by Laura Kaye
“Well,” she said. “Go ahead, or do you need me to say abracadabra or something?”
He tossed his head back and laughed. The jovial shift in his mood was no doubt a direct response to her squirming in her pants… Or her panties.
“All right.” She waved her hands. “You’ve had your fun. Stop laughing. Now, let’s see a wolf.”
He scrubbed his hand across his mouth as if wiping his chuckle away and then winked before closing his eyes. No, he did not just wink at her. She bet he’d charmed the pants off numerous women with his sexy little wink and charm. Well, he would be getting a quick reality check if he thought she would be dropping her panties.
Her stomach clenched in anxious anticipation as a shimmer raced over his body from his head to his feet. It could have been her imagination, it happened so fast. Then his entire body collapsed before her eyes. She shrieked and leaped up on the bed.
A large black and silver wolf stood in Kenric’s exact spot.
“Oh, my God! You weren’t freaking kidding!”
Kenric padded over to the edge of the bed where Emily sat trembling. His front paws went up on the mattress, and he nudged her leg with his nose.
“I can’t believe it.” She turned to face him with a look of wonder and awe in her eyes. “You…did it. You turned into a wolf.” Her hand shook as she reached for him. Tilting his head to the side, he met her palm and nuzzled it. Emily sighed as she ran her fingers through his dense fur.
With her immediate fright dissipated, he climbed the rest of the way onto the bed and lay down beside her.
“Wow,” she whispered, lifting his muzzle. “Interesting…Your eyes look the same as they do when you’re human. They’re that same beautiful azure color. I’ve never seen a wolf up close before, but as wolves go, I would have to say you do make a handsome one.” She threaded her fingers through his fur and scratched behind his ears.
He could have lain there all night and let her stroke his fur. It seemed as if she was more comfortable touching and talking to the wolf than the human. However, fantasy playtime had to cease. He needed her assistance.
His human shape unfolded within Kenric’s mind, ushering his form back to its original state. He stretched his legs and lifted his head to Emily. She jumped and shrieked again.
“Why don’t you warn a person before you do that?”
“Sorry, I can’t talk when I’m a wolf. You know, with the muzzle and no human vocal cords.” He grinned.
“Ha-ha, you’re so funny. You can put some clothes on now, too.” She pointed to his bare chest and waved her finger at the rest of him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kenric rolled from the bed and grabbed his jeans from the floor. The heat of her gaze warmed him as he sauntered over to the coffee table to grab his T-shirt. It felt nice having all her interest focused on him. Regrettably, he could not allow himself to become involved—with any woman. His life consisted of nothing but violence and death, especially with Marguerite around again. That situation, though, he intended on handling personally. Very soon.
“Any more questions?” Kenric slipped his jeans back on. “Or other demonstrations needed? I take it by your reaction to my wolf form that you now believe I am a vampire?”
He pulled his shirt over his head and found Emily standing before him.
“One last thing,” she said. Her soft request skated over his skin and lifted the hairs on his arms. Whatever she wanted, it was hers. He clenched both fists.
“Yes?”
“Show me your fangs.”
“What? Why? The wolf wasn’t convincing enough?”
“I don’t know why I want to see them.” She shrugged. “I just do. Somehow, I think it’ll make it all the more real for me.”
“If that’s what you need, let’s do it.” He brushed past her and sat in the chair. “Come here, Wildflower.” He patted the coffee table in front of him. “Sit here, facing me.”
“Okay.” She eased closer and placed herself on the table between his knees. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something else that’s been bugging me. The nickname, Wildflower. Why do you insist on calling me that? Believe me, I’m no delicate flower.”
Kenric held her gaze for a brief moment, then reached out as if to touch her hair but instead curled his fingers away. “Of that, I’m sure.” A hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips. “The answer to why is another lesson in your Vampire 101. We have an enhanced sense of smell,” he said. “May I hold your hand?” Emily chewed her lip, as if assessing the danger in the contact. “You just watched me turn into a wolf, and I didn’t eat you. How lethal can it be to hold my hand?”
With an exasperated huff, she slipped her fingers into his palm.
He brought the inside of her hand up to his lips and nose. From under his lashes, he studied her beautiful hazel eyes. He closed his eyes and inhaled, bringing the sweetness of her underlying fragrance deep into his lungs. His lips brushed the inside of her wrist. Gooseflesh lifted on her skin before she jerked her arm back.
He opened his eyes. “It’s how you smell to me. Like a field of wildflowers blooming right after a spring rain. Very sweet and fresh.”
“Oh,” she said, tucking a stray auburn curl behind her ear. She glanced away and rubbed her palms across the cotton of the sweatpants. “I was just wondering.” Her casual shrug and the tone of her voice said bored, but the flush of color in her cheeks and the sound of her increased heart rate said quite the opposite.
She had the same effect on his pulse, driving the blood south and creating an uncomfortable fit in his jeans. He needed to get her home before he did something else he would regret.
“You still want to see my fangs?”
“Yes. I do.”
He closed his eyes, centering his focus on his recessed fangs and the need for them to lengthen. They would naturally extend on their own during periods of hunger, anger, or sex. But without the emotional or physical stimulus, it took a conscious effort to will them into place. His gums tingled in response, and the fullness in his mouth signaled their arrival.
“I’ll ask you again.” The words held the slightest lisp as he spoke. He opened his eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want to see?”
“I’m sure,” she said. Her throat worked on a visible swallow of apprehension.
He leaned forward, hesitantly opening his mouth wide enough for her to see. His upper lip peeled back, sliding against the warm length of his fully exposed fangs.
A sharp intake of air rasped from Emily. Her eyes widened, and the wild thump of her heart drummed in his ears.
Damn! Why the hell had he agreed to this? He started to put an end to the demonstration, but she lifted her hand.
“May I touch one of them?”
Shit! He clamped his mouth shut and jerked his head back. “What?”
“I’m sorry.” She yanked back her hand.
“You’ve felt them enough, I should think.” What was she thinking, wanting to touch the damn things? Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d stuck them in her neck?
“I didn’t realize I had crossed a boundary.” She rubbed her palms against her thighs. “I was caught up in the moment.”
“I’ve agreed to all your demonstrations. After last night in the ER, I wouldn’t have thought this one necessary.” He jumped up, leaving her at the coffee table. He needed something to do. She still hadn’t eaten, so he busied himself with salvaging the remains of the breakfast tray.
“I see. You’re right, of course. It isn’t necessary for you to remind me of our close encounter. I have the holes in my neck to do that.”
Kenric straightened his shoulders. The decorative handles of the tray dug into his palms. Touché. He glanced at Emily. Her fingertips stroked the marks on her throat. His mark.
Hands off, vampire. That can never happen again.
For her sake.
For her very life. He had to keep his hands off.
“Yes, you do.” He swung his gaze back to the
food and returned to laying out her breakfast on one end of the coffee table.
He’d been a vampire for more than three hundred years and had quit apologizing for who he was long before the last two centuries. Coming to terms, or so he’d thought, with his existence. It hadn’t been his choice to live the rest of eternity as a predator, but he couldn’t change that fact. He’d never embraced the life of a vampire, but he had learned to live with it.
He didn’t kill for his needs.
In fact, he did his best to protect humanity from the part of his race that couldn’t control their impulses. So why did he want to claw his insides out for having fed from Emily? No. It wasn’t because he’d taken her blood. What grated his insides was how poorly he’d controlled the instincts of the beast. He’d scared the hell out of her.
It made him sick.
And mad as hell.
“Okay. School’s out,” he said. “Let’s get some food into you.”
Her stomach growled as he uncovered the plate containing a large ham and cheese omelet and hash browns.
“Wow.” She laughed, pressing her hand over her stomach. “There’s no point in pretending I’m not hungry. That looks delicious.” She slid off the coffee table and onto the sofa to dig in.
“I’m glad to see you have an appetite. Eat as much as you can, and when you’re done, I want to talk to you about your help with removing the evidence of my visit to the ER.”
She stopped chewing, and both eyebrows shot up.
“You don’t have to worry about getting into any trouble or losing your job. No one will ever know. I need your expertise and knowledge of the lab reports and Elizabeth Bay Memorial’s computer systems.”
She went back to work on her meal. Nevertheless, her expression didn’t give a hint as to what she thought of his agenda.
“If you are okay with all this, I want to take you downstairs to meet some of the members of the Enclave. I would like you to share with them what you remember about the tests performed on me. With your skill, and their expertise, we should be able to fix this.”
“The Enclave?” Emily mumbled around her breakfast, one cheek bulging from the forkful of omelet she’d placed in her mouth. Then she swallowed. “What or who are they?”
Chapter Eight
On patrol at The Docks, Arran and Markus weaved through the never-ending onslaught of humans after their next score, drink, or fuck.
Saturday nights usually packed the streets, making Arran jumpy as shit. The rush of a good fight? Hell, yes—he thrived on it. But crowds—shit. He hated them. He rolled his shoulders and glanced at Markus. The grimace on his partner’s face told the same horror story: weekends were hell.
Especially tonight.
The warm temperature, unusual for this late in November, had people out in droves. In turn, a multitude of humans brought out the DEADs. Sometimes you had to look for the positive. He would get to kill an addict or two.
He indicated with a tilt of his head for Markus to turn into the alley on his right. It was only eleven, and experience told him the crowds wouldn’t let up for another hour or two.
“Damn, I had to get off that street,” Arran said, rounding the corner.
Markus grunted in agreement.
The humid air swamped his nostrils with the greasy smell of fried seafood and stale beer. That, he expected for the area, but not the other metallic scent triggering his vampire senses.
Arran glanced in his partner’s direction.
Markus gave a slight nod. “Blood.”
Both knew each other’s next move from years spent together as part of the Enclave. Without a ripple in their wake, they shifted from civilians out for a walk to predators on the hunt.
Farther into the darkened corridor they moved without a sound, a convenient trick for vampires. That way, the prey never hears the predator until it’s too late.
A few feet in, both came to a halt.
Markus lifted his chin and motioned with a subtle nod toward the back. Muffled and wet growling noises emanated from the end of the alley. Arran tilted his head and glanced at the rooftop of the building beside him, then back to Markus with a grin. His partner raised an eyebrow, a slow smile forming. It seemed the idea of going topside for an aerial approach pleased him as well. The roof would provide an excellent vantage point, since it ran parallel to the street perpendicular to the alley.
A small wrought-iron balcony extended from the second-story window, making the leap effortless. Arran followed Markus’s silent approach to the rooftop. More than likely, they could have made the leap to the third story, but no need to risk a misstep when there were straightforward footholds for each level.
They made it in mere seconds and then moved quickly across the black-tarred surface. As they neared the edge, the noises grew louder and more vicious, as if a pack of wolves snapped and growled, fighting each other over their latest kill.
At the edge of the roof, both warriors crouched and peered over the side. The wind rode the wall of the four-story dwelling, driving straight up and into their face and nostrils. The scent alone told the gruesome story of what had already played out beneath them. The air reeked of semen and blood.
Four DEADs fought over the leftovers of one mangled woman, a macabre scene of clawing and biting. A half-naked, blonde female lay slumped against the building’s brick exterior. She’d been repeatedly raped and bitten. A fucking nightmare of an end for the human female who’d had the misfortune to walk down this alley. Vampires in the violent throes of DE bloodlust had lain in wait for her arrival.
Arran gave Markus a brief glance and a nod: time to make like a bat and fly. In unison, both stood and took one step, dropping directly behind the creatures. No sweat. No broken bones. He loved the badass superhero part of being a vampire.
The warriors’ boots struck the pavement. The frenzied vampires jerked their heads from their meal, then hissed and leaped to their feet.
“Get the fuck out of here, Enclave!” One of the crazed addicts pointed a long and dirty finger toward Arran and Markus. His lips peeled back, exposing his two long fangs in a contorted look of rage.
“Make me.” Arran emitted a low rumble from his chest for added effect.
The warriors pulled their daggers in one smooth move.
The DEADs attacked. But they were unarmed, unless one counted their long-ass fangs and razor-sharp claws.
Two lunged into the air at him, one from each side. Their wide eyes glowed with the insanity of DE. The others dove in his partner’s direction. Markus cursed before tossing out a sadistic laugh as he fought off the DE duo.
All at once, Arran’s crazies slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs. He dropped and rolled, elbowing one bloodsucker in the face. The other took an unlucky swan dive onto his dagger, taking the full measure of the blade into its chest. The DEAD howled as Arran pushed him over and pulled his dagger free. Smoke billowed off the dying carcass.
The other addict shook off the blow to his face and sailed at him again. Arran raised his arm in time to block the impact. The crazed vampire hit but didn’t deflect. Instead, he bit down and ground his fangs and teeth deep into Arran’s arm. The DEAD writhed and growled, attempting to rip flesh from bone.
“Son of a bitch! You’re about to piss me off.”
Reaching down with his free arm, Arran sheathed his dagger. Inside his boot, he had a nice fix for a rabid vampire. The crazed bloodsucker slobbered and growled on his arm while his teeth made mincemeat of Arran’s flesh. Arran wrapped his hand around a custom, nine-inch curved blade.
One second, a blood-crazed vampire gnawed at his arm—the next, a headless torso dropped to the street.
Problem solved.
“Sick bastard,” he mumbled.
The vampire’s head hung on Arran’s arm as he worked at freeing the embedded teeth. After a few seconds of rocking the jaw, the head finally gave way and dropped with a thud onto the asphalt.
Arran quickly tore off a piece of his shirt
and wrapped it around his bleeding arm. He had a job to finish, and he’d heal soon enough. Blocking the burning pain from his mind, he decomped the remains. The silver, as usual, worked its magic, turning the remains to ash, though the detached head would decompose rather fast even without the silver.
Arran looked around. Where the hell had Markus gone? The surrounding area had grown quiet, except for the usual sounds of traffic. The last thing he remembered seeing was Markus taking off after one of the filthy bastards.
After half an hour of going through every nearby side street searching for his partner, he’d come up with a couple of ash piles but no sign of his fellow warrior. Back in the area where their battle had begun, Arran grabbed his cell and punched speed dial two for Markus. After six rings, it flipped to voice mail.
“Shit!” He snapped his cell shut. What the fuck?
Kneeling beside the DEADs’ latest victim, Arran did his best to drape her lower body with what was left of her leather miniskirt. Unfortunately, nothing could help the young female. A bloodied cross, attached to a broken gold chain, dropped from her torn sequined shirt as he covered her mangled torso. Pity that the sentimental trinket couldn’t save her. Picking it up, Arran noted an inscription carved into its back. Using his thumb, he wiped enough of the blood away to read the writing. To Heather, I love you. Mom.
“I’m sorry, Heather,” Arran whispered. “So sorry we didn’t get here sooner.”
He was going to have to call for cleanup and then continue his search for Markus on two wheels.
Flipping open his cell, he hit speed dial for Ted at Memorial Gardens Crematorium. After a couple of rings, Ted answered with his typical chipper tone. Strange, considering what he did for a living.
“Good evening, Enclave. What can I do for you this fine night?”
A sharp pain targeted the crease right between Arran’s eyes at Mr. Sunshine’s cheerful greeting.