“I see.” He typed a note. “Whom do you receive your blood deliveries through?”
She stared at him for a moment. “Blood deliveries? Um, through Ace.”
His fingers flew over his keyboard. “Do you have friends that have used your computer? Or stayed in your apartment? A boyfriend, perhaps? Have you had any odd feelings someone was following you? Do you have any enemies?”
“No. No to all.” Then she thought of Brandise. “Well, I don’t think I have any enemies. But there are some inhumans that don’t like me very much.”
“Who?”
She shifted in her chair. “Um, well, a fire demon. But they never like vampires, I hear, so it is not personal.”
He was typing again. “Yes, I’ll have an investigator look into Miss Brandise Burnette. Anyone else? The vampire who sired you?”
“No! I haven’t seen him since spring break three years ago. I think he’s still in Mexico.”
“Hmm, you’ve worked here for two years… where did you originally live, if not with your Sire?”
“Before I got my own place I lived in a flop house in Reseda.”
He nodded. “A yes, the infamous Reseda flop house…” More typing.
“I’m not in contact with them.”
He suddenly stood up. “Come. It will be daylight in two hours. We need to pick up your computer and you’ll need some clothing. You won’t be able to stay at your place until this matter is cleared.”
“Do you think it is vampire hunters?” Fear clutched her stomach.
“Too soon to say, Miss LeMay. Have you tested into the LeMay clan, then?” He held the door open for her with casual elegance.
“Yes, I used the company lab for verification. New employees get a discount.”
“Yes, of course.” He escorted her down to the executive parking garage.
His car was low slung and powerful, some type of European sport’s car, built for speed. She slid into the butter leather seat and it too seemed to project. She didn’t want to ever take a taxi again. Her hands stroked her leather seat until Mr. LaRue got in. Quickly she clasped her hands together in her lap to keep them from sliding over that arm, so close to her in the small front seat. He worked the gearshift, and the back of his hand grazed her thigh, sending a trail of hot sparks right to her you-know-where.
Was he projecting attraction? Was he trying to manipulate her?
That pissed her off. She was a fellow employee, she deserved more than manipulation. Especially from the security department. She moved herself tight to the door, away from that enticing arm.
They arrive at her second floor apartment along with more security personnel from G&W. Her apartment looked all normal, so cute with its high ceiling and plants.
“Get your stuff. You can’t stay here. You call that a lock?” Mr. LaRue waved dismissively at the chain on her door. He then ignored her to talk on his cell.
“Where are you taking me?” Candy asked as she was packed.
“Well, it seems some of our vampire staff in Cleveland is missing. So you’re going back with me to my suite.”
Oh, these old vamps, always so entitled! Candy stopped watering her plants to glare at him. “I certainly am not. Drop me off at a hotel.”
“You don’t have any money, remember?”
“Then I’ll stay at a co-workers.”
“I’m a co-worker. And my place is on the top floor of Grubman and Warts. Extremely secure.”
Several security men wandered through her tiny apartment. Their mood seemed more somber since the news about the Cleveland vampires had reached them. Candy knew she couldn’t stay here tonight, so she finished watering her pink geraniums. “All right. Under the circumstances.” Inside she was disappointed Mr. Larue was turning out to be a typical male vampire.
Mr. LaRue took her duffle bag. He looked askance at her bag of yarn. “I never met a vampiress that knit before.”
“I crochet,” she mumbled as they walked to his car. He talked on his cell the whole journey to the parking garage.
“We may be glad for the extra security.” He parked and called security for an escort.
Fear entered Candy’s inhuman heart. “We need security? In the building?”
“Better safe than sorry. You worked with some of the missing vampires. Delia and Chuck. In Cleveland.”
“Delia and Chuck? We worked together on a few projects. Via computer and phone. We’ve never met.”
Stunned, she got out of the car and followed him. Security guards enveloped them and they took a fast elevator to the twenty-sixth floor, then a private elevator from there. It opened onto a suite that was like something out of the Four Seasons—gleaming everything and thousands of dollars on fresh floral bouquets. He showed her to a large bedroom with a private bath. “It’s a beautiful place,” she said when she returned to the sunken living room.
Mr. LaRue waved a hand. “Not my idea. Rita’s. My Sire.”
“Rita?”
“Margarite LaRue.”
She nearly dropped. “The Margareta LaRue? You are one of those LaRues?” The LaRues were Vampire Legends.
“But…isn’t she mated? Why would you live with her?”
“She is and I don’t.” He mixed her a bloody drink and handed it to her. “She’s mated to my brother. From human life. I was dying of cancer so he persuaded her to Transform me. Used his special ops training to kidnap her to get it done. Later they did the blood mate thing, he became a vampire, and I got a good job.” He took a long swallow and she couldn’t take her eyes off his neck.
He was projecting sex appeal. That’s what this was. Same old vampire trick. She slammed her glass down. Onto an ivory coaster—no way was she going to harm Margareta LaRue’s furniture! Then she glared at him. “I do not appreciate all this projection and manipulation, Mr. LaRue.”
“Call me Evan. And I may be projecting but I am not manipulating.”
“What does that mean?”
He grinned and refilled their glasses with some type of expensive liquor she wasn’t familiar with, and a smidge of blood for flavor. “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.” He walked across the room to a hallway. “I’m going to change out of my suit.”
Immediately she imagined him in a black silk robe, open to the waist and falling just below his…
“Who’s projecting now?” Evan called from his bedroom.
“I can’t project, I’m only four years vamped.”
He came back wearing faded jeans that cupped his nether regions lovingly, and a black T-shirt. “It’s never occurred to you that you are unusually mature for a young vamp? Look at you—you hold down a job, you aren’t living a life of blood-drugged sleaze.”
“Is that what you did?” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I didn’t like the ugly alleys and filthy bars or the smelly old drunks and addicts.” She took a sip and blamed the liquor for her fluttery stomach. “Have you been a vampire long?
“Since the late sixties. But I was fostered in an old world clan, so I had no freedom to act out.”
He flopped down next to her on the chintz sofa and his eyes fastened on her legs, exposed by her kicky blue skirt, His gaze met hers. “But you are projecting.”
She was trapped in his eyes, heavy lidded, shadowed by his long lashes. “I am?”
He nodded. “And you say I’m projecting. I think we are both projecting the same thing.” He took the glass from her frozen hand.
“We are?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
He looked at her for a moment, very serious, then moved with vampire speed. Deliciously firm lips pressed hers, steel strong arms engulfed her. He tasted as enticing as he looked. A hunger like she’d never known swept through her, making her weak at the knees, She returned his kiss, tongues colliding in a wild dance that sent waves of pleasurable vibrations though her whole body.
Heat—fusion—boiling—nova—atomic—flashpoint. Overheated terms from her college years as a science ge
ek flooded her mind.
Their bodies fused together chest to knees. She could feel every ridge and muscle of his hard, glorious body. His clothing angered her and she pulled and tore until her hands grasped the smooth strong skin of his back. Or he drew her like an electromagnet…like super epoxy.
He stopped kissing her and pulled enough inches away from her that she could focus on his eyes, which were wide with surprise.
“Epoxy?” His voice cracked and with their hips fused together she could feel he was still aroused.
She felt embarrassed. “I was a science major.” She ducked her head. “Wait—you mind read?”
His cell vibrated between their still crushed together bodies. He answered it.
She pulled away and tried to think. Mind reading? He turned and she saw his back revealed in the shreds of his shirt. Perfect. She still wanted to lick him all over.
“That was my brother. They have a lead. And we have an appointment at the chateau with the LaRue oracle. About the mind reading.” He moved toward her as fluid as a jungle cat. Maybe as dangerous. Candy noticed that her blouse was open to the waist.
With a swift move his shredded shirt was gone. He invaded her space, thighs brushing her. His eyes focused on her blue satin bra. The touch of his hand between her breasts made her tremble. He flicked and her bra flew apart. With a sigh she fitted herself to him, her nipples brushing his golden chest hair. Skin to skin was what she needed.
“We’re ordered to stay inside the suite until our flight is arranged.” He stared into her eyes and supernaturally strong hands gripped her shoulder. For a vampire he generated a lot of heat as his wet, hungry mouth latched on an aching nipple, fangs surrounding her with sensual promise. She’d never understood vampire lovers craving a bite, not until now. Candy was desperate to have him in her, fangs, fingers…fusion…
She woke from a hard sleep still wrapped tight in his arms. His fangs were in her neck, hers were in his shoulder, and his hardness still stretched deep into her.
Entangled…melded.
The thought was his, not hers.
“We’re all mixed together,” she whispered. He slid his fangs from her and pressed a deep kiss against her lips.
“I think we are supposed to be.”
“The vampire oracle will know?”
“Yeah, they are all about the mystic.” He ran hands through her hair and brushed his lips along her jaw.
“What about my job?”
“You’re on special assignment. Security detail. We leave for France in two hours.”
“Together?”
He pulled her tighter into his arms. “Definitely.”
Ritual Ink
by Joely Sue Burkhart
Leaning against the porch railing to catch my breath, I hesitated before putting a single foot on the bottom step. I’d rather give up my right arm than go to the priest for help, but I’d lose a lot more than an arm if he couldn’t patch my protection spells again. Blood spilled through the fingers I’d clamped on the gash cutting open my left side, but the wound didn’t worry me.
No, what scared the shit out of me was the red haze clouding my vision.
The night air pulsed with human passions that not even a Minnesota winter could cool. The sidewalks along Grand Street were empty this late—or rather this early, since dawn was only two hours away—but my blood thundered with the need of hundreds of thousands of bodies crowded in the sprawling Twin Cities.
So much power at my fingertips, if only I dared let my demon half free.
My skin steamed in the chilly air, fevered with my hunger. A quick glance at the back of my hands in the porch light made my heart crawl up into my throat. The intricate tattoos that curled up my hands and disappeared up my coat sleeves glowed red instead of the black that had been hammered into my flesh over the years.
Black represented protective spells, chains that kept my monster under control.
Red, the blood I would spill if the demon raged free.
I don’t have a choice.
I’d barely dropped my foot onto the bottom step and the front door opened.
“Welcome, lady warrior.” Father MacRae hustled over and grabbed my arm like I was rudely late for an appointment despite his pleasant words. “It’s been far too long since you graced my humble home.”
His rich, low voice wrapped around me like silk and velvet, stirring wicked thoughts about the man who’d been saving my ass for almost a decade. I wanted to protest that I didn’t need his help up the stairs, but my strength was fading as quickly as the blood running down my side. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at the harsh, chiseled planes of his face.
He’d never be called a handsome man, but the large—obviously broken once or twice—nose gave him an aristocratic demeanor. I’d never asked, but I liked to imagine he’d earned those broken noses in a few bar fights before he’d joined the Church. Damn it, he wasn’t dressed like a man of the cloth should be, either. Broad shoulders and muscled chest were sinfully outlined by the simple white T-shirt, not to mention those meaty guns that proclaimed a wrestler’s easy strength.
Drawing me against him, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, swamping my senses with the spice of his blood, the musk of his masculine body. I jerked away, staggered, and nearly fell flat on my face on his porch.
“Don’t be silly, Lady Catherine,” he chided, pulling me back against him. “If I didn’t fear you’d rip my head off, I’d simply carry you.”
I couldn’t help the throaty moan that escaped. Not just the feel of him, warm and so delightfully human and pure. Sweet. But the way he said my name, the calm surety in his elegant hands, at odds with his bear-like size. Before I knew it, he had me inside his grand old Victorian home and downstairs where he’d taken care of me so many times before.
“What was it this time? Ghouls?”
“I wish,” I rasped out, wincing at the ragged need tearing my voice to shreds. He helped me shrug out of my coat. My shirt was plastered to my ribs, sticky with blood. “Nephilim.”
Peeling up my shirt just enough so he could see the wound, he blew out a low breath. “No wonder you’re in such bad shape. When is the Church going to quit sending you against creatures you can’t possibly fight unscathed?”
I forced out a laugh. “They don’t call me Dirty Deeds for nothing.”
He growled deep in his chest and continued his examination without another word. We’d had this conversation too many times to count. He always insisted I took needless risks for a Church that condemned me, while I insisted that since they’d saved me, I owed them every last drop of my accursed blood.
I killed at the Church’s direction because I was good at it.
As long as I don’t allow myself to enjoy it too much.
Besides, if I weren’t feeding my monster with violence, I’d have to feed it something else. Just the thought made my spine bow on a low moan that had nothing to do with pain.
Every muscle in my body ached to rub against him, even though his probing fingers were impersonal. The creature inside me let out a vicious cry of pleasure and rose from the deepest, darkest corner of my heart where I’d chained it long ago. I could almost feel it stretching inside me, swelling with strength. It’d just take one moment of weakness for the demon to escape my control.
One slip. Like a sampling of this fine holy specimen, pure and chaste and all the more sweet because he was forbidden. Exactly why I stayed away as long as possible and only came to him when I had no other choice.
“Father MacRae.” My voice came out harsh, each word ringing in my ears.
He didn’t even look up. “Yes, my lady?”
“Please don’t call me that.” Not when you know exactly what I am.
“When you call me Liam, I will cease calling you Lady Catherine.”
“Father,” I said through gritted teeth, refusing to budge on the formality that barely helped me hold on to my sanity. “Just patch me up and I’ll be on my way.”
“You’ve been coming to me for nearly ten years, and every time it’s the same.”
He must have dumped liquid fire into my side. My breath hissed out but I didn’t flinch away. Pain or pleasure, it didn’t much matter to the demon. My nipples were embarrassingly prominent. I could only hope he didn’t notice. Thank God I hadn’t taken an injury to my lower half. I could all too easily imagine those fingers on my inner thigh, while I squirmed to get him to touch me just a bit higher.
“You insist a few stitches are all you need, while your spells tremble on the verge of collapse.” He drew back a little and glared down at me, his eyes dark with recrimination. “You need much more from me, my lady, whether you want to admit it or not.”
I shuddered, biting back the instantaneous surge of lust at his words. May he never know all the wonderfully filthy things I burn to do to him.
“You and I both know that while you’ve lost a lot of blood, you’ve already started to heal this wound.” Suddenly brusque, he taped a bandage into place and stood. As though to leave. “So if that’ll be all…”
I tried for meek, even though I’d rather bite my own tongue out. “You’re right, Father. My spells have weakened enough to glow with demonic light. Would it be too much trouble for you to add a new tattoo?”
He kept his back to me. Bottles clanked on the table, and I hoped he was mixing the ink required for a fresh spell. “I cannot, my lady. Not this time.”
My stomach twisted into knots and my heart stuttered, too ponderously heavy to beat. All these years, I’d been flirting with the inevitable. Not even spells tattooed with holy water into my flesh could keep the demon caged forever. Cold resignation settled over me like a morgue sheet.
“Each spell has failed quicker than the last,” he said in a gentle voice he must reserve for the bereaved. “Besides, you have very little unmarked skin remaining, at least that you’d allow me to touch.”
I winced. His careful artwork already swirled up my arms and legs and across my back. What did I expect the priest to do—tattoo my breast? My inner thigh? A buttock this year and my other next?
He gave a little heartbroken laugh but didn’t turn around. “I’m afraid your modesty has defeated me.”
Just One Bite Volume 4 Page 10