Primal Heat

by Susan Sizemore

  Chapter Thirty-one

  T here you are.”

  The vampire’s voice was annoyingly pleasant as it opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat.

  Michele was stopped at a red light on Las Vegas Boulevard, and the last thing she’d expected was to have the monster suddenly appear beside her car and gesture for her to unlock the door.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Don’t sound so annoyed,” the vampire chided. “I’m the one who’s been all over town looking for you.”

  “You could have thought to call me.”

  The vampire gave her a caustic look. “I do live in the twenty-first century. Your cell phone hasn’t been on. What have you been doing all day?”

  “Hunting a vampire,” Michele answered. “You’re telepathic, why didn’t you call me that way?”

  The light changed and she pressed on the gas pedal, and neon blurred past on either side. Sunset had changed the look of the street, and the Strip was now alight.

  “Even I must conserve my energy sometimes. I have a big night planned.” The vampire tsked. “Vampire hunting is not what I told you to do.”

  “The vampire is protecting the human you told us to kill. He’s with her.”

  “Ah, well. That’s different.” The vampire patted her on the top of the head. “Good work, then. Where is this vampire?”

  Michele frowned as she gave the creature a sideways glance. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be driving in circles trying to pick up his trail.”

  “I see. You were following his car, but you lost sight of him.”

  “Yes. He stopped Andrew from killing the bitch, then I followed him when he tried to follow Andrew. He lost Andrew, but then I lost him.”

  “It’s been a farcical waste of time, in other words.”

  Michele ground her teeth together in frustration. “Yes.”

  “That’s all right, don’t worry about it. It’s up to Andrew to take care of the woman. I have another task for you and the others.”

  “But Andrew needs—”

  “Andrew can take care of himself. Your duty is to do as I tell you.” The vampire chuckled. “As I said, I have big plans for this evening, and I do not wish to be disturbed.”

  “And these plans are?” Michele asked, because it was obvious that the vampire was dying to tell her.

  “I got the idea from Ocean’s Eleven—the original, not the recent remake. And from your crew’s caper, as well. I thought, Why not hit more than one place in a day? We’ve milked this as much as we can, and it’s time to make a big score and get out. While I am doing that, your people will be diverting the only person who can stop us.”

  Michele stopped the car at another red light. “But—” she began, then suddenly felt as though the vampire was clutching her mind in a heavy fist.

  “Don’t argue with me,” the monster said. “You’re going to enjoy the job I have planned for you. You see, I know where the vampire and the bitch are hiding. I’m going to set up a diversion for you, and when they return from it, your crew will be set up to take them down. I’d rather that you didn’t kill the vampire, but I suppose you deserve some reward for all the help you’ve given me. Now listen carefully.”

  The rest of the vampire’s instructions were poured directly into Michele’s head. She was exhausted and dizzy by the time the vampire left her mind, yet it had all happened by the time the red light changed to green.

  The vampire said, “It’s been nice working with you,” opened the door, and stepped out. The last Michele saw of the creature, it was standing on the sidewalk, holding a cellular phone to its ear.

  “Why doesn’t Matt answer his phone?” Mike complained.

  “Maybe he doesn’t have an American calling plan,” Jason suggested, coming back into the room after feeding the wolves. He tapped his forehead. “Why not try reaching him the old-fashioned way?”

  “Because werefolk don’t have the same kind of telepathy you do.”

  Mike put the phone down and sat on the dressing room couch as Jason began taking out costume pieces from his closet. When Cage turned around, Mike tapped the side of his nose. “This is our old-fashioned way. But you could send a thought your cousin’s way for me—”

  “Oh, no.” Jason draped the costumes over the back of a chair. “There’s no way I’m touching Bridger’s mind. The Man and I don’t exactly get along.”

  “Fine,” Mike said, standing. “I guess I’ll just have to sniff him out the regular way. Thanks for all your help—”

  His words were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. When Jason answered, Mike could hear that the voice on the other end was a woman’s.

  By the time she finished speaking, the vampire looked disappointed, but he answered cheerfully enough. “No problem. We’ll make it some other night.” He hung up with a frown.

  “She broke your date, right?” Mike asked.

  Cage nodded. “There are only two vampire females in Vegas, and Octavia’s the only one not attached. Holding her attention is not easy.”

  “Better luck next time,” Mike commiserated.

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, I better get going.”

  “No, wait. I think I can help you.”

  Mike grinned. “I think you just like having wolves of any type around. How can you help?”

  “I think I know where Bridger might be. There’s a place we keep outside of town; Octavia probably set him up there. It’s somewhere the Purists won’t find him while he’s looking for them. Wait until after my show, and I’ll take you there.” He gave a sardonic smile. “It’s not like I have anything better to do this evening.”

  Though this meant waiting a couple more hours, Mike saw the sense of it. Who knew how many hours it would take him to track Bridger down, anyway? He might as well be comfortable while he waited.

  “Okay,” Mike said. “We’ll do it your way—Beast Master.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  I t is a Prime’s duty to protect the one he loves.

  Matt’s words rang in her head, and Phillipa slapped her hand against the pale pink shower tiles.

  “What the hell’s a Prime anyway?” she muttered angrily. “Who the hell does he think he is? A prime idiot! A prime piece of—”

  “May I join you?” Matt asked as he pulled back the shower curtain.

  Her diatribe sputtered to a halt, and she glared. “You’re naked.”

  “I’ve said something to upset you,” was his response.

  “You think?”

  He stepped into the shower cubicle. It was barely big enough to hold the two of them, and heat shivered through her as warm, wet skin slid against hers. She quickly became aware of hard thighs against her buttocks and of the broad chest against her back. Hot steam rose around them, and it was suddenly flavored with his masculine scent. She couldn’t help but tilt her head back against his shoulder and close her eyes, luxuriating in being surrounded by him. His arms came around her waist, and drew her even closer.

  “Not fair,” she complained.

  “Are you under the mistaken impression that there are rules of engagement?”

  He kissed her shoulder, then nipped at her earlobe. It was a good thing he was holding her, because her knees went weak.

  “We’re not at war,” she told him.

  “But we are in love.” His breath was warm against her wet cheek. “All’s fair in both, remember?”

  Being told that he loved her was a balm to her anger, but it didn’t bring instant forgiveness.

  “People in love have problems,” she told him.

  “Problems can be corrected easily enough.”

  One of his hands slid slowly up to cup her breasts; the other moved down her belly and between her thighs. Skilled fingers teased and coaxed her into an absolute frenzy that drove away everything but need and pleasure. She swore at him, but he soon turned her to face him. He grasped her buttocks, lifted her, and slid his erection deeply inside her. P
hillipa wrapped her legs around his hips and rode the storm while he pounded deliciously into her and water pounded over them.

  After orgasms took them both, she said, “I’m still pissed as hell, Bridger.”

  “But you’re clean and happy,” he answered. “Sex and soap are the answer to many problems, my sweet.” He reached around her and turned off the water.

  Phillipa slipped past him out of the shower, but he moved fast, and blocked the bathroom door before she could get out. He held out a fluffy pink towel, rather like a matador waiting for a bull charge. But instead of shouting Ole! he proceeded to gently pat the water off her damp skin and hair. This was such a sensual pleasure that she closed her eyes and let him finish.

  “Still angry?” he asked when he was done.

  She tossed a towel his way, and didn’t offer to return the favor. “Yes.”

  But she did watch appreciatively as Matt dried off his sturdy, hard-muscled body. When he was done, she began to dress, and noticed that a bruise on her stomach that had been large and purple the day before was almost gone.

  “Interesting,” she murmured, rubbing the spot that was no longer sore.

  Matt left to get dressed, and she soon finished and followed him. The scent of brewing coffee led her to the kitchen.

  “Bless you,” she said, when Matt handed her the first cup.

  He ran a finger along her jawline. “You are most welcome, sweet. Now, please tell me what you think I’ve done.”

  She took a sip of coffee, then carefully set the cup on the counter to avoid the temptation of tossing it in his face.

  “Choice,” she said. “And the lack of it. You chose to ignore that we had a psychic connection. You chose to leave. You made all the choices.”

  “Of course. I am Prime.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  His frustration was palpable. “It means a great many things, but in this case, it means that it was my duty to make the choice to protect you.”

  She crossed her arms, tightly balling her fists. “Can you understand how much what you’ve just said hurts me?”

  “Hurts and angers,” he replied. He pressed his fingers across his forehead. “Sweetness, you’re projecting enough to give me a headache.”

  “Do not patronize me, Bridger. One more sweetness, and I walk out of here.”

  He grinned. “But you don’t know where we are.”

  “I’m the one who set the GPS,” she reminded him. “I know exactly where we are.”

  He sighed. “So you did. I suppose I’m the one who is lost. Please tell me why you are angry with me.”

  “You. Gave. Me. No. Choices. You made the decisions without consulting me. Why don’t you get that?”

  “I—”

  “Do you know what my life has been like in the last months? I had the life I loved, the life I decided on, taken away from me. Through no choice of my own! Just to stay alive, I’ve had to follow rules and regulations and regimens that doctors and shrinks and nutritionists and personnel departments and insurance companies decided for me.

  “I live by numbers—what’s my blood sugar? What’s my blood pressure? How many cc’s of insulin do I need? What’s my A1C number? The numbers determine my life. I do what I’m told, and I don’t feel in control of anything. Hell, my only act of defiance has been getting the tattoo, and even then I had to ask my doctor’s permission. I’m told it’ll get easier, but right now it’s driving me crazy.

  “Then you come along and tell me one more decision was taken out of my hands. That is why I am angry!” Her voice rose with each word, so that she was shouting by the time she finished.

  He said quietly, “I am not going to apologize because you have diabetes.”

  She threw up her hands. “That isn’t the point!”

  “It is one of the points.”

  He came closer, and she backed away. When he finally had her in a corner between cabinets and the sink, he put his hands on her shoulders. She was shaking.

  “Three years ago, I couldn’t explain to you what I am, and who I am, and how it affects us.”

  “You could have!”

  “Maybe I could have confessed all to you that night,” he conceded. “But I didn’t think bonding was safe for my partner. I am still terrified that I can’t keep you safe. But now I accept that what is between us is right, and inevitable. I didn’t then. When I chose to leave you, I acted on what I believed was best for you then. I knew it wasn’t good for me—I’ve missed you every moment we’ve been apart.”

  He still didn’t get it. Phillipa was aware of the genuine pain and regret he felt for the time they’d spent apart. But he was clueless why she was so angry.

  Hollering had helped; she was calmer now. So she tried again, in a more reasonable tone. “You left me out of the decision-making process. You didn’t ask me what I wanted.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “All right,” he said when he opened them. “Point taken. What do you want?”

  “I want a partner, not a lord and master.”

  “Oh, dear, I was afraid it was something like that.” His answer was couched in a very snooty British accent.

  “Don’t make me laugh, you rat bastard. This is serious stuff.” She managed not to laugh, but she couldn’t keep a brief smile from her lips.

  “You are so lovely,” he told her.

  “And you’re trying to distract me,” she told him.

  “Guilty as charged, Officer Elliot.” He leaned close and kissed her forehead, then her temple.

  She couldn’t help but sigh, and very nearly melted at his gentle touch. It was very hard to stay furious, or even focused, when simply being close to him kept her on the edge of desire.

  She started to put her arms around him, but stopped dead cold when he whispered, “You don’t have to worry about the disease anymore. Not while you share my blood.”

  What was he talking about? What did he mean?

  But the telephone in the living room rang before she could ask, and Matt immediately went to answer it.

  Phillipa stared after him, too flabbergasted to move. His voice seemed to come from a great distance away. Her whole world had been thrown into a tailspin.

  “If you share blood with a vampire, that’ll cure it.”

  That was what Marcus had said.

  “It’s not possible,” she murmured. “It simply is not possible.”

  “What isn’t?” Matt asked, coming back into the kitchen. “Time to roll, partner,” he added before she could answer. “We’ve got a location on the man who’s been trying to kill you.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  I need to go back to my car,” she said.

  Phillipa stared out the windshield as the lights of the city grew closer by the second. She held on tightly to the panic that tried to erupt in her brain while her stomach twisted with nervous terror.

  “I need my purse,” she told Matt. “I left my purse in my car.” She had her keys and her phone, but everything really important was in her purse.

  “If you want a gun, there’s a twenty-two in the glove box.”

  That was nice to know, but a gun wasn’t what she wanted. “I’d prefer the one locked in my car trunk.”

  She didn’t actually care if she had a gun or not. She needed the stuff in her purse. “I need to check my blood glucose level.” She needed her insulin pen and the needles that went with it. She could only hope that the insulated cool pack the medication was stored in had kept the insulin mixture from going bad through the heat of the day. And since she took her blood pressure medications in the evening, she also needed the pill case that was in her purse.

  “I need my stuff.”

  You had to be consistent about treating the disease; you needed to stick to a routine. You needed to pay attention, prepare for emergencies. It was important.

  “Phillipa, what is the matter with you?”

  That was a very good question. She had stopped thinking, and after all these mon
ths of being so careful.

  “My blood sugar must be through the roof. Or maybe it’s getting too low. I need to check my numbers and figure out what to do from there.”

  “You don’t need to check anything.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “You are fine,” he assured her confidently. “Now, concentrate on the op. I need you on your game, Officer.”

  She knew she wasn’t fine. She couldn’t be fine. Who was she to be fine? Matt couldn’t understand. How could he? He probably couldn’t even get sick. That was okay. It was her responsibility to manage it and keep it under control.

  But he was right. She needed to concentrate on the job. Having a panic attack wasn’t going to help them get through a potentially dangerous situation. This guy had to be brought down, for Jo and Brandon’s sake.

  Then she’d get her stuff.

  She straightened up in her seat and took a few deep, steadying breaths. “Where are we going? Is this guy alone or with the rest of his gang? Where’d you get your intel, and can you trust it? Do we have backup?”

  “The call was from Octavia,” Matt replied. He smiled when a sideways glance her way showed that she was frowning at the name. “Octavia is the one who set up surveillance on our target, after we found out that he works in one of the casinos around Fremont Street. After shooting at us, he was spotted entering his place of employment.”

  “Vampire hunting isn’t a full-time occupation?”

  “Once upon a time it was, but most of the time there is a truce between hunters and supernatural folk these days. The Families and Clans police our own, and we also help the hunters keep the Tribes in check. The hunters don’t like us, but they don’t kill us anymore. Except every now and then a faction of hunters called the Purists pull some stupid move.”

  “The who? The what?”

  “The Purists broke the truce when they went after Marcus’s family,” he went on without offering any more detailed explanations. “And the Purist we’re after will be getting off work soon. You and I are going to put him out of business.”