by J. K. Beck
“That’s one hell of a risk.”
“At the time, it seemed like nothing. I was exhausted from fighting the daemon.”
“Did it work?” she asked. “Did you save them?”
“It worked,” he said. “But there was no way to lift the curse. At least, none that we knew of.”
“But there must have been a cure,” she said. “You’re okay now. Aren’t you?”
He nodded. “I am. But for a while, I truly was a monster. And worse than that, I was controlled by a madman. He used me to kill and to maim, kind of like a remote-controlled robot. I did what he wanted because my mind was no longer my own. I wasn’t a vampire. I wasn’t the daemon. I wasn’t anything that had ever been seen on this earth before.” His voice was harsh, and she could hear the pain in it. She felt chilled just listening to him, as if the horror of what he’d experienced was seeping into her bones. And though she wouldn’t say it out loud for anything, she’d be lying if she didn’t at least admit to herself that some of what she felt was fear.
“So what happened?”
“A battle,” he said with a half smile. “From my experience most dramatic changes in this world come about as the result of battles. The madman died. The curse was lifted. And my friends thought I was back to being Serge. My daemon high, perhaps, but a vampire once more.”
“Considering what I saw, I’m guessing your friends were wrong.”
“They were. And they still don’t entirely know the truth. You and CeeCee are the only ones who know for sure.”
“I don’t know. Not really. I saw, but I don’t understand what I saw.”
“Neither do I. Not fully. The truth is that my friends are partly right. The daemon torments me still. But I’m learning to battle it down.”
She took his hand. “I’m glad I help.”
“But that’s not the only bit of darkness living within me now.”
“What do you mean?”
“The monster from the curse is gone, that much I know. But something was left behind. Something new, born in me. A beast. A raging beast, like something out of a storybook. Scales and talons and a wicked hunger.”
She realized she was staring at him, completely confused. “Scales and talons? I didn’t see anything like that.”
“Because I fed off that vampire. I drew out his life force. That’s what I survive on now instead of blood.”
“So feeding keeps you from changing into a horrible, scaly monster?”
“It does. And there’s more.”
She nodded, not sure how much more she could process.
“Feeding determines my form. Or, more accurately, my nature.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I fed on a vampire, so now I’m a vampire. If I’d taken the life force of a werewolf, I would be weren. A jinn, I’d be a jinn.”
She licked her lips. “And if you don’t feed?”
“If I don’t feed, then I become the beast. Mindless once again. Raging. Killing. Until its hunger is satiated and I transform into whatever creature I fed upon during my wild rampage.”
“That’s unbelievable,” she breathed.
“It’s horrible,” he said. “And it’s why I do what I do.”
“What you do?”
“I find rogue vampires, and I take their life force. I take from them so that I can stay a vampire.”
“You fight the bad ones. You take them out just like I do. You shouldn’t feel guilty if you benefit from that. Believe me, I get a huge happy buzz when I dust one of them.”
“Once upon a time, I was one of them.” His voice was gentle, but firm.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know.” She managed a weak smile as she looked at him. Him. Serge. The vampire—no, the man—who’d saved her. Who’d made love to her. “I understand what you’re saying, but you’re not that guy anymore. From everything you’ve told me, you’ve survived a dozen kinds of hell. I didn’t know anyone could be that strong, but you have been. You’ve kept fighting. Even now. And instead of rolling over with self-pity or walking the streets and draining everyone who comes along, you’re doing a little bit of good for the world when you feed.”
He shook his head.
“What?”
“You’re looking at me through rose-colored glasses.”
“No,” she said firmly. “But I am looking at you.” She went to him and pressed her hands to his face, her eyes drinking him in. She leaned in and brushed her lips over his, then pulled away slowly. “And I see you. I really do.”
She still wanted him. Him.
Such a simple thing, and yet it changed the world.
He clutched her tight, his fingers stroking her hair as her forehead rested on his chest. Her breathing came soft and even, but her pulse had kicked up high. He caught the scent of desire, and it shot through him, stoking his already burning need.
She was so real in his arms, but she was ephemeral, too. The whisper of a promise. The chance to be a better man. To feel like Serge, and not the monsters within.
He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, then asked plainly and simply, “Are you sure?”
She tilted her head back to look at him. “I thought you could sense my feelings through the blood connection. Don’t you know that I’ve never been more sure?”
“Thank God,” he said simply.
She laughed, then moved back into his arms, drenching him with the scent of pleasure, of need. Her mouth was desperate against his, and he returned her passion, pulling away only when it struck him that they were still in an alley. “Not here,” he said. “Do you trust me?”
“I do.”
“Then hold on,” he said, shifting into sentient mist, Alexis dissolving into his arms, their essence mixing and twining as he traveled from the alley to the pool deck in front of her back door.
“Wow,” she said, reaching for him as she steadied herself. “That was … weird.”
“Just one of my many entertaining parlor tricks.”
“Yeah? Well come into my parlor and entertain me some more.” She took his hand and tugged him to the door, quickly unlocking it and pulling him inside and into her arms. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
“That couple, Luke and Sara? You said they were your friends. And you’re trusting them with CeeCee.”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you tell them? About the beast, I mean.”
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“Is it? How?”
“Because Luke’s a big deal now. He’s the chairman of the Alliance—I guess you could say that’s like the United Nations for shadowers—and he’s also the governor of the Los Angeles territory.”
“So? How is that a problem?”
“The deaths are baffling the local shadow police.”
“Division Six,” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “I forgot you already knew some of this.”
“But not all. I know about Homeland, and that Division Six is part of it. But what it does …” She trailed off with a shrug.
“Division Six is the Los Angeles branch of the PEC. That’s the Preternatural Enforcement Coalition. Had you heard of that one?”
“No, and it’s a mouthful.”
“It’s housed in the criminal justice building and it’s hidden within Homeland.”
“I’m still not understanding how all that is a problem with Luke.”
“I tell Luke the truth and he’ll either arrest me or pardon me. Arrest me, and I’m executed. Pardon me, and he’s destroyed politically.”
“Killing vampires who kill humans is a bad thing?”
“It’s a crime. They’re supposed to be tried. What the rogues do is a crime, but so is killing a rogue. Just like in your world, there are courts and juries and judges. Not to mention prison and death row and very unpleasant punishments.”
“All right. I understand that getting arrested wouldn’t be at the top of your list. But have
n’t you considered that maybe there’s a third option? Maybe he won’t do anything except be your friend?”
“I couldn’t expect him to do that.”
“Why not? You told me yourself that you took on a curse to save your friends. You don’t think your best friend would keep his mouth shut to protect you?”
“He’s done more than that on several occasions,” Serge said, thinking of all the secrets Luke and Nick had kept for him over the years.
“So why wouldn’t he continue to?”
He didn’t answer. What was there to say?
She reached over to take his hand. “You’re the same man you were before.”
He shuddered at the thought. “I hope not.”
“Your core, Serge,” she said. “A man who battled his daemon for centuries instead of just saying fuck it and going all-out rogue. A guy who let himself be turned into a monster of all things in order to save his friends. And now you’re hunting rogues, staying alive the hard way instead of just stealing the life out of whoever comes along.”
“Is that what you see?”
“I see what you are. I’m sorry if you can’t. Or won’t.”
He kissed her hard, letting her words soothe him. Wanting to believe them. Hell, he wanted to wallow in them. And with Alexis at his side, maybe—just maybe—he finally could.
She lost herself in his kiss, her fingers twined in his hair, her tongue lost in his mouth. Right then, he was her entire world; there was nothing else she needed. Not food, not drink. Just this man. Just his touch, his soft words, his sweet caresses.
His hands gripped her rear, urging her toward him. The length of his erection pressed against her, and she heard his moan of pleasure and felt her body respond, warm and needy. Desperate, she clutched at his shirt, her fingers boldly flicking his buttons open, her hands stroking his chest. She wanted to claim him and be claimed, and then she wanted to beg for more.
After a moment he broke their kiss, smiling down at her with eyes that reflected the depths of her own desire. “Alexis.” He spoke her name as if it was a benediction, a request, a plea. She nodded, answering yes, yes to it all.
“My bed.” She forced the words out, then tugged him upstairs.
The room was dark, illuminated only by wavering light from the pool that came in through the open drapes, making sensual shadows move across the wall.
“I want to touch every inch of you. I want to claim you,” he said. “You’re mine, Alexis. Don’t ever doubt it.”
“I won’t,” she said, trying to speak above the rapid beat of her heart.
His hands stroked her, fingers clutching at her shirt and tugging it off. “I’ve craved this. Craved you. The feel of you. The heat of you.” And she was hot. Her skin felt bathed in sunlight, tingly and aware and in desperate need of the quenching, soothing satisfaction of his touch.
“Please,” she begged, pressing his palm to her breast. “Don’t wait.”
He groaned with desire, his hand stroking her nipple, then caressing her so gently she thought she would go insane with need. Methodically, his hands slid down, sliding under the waist of the sweatpants she’d pulled on. She drew in a breath, her mind in a haze, and before she knew it she was naked beside him.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered as he caressed her hip, his touch causing sparks of desire to rocket through her, priming her body, making her desperate, itchy, and oh so ready.
He stripped as she watched, enjoying the view and taking pleasure in the knowledge that this magnificent man wanted her. That he was hers—because the truth was she didn’t doubt that. They fit together, and despite everything that should be pushing them apart, she knew with a certainty as basic as the need to breathe that what was between them was real and solid and special.
“Now,” she said when he was back beside her. She took his hand and pressed it against her sex.
His finger slid inside her and she arched up.
“More,” she begged, as he shifted, his body covering and claiming her, heat ricocheting through her as his mouth closed over her nipple, sucking and teasing and taking her so close that her entire being seemed to teeter on the edge of a magnificent precipice.
She reached down, lifting her hips and guiding him to her. With a low growl of pleasure, he thrust inside as she rose to meet him, her body so ready for him, so hungry and desperate that she clung to him like a wild thing, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as her hips pistoned in rhythm with his thrusts until finally, sweetly, her orgasm exploded through her, a cacophony of light and sparks and undiluted pleasure. He clung to her, his own climax following hers, drawing it out, making the pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable.
“Alexis,” he said, saying her name with all the reverence of a prayer.
She curled up against him, sated and satisfied. She never wanted to leave his arms. “We make a good team,” she said, twisting a bit so she could see him.
“We do indeed.” His eyes crinkled as he inspected her, then he sat up and held out his hand to tug her up, too. “I have an idea. Come on.”
“Come on? I’m naked. Where are we going?”
“You have weapons? A place where you work and train?”
She’d slid out of bad and was pulling on her T-shirt and underwear. “Yeah. Why?”
“You’ll see. Come on.”
She led him downstairs, feeling a sense of smug satisfaction when he released a low whistle. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks. I’ve worked hard.”
“Show me your weapons. Particularly that spring-loaded device you have hidden in your jacket.”
She had no idea what he was thinking about, but she did as he asked. He looked at the device—which was really a contraption she attached to her arms and then concealed with the jacket. “Nice,” he said. “Want to make it better?”
“Better how?”
“Responsiveness for one. Aim and power for the rest. Especially power. Get it to deploy faster and harder and you won’t have the problem you had with Mitre. He was in position when you moved to release, but by the time the device triggered he’d shifted. Shave a second off that, and you would have nailed him.”
She tilted her head as she looked at him. “And you can do that?”
His grin was defiantly arrogant and completely sexy. “And a whole lot more.”
“All right. Show me.”
He did, and after less than thirty minutes of tweaking, tightening, and shifting various components of the device, he’d done exactly what he promised.
“Not bad,” she said. “You might be handy enough to keep around.”
“I think I can earn my keep. What else have you got?”
She eased closer and hooked her arms around his waist. “Honestly? I can think of about a dozen things. But would you think less of me if I told you that killing vampires isn’t actually at the forefront of my mind right now?”
“No? What are you thinking about?”
She didn’t bother to answer. Instead she lifted herself up on her toes, pressed her mouth against his, and showed him.
They made love again, this time faster. Rougher. As if it had been years since they’d touched and not minutes.
Serge didn’t believe in soul mates—at least he never had before. But with Alexis in his arms, he had to admit that he was beginning to understand. Maybe the fact that he’d been hunting rogues really had earned him redemption. Hell, maybe the woman in his arms was his reward.
“You’re quiet,” she said, raising herself up on her elbow so that she could look more directly at him. “Is that your subtle way of telling me that you want to go to sleep?”
He let her words wash over him. He’d never believed that he’d find heaven. How miraculous that he’d found it in a woman. “Absolutely not.”
“Good, because I was prepared to take drastic measures to keep you awake.”
“Were you?”
“I had an entire devious plan worked out,” she said.
&nbs
p; “In that case, I’m exhausted. I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“You just want to know my devious plan,” she said.
“Caught.”
“You definitely are,” she said, reaching down and circling his cock with her hand. “The plan started something like this,” she said, then stroked him in long, slow movements designed to make him more than a little crazy. Step two was designed to take him from crazy to insane, and she accompanied the slow movements with soft kisses.
Step three took him to the edge.
Her mouth closed over him, stroking and teasing, drawing him out, pulling him closer and closer, until he had no choice but to let go, twine his fingers into her hair, and surrender to ecstasy.
He held her after, and then they both laughed when her stomach growled. “You make me forget to eat,” she said, pushing herself up to a sitting position.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “What do you want?”
“I think there’s a bowl of fruit in the refrigerator.”
“Stay right there.” He headed toward the door, but paused after only a few steps, his attention drawn to the line of family photos on her dresser, particularly the one in the middle. A waif of a girl with large eyes and a wide smile on her face. She looked about sixteen and was wearing a cheerleader outfit. There was something so strangely familiar about her …
“Serge? Are you still here?”
“Sorry. I noticed your pictures. Who’s the cheerleader?”
“Cheerleader? Oh! That’s Tori. That’s my sister.” He heard the pain in her voice. “That was Halloween, about two months before she ran away.”
“Your sister?” His voice sounded flat, because he realized why the girl in the photograph looked familiar.
She had fuchsia hair that had been coated with so much gel it stood out from her head like railroad spikes, and most likely with as much strength. Her skin was so pale her freckles appeared to float in front of her, as if leading the way. Dark shadows rimmed her eyes, accentuated by the thick line of kohl. She wore a white tank top with no bra, through which he could see quarter-sized brown nipples on breasts that would have been more appropriate on a thirteen-year-old. Hip-hugger-style jeans shifted on her body as she moved, as if trying to find some actual hip to in fact hug.