by Kim Harrison
Samuel sullenly backed off, and Kist held out his hand for my bag. I hesitated, then seeing him arch his eyebrow as if to say, “Just give me a reason,” I extended it. He took it, roughly setting it on a nearby table. “Give me what you have on you,” he said softly.
Eyes on his, I slowly reached behind me and handed him my splat gun. There wasn’t a sound from the surrounding vampires. Perhaps some respect for my little red paint-ball gun? They didn’t know what it was loaded with. I had known the moment I tucked it behind my waistband I’d never get to use it, and I frowned at lost chances that never really existed.
“The cross?” he asked, and I worked the clasp of my charm bracelet, dropping it into his waiting hand. Saying nothing, he set it and my gun on the table behind him. Stepping forward, he put his arms out wide. I obediently mimicked him, and he came close to pat me down.
Jaw gritted, I felt his hands run over me. Where he touched, a warm tingling started, working its way to my middle. Not the scar, not the scar, I thought desperately, knowing what would happen if he touched it. The vamp pheromones were almost thick enough to see, and just the breeze from the fan was making a pleasant sensation run from my neck to my groin.
I shook in relief when his hands fell away. “The charm on your pinky,” he demanded, and I took it off, slapping it in his palm. He dropped it beside my gun. A tight look came into his eye as he stood before me. “If you move, you die,” he said.
I stared at him, not understanding.
Kist eased close, and my breath hissed. I could smell his tension, his wire-tight reactions balancing on the possibility of my next move. He sent his breath against my collarbone, and my thoughts jerked back to his lips brushing my ear four days ago. Head tilted, he looked down at me, hesitating, an empty look in his blue eyes, his hunger well-hidden.
Reaching up, he ran a finger from my ear, across my neck and the bumps of my scar.
My knees buckled. Sucking in air, I pulled myself upright, and with waves of need demanding to be met, I backhanded him. He caught my wrist before it landed, yanking me into him. Twisting, I swung my foot up. He caught it.
Kist jerked me off my feet and let go.
I fell on my can, the wooden floor bruising. I stared up at him as the vamps laughed. Kist’s face, though, was empty. No anger, no speculation. Nothing.
“You smell like Ivy,” he said as I got to my feet, my heart hammering. “You aren’t bound to her, though.” A sliver of satisfaction marred his stoic expression. “She couldn’t do it.”
“What are you talking about?” I snarled, embarrassed and angry as I brushed myself off.
His eyes narrowed. “It felt good, didn’t it? Me touching your scar? Once a vamp binds you by blood, only they can elicit that kind of a response. Who bit you and didn’t bother to claim you?” His face went thoughtful, and I thought I saw a glimmer of lust. “Or did you kill your attacker afterward to prevent being bound? You’re a bad little girl.”
I said nothing, letting him believe what he wanted, and he shrugged. “Since you aren’t tied to anyone, any vamp can entice that kind of reaction.” His eyebrows rose. “Any vamp,” he repeated, and a chill went through me at the thought of Piscary waiting for me. “You should have an interesting morning,” he added.
Vision clearing, he reached behind him and dragged my bag from the table. The vamps had begun to talk among themselves, making casual, unnerving speculations as to how long I would last. Kist pulled out the butcher knife first, and hooting laughter rippled over them. My gaze went over the destruction of Piscary’s as Kist set a handful of charms clattering on the table.
“Did Ivy do this?” I asked, trying to find a sliver of my confidence. The longer I kept them talking, the better the chance that Nick would get the FIB out there in time.
The vamp I had crotch-punched sneered. “In a manner of speaking.” He looked at Kist, and I thought I saw the blond vamp’s jaw clench. “Your roommate’s a good lay,” Samuel said, going smug as Kist’s breath quickened and his fingers digging through my bag became rough.
“Yeah,” Samuel continued in a good-old-boy’s drawl. “She and Piscary got the entire restaurant hopped-up on vamp pheromones. Ended up with three fights, a couple of bites.” He leaned against a table, crossed his arms and smirked. “Someone died and got carted off to the city’s temporary vaults. See? He got his picture on the wall and a coupon for a free dinner. We were damned lucky we figured out what was going on and got everyone not a vamp outta here before all hell broke loose. God help us if Piscary lost his MPL and had to reapply. Took him almost a year last time.” Samuel took a peanut from a bowl and threw it into the air, catching it with his mouth and grinning as he chewed.
Kist’s face was red with anger. “Shut up,” he said, pulling the ties to my bag closed.
“Whatsa matter?” Samuel mocked. “Just ’cause you never got Piscary that worked up doesn’t mean he’s gonna make her his scion.”
Kist stiffened. He hadn’t told anyone that Piscary already did. My eyes darted to him, his anger keeping my mouth shut.
“I said shut up,” Kist warned, the heat from him almost visible.
The surrounding vamps were casually shifting back. Samuel laughed, clearly wanting to push Kist as far as he could. “Kist is jealous,” he said to me with the sole intent to irritate him. “The most that ever happened when he and Piscary were going at it was a bar fight.” His full lips split into a nasty grin, and he glanced cockily at the surrounding vamps. “Don’t worry, old man,” he directed to Kist. “Piscary will get tired of her as soon as she dies, and you’ll be back on top—or bottom—or somewhere in between if you’re lucky. Maybe they’ll let you sit in and Ivy can teach you a thing or two.”
Kist’s fingers trembled. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, he moved. Too fast to follow, he crossed the circle, grabbed Samuel by the shirtfront, and shoved him up against a thick support post. The timber groaned, and I heard something snap in Samuel’s chest. The bigger man’s face showed a surprised shock, his eyes wide and his mouth open in pain he hadn’t had time to feel.
“Shut up,” Kist said softly. His jaw clenched and his eye twitched. Dropping him, Kist gave Samuel a shove, twisting his arm at an unnatural angle as the larger man fell to his knees. My breath caught at the audible pop of his shoulder dislocating.
Samuel’s eyes bulged. Mouth open in a silent scream, he knelt, his arm still bent behind him, since Kist had never let go of his wrist. Kist dropped it, and Samuel gasped for air.
I stood—unable to move—frightened at how fast it had been.
Kist was suddenly before to me, and I jerked. “Here’s your bag,” he said, handing it to me. I snatched it, and Kist gestured that I should go before him. An opening parted in the circle. The surrounding vamps looked properly cowed. No one had gone to help Samuel, and his ragged pants for air as he lay unmoving struck me to my core.
“Don’t touch me,” I said as I passed Kist. “And none of you had better mess with my things while I’m gone,” I added, shaking inside. My pace faltered as I took a last look at my charms and realized only about half of what I had brought was on the table.
Kist took my elbow and pulled me into motion. “Let me go,” I said, the memory of him dislocating Samuel’s arm keeping me from pulling away.
“Shut up,” he said, the tension in his voice giving me pause.
Mind whirling, I followed his not-so-subtle direction, weaving through the tables to pass through a set of swinging doors and into the kitchen. Behind us the wait staff went back to their work, the speculations flying as they ignored Samuel.
I couldn’t help notice that though smaller, my kitchen was nicer than Piscary’s. Kist led me to a metal institutional-looking fire door. He opened it and flicked on a light to show a small white room floored in oak. The silver doors of an elevator were tucked out of the way. A wide-mouthed, spiral stairway leading downward took up much of one wall. The stairway was elegant, the modest chandelier above it clinking faintly in the
upwelling draft. A wooden clock the size of a table hung on the wall opposite the stairway, ticking loudly.
“Down?” I said, trying to keep from looking scared. If Nick didn’t find my note, there was no chance I’d be coming back up those stairs.
The fire door snicked shut behind him, and I felt the air pressure change. The draft smelled like nothing, almost a void in itself. “Let’s take the elevator,” Kist said, his voice unexpectedly soft. His entire posture changed as he focused on an unknown thought. He had left me some of my charms ….
The elevator doors opened immediately when he pushed the button, and I got in. Kist was tight behind me, and we faced the doors as they closed. With a soft pull at my stomach, the elevator started down. Immediately I swung my bag around and opened it.
“Idiot!” Kist hissed.
A tiny shriek escaped me as he slid, pinning me into a corner. The room shifted under me and I froze, poised to act. His teeth were inches from me. My demon scar pulsed and I held my breath. The pheromones were less in here, but it didn’t seem to matter. If there was elevator music, I was going to scream.
“Don’t be stupid. You don’t think he’s got cameras in here?”
My breath came in a soft pant. “Get away from me.”
“Don’t think so, love,” he whispered, his breath sending tingling jolts from my neck and making my blood pound. “I’m going to see just how far that scar on your neck can take you … and when I’m done, you’re going to find a vial in your purse.”
I stiffened as he pressed closer. The scent of leather and silk was a pleasing assault. I couldn’t breathe as he nuzzled my hair out of the way. “It’s Egyptian embalming fluid,” he said, and I tensed as his lips shifted against my neck with his words. I didn’t dare move, and if I was honest, I’d admit that I didn’t want to as tingling ribbons of promise flowed from my scar. “Get it in his eyes, and it will knock him unconscious.”
I couldn’t help it. My body demanded I do something. Shoulders easing, I closed my eyes and ran my hands up the smooth expanse of his back. He paused in surprise, then his hands slid down my sides to grasp my waist. The muscles under his silk shirt bunched beneath my fingers. Reaching upward, my nails played with the hair at the nape of his neck. The soft strands had a uniform color that you can only find in a box, and I realized he dyed his hair.
“Why are you helping me?” I breathed, fingering the black chain about his neck. The body-warm links were the same pattern as the bracelets about Ivy’s ankle.
I felt his muscles shift, tightening with pain instead of desire. “He said I was his scion,” he said as he hid his face in my hair to hide his moving lips from the unseen camera—at least, that’s what I told myself. “He said I would be with him forever, and he betrayed me for Ivy. She doesn’t deserve him.” Hurt stained his voice. “She doesn’t even love him.”
My eyes closed. I would never understand vampires. Not knowing why I did, I sent my fingers gently through his hair, soothing him as his breath caressed my demon scar into mounting surges demanding to be met. Common sense told me to stop, but he was hurt, and I’d been betrayed like that, too.
Kist’s breath faltered as I sent the hint of my fingernails under his ear. Making a low guttural sound, he pressed closer, his heat obvious through the thin material of my shirt. His tension became deeper, more dangerous. “My God,” he whispered, his voice a husky thread. “Ivy was right. Leaving you unbound and free of compulsion would be like fucking a tiger.”
“Watch your mouth,” I said breathily, his hair tickling my face. “I don’t like that kind of language.” I was already dead. Why not enjoy my last few moments?
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obediently, his voice shocking in its submissiveness even as he forced his lips to mine. My head hit the back of the elevator with the force of his kiss. I pushed back, unafraid.
“Don’t call me that,” I mumbled around his mouth, remembering what Ivy had said about him playing the subordinate. Maybe I could survive a submissive vampire.
His weight pressing harder into me, he pulled his lips from mine. I met his eyes—his faultless blue eyes—studying them with the breathless understanding that I didn’t know what was going to happen next, but praying that whatever it was, it would happen.
“Let me do this,” he said, his rumbling voice just shy of a growl. His hands were free, and he took my chin and held my head unmoving. I caught a glint of tooth, then he was too close to see anything. Not a shimmer of fear struck me as he kissed me again, pushed out by a sudden realization.
He wasn’t after blood. Ivy wanted blood; Kist wanted sex. And the risk that his desire might turn to blood catapulted me past my sensibilities and into a reckless daring.
His lips were soft with a moist warmth. His blond stubble was a striking contrast, adding to my fervor. Heart pounding, I hooked a foot behind his leg and pulled him closer. Feeling it, his breath came and went in a pant. A soft sound of real bliss escaped me. My tongue found the smoothness of his teeth, and his muscles under my hands tensed. I pulled my tongue away, teasing.
Our mouths parted. Heat was in his eyes, black and full of a fervent, unashamed desire. And still there was no fear. “Give this to me ….” he breathed. “I won’t break your skin if …” He took a breath. “… you give this to me.”
“Shut up, Kisten,” I whispered, closing my eyes to block what I could of the confusing swirl of rising tensions.
“Yes, Ms. Morgan.”
It was the softest whisper. I wasn’t even sure I had heard it. The need in me swelled, compelling beyond sanity. I knew I shouldn’t, but heart quickening, I ran my nails down his neck to leave red pressure trails. Kisten shuddered, his hands falling to find the small of my back, firm and questing. Liquid fire raced from my neck as he angled his head and found my scar. His breath came in strong surges, sending wave after delicious wave through me from his lips alone.
“I will not—I will not,” he panted, and I realized he was balanced on the brink of something more. A tremor passed through me as he traced a path across my neck with his gentle teeth. A whisper of words unrecognized pattered through my thoughts, pinging my sensibilities. “Say yes …” he urged, a wisp of urgent promise in his low, coaxing voice. “Say it, love. Please … give me this, too.”
My knees trembled as the coolness of his teeth grazed over my skin again, testing, luring. His hands on my shoulders held me firm. Did I want this? Eyes warming with unshed tears, I admitted I didn’t know anymore. Where Ivy couldn’t move me, Kisten did. I prayed Kisten didn’t feel it in my fingers gripping his arms as if he was the only thing keeping me sane at this brink of time.
“You need to hear me say yes?” I breathed, recognizing the passion in my voice. I would rather die here with Kisten then in fear with Piscary.
The ding of the elevator intruded and the doors opened.
A flush of cool air drifted about my ankles. Reality flashed back in a painful rush. It was too late. I had tarried too long. “Do I have the vial?” I questioned, breathless as my fingers twined among the short hair at the nape of his neck. His weight was heavy against me, and the scent of leather and silk would forever mean Kisten to me. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to get out of this elevator.
I felt Kist’s heartbeat and heard him swallow. “It’s in your purse,” he breathed.
“Good.” My jaw clenched and my grip in his hair tightened. Yanking his head back, I brought my knee up.
Kist flung himself away from me. The elevator shook as he hit the opposite wall. I’d missed him. Damn.
Breathless and disheveled, he pulled himself straight and felt his ribs. “You have to move faster than that, witch.” Flipping the hair from his eyes, he gestured for me to go out before him.
Knees watery and loose, I gathered myself and walked out of the elevator.
Twenty-Seven
Piscary’s daytime quarters were not what I had expected. I walked out of the elevator, my head swinging from side to side, taking it
all in. The ceilings were high—I guessed ten feet—and were painted white where they weren’t covered with warm, primary-colored sheets of fabric draped into soothing folds. Large archways hinted at equally spacious rooms farther in. It had the soft comfort of a playboy mansion mixed with the air of a museum. I spared a moment to try to find a ley line, not surprised to find I was too deep underground.
My boots trod upon a plush off-white carpet. The furniture was tasteful, and there was occasional artwork under spotlights. Floor-to-ceiling curtains at regular intervals gave the illusion of windows behind them. Bookshelves behind glass were between them, every tome looking older than the Turn. Nick would have loved it, and I spared a thought, desperately hoping he had found my note. The first hints of possible success made me walk with more confidence than I deserved. Between Kisten’s vial and Nick’s note, maybe I could escape with my life.
The doors to the elevator shut. I turned, noticing there was no button to push to make them open up again. The stairway, too, was missing. It must come out somewhere else. My heart gave a pound and settled. Escape with my life? Maybe.
“Take off your boots,” Kist said.
I cocked my head in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“They’re dirty.” His attention was on my feet. He was still flushed. “Take them off.”
I looked at the expanse of white carpet. He wanted me to kill Piscary, and he was worried about my boots on the carpet? Grimacing, I slipped them off and left them askew by the elevator. I did not believe this. I was going to die in my bare feet.
But the carpet felt nice on my arches as I followed Kisten, forcing myself to not feel the outside of my bag for the vial he had promised was there. He was tense again, his jaw tight and his manner sullen, far from the domineering vampire that had driven me to the brink of capitulation. He looked jealous and wronged. Just what I would expect from a betrayed lover.
Give me this …. echoed in my memory, pulling an un-stoppable shudder through me. I wondered if he begged Piscary like that, knowing that he had been asking for blood. And I wondered if, to Kisten, the taking of blood was a casual commitment or something more.