Draven’s Crossing III:
Hidden Diversions
Selena Illyria
Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
DRAVEN’S CROSSING III: HIDDEN DIVERSIONS
Copyright © 2012 SELENA ILLYRIA
ISBN 978-1-61292-060-3
Cover Art Designed By Anastasia Rabiyah
Edited by T. Markou and Diana Castilleja
Dedication:
For the Readers who were so patient. Thank you! Thank you to PSP for your patience as well.
To: Cherise, Chris, Dawn, Tilly, Cynnie, Jess, Andrea and Shar for your input, support, laughs and suggestions.
“Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.”
- Polonius, Hamlet, Shakespeare
Chapter One
SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE
No leads yet. Mayor silent. -Isadora Jones, DC News Blast
Tension rushed through Torger’s veins. One leg jiggled as he tried not to get up and pace. Draven continued to drone on about the Council’s wishes on the serial killer matter. He didn’t want to think about the killer, in fact he didn’t want to even be here. He was at the end of his rope on all sides. Everywhere he turned the press was on his heels, asking him questions that he didn’t have the answers to, demanding time and energy that he couldn’t afford to lose. There was nothing to tell anyone. Any leads they’d gotten when Jackal had stumbled upon that cult from a few weeks ago had evaporated. The leader had killed himself somehow and any members that hadn’t been caught were in the wind. Frustration was a constant emotional companion at the DCPD. All of his officers and detectives were working overtime and then some. All cases that could be put on the backburner had been. The main focus of his department was the serial killer. No one was more anxious for news than Torger. Not even Draven, the vampire mayor of Draven’s Crossing, could compete with Torger’s anticipation. Every day that a lead didn’t pan out was a day lost.
Things weren’t helped by DC News’ top reporter, Isadora Jones, calling him for interviews. Lately, he’d been trying to avoid her at all costs. It didn’t have anything to do with the case and everything to do with the erotic dreams that haunted the little sleep he’d been able to catch. Heat flared in his stomach. Arousal wound its way through his body as snippets of that latest dream surfaced. The fantasies had always been there, but they became more prominent with her daily phone calls and emails. She’d even taken to appearing at his home in the morning with coffee in hand, asking for a quote for her column or her show or her blog. He could picture her features clearly, delicate features, fierce stare, full lips so plump and tempting, brown eyes hard and full of determination, jaw set, dark brown curls streaked with bright pink falling to her shoulders in a silken curtain that he just wanted to run his fingers through. The heat grew as need scratched through his veins and blood filled his cock, thickening it. His shaft pressed against his fly making his pants feel tight. This time he did squirm a little as he tried to bat away the desire.
When was the last time he’d taken care of his arousal problem? He couldn’t really remember. Work consumed him, weakening his defenses. His wolf’s dark amber eyes gazed back at him filled with a question. It was the same query that the animal had asked the moment they’d met Isy: Are you going to claim her or not? Torger didn’t have answers to give the beast. Isy was a dragon shifter; dragons normally stuck to their kind. Isadora did go her own way in all things, stubbornly so, which he was both grateful for and annoyed by. He wasn’t sure about her moods. She always left him feeling like he’d just been hit by a storm and left to clean up the damage. It was exhilarating but made him yearn for more time with her that had nothing to do with their jobs. Could they even have a relationship?
“Torger, can you please pull your head out of Never, Neverland and join us? I was asking you a question.” Draven glared at him, his black eyes filled with annoyance.
Torger shifted in his chair again. He cleared his throat as he tried to decide how to contribute to the conversation but wasn’t sure what to say. “There’s nothing. We don’t have a single lead that has panned out. Unless the killer gets sloppy, I’m pretty sure that his batting average will remain the same.” Just saying those words had bile rising in his throat and coating the back of his tongue with an acidic tang.
Draven sighed and turned his back to face the window. “So we’re fucked is what you’re telling me. That’s unacceptable. There has to be something we can do. Short of telling people to stay away and institute Martial Law, which the citizens will be opposed to. They’re doing everything they can to help out and with the Ball coming up my plate is so full, I haven’t seen my desk in weeks. Rose is working herself to the bone with PR. Give me suggestions, guys. Anything. I don’t even want to discuss the ideas that the Council is suggesting to me.”
Draven turned around, a plea in his dark eyes. Torger wanted to give his friend and boss help but there wasn’t anything he could do. “I’ll keep trying. I promise you, I’ll have something for you, even if it’s small, by the end of the week.”
Jagger, Draven’s vampiric man of all trades, looked skeptical and Draven looked surprised, but it was all Torger could say to ease the situation, even a little bit. He would do whatever it took to find a clue on the killer even if it meant using himself as bait. As for Isy, those fantasies would have to stay where they were. There was no time for a pursuit of attraction, not when his city, his turf, was in danger.
* * * *
Isy groaned and wriggled as Torger kissed his way up her belly. Soft swipes of his tongue added to the sensations shimmering through her body. Delicious, sweet butterfly kisses that teased her and wound her arousal up into a tight ball. She squirmed under his touches, she tried to lift her legs to wrap them around his waist but they wouldn’t move, not even an inch. He’d tied them down tight to her bedposts, much to her delight. Her arms were the same way. She’d insisted that he take control, let his inner alpha wolf out and he’d complied beyond her wildest dreams. So far he’d flogged her, tied her down and blindfolded her and now was torturing so sweetly that she couldn’t ask for anything else. If only he’d fuck her senseless, then things really would be perfect. Instead, he took his time, teasing her with the lightest of touches. She wasn’t sure whether to scream or lay there and take it all. Who knew when they’d get another chance like this?
Bang. Bang. Bang. “Isy! Isy! You’re on in an hour.”
Isy groaned and rolled over on the couch. She didn’t want to wake up. Not now. Torger was so close to kissing her. She didn’t want to delay that any longer. Months of fantasies and wondering what his lips would taste like would evaporate if she woke up now.
Isy! Get up! Come on, we need you. Ivan Evanson is here for the interview.
Isy swore under her breath. “All right, all right, I’m getting up.”
She opened her eyes with reluctance and prayed that she’d be able to continue the dream later that night. It was doubtful given her workload. So far, all she’d had were fleeting fantasies that evaporated come morning. With a shake of her head, she dispersed the last of the dream though tendrils of arousal still wrapped around her tight. Her dragon d
idn’t say anything, much to her relief. If her beast had decided to give her its input, she was sure that the dragon would harp on the unresolved desires that Isy was trying to hide from. All the calls and visits to his cabin didn’t help matters. She’d say it was for work but in reality, she was worried about the toll the serial killer case was taking on him.
Torger looked more worn down and tired. There were bags under his eyes and he looked more inclined to bite a person’s head off than answer a simple question. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the pressure he was under but wanted to help. Only, everything she said came out about the case when she meant to invite him out for coffee or dinner. Whether that led to sex, she could only hope. How can you talk to a person when your jobs clash?
She smirked at the turn her thoughts had taken. “I need to get laid and fast.”
With a sigh she sat up, rose from the couch and opened the door, praying the interview with Representative Evanson didn’t piss her off. All that unburned sexual tension could lead to an outburst she couldn’t take back and that would be bad. Especially since it would be live, which could lead to a viral sound bite she’d never be able to live down. Maybe she’d even lose her job.
“Isadora?” Hamilcar’s gruff voice drifted from behind her.
She let out a small scream and whirled around. Pain lanced her fingers as they morphed into claws, ready to rip into anyone who dared attack her. Once she saw that it was only the masked black dragon of chaos and Draven’s head of security, she let out a sigh of relief and willed her fingers to return to human form. “Damn it, Car, don’t sneak up on me. Can’t you use the door like everyone else? We may be cousins but for all you know I could have been naked in here.” A small jolt of pleasure made her smile at the teasing of her cousin.
Crimson splotches spread through his cheeks, and his black eyes glimmered with an unidentifiable emotion. He swallowed; his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down making her smile, too. Poor thing is nervous.
She waved away her comment. “Okay, what’s up?”
He cleared his throat. “It’s Torger, we’re worried about him. We think he’s trying to take on too much,” Hamilcar started.
Isy’s heart skipped a beat as worry fluttered around her stomach. “What the hell has he done now? If he’s trying to kill himself, I’ll kill him first and then bring him back and force a vacation on him.” The words came out before she could stop them or call them back or even phrase them better. So far, she’d hid her interest in Torger from her family pretty well. Up ‘til now that was.
Hamilcar blinked. He shifted and said nothing. The black dragon pulled down the bottom part of his mask, exposing his full face. Sharp angles, high cheekbones and thin lips were revealed. Dark bags hung under his almond shaped eyes. “We think perhaps you should stop asking about the case. We’re asking all of the press to do so. He’s so frustrated, we think he may take hunting the serial killer too far and hurt himself. We’re asking for your silence and patience. Normally we wouldn’t ask such a thing but for now…” His words trailed off.
Isy got the gist; she didn’t need to say anything else. They weren’t asking them to put a lid on the story, just not pester Torger so much. She could do that but one question was on the tip of her tongue. “Why’d they send you?”
The crimson turned nearly black. “W-w-w-e are family,” he stammered out.
Isy chuckled. “Poor, Hamilcar, you were never good at communication. It’s okay. I promise to back off of Tor but is there anything to report? We’re getting pretty restless. The citizens are defying the killer by going out and living their lives. They’re not letting the bastard take away their freedom, and they’ll fight the Council if they have to keep the city alive.”
Hamilcar bowed his head. “We know and understand that, but unfortunately this killer is crafty. There’s nothing. Which is odd in and of itself.”
Isy understood that. “Yeah, tell me about it. Look, I have an interview to do. I’ll see you at the family dinner this weekend.”
Hamilcar didn’t even say goodbye, he just disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, leaving behind a perfume laden with incense, sandalwood and ashes.
Isy sighed. “My family really does need to learn manners.”
* * * *
Pale pink walls gleamed with warmth like the fresh flush from a shy maid. The Easter egg yellow tiled floor shone happily, while the thin white lines of grout fairly glowed under the florescent overhead light. The faint scent of roses and a light metallic tinge of human blood mingled with a hint of ammonia floating on the air. Abbott hummed along with the opening strains of the Sleeping Beauty ballet as the hush of voices from the television kept him company. He stood back and admired his work. The puncture points were perfectly spaced and neat. It was important to be tidy. No mistakes must be made. He gave a careless glance at the picture pinned to a large refrigeration unit across from him and nodded. Just like the photo. “Such a beautiful man,” Abbott murmured as he stroked the man’s auburn colored hair.
A gentle heat rose in his body. Blood slipped into his groin and filled his cock. The shaft pressed against the formless, loose pants Abbott wore. The vague taste of mint and Irish crème rolled over his taste buds. Abbott sighed. He could still remember how eager the young man had been, and that had only added to Abbott’s hunger. He flexed his fingers as minute tremors shook through him. His gums began to ache as the muted pounding of hunger pinged in his belly. His stomach growled as he took a moment to admire the high cheekbones and collagen plumped lips. The deathly pallor of his now alabaster skin gave his hair a fiery tone that made it seem almost alive with red and blond highlights. Abbott looked over the naked form of the man. Carved perfection due to hours in the gym, his body was a useless temple. An empty husk that no longer housed a soul. From his carefully manicured nails to his pedicured toes, every bit of artifice cultivated for attraction was useless in his eternal slumber.
The man had attracted Abbott, had been so eager for what he’d offered him. “All you wanted was a paranormal experience. Something to take back home to your small town, tell all the folks how you got to drink with vampires and flirt with werewolves. Draven’s Crossing is richer for your coming, I assure you.” Abbott gave the young human male’s hair one last stroke. The night they’d spent together had been beyond any of Abbott’s expectations. He’d thought it would be a simple fuck and kill. But now regret filled him at having taken the life from this young man, whose name he hadn’t even gotten, so soon. With a sigh, Abbott adjusted his thickened penis. Every bit of his willpower was put into turning away from the silent man whose shining blue eyes had been like a beacon, beckoning him to take him and show him what life was all about. It took great effort when all he wanted was one last time with him.
The memories came flooding back, sensation sparked along his nerve endings flooding his body with warmth. So enthusiastic to learn everything that Abbott could give him. From the spankings to the hardest kiss of pain. And yet no marks would be visible, not even in death, Abbott had made sure of that. No, there was nothing left of that bright passion. With another heavy sigh, he turned away from the man on the slab; his erection had faded away. He picked up a bucket. A bit of blood sloshed over the side, marring the yellow with a splash of nearly black-red. Abbott clicked his tongue in distaste and snapped his fingers.
A young, blonde woman appeared instantly, her head bowed, obscuring her plain features. Abbott never liked to look upon any of his adopted children. There was always something wrong with them, something he couldn’t quite place about looking into the eyes of his prodigy, seeing the adoration and appreciation there and yet feeling nothing in return. He was only truly alive during the seduction and kill.
“Master?” her voice soft asked, almost a whisper but high enough to be heard over the music.
“Clean him and place him wherever you feel is necessary. I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked away, the bucket’s blood
y contents splashing against the sides as he walked towards his desk at the far end of the room. He sat down and placed the bucket near the small, white trash bin. With another snap of his fingers, pastel blue candles flared to life, the flames dancing happily before settling down to a quiet burn. Abbott picked up a remote and turned the volume up on the television. The nightly news was playing and soon Isadora Jones would be on to do her segment. Tonight she was supposed to be interviewing a politician. Beneath her clever talent, Abbott thought.
A small spot of heat started in his belly as a searing pain returned to his gums. His fingers itched to touch her smooth, brown face. To memorize each streak of pink and find out why she’d gone with that hair style. Isadora Jones, the only other thing to make him feel anything other than apathy. He wanted to connect to that vibrant life force that blazed from her being. Her aura was a swirl of pinks, blues, yellows, golds, and silvers with bits of red and orange along with the faintest threads of black. It fascinated him that someone could be made of such lightness and yet have the barest hint of darkness.
There had been nights when, bathed in sweat, hand on his cock, he pumped himself off as he thought of all the ways he wanted to fuck her and then kill her. A shudder rippled through him as pangs of pain filled his stomach. Bursts of searing heat filled his mouth as his gums bled and yet no fangs ruptured forth. Blood filled his mouth. Disgust welled up within him at his loss of control. He reached past the bucket of blood and picked up the trashcan, spitting into it and watching the bright pink spittle slip down the sides of the once pristine white plastic. Nothing ever stays untainted, he thought as he put back the receptacle and turned his mind to more pleasant things.
With his mind’s eye, he thought of the last time he had seen Isadora in person, draped in a seductive, deep V neck dress in a shade of the deepest magenta. The plush curves of her breasts and the low back that showed the barest hint of the top of her ass had almost caused him to lose control in public. Well worth it if he’d succeeded in luring her away from Torger. Disgust churned in his gut at the thought of that overbearing, Viking of a werewolf who had lingered far too close to Isadora for Abbott’s liking. One day I’ll lure him in and kill him too and then Isadora will truly be mine. No protector, no one to save her. She’ll be my masterpiece. With that thought, he turned toward his next task. The pain had subsided to a gentle tick in his blood as he focused on the only other thing that truly mattered to him: Isadora Jones.
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