Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death)

by Sabol, Suzanne M.

  He stared at me as Nova did as he was told, horror making Brennan’s soft chocolate brown eyes hard and dark. I listened for the door to slam shut behind me but it didn’t. If Brennan wanted a private conversation, it was too late.

  “Is he what I think he is?” Brennan asked, cringing.

  “He is.”

  “He said ‘boss,’” Brennan blurted out.

  “Um hm,” I confirmed with a nod.

  Patrick’s power licked at my back, flowing up my neck like a cold wind as he stepped out onto the front porch. The front door never made a sound. The feel of him behind me was my only indication he was there. Brennan’s eyes moved from me to the man behind me, and back again.

  “The boss, I take it?” Brennan said with audible disgust in his clipped tone. He knew what kind of world I lived in. He was a trained priest. They weren’t uneducated in the supernatural world, probably better than most realized.

  “He looks angry,” Brennan said through clenched teeth. “No, that’s not quite it. He looks . . . jealous.” Focusing his complete attention back on me, Brennan said, “Are you sleeping with him?” We’d never once in the years since he’d entered the seminary discussed my sex life. It seemed important to him to know, now.

  “Yes.” I refused to justify myself to him or anyone else. I also wasn’t going to lie.

  “What’s happened to you?”

  “Nothing’s happened to me, Brennan. You don’t know me anymore. I don’t answer to you. I don’t even answer to him,” I shouted, flinging my hand behind me to the vampire hovering on the porch.

  “You’re right,” he snapped with disappointment. “I don’t know you. You don’t answer to me, either. Not to me and not to God,” he threatened as he wrapped his fingers around the rosary hanging around his neck. He backed away, crossing the street and getting as far away from me as he could and drove away.

  Patrick came up behind me. His energy and his power had a frigid edge to it that was brisk against my skin, like diving into a lake in February.

  He placed a delicate but firm hand on my shoulder to soothe me. I wasn’t ready for that yet. Holding up my hand to stop him, I knew I was trembling. I wasn’t ready for his compassion or to see the concern in his dark eyes.

  He slipped his hand from my shoulder and stood as still as stone behind me, waiting. He’d wait forever if I asked him.

  Why did I need more? Why was I still mourning Danny as if it had happened yesterday? Why was Brennan’s judgment painful? Why did Dean’s approval mean so much?

  One deep breath, then another. I couldn’t function like this. I needed to get it together and be the Dahlia I’d been, the Dahlia everyone needed me to be. It was all slipping away from me, right through my fingers and I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know how to get back to the place where I’d been or if it was even possible. Maybe that Dahlia was gone forever.

  I lowered my hand and turned. The tension in his shoulders was heavy. “I’m ready now,” I whispered. He nodded but he didn’t touch me.

  “Dean is inside,” Patrick said.

  The Gaoh had said we would talk later, I just didn’t imagine it would be so soon.

  I entered my house with an ease I didn’t feel. Dean sat on the couch, my remote gripped tight in his hand, flipping through the channels. He glanced at me, seeming annoyed, almost angry.

  “Rough night?” he asked in a clipped tone.

  “No more than usual,” I replied with an edge to my voice that made him take a second look at me.

  “Humph,” he snorted, settling on Sportscenter; he was checking on the Reds. Why do I know that?

  “Nova, can you check the perimeter please?” Patrick asked with his smooth authority. Nova nodded, thankful to be gone. Patrick sat in the armchair in the far corner where he could see the entire room with an easy grace I would never have. I remained standing. I was jittery and anxious. I couldn’t sit. Dean turned off the television and focused his olive-green eyes on me. I felt small and insignificant under his weighty gaze. His power radiated from him in scorching silent waves, reminding me he was Gaoh.

  “What do the two of you want?” I snipped as I cocked my hip and folded my arms over my chest.

  “We need to discuss the body Derek so obligingly asked you to evaluate,” Patrick said. He interlaced his fingers in front of his face and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair.

  I waited for someone to ask. I was being difficult and I couldn’t even say why but it made me feel better. I liked that they were playing by my rules and not the other way around. Dean gave a quick little upturn of the corner of his mouth in a twitch of a smile, understanding that I was being intentionally difficult. At least he was entertained.

  “Dean insinuated the body was of similar height and weight to you?” Patrick asked, peering at me from over his arched hands. I nodded, my arms still crossed in a defiant stance. “The victim was blond as well?”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, releasing all the anger that had kept my shoulders tense and my neck tight all day. He was worried and I was being a shit.

  “Yes,” I answered, trying to be agreeable. I forced a weak smile. I was trying, though, and that should count for something.

  “This woman was killed by werewolves, correct?” Patrick asked with an encouraged tone. He at least appreciated I was trying not to be such a bitch.

  “That was my conclusion. They chased her and brought her down like a gazelle in the grass. There were four large slash marks down her back, spaced just a bit wider than my hands,” I said as I shoved my hands in my pockets, embarrassed by my own behavior.

  “And you believe that it was a coincidence?” Patrick asked. His eyebrow shot up in a questioning arch, practically scoffing at me.

  “I think what was a coincidence?” I asked.

  “The fact that this woman resembled you.” Patrick’s sarcasm wasn’t helpful.

  “Yes,” I said. “The woman was in her car in the middle of the night. They had to flag her down. Once she was out, she ran. I don’t think they could have deciphered what she looked like in the dark before they got her to stop. The speed limit up there is 45 and they would’ve been looking into her headlights.”

  “What kind of car did she drive?” Dean asked.

  I glanced over at him. “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying much attention to her car. I was pretty focused on the heap of flesh on the ground,” I said, finally angry.

  “Regardless,” Patrick interjected. “You should stay with me for a while,” Patrick said. He wasn’t asking.

  “No.”

  He jerked back and his brow furrowed under his dark hair as confusion set in.

  “Look, Patrick, you know what my sleeping over will do. All of my things are here and, besides, there’s already a 24-hour guard on me. I’m as safe here as anywhere.” At my mention of his house, Patrick’s face paled even more than usual. Dean, however, watched him with interest.

  “I didn’t mean you to hear that,” he said with an apology in his voice as he relaxed back in the chair, as close to a slump as I’ve ever seen.

  “It’s the truth,” I replied.

  “But I don’t want it to be the truth.” I could almost hear the lost little boy in his words as he spoke.

  “What’s going on?” Dean asked. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, sitting on the edge of the couch.

  “She’s been having nightmares, screaming in her sleep,” Patrick said without taking his eyes from mine. His love for me seeped through my senses, flowing strong like brandy, warm and intoxicating. I felt loose in my own skin, almost good.

  “How often?” Dean’s brow furrowed, a deep V as his eyes fell to the floor in thought.

  “Every night.”

  Once Patrick turned to meet Dean’s ga
ze, I was left with that same empty feeling again that lingered longer and longer in my gut.

  “What are you thinking?” Patrick asked.

  “Not sure.” Dean’s tone was careful, evasive. He knew more than he wished and wasn’t telling us. Patrick’s annoyance radiated just below the surface of my skin in a sharp jolt of ice.

  “What are you dreaming about?” Dean asked. He seemed much more interested in my dreams than in the murdered woman, which didn’t seem right to me.

  “Killing Danny in the Manit clearing, ripping his heart out,” I snapped. “You know, the usual.”

  Dean didn’t look stricken exactly, but there was an oh-shit expression on his face that made me nervous.

  “I’m gonna go,” Dean said. “Kurt can keep watch tomorrow if you can cover tonight?”

  “I believe I can handle keeping her safe this evening,” Patrick said, focusing his heavy predatory gaze on me. All the hungry heat of his eyes bore into me. I tasted his desire on my tongue like rich milk chocolate and it made my heart race with anticipation. Dean seemed oblivious, leaving without a word or even a glance in our direction. He didn’t even say goodbye.

  Chapter 4

  My skin tingled, like Patrick could see through my clothing to the heart of me. The thought of sex hadn’t occurred to me 30 minutes ago, but now the thought of him hovering over me, touching me made me feel loved and wanted. I needed to feel loved.

  He was out of the chair and standing before me in a space of a breath, snaking his arms around me. He slid his hand over the curve of my ass, grinding his groin into me in a demanding grip of need. He sank his other hand in my hair and held me still.

  “I’ve missed that hungry look in your eyes,” he growled.

  I ran my hands underneath his silk dress shirt up his back and along his shoulder blades. His beautiful body was hidden from the world by well-tailored clothing, there only for my touch and my eyes.

  I was hungry for his touch, needing him to love me. I turned my eyes up to meet his. I trembled beneath his fingers as unshed tears burned behind my eyes with the vulnerability I didn’t want him to see.

  Patrick’s touch was gentle, intoxicating as his fingers caressed my face. When his lips brushed mine in a delicate tender kiss, I melted into him, clinging to him in sheer desperation.

  He swept his arm underneath my knees and before I could stop him, I was cradled against his chest like a child. Relaxing into his embrace, I gave into the slow, deep kiss he began as he ascended the stairs. His tongue sank deep into my mouth, lapping at my tongue as he tasted me, devoured me, and consumed me.

  He laid me on the bed as if I was delicate, breakable and nestled up next to me. Pressing his body along the line of mine, he traced his fingers along the edge of my body. The soft press of his fingertips caressed over the soft mounds of my breasts. My body tightened and hummed with each stroke. My breath came out in ragged exhales as my heart raced and I arched up to meet him.

  Patrick unbuttoned my pants and slid his hand beneath my panties as he buried his nose in my neck. He nipped the skin at the base of my throat, at the spot where he’d first taken my blood. He licked where his fang marks still lingered, translucent on my skin. Shivers of pleasure burned through me from the light contact of his tongue on my throat. His free hand held my wrists above my head as his playful fingers slid through my already damp curls and slipped inside of me.

  “Mmm, so wet,” he growled in my ear.

  My toes curled at the sound of his voice rumbling across my skin as his hand teased my sensitive flesh. He ran his velvety tongue along my jaw line, tasting the salt on my skin. He took my mouth like a starving man, plunging his tongue between my teeth. He licked the inside of my mouth, kissing me until I was breathless, my chest heaved, and my legs quaked in delicious, mindless sensation.

  Patrick released my wrists and slipped his hand from the warm sheath between my legs. A small whimper of protest escaped my lips at the loss of his touch and he gave me a devilish grin that made my knees weak and my womb tight.

  Patrick ripped my pants and panties off in a single lithe tug that stung a little at the back of my thighs as the harsh fabric skimmed against my delicate skin. The sensation rode the fine line between pain and pleasure, but I wasn’t complaining. He slowly, painfully, sinfully, removed each piece of clothing from his body in a tantalizing display of masculinity.

  He teased me, unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing his sculpted chest with sporadic patches of dark hair against his alabaster skin. His muscles rippled and moved in a tight, unrelenting taunt of sexuality. He unzipped his pants and shoved them gracefully over his hips and down the length of his long, lean legs. His fluid movements were like water: smooth, beautiful, and deadly. I propped myself up on my elbows and watched him crawl across the bed like a cat, all lithe, predatory movements that made my heart race.

  His erection protruded from between his thighs, hard and ready for me. My skin tingled as his cool hands slid up the contours of my leg. His hands slipped behind me, fingertips pressed into the small of my back, gripping my waist. He lifted me up with a quick jerk, pressing me securely against his body. My heart thundered in my chest and my breath caught in my throat. My hardened nipples pressed almost painfully against my bra, wanting to be touched, licked, and suckled until I screamed from frustration.

  Wrapping my legs around his waist, I unhooked my bra and flung it across the room. He knelt on the bed, holding me against him with one hand and pressing me into the mattress.

  A twinge of pain radiated from the base of my neck as Patrick nicked me in a quick slice of fang. His tongue made long, smooth strokes over my skin. I exhaled a moan of pleasure as my eyes fluttered with each and every tingle of desire that radiated down to my core. He lapped me up like a kitten with a bowl of milk, sending a wave of sensation down my spine to my groin with each pass of his tongue. Guiding his hard cock under me with his free hand, he pressed against my opening without spilling a single drop of blood.

  He slid into my warmth. My body encased his hard length, filling me up, and making me feel whole. He continued to lap at my throat, digging his fingers into the flesh of my ass, kneading me into a frenzy as he thrust again and again.

  He pushed and pulled me, gliding my body up and down his shaft. I dug my fingernails into the taut muscles of his back as he licked and kissed the open cut on my neck. With each swipe of his tongue and cock, I tingled, sending me further into an euphoric oblivion.

  He thrust inside me, deep and hard. Thoughts and emotions jumbled around the edges of my consciousness, but I didn’t want to think. I wanted to feel; to feel alive, loved, and wanted. I wanted to feel anything other than the pain and guilt that had consumed me for so long. Anything but the emptiness that always followed the anguish.

  I closed my eyes, sinking into the pleasure Patrick allowed me to siphon from his body, his power, and his emotions. He loved me. I felt him in every touch, in every stroke inside my body, and every caress of his power. If I had ever doubted him or how he felt about me, I didn’t in that moment.

  His emotions prickled across my skin. Under everything he teetered on the edge of the same despair I battled. He was afraid. Even in the pleasure of the moment, he was afraid of me and for me. His desire, his love, and his fear were all an intoxicating mix that forced me over the edge. The wash of orgasm swept over me like a tidal wave and I shattered around him. My back arched and my legs shook with the release. For a wonderful, blissful moment, the world disappeared and nothing could touch me.

  Patrick thrust, harder and faster until I had to tighten my grip around his neck just to hold on. He was velvet-covered stone moving inside me and I couldn’t help but cry out in hedonistic delight as he drove in me for the final time, quivering, as he came.

  Patrick slid his hands up my back and held me close, hugging me against him as he stole my warm
th. My heart beat in my chest, pounding out a quick rhythm. His fingers kneaded the space in between my shoulder blades, sending shivers up and down my spine as I relaxed against him. I almost purred with carnal decadence as his lips crashed down on mine. His kiss was hungry, excited, and forgiving.

  When he finally broke the kiss, I rested my forehead against his and breathed in the scent of him. Once, his scent had been the musty smell of old books and I’d loved it. Now, with my heightened senses, he smelled of those same musty books but underneath that he smelled of death and blood. I wished the smell of death on the man I loved freaked me out or reminded me every time I was close to him of what he was. He’d come to terms with what he was a long time ago and I thought I had, too.

  “Where are you?” he asked, his voice a deep rumbled whisper.

  “I’m here,” I said, my voice heavy with exhaustion and a soft smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  I always felt empty for a moment after he left me and I hated it. I nodded reluctantly, not wanting to lose the feeling of being connected to him. He gripped me around the waist and lifted me with little more than a flexing of his muscles and then he was gone. He collapsed on the bed beside me, propping his head up on his hand as he gazed down at me as though he wanted to look right through me.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Who was he?”

  Brennan. My expression changed at the thought of him and my body stiffened at the hurt he’d caused. Brennan was who he was. I knew that. He was a priest and saw the world in black and white, as I once did. I couldn’t blame him for the way he saw the world. Could I?

  Hell, yes, you can blame him. He’s supposed to trust you.

  “An old friend,” I said. My voice was raspy, harsh and even I heard the disappointment in my tone. Patrick was quiet for a very long time.