Crimson

by Jordan Summers

  She crossed her arms. “They won’t believe a vamp,” Catherine said defiantly.

  “Silly girl, vampires don’t exist.” Raphael grinned, flashing his fangs. “Do you really want to stand before a tribunal and blame an imaginary creature for all your woes? You’d have to reveal the little secret you’ve been keeping in order to prove it.”

  Catherine chewed on her bottom lip, drawing Raphael’s eyes away from her gaze. He’d kissed those lips, drank from the sweetness like a man lost in the desert. And he’d do so again, if he had anything to say about it. She couldn’t deny what had occurred between them. The room crackled with sexual tension. Raphael had never thought anything could taste better than hot, sweet blood, but he’d been wrong.

  “Would you out me?” she asked, drawing into herself. Catherine’s green eyes widened.

  “I wouldn’t have to,” he said. She’d do that herself by talking. Catherine must have realized the same thing because her expression turned bleak.

  “Can’t we make a deal?” she asked after several seconds of silence.

  Raphael glanced at his hands and made a show of thinking about it. “Depends.” He shrugged. “What do you have in mind?”

  “You let me go and I forget all about the whole kidnapping thing.”

  “That sounds reasonable, but do you think kidnapping—which you can’t prove—is comparable to murder? Seems like I’m on the losing end of this deal.” He stepped closer to the rest pad.

  Catherine sighed loudly. “Shouldn’t Roark Montgomery factor into all this? I mean, he’s the one who gassed me with the mind control drug, Scarlet. He’s the one who sent me on my murderous rampage. And let’s not forget, he imprisoned your friends. I’d say the blame rests firmly on his shoulders.”

  Raphael’s voice grew cold. “Roark will be dealt with, but not until we can prove Red’s and Morgan’s innocence. Until then, it’s just you left to hang in the desert wind for his deeds.”

  “Terrific.” She balked. “I guess I have no choice but to help.” Catherine clasped the sheet and scrambled to the edge of the rest pad.

  “Everyone has a choice, including you,” he said, tonguing the tip of his incisor. Raphael needed her help. Catherine could get into IPTT headquarters. She could meet with the commander and ask for his assistance, if need be.

  “Not this time,” she said, shivering under his regard.

  He could smell her body beginning to ripen. Raphael swallowed hard and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “That is a matter of perception,” he said.

  “Are you going to tell me what you want me to do or do I have to guess?” she asked.

  “So cute, but so short tempered,” Raphael said. “You must’ve been a handful for your parents.”

  For a second, Catherine looked pained. He wasn’t sure what he’d said to upset her, but Raphael had no doubt he’d struck some kind of chord. Her hurt expression vanished, quickly replaced with a dagger-shooting glare. “I’m waiting.” Her tiny foot tapped the floor angrily.

  “You want to know what I want you to do. Fine,” he said. His gaze flicked to the thin material covering her. “You can start by losing the sheet.”

  Raphael’s smile turned feral. He even flashed both fangs. Chaos had no doubt he’d done it on purpose. The move should’ve repulsed her, but instead, it ignited her blood. She hadn’t expected the quiver of anticipation to course through her body or the rush of renewed heat that moistened her core.

  Damn him.

  She’d promised herself she wouldn’t sleep with him again—no matter how pleasurable she’d found it to be—after he began locking her in the room. And it had been pleasurable. She’d never experienced anything like their lovemaking. It took great sex to a level few could achieve.

  Chaos glanced down in time to see the sheet hit the floor. She looked at Raphael, who hadn’t moved. His black eyes simmered with hunger, scorching her flesh wherever they roved. Her nipples hardened under his perusal, turning a bright rose.

  He reached for his shirt and began to undress slowly. The man was magnificent. Long and solid with dark, brooding looks that drew her forward. He was comfortable in his sexuality and rightly so given his talent in the carnal arts. He’d brought her to release three times with his mouth and tongue before he’d ever entered her. And from the look on Raphael’s face, he planned to do it again and again, even though he had nothing to prove.

  Chaos squeezed her thighs together and kept her expression blank. She didn’t want him to know how much she looked forward to this. How much she wanted this. Wanted him. A girl could get addicted if she wasn’t careful. She’d entered Nuria with no clue that Others existed. Now she was willingly sleeping with a vampire. She should be committed. Most people would be screaming right about now, but not her. No, she went looking for trouble and had found it—all six foot two of it.

  He tongued his fangs sensually and she felt her neck and thigh tingle where he’d bitten her earlier. This was so wrong. Wanting him was wrong. The logical side of her knew that, but the tactile being didn’t care. It wanted another taste of this man, this creature, who could infuriate her one minute and seduce her the next.

  What was the matter with her? She wasn’t thinking clearly. Chaos needed some space. Yep, that would take care of everything. She opened her mouth to tell him. At the same moment, Raphael dropped his pants, revealing his straining erection. Veins corded the thick length, leading up and up to a flushed crown. Her mouth went dry.

  Nope, nothing to prove.

  It would be easy to blame Raphael for the predicament Chaos found herself in, but he hadn’t been there the day she went to Roark Montgomery’s office with Lieutenant Bannon Richards. She’d gone on her own accord. Raphael also hadn’t drugged her with influ-gas and programmed her to kill. That had been Roark, too. And he wasn’t forcing her now to lie back on the rest pad and open her legs in preparation for him. Nope, she was doing that all on her own.

  Raphael gave her a triumphant grin. He’d won and he knew it.

  chapter six

  M

  iles and miles of sand and not a drop to drink. The sun rose less than thirty minutes ago and already Michael could feel his brain baking inside his skull. Sizzle. Pop. He didn’t know how far he’d walked since crossing the boundary fence. Probably not far. Too bad his body didn’t agree. It felt weighted, sucked down by the sand pooling around his feet. For all his strength, there was an underlying frailty.

  Michael knew this firsthand, even without the chip in his frontal lobe to remind him.

  He gazed out at the barren abyss. It stretched as far as the eye could see. He glanced down. Footprints were impossible to follow. The sand swallowed them up in one bite, greedy for more. Michael inhaled. Hot air singed his nostrils, burning his sinuses. Red’s and Morgan’s wolf scent remained elusive. Like the sand and the sun, the air’s aroma toyed with him, whispering promises it had no intention to keep.

  A shadow slipped past Michael in his peripheral vision. He turned, but there was nothing there beyond vast emptiness. There was never anything there, yet Michael continued to see them. The shadows followed him, waiting like vultures for him to drop so they could pounce and pick his bones clean.

  Once again Michael wondered if he should make it easy on them. The vampire inside of him roared in defiance.

  “Stay the fuck away from me.” He swung his fist wildly, contacting with nothing but hot air.

  Michael refused to sit down. That’s what the shadows wanted. He’d be damned if he would give in. His gaze locked on the horizon. Waves of heat rode the dunes, surfing them into oblivion. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

  “Where are you?” he shouted.

  He’d put out the bounty just like Roark had asked. Michael hadn’t wanted to do it, but he’d had no choice. Roark would’ve found out had he not and he would’ve pressed the button. Couldn’t afford for him to press the button again. The button was bad. Bad button. Made Michael hu
rt.

  He needed to get the chip out. That was the only way to prevent the pain and madness from taking over. He could feel the chip digging in, anchoring itself somehow. Michael clawed at his skin until blood ran down his face, blinding him. It was no use. The bone wouldn’t give. The only way he’d succeed was if he found Morgan and Red first. Then, and only then, would Roark remove the blasted chip.

  Michael stumbled and dropped to his knees. For a second his hands looked as if they’d been dipped into a scarlet puddle. Splashy. Splashy. Licky. Licky. He blinked, clearing the mirage. All that remained was dried blood. Fighting the urge to shove his fingers in his mouth and suckle, Michael forced himself to stand. He needed to find shelter before the sun evaporated the last of his sanity. His clothes wouldn’t protect him during the worst heat of the day, not with his telekinetic power drained.

  Scanning the area, Michael spotted a dark mass in the distance. He couldn’t tell what it was from here, but anything beat the endless sand.

  Forging on, Michael climbed dune after dune until he lost count. The dark form was beginning to take shape now. At least he hoped it was. He couldn’t afford for his shelter to be a figment of his imagination.

  The sand had been talking to him for the last forty-five minutes. It beaconed him to rest like a siren luring weary sailors to their death. Michael plugged his ears and screamed to drown out its insidious voice.

  Not much farther now.

  He was almost there.

  Michael could see the rock up ahead, its corpulent noggin protruding from the sand in defiance. A giggle burst from his parched throat, morphing into a hacking cough. He threw himself against the rock grateful for the tiniest increment of shade. Michael patted the giant mammoth and crooned to it, stroking its hard surface. So pretty and welcoming, almost like it had been left here for him.

  He plopped down, putting his back against the rock face and dug into his pack for the canteen. The water did little to quench his thirst. Only fresh blood could do that now. Michael decided to wait here and rest until the early evening. Night would make traveling much easier. With any luck, Morgan and Red would do the same.

  chapter seven

  “I

  ’m going to take you back to International Police Tactical Team headquarters today,” Raphael said. He buttoned his shirt before fastening his pants.

  Chaos sat on the rest pad not sure she’d heard him correctly. “Why?” There had to be a reason for his sudden change of heart.

  “It’s what you wanted, right? Or have you changed your mind?” Irritation grated his voice as he yanked his dark hair back into a tight, painful-looking queue.

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind. I need to get back to IPTT before they send a team after me. I’m just curious, what changed your mind?” Chaos asked.

  Raphael’s jaw clenched. “Just be happy I did. I do not need to remind you about our agreement.”

  Chaos’ heart sank. He was only doing it because of their agreement, not because there was anything else going on between them. She should’ve known. You tried to frame his friend for murder and would’ve killed her given half the chance. Did you really think he’d developed feelings for you? Your own parents didn’t want you. Why would he? Chaos looked away when her eyes started to burn.

  She wouldn’t turn him in for kidnapping no matter how tempting the thought. She’d go back to IPTT headquarters and do damage control. While she was there, she’d check on Bannon Richards. He’d been with her when Roark Montgomery gassed them. Perhaps he was suffering the ill-effects of the influ-gas, too. That was the first time she’d ever been to the politician’s office in the Republic of Missouri. The visit hadn’t been memorable and now she knew why.

  Chaos had gone with Raphael and the Nurian Tactical Team to help break Gina Santiago and Morgan Hunter out of Roark’s secret cell below his office. Not that she’d had much choice at the time. Raphael had made it abundantly clear she had to go. Partly so he could keep an eye on her and partly to pay for the lives she’d taken while under the gas’s influence.

  She hadn’t seen the filth, but she’d heard the cell described by the other men. Chaos shuddered at the thought of being locked away without a fair tribunal hearing. She’d watched the history vids and knew it had taken place in the past, but Chaos had thought that the Dead World had moved beyond that stage in its evolution.

  “Are you going to get dressed or am I going to have to dress you?” Raphael asked. The bite in his tone caught her off guard. What was he mad about? Chaos had given him her word last night that she wouldn’t have him arrested.

  “I can do it myself,” she said. “Just give me time to use the cleansing unit.”

  “Don’t take too long or you may find yourself walking. I’ve asked Jim Thornton to take you and I’m not sure how long he’ll wait.”

  Chaos stopped halfway to the cleansing unit door. She’d thought when he’d said he was letting her go that Raphael meant he’d be taking her back. “You’re not coming,” she said, confused and more than a little disappointed.

  Disappointed? She should be happy. She’d be out of here soon. Isn’t that what she wanted all along?

  Raphael’s harsh expression softened a fraction. “I have to go find my brother. He works for Roark and I haven’t been able to contact him.”

  She bit her lip. “Do you think what Morgan and Red said about the A.I. chip was true?”

  “I don’t know and I won’t know until I talk to him. Their word combined with your experience with the influ-gas has given me many reasons to be concerned.”

  She nodded and continued into the cleansing unit. Chaos didn’t know why it bothered her so much that Raphael wouldn’t be the one returning her to IPTT. She’d wanted nothing more than to see the backside of him for the past week or so. Maybe she’d developed Stockholm syndrome. Could great sex cause that?

  Chaos didn’t really have a point of reference. She’d had decent sex in the past, but nothing like what she’d experienced with Raphael. Chaos wasn’t sure what she was more surprised about, the sex or the fact that she’d stumbled upon a town full of Others.

  She’d never met anyone like herself. Not that she was like Raphael or the men and women she’d encountered here. Her ability to disorient and disrupt human thought was rare even for this town. She wasn’t an Other—at least she didn’t think she was, but Chaos definitely understood the need for discretion. She had spent her entire adult life hiding her powers and running from a past that she neither understood nor cared to explore.

  Chaos showered quickly and got dressed. She didn’t think Raphael would change his mind about releasing her, but she didn’t want to take the chance that he might. When she opened the door he was gone. Her belongings had been placed on a chair in the corner. The same one he’d tied her to right before bringing her pleasure that she’d never known existed. Chaos could still smell sex and his manly scent wafting in the air, but the musk was fading quickly. She inhaled, trying to store the memory.

  You’re pathetic.

  She shook her head in disgust, angry she was even thinking about what they’d shared. There was something seriously wrong with her if she believed there was more to their romp than manipulation. “He’s moved on already. Deal with it,” she muttered under her breath.

  The door to the room was open.

  Chaos poked her head out and looked around, but the yellow hall with flowers painted on it was empty like the ache growing inside of her. She stepped out and shut the door behind her. All the other doors remained closed as she picked her way down the hall, her footfalls silent on the fur-covered floor.

  Raphael was waiting at the water trader bar with a portly redheaded man whose thick glasses made his brown eyes look enormous. He motioned her over when her foot hit the bottom step.

  “Catherine, this is Jim Thornton. He’s the director of the local dissecting lab,” Raphael said. He sounded so normal. Nothing like the man who’d had her stripped bare an hour ago and crying out for release.<
br />
  “Nice to meet you,” Chaos said, frowning at the about-face.

  Raphael placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Jim is going to take you back to IPTT.”

  Jim eyes widened and his gaze shot to Raphael, who casually released him. His attention turned back to her and he smiled broadly. “It’ll be my pleasure, my dear.”

  “Thanks,” Chaos said. She opened her mouth to ask Raphael if she could have a word with him, but he beat her to the punch.

  “I’d better get going,” he said. “Like you, I have a long ride ahead of me.” Raphael barely glanced at her before he strode toward the door.

  Chaos stared at his retreating form as he put his sunshades on and slipped out into the early morning light. She waited to see if he’d look back. Just one glance to confirm that last night wasn’t just another blip on his sexual radar, but he didn’t. The sting of rejection burned strong.

  Fine, two could play that game, Chaos thought as she pushed past the pain. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” she said.

  Jim adjusted the thick glasses perched on his nose. “Not at all. I like to start my patrols early. Got to get to the bodies while they’re still fresh.”

  Chaos inwardly grimaced, then gave the water trader one more look around before heading out the door. She knew there was a very good chance she wouldn’t be back. Nuria held too many memories, some she’d rather forget.

  Raphael stayed in the shadows, watching as Catherine and Jim climbed into the hydrogen car. Her head was down and she looked determined, if not a little lost. Other than a few covert glances out the window, Catherine showed no emotion whatsoever. What did you expect? You’ve been holding her against her will. Not exactly the way to a woman’s heart. His body shook as Raphael forced himself to remain rooted where he stood. Every fiber of his being wanted to go after her. Stop her. Keep her.

  The last thought brought Raphael up short. He didn’t keep women. He bedded them and then he moved on. If they were donors, then he’d visit them a few times, but he always broke it off before an emotional attachment could form. It had been easy. An ingrained habit that was second nature . . . that was until Catherine came along.