The Hunters 6: Rafe and Sheila

by Shiloh Walker

  She turned her head aside—but not fast enough. He could see the hurt in her eyes and it felt like a particularly vicious sucker punch, right to his gut. He swallowed, weighing his words carefully as he said, “It wasn’t just about that.”

  Golden brows rose over china blue eyes. Sheila cocked her head, that pretty, rosebud mouth pursing as she studied him. “Wasn’t it? You barely looked twice at me when I wasn’t naked. Sorry, Rafe. But I want more than that. Need more than that.”

  “And you think this fool will give it to you?” he growled, jerking a thumb in the human’s direction.

  A low chuckle escaped her and she narrowed her eyes as she ran a hand through her tumbled fall of golden curls. “He’s shown me more romance in a month than you showed in six.”

  “I’m two hundred bloody years old, Sheila,” he snarled, spinning on his heel and stalking away. “I’m past the point where I play games to get horizontal with a woman.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe somebody should tell Sarel all the sweet things that Eli does for her are just so he can get in her pants,” Sheila said drolly.

  Rafe’s eyes cut to her and he stopped in his tracks. “I’m not Elijah Crawford and I’m not looking to get married, pet. It’s a bit different when the man and woman are married.”

  “So just because they are married, and we aren’t, and never will be, that makes it all right for you to treat me like some kind of leper? Kiss ass, Rafe.” Sheila’s eyes were furious, the blue swirling from dark blue to electric blue and back again as she glared at him. He could hear her heart…smell her blood…her sex…

  “I’d love to,” he purred, stalking closer, grinning as she cut to the right, trying to evade him. He caught her around the waist, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall with his, burying his face in her hair. As his cock cuddled against the soft little curve of her tummy, Rafe felt that nagging empty ache in his heart ease, just a little. Sex…just sex. And she was funny, sweet. Why shouldn’t he have missed her?

  Her hands wedged between them and she shoved at him, leaning away from him, her eyes snapping furiously. “Damn it, you son of a bitch, let go of me,” she snapped. “You aren’t doing this to me again.”

  Rafe felt the guilt bloom inside him and he murmured, “I’m sorry about that, pet. You know I am.” Lowering his head, he nuzzled the silken cloud of her curls, holding her close against him for just a moment.

  “Fine, you’re sorry,” she said woodenly. “Is that all?”

  “No,” he whispered, as that insane need from months ago rose within him once more. As he turned his head to capture her mouth, she jerked away, compressing her full mouth into a tight line. “C’mon, Belle, give me a taste,” he crooned. “It’s been too long…”

  Almost seven months. Seven months since she had shoved him away and told him it was over. Seven months since he had tasted the wine of her blood, buried his cock in her snug heat…it seemed like seven centuries. And suddenly he had the image of him spending the rest of his life without her, the long empty years of it stretching out before him like an empty wasteland.

  Alone, without her. Empty, without her.

  His stomach dropped out and he felt like chaining her to his side, for all time, so she could never leave him again, so he wouldn’t have to face that emptiness.

  Threading his hands through her hair, he arched her neck up to his, brushing his mouth against hers.

  She stood still in his arms. Oh, she was quivering, shaking like a leaf in his arms and he could smell the hot cream that had flooded her pussy.

  But she didn’t wrap those long, pale arms around him and she didn’t open her mouth under his. Her body was still as he moved against her—fuck.

  Lifting his head, he stared down at her, feeling his fangs as they all but throbbed in their sockets. “Is it really over, Belle?”

  Lowering her lashes, she pushed at his shoulders insistently, until he had to either let her go, or risk hurting her. “This isn’t what I want, Rafe.”

  His nostrils flared, the scent of her flooding his head. “You want me to believe you don’t want me?” he demanded, his voice low and angry.

  “It has nothing to do with whether or not my body wants sex with you,” she whispered. “It has to do with what I want. And I don’t want to be treated like a toy anymore, something you can take out and play with when the mood suits you. And somebody you can ignore whenever you feel like it.”

  She walked away, lowering herself onto the bed and Rafe could have howled at the fury that ripped through him, seeing her so close to the human. She had fucked him… Rafe had watched with equal parts of fury and desire as she rose from his neck, the orgasm tearing through her as she screamed. Not ripping her away from the mortal had taken every bit of will he had in his body, and his control was shot.

  And still, she sat there, her body covered in a shirt that her human lover had worn, her eyes cool and blank as she stared at him, refusing to give in to the call of her body.

  He prowled around the room, hands clenching into tight fists. Damn it. Damn it.

  Damn it. There was rage inside him, restlessness, a hunger that was all but driving him insane and the one being on earth that could quiet him didn’t want him touching her.

  He stopped in mid-pace and spun around, staring at her.

  No. She wanted him.

  She just didn’t want to.

  She saw something on his face just a second before he moved, but she didn’t react fast enough. As he pulled her off the bed, jerking her up against him, Rafe felt the response tear through her, felt the imperceptible softening of her body and he knew she’d hate how easily he could read her.

  Catching her head in his hands, he stared down at her, eyes hooded, face stark. “I’ve gone insane since you left me. I need you—know that,” he rasped, then he slanted his mouth across hers, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her, carrying her away from the bed, over to the balcony where he kicked the door open.

  Away from the scents of sex, blood and Dominic. Away from the man she had allowed inside her body. Damn it, he could smell the human. It drove him insane, teased the raging animal of anger inside him—and underneath it all was her scent. That scent he hadn’t been able to get out of his head.

  As he moved his mouth down her neck, he heard her gasp. Her nails bit into his shoulders and he growled low in his throat as her hips moved unconsciously against his.

  He couldn’t believe he had lived without this, not for even a day. He wasn’t doing it again.

  Sheila felt the decision, more than saw it. She saw his eyes go from fury to determination, but she didn’t jerk away from him quickly enough. His hands, hard and determined, pulled her against him, off the bed, into his arms. Those steely hard lengths wrapped around him as he lifted her, covering her mouth, swallowing her furious demands that he let her go.

  She shoved hard at his shoulders as he moved the brand of his mouth down her neck, scalding her with his touch. “Damn it, Rafe, don’t you listen?” she snapped.

  And then he sank his teeth into her neck as he pinned her against the brick wall of the balcony. A whimper left her as he started to pump his cock against her belly, one big hand cupping her hip and holding her steady as his teeth pierced her flesh.

  “Rafe…” she whimpered. Rafe…

  For the first time in months, something inside her felt whole. But her heart was breaking, even as her body yielded to his. He’d never change, but just a quick fuck every now and then wasn’t enough.

  Well, knowing Rafe, it would be more than one fuck, and only the first one would be quick… Once he eased that driving hunger, he liked to take his time…

  The low, strangled sound came to their ears. Sheila stilled as it sounded again just as Rafe was reaching for the collar of her shirt.

  His hand clenched into a tight fist as he swore furiously in Italian, cocking his head and listening.

  The heat of his gaze left a sizzling path along her skin as he raised his eyes from he
r neck, along her jaw to her eyes. “Get inside, Belle. We’ll finish this later.”

  She snorted as he turned and leaped off the balcony, the long tails of his coat flapping around him as he hurtled to the ground four stories down. “As if,” she murmured, stalking into the hotel room and snagging her jeans. She wasn’t a bloody Master, but she was a Hunter.

  And that sob had sounded so tortured…almost drowning out the rough, male laughter.

  She had to drop a few levels before she jumped. Her bones were dense but Sheila had only been a Vampire for twenty years. She wasn’t as tough as the older ones, might never be.

  But she was still a damned Hunter and he could expect her to hide away all they wanted. But that didn’t mean she’d do it. Following the almost inaudible sounds of struggle, her own fury started to rise.

  She was a Hunter. A good one.

  So what if she didn’t look the part quite as much as Rafe, who had grabbed one man and flung him against the wall, before spinning around, that long black coat flying around him like a cape as he pounced on the second man who was still trying to figure out where his buddy had gone.

  One second, they’d been tearing the clothes off the girl lying there, two holding her arms, the other fumbling at his fly.

  The first one was probably dead, Sheila knew. His head had hit the brick wall with a sickening thud. She smelled blood, but there was very little on the ground—just the bare whisper of a heartbeat. The medical examiners would most like find a cerebral hemorrhage, she guessed.

  Rafe had the second one pinned against the wall, drawing his head back to strike. As the third one wised up, deciding to take off, he turned and barreled straight into Sheila. “Where ya going, honey?” she asked sweetly as he tried to knock her aside.

  “Get out of my way, bitch!” he shrieked.

  Sheila laughed and reached out, grabbing the collar of the thick leather jacket and jerking him against her. Flashing him a toothy smile, she whispered, “Say goodnight, honey.”

  Now, Dominic’s blood had filled her belly like warm honey.

  But this…this was a drug, intoxicating, rich, mind-blowing. She wanted to kill. Badly. As he struggled, she wrapped one arm around him, crushing him against her, unaware of the odd change in the air around her as she fed. Unaware of almost everything—this was sweet, possibly the sweetest she’d ever had.

  Except…her victim was getting a hard-on. She felt it against her belly as his struggles ceased and he started to reach for her. A greedy moan fell from him as he clutched at her hips.

  The feel of his dick against her belly forced its way through the hunger-induced fog that had flooded her brain. “Eeeewwww!” She shoved him away and watched as he went flying to the ground several feet away, his eyes hot and heavy on her face.

  “What in the fuck?” she demanded, scrubbing her hand over the back of her mouth, that sweet taste of his blood suddenly foul on her tongue. “I don’t want some would-be rapist pawing me.”

  A soft chuckle echoed in her ear and she turned around, glaring up at Rafe. “What is so damned funny, slick?” she demanded.

  “Well…you’re enough to give a dead man a hard-on, pet. But all that aside…” His hand lifted, hovering just above her face, his lids drooping low as raw hunger etched his face. “You’re getting more powerful…just took a grand leap there.”

  “What?” Then she shook her head, and in a louder, more emphatic voice, she said, “No. I don’t want more power. I like how I am, thank you.”

  “Then you need to stop Hunting. The more you Hunt, the more powerful you will get,” Rafe drawled. Then his eyes cut to her face, glinting with fury. “Didn’t I tell you to stay?”

  “Actually, no. You said we’d finish it later. But since I’m not welcome, you clean up.” She went to the woman’s side, finding her asleep.

  Rafe, most likely. There was the lingering feel of vamp magick in the air, something she didn’t possess yet—didn’t really want to possess. More power was more responsibility. Taking the woman in her arms, she turned and stalked away.

  Chapter Two

  Sheila had been flopping in a friend’s house for a couple of weeks. Kelsey was in Europe for a while—the offer of the house had been a Godsend. The witch was a quiet, reserved lady with eyes that seemed to see clear through you. She had seen through Sheila quickly enough, when she stopped briefly by Excelsior before making her trip to the old grounds.

  Trouble’s coming, she had said obliquely, shrugging before flipping her habitual red braids over her shoulders as she ignored Malachi’s hailing.

  Sheila had fought not to snicker at the affronted look on the ancient one’s face. Now, Leandra hadn’t made the effort to smother her laughter. She had just laughed, very amused by Malachi’s obvious disgruntlement. “Dat man dere, he don’t know what he be wantin’,” she drawled, shaking her head as her dark eyes danced with mirth. “Women throw themselves at his feet and he ignores it—but dat woman won’t throw herself at his feet, and he can’t figure out why.”

  Kelsey rolled her pretty brown eyes, the gold in those eyes seeming to glint as she replied cuttingly, “Because it requires more than a sexy vampire to make me forget myself?” With that, Kelsey had dismissed Leandra and Malachi, as though they weren’t even in the room.

  Then she offered her house in Memphis to Sheila. “I don’t live there. It was…a friend’s, so I can’t sell it, but I don’t go there. Haven’t been to Memphis in shoot, thirty years, I think,” she mused, her eyes distant. “But it’s clean, well-kept. I have a lady who goes in once a week to clean. I usually rent it out, but lately that’s too much trouble.”

  So Sheila had landed there. And the best part…Kelsey had smiled at her with a mischievous glint in her eyes that at the time hadn’t made sense. “Rafe’s never been there, baby,” the witch had told her.

  So even if he did, by some slim chance find her again, he was stuck. Because unless Kelsey came by from Europe to invite him in, he was locked out. Well, Sheila had been living there long enough that some of her own essence had seeped into the simple hearth magick that locked the unwelcome from a person’s home.

  It was entirely possible that she could invite him in, at that point.

  Except she was more likely to sprout wings and fly.

  She moved slowly into the basement, her fingers trailing down the carved wooden banister, her eyes roaming over the familiar house. Even though it had been redecorated, and recently, she still smelled smoke in the air. Something awful had happened here once. She didn’t know what, didn’t know if Kelsey would ever tell her.

  But she suspected the friend the house belonged to had been more than a friend. A lover, maybe. Family, possibly. And they’d died here in this house, in a fire.

  There was nothing evil in the house, nothing left over. But Sheila suspected that hadn’t always been the case. Houses this old tended to harbor something from their previous occupants, anger, love, sadness… Houses had memories, just like people did.

  But this one was wiped clean, like a slate. Too clean. Kelsey had done something here, maybe guided somebody into the afterlife. Maybe something more, maybe something less.

  All in all, though, the faint scent of smoke aside, this was the most peaceful haven she’d stayed at in quite some time.

  With a sigh, she cuddled into the bed that was tucked under the staircase, thick black drapes hanging from the posts kept her shrouded in darkness. Kelsey had offered to come in and sun-proof the house for her, but Sheila couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping someplace without windows, where sunlight never penetrated.

  This worked just fine. Sheltered from the windows in the basement by the corner at the end of the short walkway, her bed was nestled in the alcove under the steps. Even on the sunniest days, little sunlight penetrated the hallway. The drapes were just an added protection, more for her peace of mind than necessity. Unless she got out of bed and walked to the end of the hall during daylight, and stood in the rays pouring through, the sun
was no threat to her.

  Now if she was unlucky enough to get caught in the sunlight, it would kill her. She had only been dead two decades, and until she reached her first century, direct sunlight was fatal.

  Sheila had a hard time staying awake during the day anyway. Right now, before the sun even started to lighten the eastern sky, her eyes were heavy and fatigue flooded her mind.

  Cuddling against her pillow, Sheila closed her eyes and slept.

  He haunted her, even in her dreams. In her dreams, the laws of magick that kept him from entering the house were no barrier to him and he came down the stairs as she slept, moving up on the bed, drawing back the bed curtains to stare at her.

  In her dream, a soft moan escaped her as his body came down beside her, one long-fingered hand stroking down the length of her nude body. His mouth covered hers and she whimpered in pleasure as he plunged his tongue inside her body and one hand cupped the round curves of one breast. His fingers milked the nipple as he moved to hover over her, pushing his thigh between hers, spreading her legs wide before he fit his cock into the notch between her thighs, pumping his denim-covered hips back and forth in a slow, tormenting rhythm that teased her clit, enflamed her senses, and stole her breath.

  Caught in the dream, she rolled to her side, plunging one hand between her thighs, stroking her fingers over the hard bud of her clit, while in her dream, Rafe freed his cock, driving into her with one hard thrust. She climaxed with a broken cry…then rolled onto her belly, slipping into a dark, dreamless sleep.

  Rafe came to a sudden halt, hissing out a breath between his teeth as images slammed into his mind. A bed made of dark wood, tucked under a narrow staircase, surrounded by thick black swaths of velvet. Brushing it aside, finding his southern belle there, sleeping, her sweet, lushly curved body displayed on the black velvet of the comforter, glowing ivory against all that blackness. Covering her body with his, kissing her…fucking her until she came around him with a cry.