Magicstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 4)

by Amber Kallyn

  He cursed, then said, “I can be there in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be ready.” She hung up, pretending there were no flutters in her belly from his voice, or that her heart hadn’t skipped a beat at the thought of seeing him soon. That she hadn’t been wanting to sleep with him in her freaking dreams.

  When he arrived, she was outside, waiting.

  He barely looked at her. “Get on.”

  She slid on the back of his motorcycle, strapping on the helmet, then leaned back as far as she could while he drove.

  When they arrived at the scene, it was already processed, the body ready to be loaded into the coroner’s van. Ignoring the prickles on the back of her neck and the way she kept finding Brandon staring at her with anger in his eyes, she got down to her job.

  By the time she was done, most of the other cops had gone. She glanced at Brandon.

  He leaned against the far wall, still scowling at her.

  “You want to tell me what I did to piss you off?” she asked. “Or can we get on with work?”

  He blinked, jerking back. Finally, he straightened and began searching the scene for invisible runes. He found the first and drew it for her on a small notepad. Brandon walked around the crime scene, finding and drawing three more strange symbols--none of which she could see.

  By the time he finished, the tension in the air was at least bearable, if still strained and uncomfortable.

  “Do you dream?” he asked out of the blue.

  She turned to look at him. “Why?”

  “I’m curious.”

  “Everybody dreams,” she replied, ignoring her throbbing temples.

  “What do you dream about?”

  “Unicorns and rainbows,” she said sharply.

  His eyes finally lightened a bit. “We done here?”

  “Yes.”

  As they got back on his bike, he asked, “Where to next?”

  “The station. I need to see the coroner’s reports from the last two bodies.”

  He drove silently, parking in the back by her car.

  She sent an unspoken thank you for having her own vehicle near so she wouldn’t have to deal with the overpowering feel of touching him again.

  Inside, she ignored the censuring glares and the mumbled comments from Kurtz about how she was screwing up the case and headed straight for her office. Brandon closed the door, then leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. One of the reports was on her desk and she grabbed it, then headed for the door.

  Brandon didn’t move, blocking her way.

  She met his gaze, feeling the warmth of him pressing against her, asking her to let him in.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “What do you dream about?” he replied, his voice tense.

  “Nothing.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “You want to move?”

  Finally he turned, opening the door and waving for her to lead. She did, but could feel his gaze burning a spot in the center of her back.

  In the coroner’s office, she found Frankie. “What are you still doing here?”

  The woman glanced up tiredly. “Your killer’s keeping us busy. Doesn’t seem to care we need sleep, at least some of the time.”

  “Yeah. Is the post for this new victim done?”

  “Just finished typing it up.”

  The printer hummed and Celeste read the pages as they came out. “So nothing new?”

  “Not that I could find.”

  “Great.” She turned to Brandon. “Ready to go back and check the first couple scenes?”

  He nodded and, with a quick thanks, they left the morgue.

  Outside, she headed straight for her car, raising an eyebrow at him when he stopped at his bike. “I’ll drive.”

  He shrugged and got in the passenger side. The drive to the first scene was heavy with tension. Neither of them spoke.

  She was aware of his presence on so many levels it would have been annoying if it wasn’t so uncomfortably stressful.

  When she finally pulled up along the alley of the first murder, she shut off the car, waited for him to get out, then leaned back in her seat with a sigh of relief.

  She watched him until he disappeared between the buildings, trying to talk herself into getting out. Her mind kept whispering she didn’t need to. It wasn’t like there was anything she could do. It was all up to him.

  But it was her job and she was no coward.

  Resigned, she pushed her door open.

  In the alley, Brandon had already sketched a few runes she hadn’t seen. Still couldn’t see.

  His shoulders bunched as she approached, but he ignored her as he worked.

  The tension heightened, until finally, she faced him. “Either tell me what crawled up your ass, or yank out the stick, but I’m not dealing with this. I have more important things to think about.”

  Slowly, he rose, turning to her. His eyes blazed red and fangs peeked from between his lips.

  A shiver crawled up her spine, but she refused to back down.

  “I don’t have,” he growled, “as you put it, ‘a stick up my ass’.”

  “Something’s certainly wrong.” She met his gaze, glaring right back.

  He stepped closer. Her shiver turned from anger to something even more annoying. The heat of desire.

  “What do you dream about?” he whispered seductively, taking another step towards her.

  The heat and power radiating from him brushed over her skin.

  She unconsciously stepped back, then bit her lip at the sign of weakness. “What does it matter?”

  He closed the distance between them and she found herself scrambling back at the fierceness in his gaze. Her hand rose, resting on the butt of her gun.

  His gaze flickered toward her movement and he smiled like a cat about to pounce. “Going to shoot me now?”

  She sighed, dropping her hand. “Not that it would do me any good.” But oh, at this moment, how she wanted to. It would serve him right and wipe that smirk off his face.

  He edged even closer, his body a hairsbreadth away. The brick wall at her back kept her trapped.

  “What do you dream about, Celeste?”

  “Nothing of any importance.” She damn well wasn’t going to admit she’d been asking him to join her in bed.

  His mouth twisted. “Last night, I was attacked in O’Grady’s parking lot.”

  Her breath caught. “What? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I took care of it.” His eyes burned her as he stared, his gaze compelling.

  “You still should have--”

  “And then, I had the strangest dream... or nightmare, if you will.”

  “I don’t know what that has to do with me,” she replied tartly, struggling to ignore the way his body heat wrapped around her like a cocoon of molten need.

  “I dreamt of you,” he whispered.

  She swallowed as her chest tightened. “What?”

  “You called to me, pulling me from the past. You were lying in bed, asking me to join you.”

  Her eyes widened as her temples throbbed harder. “That’s impossible. People can’t have the same dream.”

  He jerked back as if she’d slapped him. “So, it is true.”

  “What’s true? It all sounds like nonsense to me.”

  He licked his lips. “Do you want me to take you to bed, Celeste?” Her name came on a whisper of breath that sent need flickering over her skin.

  “No.”

  Cupping her chin, he rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. She trembled at his touch, remembering her dream, the way her body had responded the night before. The glimpse of his bare chest and the bulge straining his jeans.

  “Your eyes tell a different story.” Slowly, he bent closer.

  She told herself to push him back. To turn and walk away. Instead, as she raised her hands, she found herself laying them on his chest.

  Beneath her palms, his heartbeat thumped, quick and sure.

 
He pressed his lips to hers, so gently it might have been her imagination. His fingertips trailed over her jaw and down her throat, resting over her own rapid pulse.

  ***

  Valhalla’s honeyed mead was what she tasted like. Brandon’s body tightened at the sound of her racing heartbeat.

  The feel of her mouth, her hands on him.

  He dipped his tongue between her lips, amazed at how out of control he felt.

  She was soft, opening for him, kissing him back with passion. Her taste was all-consuming.

  As his blood fired, he deepened the kiss, pressing against her, relishing the feel of her womanly softness.

  She was usually so prickly, yet now she was pliant in his arms. With a low moan, she trailed her hands up his neck, grasping his nape and tugging him even closer.

  As he kissed her, she matched his every move, each thrust of his tongue, each nip of his teeth. She licked his lips, then one of his fangs, and heat shot to his groin.

  Mindless.

  Lust and need.

  Primitive.

  A haze of desire covered his mind and he grabbed her tighter, turning them both so that he was captured between her body and the wall. She leaned into him as if she’d never let him go.

  He let his hands roam the expanse of her back, irritated at the barrier of her clothing. Tugging the shirt from her jeans, he relished the feel of her soft skin. She moaned, digging her nails into his shoulders.

  The rushing desire to taste her filled him. Her blood would be sweet.

  Pressing hungry kisses along her jaw, he moved to her throat. She tipped her chin up for him. He licked her pulse, the beat throbbing at his touch. Then he sank his fangs into her smooth flesh.

  She gasped, jerking, but he kept his hold tight as ambrosia filled his mouth. He drank deeply, his need nearly mindless.

  Her whimper sliced through his mind.

  Pulling back, he met her wide, startled gaze. She jerked from his hold, and slapped him. His ears rang as fire lashed over his skin.

  “What the hell?” she demanded, panting heavily.

  He blinked, realizing what he’d done. What desire had driven him to. Blood trailed from two pinpricks on her neck.

  She reached up, covering it with her hand, continuing to stare at him.

  Shame filled him for his loss of control, for the mindless way he’d tasted her. Hadn’t even asked. Just taken.

  He’d not acted like that since he’d been newly turned.

  Her hand trembled as she glanced at the blood on her fingertips. Then she glared at him, lips spreading in a snarl. “Cabrón! Vete al infierno.”

  “Perhaps I am a bastard, but I’ve already been to hell. Thanks,” he replied, not looking away from the accusation in her dark eyes that cut him deeply.

  And yet, her kiss had been like a drug. Even now, he felt starved for more. What hold did this woman have over him? He felt trapped in a spell, as if bound to this woman in some strange way.

  Regaining his control, he straightened, his mind spinning. They’d shared a dream, and now, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands, or his mouth, off her.

  Why?

  To cover his confusion, he replied, “I am a vampire, after all.”

  Hurt flashed in her eyes as her lips thinned. “Either control yourself or stay away from me.” She spun on her heels, stomping back to her car.

  He stood there, confused and angry--at himself, at her--until he heard her car start. He headed down the alley, only to jump out of the way as her tires squealed and the car roared past.

  He watched her drive away in disbelief. She’d left him there.

  Chapter eight

  Celeste didn’t bother glancing in the rearview mirror. “I’m a vampire, after all,” she repeated his words with a snarl. “Cabrón.”

  She touched the bite on her neck. It was already healing and no longer bled.

  Kissing him had been one hell of an experience. She’d lost herself in his touch.

  But then he’d had to go and bite her, the damn man. She touched her neck again.

  It had surprised her, jerked her out of the haze of desire. Which was a good thing, she assured herself.

  She had no business being sidetracked from this investigation from her sexy--and temporary--partner.

  And he’d bitten her.

  Damn vampire.

  And she’d... kind of liked it.

  What was wrong with her? The man was getting to her, distracting her. Even appearing in her dreams, which he somehow shared.

  It was all too confusing.

  She had a job to do and she’d damn well get it done. And if that jerk didn’t keep his fangs off her, next time he was going to get a hell of a lot more than a slap across the face.

  Driving through the city, she tried to push him from her mind. She was still trying when she pulled up in front of her mama’s ranch house.

  She turned the car off and sat there for a long moment, taking deep breaths and wrestling her emotions under control.

  Finally, she got out and headed up the flower-lined sidewalk.

  Her mother opened the door as she reached it, her blue gaze assessing. “Mija, what is wrong?”

  “Nothing. I need to talk to Shana.”

  Maria didn’t waver. “That is not what your eyes say, pequino.”

  Celeste lied. “It’s just this case. Is Shana awake yet?”

  “No. She’s in her room.”

  After giving her mother a hug, Celeste headed down the hallway and knocked on the spare bedroom door.

  A mumbled, “Go away,” came through.

  Instead, she went inside. Shana was buried beneath a mound of pillows and blankets. Crossing the room, Celeste opened the blinds, then jerked the blankets off her sister.

  Shana shrieked, covering her bloodshot eyes with her hands. “What are you doing?”

  “Waking you up. We need to talk.”

  Peeking from between her fingers, Shana said, “Couldn’t it wait until a decent hour?”

  “It’s almost ten o’clock. Most people are out of bed by now.”

  “Most people didn’t get to bed late.”

  “That’s because most people don’t party recklessly.”

  Shana groaned. “I’m not up for another lecture from my perfect sister.”

  Biting her lip to hold in a sarcastic comment, Celeste sat in the rocking chair next to the foot of the bed. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Coulda fooled me,” Shana grumbled.

  “When was the last time you saw Donna?”

  Shana stiffened, opening her eyes fully. Understanding flickered over her face, quickly turning to a dark worry. “No.”

  She might have lied to her mother, but her sister needed the full truth. Otherwise, Celeste wouldn’t get the answers she needed. “I’m sorry, sweetie. But I need to know.”

  Shana’s eyes shone, filling with tears. “Tell me she’s not dead.”

  Rising from the chair, Celeste moved to the edge of the bed and pulled her sister into a hug.

  After long minutes of sobbing, Shana sniffled and looked up. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  Shana stiffened. “Is it that cult case you’ve been talking so much about?”

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  “But how could they get Donna?”

  “Was she still turning tricks?”

  Her sister pulled away, scooting back to lean against the wall. Her hands twisted in her lap and she wouldn’t meet Celeste’s gaze. “Sometimes.”

  “When did you see her?”

  “Last night,” Shana mumbled.

  “Are you on the streets again?” she asked, her tone rougher.

  “I thought this wasn’t a lecture?”

  With a sigh, Celeste struggled to rein in her disapproval. “Where were you guys?”

  “This new club down on Main and First. It’s exclusive.” Her eyes hardened. “But they might let you in if you flash your mighty badge.”

  Ign
oring the dig, Celeste continued her questions. “And what’s the name of this place?”

  “Black Dawn.”

  She hadn’t heard of it, but the night-club scene wasn’t her thing. “How long have they been in business?”

  “How should I know?” Shana snapped.

  “You said they were new.”

  “So?”

  Her sister’s pain was turning to her fallback reaction--anger. Celeste wasn’t going to get many more answers.

  “Did you and Donna leave together?”

  Shana stared at her. “No. I left first, with a guy I met.”

  She held in her sigh. “And what was his name?”

  “I never asked.”

  “And did he pay for your services?” It slipped out before she could stop it, but Shana’s attitude grated across old, deep wounds.

  Shana grinned humorlessly. “Nope. He was a freebie.”

  Rubbing her temples, Celeste stood. “Look, I’m sorry.”

  “No you’re not.”

  She was, but Shana would never believe her. “Can you just stay home for a while, until I catch this guy, or cult, or whatever? It’s dangerous out there. They’re targeting prostitutes this time.”

  “You mean it’s not the same people as a few weeks ago?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know?”

  She raised a brow. “It’s my job. Now please, just stay home, okay?”

  Shana shrugged. “Fine.”

  They both knew she was lying, but other than tying her sister down, there wasn’t much she could do.

  “Fine,” Celeste repeated. As she headed for the door, she said, “I didn’t tell Mama about any of this.”

  “Always got to protect her, don’t you?”

  She turned and met her sister’s gaze. “I’d protect you, too, if you’d let me.”

  Shana raised her chin. “I don’t need protection. I’m a big girl, if you haven’t noticed.”

  Celeste left the room, closing the door softly. In the kitchen, Maria took a mug from the peg board and filled it with coffee, then handed it to her.

  Watching her mama work, scrambling eggs and chorizo, cooking bacon, she wondered exactly how Shana had gotten so out of control. If Maria had been less delicate, able to control her sister, Celeste would have told her everything, just so she could make the girl stay home for once.