enough all at the same time.

  “Fuck, Lore.” I’m trying to draw it out, savor it, because Lord only knows when it’ll happen again.

  The entire world seems to be conspiring against it, against us, but right now, I drag it to a standstill. It’s not hesitation, because I don’t ever hesitate. I don’t give myself space to breathe and time to think. I don’t reconsider. I don’t change my mind. Gut instinct has served me well for over four centuries, and it’s that ability to leap and land on my feet no matter how improbable the jump that’s brought me to this moment.

  She will be mine.

  I can feel the venom burning bright and hot behind my eyes. It’s always there, ever-ready, and yet I only ever seem to feel it in these moments. Four hundred years of existence, thousands of willing bodies and just as many feeds, but I’ve only marked a handful of them. I can remember them by name, by face, by voice, by the color of their hair and eyes, th
e wetness of their lips, the gentle perfume that shifts from something wholly their own to something that smells very faintly… of me.

  Mine.

  I bear down, break through, punch two holes in Lore’s neck and revel in the hissing breath that escapes her. My dick and my fangs are as far into her as they will go. She’s pinned in every possible way, and that’s when I let it slip, a small taste of the venom every vampire carries within them. The pretty poison surges through the hollow space in my teeth to flow free in her veins; in my mind’s eye, all that I am, all that is black and dark and tainted uncoils inside her, grasping her from the inside with vicious claws that sink deep and won’t want let go. Lore feels it, the burn of something foreign, like a shot of 100 proof liquor hitting the back of her throat and searing through her extremities. Song lyrics, scrawled across her soul.

  X marks the spot, right on her heart.

  She jerks, her cry filling my ears and the room and the house. Hell, the entire hillside might hear her, but there’s as much pleasure as there is pain. Triumph surges through me, but when I inhale, there’s no hint of me. All I get is the sweet-sick of the venom itself on her skin.

  Lore’s processing it out, rejecting it, rejecting me in ways she doesn’t even realize.

  What the fuck?

  So I pump a little more into her, slowing down the rhythm of my dick despite the fact that she’s clawing up my back with her crazy-long acrylics. When the venom hits her a second time, she starts whining my name, carving gouges into my ass, pleading for me to go harder, go deeper, to give more.

  I’m giving her more, but seconds later, she dumps that, too.

  Frustration doesn’t even begin to cover the tidal wave of emotion that hits me. My balls tighten up; I can feel my climax building the same as I can feel the walls of her sex clamping down on me. Lore opens her thighs wider, encouraging me to go deeper.

  “Please… Xaine… please.”

  “Only because you said the magic word, sweetheart,” I mutter against the slow-bleeding holes, tracing my tongue across the raised bumps.