by Nell Stark
Even her glancing touch was enough to spike both my thirst and my desire. “If I ask you to dance, will that help you make up your mind?”
“It might.”
I plucked the drink from her hand and set it on the bar, then led her out onto the floor where the DJ spun a darkly throbbing beat. Guiding her arms around my neck, I wedged one thigh between hers and smiled at her sharp intake of breath. She wanted me already, but I wasn’t going to show any mercy until she begged.
We danced for what felt like hours, as I lost myself to the pounding rhythm of the music and the hot pressure of Marcelle’s body against mine. The fire in my throat echoed in my groin, fraying the threads of my self-control. Thirst warred with caution in my brain; I needed to taste her, but provoking her beast in such a crowded place would be folly.
When she finally pressed her lips to my neck, I grabbed a fistful of her thick, wavy hair and jerked her head away. “Tell me what you want.”
The blue of her irises was nearly eclipsed by black. “Your teeth,” she panted. “In me. Please.”
I yanked hard, baring her throat to my gaze, and scraped the delicate vessels with my pointed canines. Her pulse hammered at my lips, and caution fled. When I finally struck, her blood filled my mouth as her cry filled the air, only to be lost amidst the cacophony of the crowd.
I drank deeply and knew disappointment. Her blood was musky and rich, but she tasted nothing like the sunburst of ecstasy that was the distinctive essence of Alexa. An unpleasant aftertaste lingered on my tongue, reminiscent of a cocktail mixed with too many bitters. Wolfsbane. Marcelle must have taken a small dosage of the herb to help keep her beast at bay. She had come prepared.
Despite my disappointment, her offering was what my starving cells craved. I drank deeply of her, and within moments, the world leapt into sharp relief. Every sound was more nuanced, every detail crisper. Even my sense of touch was magnified, as though thousands of new nerve endings had suddenly blossomed beneath my skin.
Marcelle tensed, and I wondered whether her inner beast was successfully fighting off the wolfsbane. But when I would have pulled away, she drew me closer with her right arm while her left hand trailed the length of my torso. Her palm brushed the side of my breast, and I shivered in the thrall of desire.
And then I felt it—the almost imperceptible sensation of her body tightening one more notch, like a bowstring on the cusp of release. As her feet shifted position ever so slightly, the pieces fell into place. A feline Were who bore a superficial resemblance to Alexa. Her blunt response to my question about her presence in Tartarus. She hadn’t been lying; she had come here to find me. But not because she wanted my bite or my body. Marcelle had come here to seduce me and then to kill me.
The world slowed to a crawl as my instincts shifted into overdrive. I jerked backward, and her knife blade grazed my left bicep instead of plunging into my chest. The blade scattered the light from the strobe, and in that instant, I realized how she’d been able to smuggle it past the metal detectors. Glass.
Snarling, she darted forward and executed a leg sweep designed to take me to the floor. She was fast, but thanks to her potent blood, I was faster. I spun away, reaching for the gun concealed at the small of my back, then drew and fired in the same fluid movement. The bullet hit her between the eyes and she crumpled to the floor.
Several of the human women screamed. The DJ cut the music. Someone nearby vomited. My security guards began to converge on my position, but when I raised my hand, they hung back. Bai stepped into the ring that had formed around me and Marcelle’s body.
“You’re wounded.”
Blood trickled down my arm, but any pain had been momentarily eclipsed by the tide of adrenaline that swept through my veins like a flash flood. “It’s superficial.”
Bai prodded Marcelle’s side with a booted foot. “One of Brenner’s?”
“No doubt.”
“Do you still think so little of him?”
I laughed. “He failed, didn’t he? For the third time in three months.” A sudden swell of fury blazed in my chest, and I leaned over to spit on the corpse. “Though he’s never made it so personal.”
Bai seemed confused, but I didn’t bother to clarify. In this latest attack, Brenner had done me a service by showing me where I was still vulnerable. Alexa. He had purposefully sent someone who would remind me of her in certain ways—someone who would move with an echo of her grace and confidence. Someone who would compel me to let my guard down, if only for a moment.
A stinging pain finally filtered into my consciousness, and I beckoned to the guards who waited to attend me. Only a few stitches would be needed to close the gash. If I fed well tonight, the wound would be fully healed within days.
Soon enough, the scar wouldn’t even be visible.
Chapter Eleven
While the club’s physician sutured the gash in my arm, my chief of security got a call from Sebastian. Someone had tipped him off about the assassination attempt, and he was insistent that I come “home.” To him, home was a brownstone on the Upper West Side that I had nicknamed “the mausoleum” for its marble floors, copious sculptures, and Spartan aesthetic. To me, “home” was a penthouse in Soho with its own swimming pool. Sebastian didn’t have a key.
Ultimately, it was his promise of new intel on Brenner’s recent financial transactions that made me accept his offer of a car. When it pulled up to the curb, he rose from the stoop. Backlit by the porch light, he cut an imposing figure. Tall and broad-shouldered, Sebastian wore his hair in a dark, shaggy mane and cultivated a persistent five o’clock shadow. He looked the part of a Harlequin romantic hero—a part I had yet to allow him to play.
He grasped my shoulders and looked me up and down. “Thank God you’re all right.”
“I’m fine. She just scratched me.”
“I told you that place was a death trap.”
Annoyed, I broke his hold. “Only for would-be assassins, apparently.” As I started up the steps, the door opened from within. I passed one of Sebastian’s guards and headed directly upstairs.
“Where are you going?” Sebastian called after me.
“Shower.” I shrugged off my coat as I walked, refusing to wince at the twinge of pain from my arm. I turned into the guest room and shucked off the sweater I’d put on after throwing my ruined shirt into the garbage. Sebastian paused at the threshold.
“Why aren’t you using our room?”
My temples began to throb at his proprietary tone. “Because it’s not our room. It’s yours.”
I walked into the bathroom, finished disrobing, and stepped into the shower. The sting of the water on my wound was quickly eclipsed by the sensation of the hot spray raining down on my tense shoulders. But even over the drumbeat of the water, Sebastian’s restless pacing outside the door was audible.
“Tell me about this information you have on your father,” I called. “And by the way, he owes me a new tuxedo shirt.”
“Well, he could buy you thousands with the amount of money he’s just transferred out of one of his shell corporations in Poland.”
I frowned. “What’s odd about that? He has shells everywhere.”
“But if he’s not shuffling money between them, he always invests in Were-owned companies. Always. This is the first exception.”
Surprise made me pause, hand poised over the soap. Balthasar Brenner had several inviolable rules—or so I’d thought. One was not to patronize any company that was not run by shifters. “Where did he move the money?”
“A corporation called Solarium with ties to Christopher Blaine.”
I’d heard that name on the news recently. “The politician? The one who just announced his candidacy for the presidential race?”
“Yes. My father seems to be taking a strong interest in Blaine, for some reason. His investment in Solarium was huge. I have the numbers in a spreadsheet if you want to see them.”
“Copy it onto a flash drive for me.”
His pa
cing stopped. “Do you need any help with your arm? I could—”
“No.”
If his injured sigh was meant to make me feel guilty, it didn’t work. When he stalked out of the room, the knot between my shoulder blades loosened. His misplaced possessiveness was grating, and it was getting worse. For the first few weeks of our so-called marriage, he had accepted my distance without complaint. Maybe he had thought that if he just gave me space, I’d settle in and assume some vaguely domestic role in his life.
Tipping my head back, I let the water pound over my face and trickle between my lips. My throat burned for a hotter and more viscous liquid. Once I’d gotten the information from Sebastian, I would seek out some willing human. Giselle’s image flashed before my mind’s eye—the flawless slope of her neck, the pale perfection of her skin—and I exhaled sharply as my thirst and desire merged. Galvanized, I stepped out of the shower, dried off cursorily, and returned to the bedroom...only to find Sebastian seated on the bed. His eyes went wide, then darkened.
I reached for my clothes. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked woman.”
His upper lip curled in a snarl. “I’ve seen plenty, though none of them have ever been my wife.”
I let my slacks fall back to the bed and squared off with him. We needed to have this out. Now. “And?”
“And?” The pulse in his neck pounded against olive-toned skin. “And most husbands get to do a hell of a lot more than look, Val.”
My laughter was incredulous. “Oh yes, there’s nothing unconventional about this marriage.”
Sebastian stood. He was tall enough to loom over me—something most men couldn’t do. “I’ve done nothing but try to make you happy, damn it, and your only response is this antagonism!”
“Happy?” My amusement faded. “I don’t want you to make me happy. Our marriage doesn’t mean a damn thing, except that because of it, I finally have access to my fucking inheritance. This is a marriage of convenience—a business arrangement. Those were your words when you came to me.”
Sebastian’s breaths were shallow and the tendons in his neck stood out sharply against his blue oxford shirt. His wolf was close to the surface, and out of the corner of my eye, I double-checked that my gun was still on the dresser where I’d left it.
“It doesn’t have to be,” he said tightly. “We could have more.”
“More.” Frustration joined the arousal and thirst already churning in my depths, a braided whip that lashed me into action. I let my gaze sweep down his body—from his chiseled jaw, past his muscular torso, to the bulge in his trousers. Sebastian was aroused. I would never let him inside me, but if he wanted me badly enough, he would play by my rules. And I would show him exactly who called the shots in this farce of a relationship.
I grabbed my bag off the floor and pointed to the four-poster. “Fine. Take off your clothes and lie on the damn bed. Face down.”
I turned away, but not before watching his jaw go slack and his eyes glaze. He had no idea what was coming, and that was exactly how I wanted it. When I returned to the bathroom, I pulled out my harness and dildo. Many women—especially the straight ones—wanted to be fucked while I drank from them. This cock was eight inches long, and as thick as the circle made by my middle finger and thumb. It matched the shade of my eyes precisely, and I loved the way it glistened as I rhythmically pumped it in and out of my prey.
Once I had adjusted the harness, I liberally coated the dildo with lube, then turned to admire my reflection. My cock stood out proudly from the thick black straps. It curved slightly toward my stomach, calling attention to my rippled abdominal muscles. I smoothed one hand across my breasts, then down to the juncture of silicone and leather. I pressed in lightly and watched my own eyes grow hazy.
“Val?”
The uncertainty in Sebastian’s voice brought a sharp grin to my lips. When I stepped into the bedroom, I saw that he had mostly obeyed me; he was naked and on the bed, but lying on his side with a clear view of the bathroom door. I paused for a moment to examine him with a clinical eye. He was a fine specimen, I supposed, for those who liked their men rugged. Dark hair dusted his legs and abdomen—a finer coat than I’d anticipated. His penis was fully erect, long and thick and glistening.
“What the hell?” Surprise and anger warred on his patrician features.
I held his gaze without flinching. “This, or nothing.”
The spasmodic working of his jaw, the bob of his Adam’s apple—I watched his body betray desire while his mind rebelled. But his internal struggle was gratifyingly brief. When he remained silent, I knew. And I smiled.
Sebastian watched my approach, craning his neck to keep me in his sightline as I ascended the bed. I gripped his waist and pulled him up onto his knees, then grasped the back of his neck with one hand. Adrenaline sang through my veins at his submissive posture—at the swiftness of his pulse against my fingertips and the quiver that ran through him when my cock brushed against his thigh. I steadied it against him, waiting for his control to break. When I dug my blunt nails into the skin just above his collarbone, a guttural sound rose from his throat.
I thrust my hips forward even as I pulled him flush against my pelvis. His shout was strangled as my cock slid deep inside; his body jerked, but I held him fast. Obscenities spilled from his lips and grew louder as I twined his hair around my fingers. I yanked, bringing his head up off the mattress. In one smooth movement, I withdrew almost completely, then surged forward again. He groaned, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the blanket.
I set up a steady rhythm and worked my cock in and out of him slowly, precisely. He grunted with every thrust and moaned when I scraped my nails down his back. The power I held over him was intoxicating, and pleasure skittered beneath my skin like showers of sparks.
“Do you like being fucked by your wife, Sebastian? Is this what you wanted? I don’t think it is, but you’re damn good at taking it from me.”
“Fuck. You. Val,” he managed, the words escaping between tightly clenched teeth.
I laughed. “Sadly, you’ll never get the chance.”
I sped up then, until his body was quivering beneath me. He was close, but he probably couldn’t come this way and I wanted to make him lose control completely. I leaned over him until my lips nearly touched his ear.
“Go ahead. Jerk yourself off.”
The moment he touched himself, his back arched like a bow. He hung poised there, taut and trembling, for one glorious moment—then released with an agonized roar. I sank my teeth into the muscle between his neck and shoulder, nearly coming myself when his blood filled my mouth. He tasted like musk and wood smoke, and I drank deeply as he climaxed.
Spent, he pitched forward onto the bed, limbs twitching. There wasn’t much time before the inevitable happened, and I had to move quickly. I unbuckled the harness and let it fall to the floor, then gathered up my clothing and grabbed my gun and the flash drive from the dresser. Slinging my bag over one shoulder, I spun toward the door. Sebastian’s harsh breaths had already morphed into snarls. I had summoned the beast with my bite and there was nothing he could do to prevent his wolf from ascending.
As the seizures began to flay him apart, I stepped naked into the hall. I paused just long enough to pull on my clothes before swiftly descending into the foyer.
“You have a problem in the guest room,” I told the guard who stood just inside the front door. Whether he blanched at the sight of my blood-stained lips or the unearthly howl that suddenly erupted above our heads, I couldn’t be certain. Cursing, he ran up the stairs, calling into his wrist mic for backup.
I stepped out into the wintry air, arm already raised for a cab. The night was still young, and I had work to do.
Chapter Twelve
I instructed the cabbie to drop me off at the side door of the Bank of Mithras. Floodlights illuminated its gleaming marble edifice, but the small lobby was dark—closed, by all appearances, when in fact the bank’s underground level was open
to business for our nocturnal clientele. We maintained a fully operational storefront during the daylight hours, but vampire customers now overwhelmingly outnumbered the humans. Even some shifters had decided to open accounts, though they were few and far between now that Balthasar Brenner had rekindled the tension between our species.
The side door was monitored by a keypad, and only vampire clients and staff had the clearance to enter. Once inside, I rode an elevator down to the heart of the bank. I could have entered my office suite directly from the street via a service entrance at the back of the building, but I wanted to put in an appearance on the subterranean lobby floor. It was good for clients and employees alike to see me taking an active interest in daily business, especially since word of the attack at Tartarus would have gotten out by now.
When the doors opened, I stepped out onto the polished floor and was greeted by a smattering of applause. I allowed myself a faint smile, but didn’t linger. To the right of the tellers, Kyle sat at a large desk that guarded the first of several doors to my office. He leapt to his feet when he saw me, but at my warning glance he said nothing. I gestured for him to follow and led him into the antechamber where visitors who required my personal attention waited before I called them into my office. The room was empty, and as soon as the door closed behind us, Kyle freaked out.
“Oh my God, Val, are you all right? What happened? Everyone is saying Balthasar Brenner sent a team of assassins to the club and you took them out like—”
I cut him off before he could launch into whatever elaborate simile the rumor mill had concocted. “There was one. She’s dead. I’m fine, and we have work to do.”
His mouth closed with a click. “How can I help?”
Kyle’s puppy-like loyalty was his best attribute. I was gratified to see that he hadn’t lost it upon being turned, though it might well disappear when he became a full vampire. But that was still months away.
“I want to know everything there is to know about Christopher Blaine’s personal life. Dig, and come back with what you’ve found well before sunrise. I don’t want to have to stay here all day.”