And he was about to ask her to do something as monumental as save a race of people who weren’t even supposed to exist? And to top it all off, he’d broken into her apartment and had been hiding in her closet like a perv. He may as well have “asshole” tattooed on his forehead.
She sauntered off to the back of the apartment and down the hallway, where he assumed the bedroom and the bathroom were. He was just about to peek out when she reemerged from the hall in her underwear.
“Damn it,” Taris muttered.
Underneath her put-together, professional exterior was apparently a woman who liked to wear lime green panties and had a half-sleeve tattoo on her right arm. It was oddly sexy and small enough that a T-shirt could cover it. A crystal ball surrounded by misty blue-and-green swirls covered the top of her arm. Inside the orb were inked the words It’s only forever. Not long at all.
Sarah moved her way around the bar and stretched up to reach into a cabinet. She pulled a bottle of Blue Label Johnnie Walker out from behind the rows of coffee mugs and set it down on the counter before sliding a glass out of another cupboard. She pulled the corked top out of the bottle, stopping just before the first drop fell into the glass.
Pushing the glass aside, she stared at the bottle for a moment before taking a swig straight from it. The deep pull was all it took for Taris’s heart to pound nearly out of his chest. The girl deserved a drink after the last two days she’d endured, but damn it if watching her lips touch the glass rim of that bottle, standing there in her bright panties with that tattoo, wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d seen in nearly a hundred years.
There was no way he could step out and introduce himself now. It was best to formulate a plan. She’d already been more of a surprise than he’d anticipated, and the last thing he needed to do was jump out of her closet with his fangs showing and a raging semi.
He breathed a sigh of relief as the glowing lamp clicked off and her feet padded across the hardwood floor to her bedroom. If she were asleep, then he could focus and rethink his plan of action.
Chapter 6
Even the sweet smell of high-priced tobacco couldn’t cover up the metallic sting that seemed to soak into everything that Maven owned. It was making her gag. The combination of the spicy smoke and the dripping liquid that was now covering her dressing room walls literally rolled her stomach. She would have thrown up if she could.
Duct tape made for a great vomit deterrent.
She could hear the blood racing through her, feel her heart pounding against her chest as the smoke began to surround her. Her tongue was heavy with a thick coat of acidic fear. There was hot blood trickling from her rope-bound wrists behind her, and her feet weren’t faring any better. The binding that was teathering her spread-eagle to the chair was tight and coarse. Her eyes darted to the thick, red spot on the wall and then quickly shut as a hunk of something fell and landed with a wet plop onto the floor. She felt sick again as the heavy boot that was placed precariously on her chair at the juncture of her thighs wiggled.
“What’s the matter? I thought you liked tearing people apart?”
The man in the chair directly opposite her leaned forward, his handsome face highlighted with a harsh streak of blush. His red eyes were accented by a darker red shadow. His shiny crimson lips made his makeup mask look all the more ominous. He flashed a smile that made her shiver, visibly. Those teeth, Lord help her, the things he had done to her poor stage manager with those teeth. Her eyes darted to the spot on the wall again. By the time she managed to pull her gaze from it, he was a breath away from her face, his blood-colored eyes boring right into her. Without looking away from her, he bent down and placed a half-smoked cigarette beneath a large boot that was covered with metal and looked like it could withstand the inside of a wood chipper. He crushed it out and quickly pulled another tightly rolled black cigarette from the pocket of his designer blue leather duster.
“So,” he said as he whirred his Zippo and drew the flame through the tobacco, “you think if I take this tape off your face, you’ll talk to me?” He blew the first drag of smoke directly at her, smiling as he saw her eyes squeeze tight against the assault. “I don’t want any more of that wussy screaming, you hear me? Otherwise, you end up like your friend there.”
Maven nodded her head, struggling to get her stomach in check. She didn’t want to look at the floor, to where he was pointing.
The man with the makeup and the terrifying teeth lifted a long finger, and with a quick rip, he pulled the tape off Maven’s mouth. She felt it pull pieces of skin away from the corners of her collagen-injected lips, and she cried out.
“Thought I told you no screaming?” the man said. “I’ll let that slide just this once because I know that had to have hurt like hell.” He leaned back in his chair, once again placing his booted foot between her legs, only this time, he shoved it completely beneath her skirt until she could feel the sole of his boot pressing into her skin through the fabric of her silk panties. “Now, if you are nice to me and tell me everything I need to know, I won’t have to eat you.”
Maven did her best to swallow the knot in her throat.
“Ask,” she cleared her throat again, “ask me anything.”
“There’s a good girl.” He exhaled a brilliant puff of white smoke again, but this time, he tilted his head up toward the ceiling. “Where do I find Dr. Sarah Bridgeman?”
“All of her contact information is in my PDA, there on my desk,” she motioned with her head. Her breath was still ragged, and it disgusted her to hear the weak terror in it. “Her cell number, work number, home number, her address, everything.”
He rose from his chair, thankfully relieving the intense pressure he had been putting on her pelvic bone. His heavy boots waded through the blood pool on the floor, and he retrieved the silver device. Scrolling through it, he smiled when he came to the memo about the good doctor.
“Perfect,” he whispered to himself. Placing the PDA in his coat pocket, he slowly walked back to her. Her heart began to pound even faster as she got a good look at him for the first time. He was tall, lean, and muscular, and the recessed lighting in her dressing room glinted off several things she knew had to be knives. His leather pants clung to his thick thighs, and his leather vest was made to fit his long torso like a glove. He was murder and pain, cleverly wrapped in eye shadow and cowhide.
“Getting a good look, are we, Maven?” he asked as he came to stand behind her. He placed his large hands on her shoulders and gently began to knead the muscles at the base of her neck.
He was on his knees behind her. She could feel him shift his weight when he lowered himself to the floor. His breath was hot on the back of her neck. His large hands slid from her shoulders, down her arms, his purple-polished fingers tickling her skin as they descended lower. They grazed her hips, moved farther down to her thighs. He wrapped one arm completely around her waist and dipped the other underneath her skirt, barely touching the silk panties.
“I scare you. I can feel it. I can smell the fear running through you, you know that?” He moved the thin fabric aside with two fingers, gently stroking her soft cleft. Her breath caught in her throat. He could feel her pulse quicken. “I wonder if I could taste it.”
* * *
Taris’ eyes shot open. He wasn’t sure how or when he’d drifted off or for how long he’d been crammed into that closet, staring at the back of his eyelids, but before he could move, a low heat surged in his gut. It spread through his entire torso, down into his feet, and all the way up to the top of his head. He could feel his heart beginning to pound, faster and faster as the heat grew warmer, turning itself into a blazing fire that lit every single warrior instinct he possessed. He hadn’t felt that heat in centuries, but it was an old flame, one he could never or would never be able to forget.
But how could that be? Wasn’t he supposed to be dead? Weren’t they all dead? It was impossible.
Taris was buried under a boxed-up vacuum cleaner and Sarah’s coat. He si
multaneously pushed them off him and swung the door wide open. He wasted no time in running down the short hallway and throwing open the bedroom door. Taris didn’t care that the noise would wake her up. It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was that they both got the fuck out of Dodge, and fast.
Her room was lit by the glow of a DVD menu. She was sprawled out on her bed in nothing but a T-shirt and a pair of old, ratty boxer shorts that rode up so high they could have passed for a pair of faded flannel panties. Her brown curls were spread out all over the bed. Her face was soft and plain, but in the light of the TV, she looked small, angelic. The heat in his gut from the very real threat of danger mixed with something else, and he let out a curse as he felt his cock slam against the zipper of his jeans with an unexpected smack.
“What the…” Taris hissed between his teeth. What the hell kind of a reaction was that? He was there to save her from the devil incarnate that would soon be busting through her door and he got a hard-on? If that wasn’t the Merriam-Webster definition of inappropriate, Taris didn’t know what was. Regardless of how tacky it was that the little head wanted sex, his big head prevailed in the odd libido showdown, and he stepped closer to the bed, losing his footing on a pile of spiral-bound notebooks and a tacky romance novel with a vampire on the cover. He fell forward, catching himself on the edge of her mattress. The jostling caused her to stir. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment and fixed on him but closed again just as quickly.
“That’s right, honey, you just keep sleeping. It’s better for both of us if you do.” Taris stood up and leaned forward, lifting her off the bed. She was light as a feather. When she nuzzled into his chest, what little relief he had in his pants disappeared, and they tightened again.
“You unruly bastard,” he cursed. His cock seemed to answer him, twitching against his pants in a violent thud.
She began to stir again, but there was no time to wait for her to go back to sleep. They had to leave now. The blaze in his stomach was growing into an inferno, which meant the danger was coming closer. The nervous anticipation that welled up in him was partly the danger factor, but it was partially because he recognized that feeling.
Taris was out of the apartment door with doctor in hand. Leaning down, he pulled open the stairwell access door. His long legs took the stairs two at a time. He was on the landing of the ninth floor when he heard the door at the bottom of the stairs kick open. As it did, the heat turned into a violent wave of nausea.
“Taaaarrriiiisss.”
The sound of his name stretched out as that heinously melodious and ominously familiar voice floated up the nine stories and stopped him dead in his tracks. He couldn’t resist the urge to look over the railing, and as he did, his body went numb.
Looking up at him, making his way slowly up the stairs, was a vampire like none other on earth. His methods were violent and abhorrent. His bloodlust was rivaled only by one other person Taris had ever known. Staring up at him from behind a mask of menacing red eye shadow and terrifying leather was Bane.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “I thought you were dead.”
“You do know I can hear you, right? Even from down here, on the,” Bane paused and looked at the wall, “second floor.”
The terror Taris felt at the realization that his brother was alive melted away. A flood of memories came back to him, and a blistering rage took over, squelching the fire that was there and replacing it with a cool, centered anger.
“You are supposed to be dead, you little bastard,” Taris said, never taking his eyes away from the piercing crimson that glared up at him. “I thought you and that hellhound were gone for good.”
Bane let out a laugh that rattled the metal of the railings. His boots hit the concrete steps with heavy smacks that mixed with his maniacal chuckle.
“Didn’t die, not at all. Got scuffed up a bit, though. You know, you guys should really be more thorough when you light off a powder keg. We managed to slip out the back room, pretty as you please. Been living back home since then, flying under the radar as much as hell on wheels can, of course.” Bane touched his leather-clad shoulder. “Still have a scar or two, though.” His hand slipped underneath his jacket, and he quickly withdrew a Glock, taking aim straight at Taris.
“And that hellhound sends her regards, fuck you very much.” He squeezed the trigger, sending a shot barreling toward Taris. He barely had time to dodge it as it sent a spark through the stairwell. A scream ripped from somewhere, and he looked down to see a pair of bloodshot brown eyes staring up at him in absolute horror. She was frozen solid, gripping onto his trench lapels.
“Shit. Just…look, just do me a favor, and don’t scream anymore.” He ran up the remaining stairs, all the while the tinkling of bullets hitting the walls and metal pipes, sending white flares all around him.
“Where are you off to, big brother? Off to save the world, you pathetic bastard? I’ll make sure to take good care of Kalin after I hand Morrigan your head.” Bane’s voice bounced off the walls and rang in his ears, chilling his veins to ice. “I’m just here for the girl. Throw her down, and I’ll make sure I don’t ruin your pretty face.”
Taris could hear Bane laughing behind him as his maniacal-looking boots tromped close on their heels. He kicked open the roof access door and slammed it shut behind him, trying to buy them some time. He looked down at the small woman still clutching on to him.
“I need you to hold on tight and close your eyes, okay? First, reach behind me under my coat and grab the knife that’s at the small of my back.”
She was petrified. Her pink eyes were wide with shock, shock that prevented her from moving at all.
“You want to die or not?” Taris bit out, the urgency in his voice shaking her loose from the panic-induced paralysis.
She shook her head.
“Then hand me the damned knife!”
Her hands shook as she slid one from around his neck, down the length of his torso, and around to his back. She reached underneath his trench and found the loop at the base of his spine where his low-slung jeans met his cotton shirt. Her fingers fumbled with the loop at his belt that held the blade in, but she eventually managed to jerk it free, and she held it up to him.
“Good girl,” he said as he removed one arm from underneath her legs. “Now I need you to wrap your legs around me and grab onto my neck. And for the love of God, no matter what, don’t let go, you understand?”
She nodded again and buried her head in his neck as she gripped his waist with her legs. To make sure she had a firm hold on him, she locked her ankles around his hips. He moved quickly, taking them to the opposite side of the roof before she heard the door being kicked open. A little scream tried to escape her, but was stifled by his chest. She gripped him tighter as he dragged in deep breaths.
“It’ll be okay. You’re safe,” he said before he began to run, hard and fast. She squeezed her eyes shut again as they drew closer and closer to the edge of the building, until finally, he leapt off the edge.
* * *
Sarah wasn’t sure when it happened, but she opened her eyes just long enough to see the guy with the eye shadow on the top of the roof, aiming a giant gun right at them. From his side, the gigantic guy holding her flicked his arm, and in an instant, the menacing man on the rooftop went down, clutching at his leg.
“You can’t hide from me, Taris,” the other man yelled. “I’ll find you. And when I do, I’ll take that bitch from you, too!”
“We’ll see about that, RuPaul!” Taris yelled as they hit the gravel rooftop on the opposite side of the street. As Sarah clung to him, he wasted no time in getting them down off the building and into the truck he had parked in the alleyway behind it.
Chapter 7
It was several minutes before Sarah realized she wasn’t dreaming. The tall guy in her room, the creepy guy on the stairs, all of it had been real. After about five miles of telling herself to wake up, then looking at the tall guy who was driving, then pinching herself, then
telling herself to wake up again, then looking at the tall guy some more, reality and the promise of a full-fledged panic attack set in.
“I swear, if you let me go, I won’t tell anyone, okay?” Sarah finally found her voice. She had a moment where she thought that maybe this was a dream again, judging by the way the driver of the car looked. He was dark and mysterious, chiseled from head to toe—she should know, she all but crawled into him when they were running away from that other guy. She couldn’t make out much in the dark of the truck’s cab, but even in the faint light of the street lamps, something about this guy made her feel different. Maybe it was his voice—that deep, gravelly, slightly British voice. Maybe it was the smell that came off him, that man-mixed-with-leather-and-aftershave smell.
“Who are you?” Her damned voice box rebelled against her and her question came out in a whisper.
He was focused on the road, his eyes never leaving it as he maneuvered the giant diesel truck in and out of the one a.m. traffic. “I’ll explain everything when we get to where we are going. In the meantime, just sit back and try to relax, okay?”
“Relax? Okay, yeah. I was taken out of my bed in the middle of the night by some guy I don’t even know, and then I was chased up the stairwell by a Sherman tank of a drag queen, and you tell me to relax? Yeah right, pal! Listen, seriously, whatever ransom you’re asking for, I can pay it. Just bring me to an ATM, and you can have whatever you want, okay? Just let me go.”
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