For a short time, at least.
Thank God things had been slow lately, so he didn’t feel too guilty being here. After the Seattle field team busted a huge Night of Wilding party recently on one of the San Juan Islands, the streets had been pretty quiet. Those who weren’t killed during the raid had gone into hiding. Not that there weren’t still members of the underground seeking out desirable blood types to sell on the black market—hell, he’d caught one last night stalking a young mother who was holding her child’s hand—but, for the most part, work was slow. Mitch just needed to unknot his tighty-whities and chill out.
Ah, yes, sweetheart, just a little more and I’ll be finished.
“You must work out a lot,” the woman said, running her hands over Jackson’s back.
“Yeah, guess you could say that.”
Not wanting to crush her small frame, he shifted his weight slightly and kept his hand against her temple. Evidently the anorexic look was in fashion this winter. The chick he’d been with earlier had been just as skinny.
Having yanked off her own shirt when they got to the room, she now tugged at his clothes, fumbled with his belt. He didn’t put distance between the two of them to make it any easier for her.
Lucky for him, she’d had a healthy dose of sun recently—her stored energy levels were higher than most people’s in Seattle who lived under a gray blanket during the winter months when the ultraviolet index was low. He was feeling stronger already, much more rejuvenated than if he’d been with someone else.
Had she just been to Hawaii? Cabo, maybe? Yes, Mexico, he decided. When they entered the private room a few minutes ago, he’d asked her to remove her silver rings and bracelets, citing an allergic reaction if his skin came into contact with the metal. Not exactly true, but close enough.
“God, I needed this.” Maybe he would be able to skip a couple of days.
“Me, too.” She managed to slip her hands under the waistband of his low-slung jeans, reaching, searching. Of course, she thought that was why he’d brought her here. It’s what he wanted her to think. It’s what he wanted everyone to think.
“Ooh, you’re commando. Did I tell you I like a man with easy access?”
“You lucked out then because I’m all about easy.” He sucked his abs in farther, making more room inside his pants without having to go through the hassle of shoving them down. He’d let her handle him for a few moments while he did his thing. As far as he was concerned, it was the perfect combination.
Her fingers brushed the head of his erection and she gasped. “Is that—oh, my God—what I think it is?” She’d found his piercing. Her pulse spiked as he hoped it would.
“It’s a little surprise for you.”
“No way.” She giggled nervously, her voice higher pitched than before. “Does it really, you know, make it better?”
“I’m told it does.” That tiny metal stud had seen its fair share of action. With minimal effort on his part, he could easily satisfy any woman. “Like I said, it’s your lucky night.”
And just like that, her excitement shot into his veins like a pinball ricocheting off the lighted bumpers. He held still and wallowed in the sensation.
She said something else, but he wasn’t really listening. This was his favorite part, experiencing the rush of anticipation from a female donor host when she made that discovery. It added an extra spice to the energy. Fear did the same thing, but he didn’t let himself think about that.
She tilted her head, seeking out his mouth.
I don’t think so. With his face turned away to keep his fangs hidden from view, he chose not to react to her body language. He ran his free hand down her arm to distract her.
“Kiss me,” she ordered.
“Tobacco. Just chewed a wad.” The lies easily rolled off his tongue. Only a few more moments, then he was outta here. “Didn’t know I’d be hooking up with the hottest girl in the club.”
“Really? You think so?”
“Absolutely. If I had, I’d have never taken a dip. I’m addicted, though. Weak. Totally unable to quit. Will you forgive me?” God, he was laying it on thick, but then women liked being with men they thought needed fixing. Men who needed their help.
“Of course.” She gave a little laugh that sounded like a cross between a woodpecker and a machine gun. It would’ve grated on his nerves if he wasn’t so mellow right now.
He didn’t like to kiss them, if he could help it. Even the pretty ones. Kissing led to feelings, which led to intimacy, which led to talking about the future. Not that he hadn’t played house with various women—both human and vampire—over the past century, but whenever they started in with the baby names, the bathroom colors and the mixing of bank accounts, he got itchy. As in the kind of itch that needed someone else to scratch it. After a while, when the charade became too hard to maintain, it just so happened that he’d become a shitty liar, very conveniently forgetting to cover his tracks. He really hated the “sugar, this just isn’t working for me any longer” speech, so he gave them a reason to break up with him.
His last on-again, off-again girlfriend had thrown all his crap on the front lawn when she discovered he’d been with another woman. His leather coat, his Xbox, all his games—ruined in the rain. He didn’t blame her for being pissed—he’d expected it. He cringed, though, when he thought about that damn coat. His favorite. It’d smelled musty ever since. Yeah, it was easier for everyone involved to not let things go that far in the first place. It really wasn’t worth it.
Dating standards aside, he couldn’t kiss this woman anyway, he noted as he ran his tongue over his partially extended fangs. A side effect of being sexually aroused, whether he planned to bite her or not. She sure as hell didn’t need that shocking visual. A female screaming at your appearance, if only for a moment before her memory could be wiped, deflated more than just your ego.
With every heartbeat, her energies continued to pulse into him, and her movements became less vigorous. Her nails weren’t digging into his ass the way they had been, her ankles no longer clasped behind him. One leg slipped from his hip to dangle bonelessly off the edge of the mattress. Finally, she yawned. With his ear against the side of her face, he heard her jaw pop.
“I’m sorry. I feel so…tired all of a sudden.”
“I’ve worn you out already?” he joked, though he knew it was true.
“Don’t worry. I’ll totally rally.”
When she yawned into his shoulder again, he knew it was time to go. He’d taken enough. He ran his tongue over the tips of his fangs.
But first…maybe just one taste.
With his ring finger, he located and caressed her artery, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart there. He could sink his teeth in and drink. One sip. Although her blood type was common, with all the sun she’d been exposed to, it would have the same stored energy signature.
He’d taken blood from an earlier host, but what would be the harm in another little taste? Or two?
Wait. Stop.
He didn’t need more blood. He’d had plenty tonight to sate his physical requirements. This desire was all in his head, he told himself. Completely unnecessary.
Reluctantly, he dragged his hand away. This dark nature of his was a cancer that never fully went away. Coaxing him. Whispering in his ear like a jealous lover who didn’t want to be forgotten.
No. He wouldn’t give in this time, as he had less than an hour ago. He clenched his teeth, cutting his lip in the process. “Shit.”
“Wh-what’s wrong?”
He waited a moment, willing his fangs to recede into his gums. “Nothing.” With effort, he pushed away from the drowsy woman, forcing himself to look at her as a living, breathing human and not unsuspecting, vulnerable prey.
Neon lights from a neighboring building f
lashed through the narrow window high on the wall, obscuring her features in garish, almost cartoonlike pink shadows. Her shirt was open, her breasts exposed. They didn’t sag much to either side, he noted. Instead, they proudly displayed an unmoving quantity of silicone beneath the taut mounds, too large for her waiflike body.
What would she look like in forty or fifty years? A grandma with Playboy-size implants. He stifled a chuckle and his fangs disappeared completely back into his gums. Humor always had a calming effect on him.
He didn’t want to consider that increased cravings for blood and energy were the first signs a vampire was reverting to the uncontrollable blood urges of his ancestors. No, he wasn’t a damn revert, nor was he in the beginning stages. He’d never killed a human and he wasn’t about to start. He may be a screwup in other ways, but there was no way he was giving in to that. Besides, if anyone suspected a Guardian was reverting, tests would be done and he’d be hauled in front of the Council. The sentencing would be swift, the punishment harsh. Regular members of vampire society got a long stint in rehab. Guardians weren’t so lucky.
Even though it happened more than a century ago, every detail about that night in the catacombs beneath Paris stuck in his memory like black ink on a fresh piece of paper. It was there if he chose to think about it. The moist stillness in the air. The sound of water dripping in one of the adjacent passageways. Hushed whispers echoing off the stone walls. The shuffle of feet as they made their way in the darkness to gather around the man held in chains.
Traitor, someone hissed.
A disgrace to your family.
You’ve endangered all of us.
Then the screams began.
Jackson shuddered. He was a young Guardian in training at the time. But even now, he didn’t want to think about what had happened to the agent who’d reverted and killed several humans, so he forced the memory out of his head.
The Governing Council was more civilized, or so they said. But once you witnessed something that brutal, that unforgiving, it was pretty damn hard to forget.
This was just a temporary hiccup. He’d muscle through it and be fine. What he needed right now was a little more yin to go with his yang.
She tugged at his triceps and made a little sound of protest. It wasn’t a surprise that she didn’t want him to go, but he reached for his coat, anyway. They never wanted him to leave, especially after knowing what his body jewelry could do for them. He enjoyed being someone’s addiction, liked to be needed, no matter how temporary or superficial.
“You’re not going already, are you? But we haven’t—”
“What you need is sleep and a healthy dose of sun tomorrow.” Good luck with that, though. Chances were, in Seattle at this time of year, that golden orb wouldn’t be making an appearance anytime soon.
“The sun? I don’t get it.”
“Just promise me, okay, sweetheart? Rain or no rain. You’ll spend time outdoors.” He considered telling her to take a vitamin-D supplement, but decided that’d sound too weird.
“Um, sure.”
As soon as his boots hit the floor, he leaned over and brushed four fingers over her forehead. “Sex with me was unlike anything you’ve experienced before,” he said, implanting a memory suggestion. “The only thing you’ll remember about me is that I’m an amazing lover and tonight was—” he searched for the appropriate dramatic word “—in-fucking-credible.”
Her eyelids fluttered briefly as the thought took hold. When she opened them, her lashes hung over her eyes in that unfocused, just-had-sex look. “God, that was mind-blowing. The best I’ve ever had. You’ve got a real monster behind that zipper.” Even her voice was thick and raspy.
“Why, thank you.” There had to be a special place in hell reserved for guys like him.
Techno music blared even louder as he entered the hallway, the sound waves tangible on his skin.
In the dim light, Mitchell Stryker was leaning against the painted brick, arms folded, mouth pressed into a tight line, but he couldn’t hide the flicker of amusement in his eyes. Oh, yeah, he could look as pissed off as he wanted to, but Jackson knew better. The guy had a serious case of envy.
Jackson pulled the door shut behind him. “What?” he asked, feigning innocence.
“Dude, you’re on a roll tonight.” Mitch brushed a blond forelock from his face.
“What can I say? When you got it, you gotta use it.”
Even though vampires were naturally more sexually active than humans, any idol worship of Jackson’s sexual habits made things a helluva lot easier. No one suspected he had off-the-chart energy needs and that it wasn’t sex he was after—at least not all the time. They simply thought he was always horny. Who was he to argue?
Doing a little shuffle step, Jackson snapped his fingers and pointed at Mitch. “You seriously need to get laid, my friend.”
Mitch straightened up and adjusted his leather coat with a quick shrug of his shoulders. “Why do you say that? Not that I’m arguing with you or anything.”
“If you have to ask, you’re worse than I thought. You’re way too uptight, banging on my door and shit. You need to be banging something else and let me do my thang.” Jackson elbowed his buddy. “Need some help separating a little filly from the herd out there?”
Mitch shoved him back and laughed. “Don’t you worry about me. I can manage just fine, thank you very much. Speaking of managing, looks like your thang got a little wild in there.” He indicated Jackson’s lip.
Jackson flicked his tongue out and tasted blood. Mitch probably assumed it was the woman’s but he didn’t bother to set the record straight. It wasn’t as if a sip now and then was against the law.
“Is that the second or third one tonight?”
Alarm bells went off in his head. He didn’t want Mitch to think he was taking blood every time he had sex. He shrugged, tried to act casual as he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand.
Not long ago, he could stretch it out for two or three days before the energy cravings got too powerful to ignore or the need was triggered by something he didn’t expect. And decades earlier, like most vampires, he’d been able to go for weeks at a time without blood. Something inside him was changing, but he sure as hell didn’t want to know why. He’d need to be more careful next time.
“Didn’t you get it on with that curvy redheaded chick when we got here?” Mitch continued. “I saw you guys stumble out all lovey-dovey, your hands all over her.”
He sauntered down the hallway, an extra spring in his step. Goddamn, that chick’s energies felt good. “Couldn’t help it. Got a thing for redheads.”
Mitch laughed behind him. “And blondes and brunettes.”
“Hey, I’m all about equal opportunity. Democracy and shit. I like to spread the wealth evenly among the people. It’s only fair.”
“Sounds like communism to me. Listen. Dom called. He…um…tried calling you directly, but you didn’t pick up. He needs your sweetblood report. Says it’s a week late and that you’re making him look like a lazy ass to Region unless he gets his numbers in soon.”
Jackson stopped and pulled out his cell.
Five missed calls—all from his field team leader. Damn. He must’ve been more engrossed back in that room than he thought.
“How many sweetbloods do you have on your list?” Mitch asked. “If you want, I can do a few of the drive-bys.”
He thought about the latest addition, a young human girl he’d saved at the Night of Wilding party. He’d always thought that keeping tabs on known sweetbloods was a waste of time—Darkbloods or other vampires would get to them eventually. It was a fate most of them suffered, despite the Guardians’ best efforts to keep them safe. Their addictive blood was almost impossible to resist and commanded the highest price on the black market. But the girl re
minded him of his little sister who’d died many years ago. Old feelings of regret welled up but he quickly tamped them down. There was nothing he could do about Betsy now. “Nah, I can do it, but thanks.”
He hustled down the hallway toward the main part of the Pink Salon, his boot heels pounding on the floor. Better return Dom’s call from outside and see if he could buy a little more time. Although the guy had mellowed out considerably since marrying Mackenzie and starting a family, Jackson didn’t want to chance it. His field team leader had a bitch of a temper if you pissed him off, for which Jackson seemed to have a knack. Plus, he could hold a serious grudge.
Jackson pushed aside the rows of hanging beads and stepped into the alcove at the side of the dance floor. As usual when someone emerged from the entrance to the ultraexclusive salons, dozens of sets of eyes focused in their direction. He ran a hand through his newly highlighted hair—green and blue streaks this time—and his acute hearing picked up a few female sighs. Yeah, chicks dug the hair. Made picking up women as easy as going through a drive-through.
His eyes locked onto a pretty thing sitting at the bar. He flashed her a smile, making a mental note to head over there on the way out. Clasping forearms with the muscle-bound bouncer who regulated the comings and goings of the salon, Jackson slipped him some green. “Thanks, Rocky. You’re my guy.”
“You bet, man,” the human said, nodding appreciatively at the Benjamin before tucking it away. “Anytime. How was the meeting? Enjoy yourself back there?”
Officially, the Pink Salon referred to them as meeting rooms; Jackson conducted a lot of “business” there. “Always.”
Although the guy didn’t know Jackson and Mitch were vampires, on some level, he had to have realized there was something special about them. Most humans did. They instinctively reacted by giving them a wide berth or going along with shit. Besides, this place was like a home away from home for Jackson. They played his kind of music, and these were his kind of people—fun-loving, always willing to party and not into heavy conversations.
Tempted by Blood Page 2