I was having a hard time absorbing it. “How in the hell does this Castro guy get the blood?”
Micah shrugged. “Supply and demand. He pays for it.”
“I guess if I can’t find a job, I can come down and donate?” The fact I was no longer a hunter hadn’t yet fully sank in.
“Drink.”
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I mumbled and grabbed the first chilled drink before throwing it back.
My eyes snapped open and my cheeks sucked in at the puckering sweetness of the vodka and blood combination. Diabetic, he’d said. The alcohol and blood separated as soon as it hit my tongue. The blood was sweet, overly so, but it made the sting of the liquor nonexistent. I smacked my lips, tried to decide if I liked it or not.
“Well?” He was staring at me and I saw intense curiosity there.
A part of me was afraid he’d think I was disgusting or that he’d give me a hard time about the blood.
“It’s sweet,” I said cautiously.
Micah pushed the second drink in front of me. Before I could lose my nerve, I settled my lips around the rim and upended the glass. My eyes closed, my throat burned. This had a more subtle taste, but I could definitely pick out the male element. The blood was spicy, but not nearly as potent as Micah’s had been.
“A hint of spice.”
I wasn’t a drinker. Despite my brave words of handling my liquor, I felt the buzz almost instantly. Maybe it was the blood, most likely it was the vodka. A warm languor settled through me. I felt relaxed. Happy. I grinned.
“Not already,” he groaned and moved his head close to mine.
I leaned into him, wanting to feel the warmth of his breath in my ear when he spoke.
“You said you could hold your liquor. It’s been five minutes and you still have four more to go.”
“I’ve never really drank before, so I didn’t know.”
“Never really drank?” Micah closed his eyes and pushed the next one in front of me. “This was a bad idea,” he mumbled.
The third drink went down much more smoothly. There was a different texture to it, but it was definitely there. Female.
“Floral.”
Micah nodded.
When I reached for the next drink, I found it harder than it should have been to get the signal from my brain to my fingers. I knocked the glass with the back of my hand. Micah caught it before it tipped.
“Can you hold on to this, or do I need to put it to your lips?”
Heat exploded inside my stomach. My sex clenched, became slick. I knew he was talking about the drink, but all I could think about was the velvet-soft tip of his cock rubbing back and forth across my mouth.
“Oh no.” Micah shook his head. “Don’t even start with the bedroom eyes. I’m not gonna last one second if you start looking at me like that.”
“How do I look at you?”
“Hungry.”
I’m not sure why I did it, maybe it was the liquor, maybe I just wanted to pay him back for the corset. I picked up the shot, the one with demon blood in it. With my gaze locked on Micah, I let my tongue slide suggestively along the rim of the glass.
Micah’s lids lowered and his breathing came a little quicker. He never looked away from my face, from my tongue. I took the shot, let the chilled substance quell some of the heat inside.
The blood was thicker, pungent. It was on the verge of being sour, but carried a muskiness, reminding me of the smell of whiskey I’d snuck from my father’s locked drawer once.
“Musky, more pungent than the rest.”
Micah pulled me off my stool and into the V of his thighs. I teetered, felt the rush to my head. It was sensational. He flicked his tongue along my lower lip and traced the flesh much as I’d done with the glass. I moaned and leaned into him.
I slid my hands up the smooth surface of his silk-covered chest. Beneath my palm, his heart raced. Blood. He touched his to the point of my extended fang and I was shocked at the instant clenching in my pussy.
Micah stroked the sharp tip, scraped his tongue along it. The taste of his blood overwhelmed me Spicy, pungent, thick with life and lust. Human. Male. Demon. I sucked him into my mouth, deepening the kiss until my breasts were tight against his chest. He gripped my ass and pulled me closer still.
Gasping, I broke the kiss and panted.
Micah looked deep into my eyes and asked the question he already knew the answer to. “So, what am I?”
“Human. Male. Demon.”
When Micah tried to stand, to push me away, I used my leverage and shoved him back into his seat. He opened his mouth to protest, to push me away with words this time. I didn’t let him. Before he could speak, I closed my mouth over his.
Chapter Twelve
Once I started kissing Micah, I couldn’t stop. Maybe it was because I was moderately drunk, or maybe it was because each time Micah pressed his mouth to mine, I lost a little bit more of myself.
I didn’t dare speak. Micah pulled out his wallet, threw some cash on the counter and pulled me out of the bar without looking back. We were barely out into the main section of the tunnel when Micah pushed me up against the cold stone wall. I pulled him close. He pressed his mouth to mine and I gave in to complete surrender. I had no idea how long we mingled there, lost in each other.
I was breathless and panting, still silent, when he pulled me from the wall and drew me through the maze of rooms to the exit. The electric buzz of the guitar bouncing off the walls faded. The constant push-pull of conversation disappeared. The rapid click-click of my heels against the ground became nonexistent.
Outside the rain fell like a heavy, pounding beat against the broken gravel road. If it was possible, the District looked even worse through the haze of rain. Darkened and bowed wood blocked the windows of nearby buildings. Rats scampered under awnings, clambering over each other to find shelter. At least half an inch of dirty mud and gravel-laden water spilled over the gutters and flooded the sidewalks.
The wind blew and the slant of pelting rain shifted sideways. None of it mattered. The second we stepped into the storm, we were drenched. We sprinted to the car, and each heavy thud of Micah’s boots against the ground sent up a spray of water to splatter my legs.
In the dark, the black silhouette of Micah’s car was little more than a shadow. The second we reached his car, his arms were around me. He lifted me off the ground, spun me in one fluid movement until my back was against the passenger door. Rain splattered off the roof, a heavy drum that matched our heartbeats.
His hands were wet and slippery against my cheeks. Pulling roughly, he tugged until our lips met, promising things I ached for. I clutched at his wet shirt, desperate to have him closer. I never wanted him to let me go. He slid his hands from my cheeks to my neck and then threaded his fingers through the tangle of my wet hair.
He used one hot, rough hand to palm my thigh. Heat from his touch spread and stopped the shivers of cold I hadn’t even noticed. Micah pulled, urged my leg around his hip. He slid his hand up, up and oh god yes, up. He cupped my sex, rubbed me with sure, deliberate strokes. I was on fire. Pleasure warred with the tightening of my inner muscles. I was on the verge of climax when, instead of sending me over, Micah gripped the crotch of my panties and ripped.
My world spun. That was the only way to describe what was happening, what Micah was doing to me. He pulled the tab on his zipper. The rasp of metal sent a wave of goose bumps across my arms.
Micah pulled his mouth from mine. I opened my eyes and pulled in breath after breath. Our gazes met, held.
“Tell me you want me,” he ordered.
“I want you.”
His cock slid along my opening.
“Do you want me to fuck you? Right now, right here?” he asked, never breaking eye contact.
“Yes.”
He thrust. The thud of my head against the car only added to my scream of fulfillment. My pussy clenched around his cock and Micah flexed his hips to force his way through the contractions of
my orgasm. The tight grip of fingers against my hip bit harder and harder as he worked each inch of his cock inside.
The victory was short-lived. The moment Micah was inside me to the hilt, he pulled out. He rammed back inside. My second climax hit harder than the first. Micah’s chest vibrated and I felt the growl before I heard it. He used the hand still buried in my hair to clutch me tighter. He pulled my head back and made me look at him as he fucked me.
The blue-green of his eyes began to illuminate. I wondered if it was the alcohol, the orgasms or my lack of oxygen. Demon. Vampire Queen. I couldn’t look away. Rain pelted my exposed shoulders. Water dripped down the crevice between my breasts and slid down my stomach.
Micah closed his eyes and let go. His muscles bunched under my roaming hands. The speed and power of his thrusts rocked the car. When raindrops slid down his cheeks, it gave the illusion of tears. My heart broke. As Micah came inside me, I went inside him.
The images I saw were tragic. Micah’s shoulders weren’t as broad, the angle of his jaw wasn’t as severe. His long, loose limbs were gangly and awkward. Tears streamed down his face and I watched him rock, back and forth, back and forth, with a sobbing boy in his lap. Eli.
Micah had just buried his sister and now, now his mother was dead by her own hand. I went deeper into the memory. I was no longer an observer, I was Micah.
The shadow of an impossibly tall man stood in front of me. I was so terrified. Disgust twisted my father’s thin face into an ugly mask when he stepped into view. With each horrible word he said, spittle flew from his mouth. I felt the wet sprinkle of his spit against my arms. I held Eli even tighter. My father reeked of liquor. The more he drank, the crueler he became. Would he hit me again? Would he try to hurt Eli this time? I would die before I let Eli get hurt. Everyone in the entire world I loved was gone, dead—except Eli.
My dad screamed, “Get up, boy! Stop your fucking whining. Men don’t cry! Your mother was good for nothing but lying on her back with her feet in the air. Don’t you dare cry for your mother, she never loved you. The day you were born she screamed and screamed for me to take you away. That’s right, pussy boy, keep crying. I’ll give you something to cry about. Stand up and fight like a man, fight like the hunter you’ll never be!”
Eli was ripped from my arms and tossed to the side like a piece of trash. His grunt of pain drowned the sick crack of his head hitting the floor. I leapt up, my arms trembling. The rage built. Something dark whispered inside me. I let it out, let it all out and let the awful shadow lurking inside me fly free.
The warm, soothing touch of Micah’s forehead against mine brought me back to the present. I trembled from adrenaline and fear and all of the other repressed emotions Micah kept locked so tightly in his head. Tears poured down my face and I began to hiccup through the sobs.
“Shush,” he whispered. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. God, I’m sorry.”
I shook my head, clutched at him. His cock pulsed inside me, reminded me how intimately we were still joined.
“You didn’t hurt me, I promise.” I opened my eyes and tried to tell him what I was feeling, experiencing. I didn’t have the guts to explain what I had seen.
“Don’t tell me this is a side effect of the liquor?” He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
He made a move to pull out of my body and I panicked. I dug my nails into the back of his shirt and held him in place. “Don’t. Not yet. Just a little longer.”
Micah stroked my cheek, thumbed away the tears and the rain and probably my mascara. In a series of soft touches, he pressed his lips against mine. He lingered there, in no hurry to leave or to deepen the connection. This kiss was one we had never shared before.
I wanted so badly to tell him I understood about the darkness inside him. I wanted to tell him I knew his secrets and that, despite them, because of them, I loved him.
“I won’t leave,” Micah whispered against my mouth.
I understood what he was telling me. More so, I believed him. I nodded, my own acknowledgment of the moment we’d just shared in the seedy, abandoned, dirty streets of the district, up against his car no less. Somehow, our situation made me smile.
Before I was ready, Micah slipped out of me. He zipped up, smoothed down my skirt. When he picked up my ripped panties and put them in his pocket, I thought I’d feel cheap, but the boyish grin he gave me erased the embarrassment.
With an arm wrapped around my waist, Micah opened the passenger door. I didn’t protest when he helped me inside or when he leaned over to buckle my seat belt. This was Micah’s rendition of postcoital cuddling. Who was I to deny the man?
The car roared to life and, with a mischievous grin, Micah turned on his radio and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.
Over the incoherent screaming and overly aggressive guitar solos, Micah had taken it upon himself to drown us in heavy metal. I think the reason had less to do with his musical preference and more to do with avoiding how fucked up our situation was. Micah was a demon. I was a vampire. By no fault of our own, we had formed a bond that neither of us understood. So instead of the life-altering conversation that had to happen sooner or later, we talked about music.
Apparently, not all loud music was heavy metal. He had gone on and on about Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple. Who in the hell was Deep Purple? When I’d told him the name sounded like a vibrator, he’d looked at me in disgust.
When Micah tuned in something called Napalm Death, the trip home got a whole lot longer. It was outright noise. The second the car stopped, I was out of the door and standing in the rain. My eardrums were never going to be the same.
I was still wiggling my finger in my ear when we stepped over the second unconscious body in the stairwell of his apartment building. The stench of vomit, whiskey and urine was enough to get my gut roiling. I was never drinking again.
I asked the question I had been wondering since yesterday. “How in the hell did you ever manage to get laid in this dump? Did you always go back to her place or what?”
Micah stopped, looked at me with some expression I couldn’t name. Had I hurt his feelings?
“What? It’s disgusting in here,” I said. “You cannot argue with that.”
“Why do you keep insinuating I’m some kind of man whore?” He sounded genuinely insulted.
It was my turn to look at him. “I’ve heard some of Eli’s stories about your sordid history.”
“The drunken bar fights and nameless women were a long time ago.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
He finger-combed his hair into spikes, flicked the excess water to the ground.
“Believe it or not, but the moment I met you, my sex life came to an abrupt halt.”
He couldn’t be saying what I thought he was. “You mean to tell me that you haven’t had sex in eight months?” I paused. “Before me, that is.”
“It really isn’t any of your business.” We made it up the last flight of stairs.
“Since I’m the one you’re fucking, I think yeah, it kind of is my business.”
We stopped in front of his apartment. After unlocking the door, he looked up. “Are we about to have the relationship talk?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Fine. Yes. Whatever.” Micah turned back to the door. “I liked you better when you were drunk,” he mumbled while turning the knob.
The moment we stepped inside, an otherworldly presence assaulted me. The scent of cloves choked the room. I reached for the knife I’d strapped to my thigh and found it gone. Damn it. I didn’t remember Micah disarming me.
“Castro,” Micah said, in a cool, calm voice.
I followed Micah’s gaze. With his legs crossed, a black cigarette balanced between two fingers and an arm tucked beneath his head, the demon Micah referred to as Castro was lounging in Micah’s bed. The man, at least that was what he looked like, had a satisfied smile on his face. He was positively gorgeo
us. The look he wore fit right in with the rumpled sheets. It took me a moment of staring to realize that under the pinstripe silk suit clinging to every muscled inch of his body, his skin was…smoking. The curling gray haze wasn’t just coming from the tip of his cigarette. The smoke drifted out from beneath the cuffs at his wrists and the open V of his crisp white shirt. Castro was, literally, smoking hot.
“Micah,” I asked in my most reserved tone, “why is there a demon lord in your bed?”
Castro’s grin widened to show the straight white set of his teeth.
“Hell if I know.” Micah looked at the demon in question. “Why are you in my bed?”
Castro sat upright and swung his long legs over the side of the mattress. His every move was fluid and graceful and I found myself a bit mesmerized. For years, Roy had gone on and on about demon lords and how dangerous they were. Now I had one right in front of me. The power radiating from him was unreal. The energy he created was almost intoxicating.
I looked closer and tried to figure out what was so familiar about him. I didn’t encounter smoking demons all the time, so that wasn’t it. His hair was dark and long and tied back with a black silk string, just a little darker than his hair. When he stood and came just a foot shy of touching the ceiling, I tilted my head back in amazement.
“Close your mouth,” Micah hissed into my ear.
Lustful thoughts began to pop in my mind and I had no reasonable explanation for it. My mouth went dry and my palms were sweaty. My heart palpitated. Next to me, I caught Micah rubbing the center of his chest and giving Castro a murderous glare.
“Stop screwing with her.” Micah’s tone was dangerous and predatory.
A rich caress of laughter left Castro’s mouth. Oh, what a nice mouth it was.
“I apologize.” Castro’s voice was husky, tinged with a faint British accent. “I find myself with a lack of control that hasn’t happened in decades. Your hunter is quite delicious. I don’t suppose you would mind sharing?”
“She isn’t your type.” Was Micah referring to the comment about Castro and bloodsuckers? I was a little offended.
Dark Cravings Page 16