by Deja Black
Remi’s size accompanied by his confidence compelled Peter’s wolf to dominate him, claim him, body and soul. The need rolled through him like the waves of the ocean.
On television, the vampire sank its canines into its victim. Peter ran his own tongue along his gums, his fangs itching and tingling in response. The woman’s eyes rose, pleasure staining her face, her lips open in a gasp.
Peter imagined Remi, vulnerable to him as he fed. As if there was a link to his dick, he felt a stirring in his balls. One hand drifted down his length, the other moving to his nipple. His long cock felt warm in his hand, hard and ready. Taking his index finger and sliding it along the slit, he found a little spilling of pre-cum. He pumped slowly up and down, gently fucking his hand while he pictured Remi.
Peter envisioned Remi’s ass, muscular and begging for a bite. The way his name would sound screamed from Remi’s full lips, all wrapped up in that musical way he spoke. Mine.
He pumped harder, twisted his nipple as he fucked his dream Remi. The lights from the show flickered over the walls as Peter went faster and faster, pumped harder and harder, took Remi to the hilt of his dick.
“Oh,” he cried as his seed jetted from his dick covering his hand, warm and sticky. He opened his eyes to see the characters on the show sitting on top of a car talking. He’d missed whatever brought them there, but he felt too sated to worry, focused more on the pleasure he’d just experienced.
Peter shook his head and smiled. Sated, at least for now, he settled in to re-watch the episode.
* * * *
“The prince quickens,” a voice whispered respectfully.
Alonya Romanoff turned from her meal, the human snack draped across her lap, her tongue gingerly licking up the delightful drops of his blood. She’d enjoyed the fragrant life seeping from his pierced veins. Wrapping strong fingers around a long alabaster neck, she squeezed more of the ruby redness to the surface, the color sharp and brilliant.
“Sweet. Ripe.” She slid her fingers through the coppery red and luxuriated in the tasty bits from each elegant digit, one by one.
“My Korolova,” Ilarion said, louder this time but no less afraid, the hesitation evident to her ears. While she enjoyed the respect from Alexi Romanoff’s coven, she found them all tiring. Right now, her Second stood ramrod straight, golden hair tied in a queue. His black suit was very appealing, very model chic. She did so love when her men dressed to impress. Now, if only his confidence matched his outward perfection.
Sighing, Alonya allowed the human to slip from her hold and fall to the floor, then pushed him away with her shiny black booted foot, delicately stepping over him as he lay trembling. Her raven hair flowed behind her as she walked away from a plush divan and took her seat on an antique high backed aged wood chair with gilded edges, a sort of throne with her as the Deystvuyushchiy Korolova, the acting queen. Acting until she finally removed Alexi’s spawn. Settled, she focused on her Second.
“I’m fed.” She glanced at the human enthralled at her feet. He writhed, seeking her touch. “For now.” Focusing on Ilarion, she said, “Speak further.” She crossed her legs and reclined, waiting.
“The prince, he quickens, Korolova.”
“Explain.” Ilarion was a lovely creature, but her patience was wearing thin. He either needed to speak faster or to be fed to his successor.
“Today, his power expanded.”
Ah, now this was gratifying news indeed. Alonya looked toward the shadows. “Take the human. He is yours.” She had business to attend to.
* * * *
Kristoff sat at his desk, signing away. As head of security, one would think that his responsibilities would allow him to avoid paperwork, but no. He oversaw wretched guests in the home, members of the community who requested to use areas of the compound grounds. Made sure all interactions with the outside world were monitored, and the Alpha was assured none of his people would be harmed, or harm others.
Damn Jeremiah and his need to appease his human son and continue ties with the human world. But, the Alpha was not to be doubted in his vision. Jeremiah looked beyond the here and now, much of it to do with his ability to see through others. This was his way of networking, and by making the pack available to humans, vampires, and other beings of the supernatural world. He was giving them a place of high standing, one where others would remember their connections. It was a solid initiative, but it made Kristoff no happier with the stacks before him.
His email notification lit up while he sat at his dark mahogany desk. Cursing, he opened it only to see a few more emails had slipped in under the radar.
“Yebat, fuck,” he growled. While he handled this, two of his best wolves were with Jeremiah. His Alpha was overseeing the building of the newest home on the Tolliver’s vast property for his son and his son’s mate.
Aiden and Daniel decided to remain on the compound only if they were given a home separate from the main house. He’d gamble the stipulation came from Daniel and not from the Sandman. Aiden needed family and immersed himself in the pack. Daniel, though. Daniel wanted a place of their own.
While Kristoff appreciated Daniel’s attempts to be independent, he did not appreciate having to be separate from his Alpha even for a moment. He loved the boy, but Kristoff’s need to be near Jeremiah wrenched at his soul. Yes, he trusted his best wolves with him. They would die to protect their Alpha, but he lived and breathed to be in Jeremiah’s shadow. He was angry at anyone and everything that denied him that gift.
Ever aware, he heard the steps of Zakhar before the nelapsi touched the door to open it. Anyone else might miss his whisper-soft movements, but not one as trained as Kristoff.
“Kristoff,” Zakhar said softly. “There’s been a change. You asked to be notified.”
“A change young one?” Kristoff questioned.
“Yes.” Zakhar Romanoff was a member of Alexi’s coven before Alexi and Kristoff’s sister, Lidiya, fled Russia. Alexi and Lidiya wanted desperately to hide the child she carried—a child no one anticipated existing. A wolf and a nelapsi. A miracle.
“The bond opens, its pulse gentle but erratic. It’s gaining strength.” Zakhar’s message was crystal clear. If he recognized the pulse, the current of the ancient bloodline awakening, the rest of the coven did, too.
It wouldn’t be long before Peter’s battle would begin.
Kristoff stood towering over the young nelapsi. Alarmed, Zakhar stepped back, but Kristoff said reassuringly, “Thank you, Zakhar. I am ever grateful to you.”
“You are welcome, Kristoff. Should you need anything further, I will be present.” Zakhar backed out of the room quietly, shutting the door.
Kristoff watched him leave before stalking to his desk, attacking the intercom button.
“Carlotta,” he rumbled. “Locate Caleb. He is needed immediately.”
Chapter Seven
Early Friday morning, Remi sat at the computer, eyes scanning the screen quickly. He was so buried in concentration, he didn’t notice Kaden reading over his shoulder at first. Glancing up, he saw his hazel eyes squint as he focused on the words, glimpsed the pictures, then went back to studying the screen.
“Must be some interesting stuff there, huh, Remi? How far back does Peter Romanoff’s life go?” Kaden’s questions were simple, his tone carefully uninterested, but he had something on his mind. Remi heard him use that tone too many times when interrogating a suspect.
Besides, they knew each other, and each other’s tactics.
Remi smiled. “Not long enough. No parents are listed for Peter. No family given other than an uncle, maybe. His longest given residence being the Tolliver estate. It’s hard to find anything at all.”
There just wasn’t enough to go by.
Remi relaxed his body and turned to face Kaden. His legs were splayed before him, his relaxed jeans falling over brown leather boots. His arms raised with his hands cradling his head, Remi focused on his partner.
“So,
I was doing research on De La Cruz’s classes and her possible connection to Peter. I was able to find Peter attended UofL and earned his bachelor’s degree in photography. That he was listed as a student of hers in group projects for galleries willing to display student work.” Remi picked up his glass, pulled strongly through the straw, the taste of fruit bursting on his tongue.
“Well, that may be, but how valid is it to connect him to any of this any more than anyone else that has taken her class? It may have nothing to do with her death or everything?” Kaden paused. “What are you drinking?”
“Smoothie.”
“What’s in it?”
“The usual. Why?”
“Looks delicious is all. I’m hungry. Give it to me.”
“No, get your own.”
Kaden grabbed it, took it back to his seat and sat down, the sound of him drinking away making Remi shake his head. “Oh, yeah. Perfect.” He sighed happily. “Okay, go on,” his partner gestured for Remi to continue.
“Cul,” Remi said as he reached toward his desk.
“English, Remi. English,” Kaden laughed while he ducked the paper missile launched at his head. “Come on. Sharing is caring.”
“Ass. Germs, man.”
“We’re practically brothers. Now, talk.” Kaden said.
Sighing, Remi grumbled on. He’d be sure to pour hot sauce in his next one.
“So,” Remi said, “aren’t we always taught to examine all possibilities, follow all leads, and connect the threads that build the web?”
Kaden looked at him, his head turning to the side. “Yep. One of the first rules to learn.” The final slurp was loud as he polished off Remi’s drink, “so continue.” He tossed the container to Remi who caught it easily and returned it.
“You drank it. You clean the cup,” Remi grumbled.
“Clean it?”
“Yes.” Dried up fruity bits stuck to the cup were not easy to remove. “Now, that’s not all. I questioned some of the neighbors in the victim’s neighborhood. Two of them remember seeing vehicles outside the professor’s home.”
“What? Like she was being watched.”
“Yes, and it wasn’t the first time. Apparently, exotic cars were driving through the neighborhood for a while. When I checked to see if there was any surveillance, anything to track them, nothing popped up.”
“Make and model?”
“Other than expensive and black, maybe Mercedes Benz or some high-end ride, there were no particulars given. Lyndon and Marshall are doing some footwork on the college campus where she worked to see if her coworkers or students remember anyone hanging around after class or in the parking lot.”
“It would make sense. If they’ve camped around her home, they had to be following her at work, too,” Kaden said. “What’s up next? I’m guessing interviewing Peter about his connection with his brutally murdered former professor? Start with the pictures at her home?” Kaden asked.
“Yes, but I’m taking a trip to see Davis first. See what he has for us.”
“So, heard you found out what those words were,” Davis peered at Remi from a table. His arms were elbow-deep in a body on the table, the smacking sounds of tissue and blood moving unnerving as he sank his arms further searching within the corpse. Rather than the smells of decomposition and decay—the rancid sweetness that typically accompanied death—the scent of the room was clinical, the temperature frigid, maintaining the requisite thirty-six degrees necessary to store dead bodies. Remi waiting patiently while Davis did whatever he was doing. When it didn’t look like the body was giving up what the coroner wanted without a fight, he spoke.
“Davis, I don’t want to interrupt.”
Surprised, he looked up, the sucking sound loud as he pulled his arms out of the chest cavity, looking at something in his hand. “What, this? No, nothing important. Let me clean up, and I’ll pull your vic’s chart. This old bitch can wait.” He slapped the corpse loudly on the thigh. “Can’t you, sweetheart?”
Davis snorted as he pulled off the gloves, then cleaned his hands. Retrieving a clipboard from the desk, he returned to Remi. “Now, the particulars for your victim. De La Cruz was relatively healthy for a woman her age. Drank a little, though. No smoking. No diseases. Hell, no eyes either.
“But, we did find those. She was beaten to shit and back, then carved up like Thanksgiving Dinner. The blood on the wall was hers as well as brain matter, bone fragments, and other squishy bits. Now for the interesting part.”
Remi leaned in close and waited.
“Bites.”
“Bites?”
“Yes, at her ankles, the insides of her elbows, her neck, and her wrists. It’s like some shit out of a horror movie. Also, the punctures. Different sizes, various degrees of entry. When all was said and done, the schoolmarm was a dry husk. The only blood left was smeared around her and on the wall. The body itself? Pumped and squeezed like she was a lemon and someone was making lemonade.”
“What do you think it was?”
“Fuck if I know, a meat tenderizer? If I were crazy enough to believe it, I’d say a vampire, but we all know they aren’t real. So, I have no idea and a dead woman with no blood. You tell me.”
Chapter Eight
There was a charge in the air, possibility. Peter was restless, set to explode out of his own skin, and there was no doubt in his mind Remi Devereaux was the source. His mind refused to leave the kiss, the detective in his arms, at his mercy.
He’d never had a serious interest in sex. His sexual needs sometimes dulled to near non-existence. He took his pleasure, enjoyed a moment every now and then, but nothing—no one—grabbed him.
Sure, he’d visited a club or two with a very agile Dan to get his dance on, always shadowed by several men or wolves. He and Dan moved beautifully together, enough to stir a visible interest in the warm bodies around them. No one danced like Dan Tolliver-Kavanagh. He moved like liquid, and if Peter didn’t know he was just human, he would swear the teacher was fey. It was fun, but Dan belonged to Aiden and was the Alpha’s son.
Peter only dated once, and it had been a mistake. He rolled his eyes at the memory. He’d felt nothing, had watched Mark try to prove how right they were together. He’d suffered through Mark’s accusations of Peter holding himself back, keeping himself away. Draining. Now he lived vicariously through the experience of Caleb who firmly believed in enjoying the benefits that sex offered and then moving on.
But, one taste of Remi, and he was hooked. He wanted more. He needed more.
Peter worked in his studio, unsure how many hours passed when he scented it, a change in the atmosphere. It was unsettling at first, the need that crawled over him, sinking in her claws and tearing him out of his focus.
Peter was diligently searching for the right images for the gallery showing—less Anne Geddes, more heart-wrenching. Photos that would empty pockets for the charity.
When tragedy occurred, there wasn’t always a promise of a safety net. Not everyone had an uncle Kristoff or Jeremiah Tolliver backing them. And, though they were there, Peter still felt the absence of his parents keenly. Not even visiting the home they kept in Charleston, South Carolina helped to ease the pain. The vast edifice more a homage to their spirit than a celebration of life.
So, his family home became his charity, opened to families in need. It was important to Peter that shattered families had that home, a place to call their own, and the necessary means for survival.
Peter found a photo he liked for the entryway—a mother caressing her swollen belly. In the background was a shadowed silhouette where the father served as a reminder of the emptiness, the loss. It would work to break hearts everywhere.
He’d build them back up with a picture of a father with tears in his eyes at a child’s graduation, a rose in the seat next to him where a loved one should be—a symbol of the ability to move on beyond the loss. It was a reminder that education was not free but still possible. There
would be place cards with scholarship information on them.
Life was progress and change, transitions. Sometimes those transitions required financing to back them.
His heart beat faster with the awareness of Remi Devereaux nearby. Dropping everything, he walked down the long hall into the front room. The buzzer went off, and one of his wolves stood at the door.
“A Remi Devereaux waiting to see you, Korol.” Remi was standing outside his door. Peter didn’t know why he was here, but not knowing didn’t stop Peter from wanting to see him, wanting to be near enough to touch, again.
Peter breathed in, inhaling the scent of Remi’s potent and spicy blood. He ignored his wolf’s urges for meat in favor of the aroma that beckoned him. Simple food came secondary. It wasn’t the nourishment he needed. The nelapsi was salivating for what waited only moments away.
Unsure of what to expect but excited just the same, he nodded to allow Remi in. In moments, Remi stood in the doorway in a simple navy-blue crew neck, and dark blue denim draped over dark brown leather boots. He was barrel-chested, magnificently built, and Peter imagined all that virility resting at his feet. Mine. He didn’t just want Remi. He wanted to own him.
He watched as Remi took in the room where they stood. The wolf who’d opened the door was observing them, then moved away to give them space. Remi’s molten brown eyes saw everything, noted it, and then landed on him again.
What did Remi think of his home, his sanctuary? Peter tried looking at the room as if for the first time. He saw the oversized chairs, his sofa lying in front of the wooden panel hiding the flat screen television.
The lighting was subtle, a light blush displaying his framed photos, pictures he’d taken on visits here and there. He enjoyed vibrant colors and except for his cream-colored sofa, the rest of the room was decorated in the vivid hues that would welcome him when he came home. It was interesting how they complimented Remi, blended warmly with his own browns and blues.