Forbidden Bite

by Cynthia Eden

  “Uh…Griffin?” Carter questioned uneasily. “Are you sure—”

  Griffin motioned him away—Carter and the nurse. “Get out of here.”

  “Look, man, I want to help.” Carter’s voice was flat. “I know I made mistakes with you two, but she saved my ass. I want to help her. I want to bring her back to you.”

  “You can’t. Only I can.” Because it wasn’t just the blood loss that was hurting Isabella. It was the fucking cure itself. He thought that cure was killing her. She needs me to survive, just as I need her. I have to get through to her. I have to bring her back to me.

  If they’d lost the mating bond, then he just had to bring it back. He had to bring her back. How…how…how?

  “Get the fuck out,” Griffin growled.

  “The…the blood will keep transfusing,” the nurse said. “It’s set to—”

  Carter hustled her out.

  Griffin gazed at Isabella. “I love you.” He pressed his lips to hers. Sleeping beauty, please wake the hell up. “I love you.” He called forth the beast that had gone silent inside of himself, willing the wolf to give his power to the mate who needed him so badly.

  He eased her back against the headboard. Griffin breathed slowly and tried to think. Isabella was his mate. The other half of his soul. If the cure had severed their connection, if it was killing their bond, he had to stop it. Because killing the bond kills her. He brought her right wrist to his lips, and he remembered when he’d bit her in that alley. That moment seemed like it had happened a thousand years ago.

  What I wouldn’t give to spend a thousand years with you, Isabella. He lifted her wrist to his mouth, and Griffin bit her, right in the exact same spot he’d bit her that first time.

  We have to bond again. Stronger than before. Our bond can save her…it fucking has to save her. And when Griffin bit her, the power of his beast was in that bite. The wolf’s fierce strength, his determination, the magic of the beast—it all poured into her.

  Her eyes stayed closed.

  No, no. “I love you,” he said again. “And I will love you forever.” He brought his own wrist up. He eased open her mouth and her fangs scraped lightly over the skin. “You have to bite, Isabella. That’s what’s missing. Your bite. You need to bite me.” He was rambling and begging. Desperate. “Please, I know you’re weak. I know you’re tired. But if you bite me, everything will be okay.” Because he didn’t think it was about the blood.

  It was the bite. The one that wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. Vampire and werewolf.

  Taboo.

  Forbidden…

  Screw that.

  “Nothing about us is forbidden. Do you hear me? We are meant to be. I was born to be yours, and you were born to be mine, sweetheart. So I need you to bite me. The power is in the bite. That poison cure he put in you? We’re going to get rid of it. We’re going to blow it straight to hell.” He hoped. “I just need you to bite me. I need you to fight for me. For us. Live. Bite. Just—”

  Her fangs sank into his wrist. A jolt of pure heat coursed through his body, seeming to bounce from him to her, then back again. Her body shuddered. He felt her inside of himself, touching his soul. The warmth and life that was Isabella.

  His mate.

  Her eyes opened. The color was weak, not so dark and warm, but her eyes were open.

  Her tongue licked against his wrist, and her hand rose, hesitantly, to curl around his arm. Slowly, she pushed his arm down. Color began to fill her beautiful face once more. “Griffin?”

  He kissed her. Hard. Deep. Desperately. Wildly. Isabella. Isabella! “You are never scaring me like that again,” he vowed. He pulled her closer. Held her so tight, and let out a roar of absolute relief.

  The door flew open, banging against the wall. “Griffin!” Carter yelled. “Is she—”

  His roar hadn’t been from grief. “My mate is back.” And she would never, ever be hurt again. Not while he lived.

  “Hell, yes!” Carter’s footsteps retreated. “Hell, yes!” The door closed once more.

  Isabella stared into Griffin’s eyes. “I was cold.”

  She was breaking his heart.

  “I couldn’t feel you.” Her fingers rose and pressed over Griffin’s heart—the heart that beat for her. “I needed you.”

  “Sweetheart, I’ll be with you forever.”

  A furrow appeared between her brows. “He was curing me…”

  Griffin tensed.

  Isabella shook her head. Her delicate jaw hardened. “No.” Her voice was stronger. “He was killing me.” The darkness of her gaze deepened. “You saved me.”

  “Isabella, you saved me from day one.” He kissed her again. Relief was making him dizzy. Isabella—she was okay. The bond that his kind had feared—that bond had saved them both. “I love you.”

  She smiled for him. And his beast wasn’t afraid any longer.

  As he stared at her, Isabella appeared to become stronger, healthier. She ripped the IV out of her arm and shoved it aside, and then she was locking her arms around him. Pulling him close. “They were wrong,” Isabella whispered against his mouth.

  “What?”

  “All of the stories. The warnings. You didn’t gobble me. You made me stronger.” She licked his lower lip. “Griffin, I love you.”

  His breath heaved out. “And I live and die for you.” Did she realize that? Did she understand—at all—just how much of his soul she owned?

  Isabella gave a little laugh. “I think we’re done with dying,” she said, her voice a husky caress. “How about we try living—a very long time—with each other?”

  To quote Carter… “Hell, yes.”

  Griffin kissed his vampire. Inside, his beast growled his pleasure. Then Griffin lifted his head and gazed into Isabella’s beautiful eyes.

  Don’t look into her eyes. If you do, she’ll take your soul.

  She didn’t have to take it. It had been hers from the very beginning, just as his heart was hers. And hers alone.

  My Isabella.

  Her mouth took his again, and, soon, Griffin knew he’d be taking her.

  Forever.

  ###

  If you enjoyed FORBIDDEN BITE, be sure to check out BITE THE DUST by Cynthia Eden. Turn the page for a peek at BITE THE DUST.

  Bite The Dust (Blood and Moonlight, Book 1)

  Vampires. Werewolves. Beasts that hunt in the night. When New Orleans Detective Jane Hart investigates her first official homicide case, she never expects to have her world ripped apart. But the murder she’s investigating is part of a deadly war between vampires and werewolves…and now Jane is caught in that eternal battle. A battle that can’t end well.

  Werewolf Aidan Locke has been running New Orleans for years. It’s his job to keep the vamps out of the city. But when a Master Vampire comes to town, determined to unleash hell, Aidan knows it’s time to fight with all the fury of his pack. Beast versus vamp, until the last breath. Then he meets Jane…

  One look, one taste, and Aidan knows that Jane is far more than she seems. Far more than she even knows herself to be. She’s important in the paranormal war, not a pawn to be used, but a queen to be won. And if he can’t keep her at his side, if he can’t stop the darkness from descending on the town…then Jane Hart will become not just a fierce cop, not some guardian, but something deadlier. Darker. Aidan will fight heaven and hell to change her fate. To change their fate because he is more than just a predator.

  And Jane is more than prey. Far more.

  The world is changing—for the humans and the monsters. Hot, sexy, and intense, BITE THE DUST is the first novel in New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Cynthia Eden’s dark new “Blood and Moonlight” series.

  Bite The Dust — Chapter One

  No one should die that way.

  Detective Jane Hart stared at the broken body in the middle of Bourbon Street, a doll that had been cast aside. The victim’s skin was too pale. Her eyes were wide open—dark—seeming to still show the girl’s po
or terror.

  A crowd had gathered. Hardly a surprise. There was always a crowd on Bourbon Street. Jane could hear the whispers and rumbles behind her as everyone strained to get a look at the body.

  The naked body. The victim had been dumped, just tossed aside, near the side of Hell’s Gate. Music blasted from the interior of the bar, and plenty of folks were still packed inside the place.

  How long had the victim been out there, those desperate eyes still open in death as she waited to be found? How many people had just walked past her before someone had actually stopped and realized…

  She’s dead. Not passed out. Not in some drunken stupor. She’s dead.

  The fact that her throat was ripped open—that should have given someone a freaking clue.

  “Detective Hart?”

  It was one of the uniforms, looking green. He’d been the first on scene, and when he’d called in the homicide, she’d been close by. Her captain had sent her over. My first official case as a homicide detective. More cops were coming—a crime scene team was on the way.

  “There’s so much blood,” the uniform murmured. Mason. Mason Mitchell. A guy in his early twenties with light blond hair and the horrified gaze that told her he hadn’t seen very many bodies before.

  Maybe he was new to the beat.

  There are always bodies in this city. Once upon a time, the Big Easy had boasted the highest murder rate of any U.S. city.

  But things had changed.

  Tell that to the girl on the ground.

  “Just help me keep everyone back,” Jane told him, rubbing at her right side. An old habit, one that she’d never been able to shake. Her fingers pressed hard in that spot, just for a moment, then she squared her shoulders. “I want a closer look at her.”

  Mason was right. There really was a whole lot of blood. Way too much for a typical scene. It looked as if the victim’s throat had been slit wide open, from ear to ear. A horrible way to die but…

  Maybe it was quick. The slice of a knife, then she fell.

  The victim had been pretty. With long red hair and pale skin. Too young, far too young. But then, there were plenty of girls who were too young on Bourbon Street. They stood in dimly lit doorways, clad in negligees that offered little to the imagination, and they invited passers-by to come in for dances.

  Jane crouched over the body, trying to be very, very careful not to touch the victim. The girl was on her back, with her hands spread out at her sides and her legs closed. Perfectly closed. He posed her at death.

  Chill bumps rose on Jane’s arms. The posing was not a good sign. Right, like slitting her throat was a good thing. Her eyes narrowed. There wasn’t any strong light out there, and maybe that was why the girl had just laid there so long.

  And not because the people just hadn’t given a shit about her.

  Jane pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight app. She directed the light at the girl’s neck.

  No missing that horrible slice but…

  Something else was there. On the left side. About a centimeter above the slice, Jane could see…

  Two small holes. Puncture wounds? Yes, yes, they looked like puncture wounds.

  Her gaze trailed back up to the victim’s face. No one deserves this death. Jane wanted to take off her jacket and cover the young victim—there was just something about her eyes—but she knew that wasn’t possible. She’d contaminate the scene, and the last thing she wanted to do was destroy any evidence.

  She heard the cry of a siren behind her, and Jane jumped. She glanced back over her shoulder, her gaze cutting through the crowd, and that was when she saw—

  Him.

  Tall. Broad shoulders. He was wearing black—a black t-shirt and dark jeans. His hair was dark, too—dark and thick, as it framed his face. A face that wasn’t handsome, but rather…dangerous. Intense.

  Predatory?

  Yes, the way he was staring at the scene was all wrong. The way he was staring at her was just wrong, and Jane’s hand automatically went to her holster.

  His gaze—she couldn’t tell what color his eyes were—followed the movement, and a faint smile curved his lips.

  What. In. The. Hell?

  Her eyes narrowed as she marched toward him.

  Other cops were finally at the scene. And she saw the flash of yellow police tape. Perfect. About time that area got sectioned off.

  Two uniformed cops hurried toward her, blocking her before she could reach the guy who was still smiling.

  “Detective Hart—”

  “Secure the scene’s perimeter,” she said, getting straight to the point. “And get those idiots with the camera phones to stop taking their pictures.” Yeah, she’d seen those fools, too. Frat boys who were laughing as they recorded. Drunk idiots. This wasn’t some show—it was a person’s life.

  Death.

  At her words, the tall, dark stranger glanced over at the frat boys. His smile vanished and she saw his square jaw harden.

  Using his inattention to her advantage, Jane closed in on him. She saw his nostrils flare when she was about five feet away, and his head jerked back toward her. Their eyes met—for an instant—and then he backed away. Fast.

  Oh, no, you don’t.

  She surged forward and her hand slapped down on his arm. “Excuse me, sir, but I’m gonna need a word.” Her southern accent thickened a bit with those words.

  Not a New Orleans accent, because that was a different beast. Mississippi. Gulf Coast. Because once upon a time, she’d been a Mississippi girl.

  Until her world had ripped apart.

  Her hand tightened on the guy’s arm. He’d stopped backing away. Actually, he’d gone as still as a statue beneath her touch. A big statue. About six foot three, two hundred twenty pounds.

  Maybe he was the kind of guy who used his size to intimidate people.

  She wasn’t intimidated.

  “I’m Detective Jane Hart.” She nodded. “And you are…”

  For a moment, she didn’t think he’d answer. Her left hand gripped his arm and her right was still poised just above her holster.

  “Locke.”

  She waited, but there was nothing else. Jane let her brows climb. “That a first name or a last?”

  His head tilted toward her. “She suffered.”

  He said it as if it weren’t a question. Alarm bells were going off like crazy in Jane’s head. The way this guy was acting—it was so not a typical bystander response. It was more the response of…

  A predator.

  A killer.

  “Why are you out here tonight, Mr. Locke?” Jane pushed.

  His gaze swept over her. She didn’t like that. Didn’t like him. He was making her feel too on edge, and where she touched him, her skin actually felt warm.

  Bad.

  Killers could be attractive. Alluring. She knew, she’d sure spent plenty of time studying them. Ted Bundy had certainly used his looks to lure in his victims. Handsome faces could hide horrible monsters, she knew that.

  This guy isn’t handsome. He’s big and strong and dangerous.

  “I own Hell.”

  Her hold tightened on him.

  But he motioned to the club behind her. “Hell’s Gate, it’s mine. So when I heard about the body, I had to come outside. Terrible thing, this. Terrible.”

  He owned the club. The victim had just been left outside his place of business…right, not suspicious at all. “Did you know her?”

  “I haven’t gotten a good look at her yet.”

  She didn’t believe those rumbling words.

  “It’s a shame,” he suddenly said, his voice dropping, “what some people will do in this city…the lengths they will go to…people want to stay young and strong forever.”

  Jane looked back at the victim. Dead far too young.

  “Good luck finding the killer,” Locke said.

  She turned her focus back to him. “I’ll want to talk to your staff. They may have seen something—”

  “They
didn’t.”

  He was too sure of that.

  Her lips thinned. “Do you understand what cooperation is? Because if you don’t, you’re about to. When a woman’s body is dumped outside your business, it’s bad. Very bad. And when you stare out at the scene like you’re some kind of—of—” Words failed her.

  He waited.

  “You look predatory,” Jane said flatly as her hand slid away from him. “There is no sympathy on your face. You seem to be…” Hunting. But she didn’t say that part, not out loud. She did have some restraint. Sometimes.

  His head inclined toward her. “I hate this happened to that young woman.” Now his words were coated with emotion—emotion that she actually wanted to believe. “It’s a waste. A terrible shame. She should still be living her life and now things will just…end. They have to end.”

  Uh, yeah, about that…“I think they ended when some SOB sliced her throat open.”

  Mason called her name.

  She didn’t move.

  “I have more questions for you,” she said to Locke, a warning edge in her voice.

  “I wish I had answers for you.”

  Okay, that was just a weird-ass response. She didn’t have time for weird-ass anything. She glanced over at Mason. “I want you to make Locke comfortable in the back of a patrol car until I can question him again…”

  Mason bounded forward. “Make who?”

  “Locke.” She glanced back at her suspect. “Make him—” Only he wasn’t there. Locke had vanished, disappeared in an instant. “Sonofabitch.” She surged forward, pushing through the crowd, elbowing her way past the frat jerks with their phones—still filming. Such assholes. I will so be confiscating those phones later. She didn’t see Locke, not to the left, and not to the right. The guy had slipped away from her.

  Jane whirled back to look at Hell’s Gate. Did he really own the club? Or had that just been bull?

  Mason rushed toward her, huffing. “The ME is here.”

  “Get in Hell,” she told him curtly. “See if a man named Locke is there. If he is, drag his ass out for me.”

  “Um…do what, ma’am?”