by K. L. Kreig
That made Ren’s chortle pick up until he was nearly doubled over with some fucking joke that apparently only he could hear. Regret ate at his gut—why had he thought this was a good idea in the first place?
“Does she know how you feel?” the vamp finally asked when he’d gotten control of himself, taking an uninvited seat at the worn dining table like he planned to stick around for some lighthearted chitchat. The chair creaked when he let his large bulk relax into the rickety wood.
Trying to remain stoic, Mike didn’t answer, but rage still pulsed madly through him. The irritating sound of fingers drumming filled the silence. He wanted to cut those fingers off and feed them to his next-door neighbor’s dog, Fluff. Don’t be fooled by the name. Fluff was a rabid pit bull who would sooner tear into your calf muscle than scare you away with his equally vicious bark. His neighbor had a very sick sense of humor.
Ren was either a mind-fucking-reader or Mike was bad at hiding his emotions because Ren’s lips turned down before he said what could well be taken as sincere sympathy. “Well, there you go, human. That’s why you can’t find her.”
He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to continue this conversation at all, but the question was out before he could shove it back in. “What exactly does that mean?”
Ren nodded to the empty chair across from him. Mike only moved when the asshole raised one cocky brow that clearly said: If you’re getting any information from me, you’ll sit your ass down.
Reluctantly, he slid into the seat, every muscle on red alert, and waited for the vamp who seemed to know Giselle better than anyone to respond. Jealousy burned him at that thought.
“You know I don’t really like you, right?” Ren said coolly.
“Good thing I don’t give a flying rat’s asshole what you like, vampire.”
Ignoring his insult, the jackass continued. “But Giselle does. And even I’m not daft enough that I can’t admit you’re good for her, so I’m going to let you in on a little four-one-one about our seductress, Detective. But if you tell her it came from me, I’ll deny it before I gut you.”
Taking a chance, Mike replied snarkily, “She’d kill you if you laid a hand on me.”
A cocky smirk curled the vamp’s lips. “She would try, which is the only reason I’m gifting you with this tidbit of intelligence.”
“I’m listening.”
Ren leaned forward on the table, crossing his bulky arms in front of him. He dropped his voice low as if there were others in the room who may overhear. “Giselle is more fragile than she appears to be.”
Mike waited for him to continue. To give him some new information on the female he was pining after like a damn lovesick fool, but the bloodsucker remained quiet, silently studying him for a reaction.
“That’s it? That’s your fucking revelation? That she’s wounded like we all are?” He leaned forward toward the vampire, mirroring his position. “Newsflash, asshole. I saw through her cocky bravado months ago.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
The smug bastard leaned back and finished his cocktail. “Beer me.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right? There’s a convenience store down the road on your way out.” He nodded to his front door, giving the vamp a hint.
Ren chuckled and stood. Placing his massive mitts on the table, he hovered over Mike. The laminate creaked under his two hundred thirty-plus pounds of solid muscle. Mike didn’t lean back, even a fraction. “She’s running scared, but that means you’re getting to her. Getting close. Under her skin. In her head. And I have to tell you, human, no one gets to Elle. She gets to them.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“Don’t give up.”
“The fires of hell wouldn’t stop me,” he replied adamantly.
Nodding sharply, the vampire made his way toward the exit. Mike stayed seated, disgustedly marveling at how a large creature could move with such stealth and grace.
With the knob in his hand, Ren turned back. “Your future with her rests squarely on your shoulders, I’m afraid to say. Giselle never takes the easy road and it’s hard for her to accept what’s staring her in the goddamned face, so don’t blink. Don’t look away. Don’t give her a fucking inch or she’ll be gone. But most importantly, Detective, make her feel safe.” After a slight pause, he clarified, “To be clear, what I’m saying is emotionally safe. She’s been through more than your puny little human mind can possibly comprehend.”
Mike wanted to throw a punch in that smug bastard’s face and Ren knew it. But he wanted information more.
“What happened to her when she was taken by that sadistic bastard, Ren?” He hated to ask but needed to know. She’d been frosty cold before, but after her kidnapping by Xavier, she’d been different. Fragile. Like she’d turned to dry ice and one wrong touch would set a series of cracks and fissures into slow motion that he wouldn’t be able to stop. He was terrified he’d be forced to watch her helplessly shatter into pieces right before his eyes, her fragments scattered at his feet.
That’s part of the reason he asked the vampire here today. Giselle would never tell him. She was a damn vault, but he was working on breaking the lock. Bit by agonizing bit. If he could just get a little help, it would be so much easier.
Ren’s face sobered. “You know as much as I do.”
“I don’t know shit.”
“Exactly.”
He nodded, surprised Ren didn’t know and disappointed he was unable to learn anything new, except for possibly the depth that Giselle bled. Huh…guess he knew more about his woman than he gave himself credit for.
Mike was temporarily lost in his own thoughts when Ren added, “You weren’t really trying to take me on, were you?”
“And if I was?” He raised a mocking brow.
“Well, you are either the stupidest fucker I’ve met or the ballsiest. And if you’re going to pursue Elle, you’d better have balls forged of titanium and the patience of Job, my friend. You’re gonna need ’em both.”
“Already covered.” Ren was halfway out when Mike called, “One more thing, vampire. She’s not your seductress. She’s mine.”
With his index finger, Ren touched his temple and then pointed at Mike, a smirk on his face. “Touché.”
He could have sworn he saw a hint of respect in the powerful vampire’s eyes before he disappeared, leaving Mike to wonder if he was reading between the lines correctly. Was the overprotective Renaldo actually encouraging him to chase—and, more importantly, catch—Giselle? If he was, what exactly did that mean?
Deciding he wasn’t going to solve world hunger today or ever unravel the inner workings of a vampire’s complex mind, he went back to work on the pet project Giselle had asked for his help with—tracking down Sarah Hill’s lineage.
Buckling down, he contacted additional PDs and faxed pictures of the two missing women. He’d worked tirelessly for hours, all the while trying to forget how they sat on the couch next to each other and watched The Late Show or how she let him take her hand when they took a walk at dusk last night or how he taught her the finer art of making frozen fish sticks. He wasn’t successful blocking her from his thick head, but about an hour ago…he did hit pay dirt.
Marna Clark was age twenty when she went missing in Des Plains, Illinois in 1969. There were very few leads and her case quickly grew cold and was eventually forgotten in favor of the newest missing person. Hundreds of thousands of people go missing each year in the United States alone, and Marna quickly became a statistic, like so many others. Mike was able to get her parents’ names, number, and address. He’d called but there was no answer.
Fuck it. Des Plains was only an hour and fifteen minutes from Milwaukee and since there was no reason to stick around here, he grabbed his phone, packed an overnight bag, and headed to the garage. He’d sleep in a cheap motel close to their house and stop by the Clarks’ first thing in the morning. Talking to them in person would be better anyway. He could gau
ge their expressions and, more importantly, see their faces. Did either of them resemble Sarah? Did they have other children who did?
He didn’t really understand why Giselle was working on this project for Sarah since Giselle wasn’t really the warm and fuzzy type, but the reason didn’t matter. Even if she’d decided not to come back, he would continue on his own. He’d do it for Sarah. He’d do it to keep his goddamned mind from spinning and churning.
And he’d do it in hopes that Giselle would come to her fucking senses and return to him. This time for good. Because next time she walked through that door, he wasn’t letting her leave. Ever.
4
Giselle
Sitting in the kitchen, alone in the dark, Giselle took a long drink of her vodka and pondered the events of the last several months.
Of the interminable war with Xavier.
Of her torture at his minions’ hands.
Of the unusual fact all three Regent Vampire Lords had met and bonded with their Moiras within the last six months.
But mostly, she thought about one Detective Mike Thatcher.
She knew the moment their eyes met almost a year ago now that he was hers. He was her Fated. The only male meant for her.
But she hadn’t been looking for her mate. She didn’t want to be tied to any male. Ever. She’d been perfectly content alone.
Until he showed up.
And changed everything.
He’d fucking changed everything.
And try as she might to fight it—them—she was failing. Horribly.
She’d never seen a male—human or vampire—as beautiful as Mike. He was built and bulky for a human. Sensual need always swirled in his stormy blue, hooded eyes, which were framed by thick, dark lashes and brows. The scruff he wore well gave him a rough-hewn sort of vibe that fit him perfectly.
But his mouth—that’s what really got her. His lips cut through bullshit and his tongue was razor sharp. His barbs and verbal sparring went straight to her sex, making her hot and needy.
He was her match. Her equal.
Not one person she’d ever run across had gotten to her like the detective. Every single time she saw him, he’d pluck another thorn from her prickly persona, leaving the tiniest of holes that she couldn’t cover quick enough before he wormed his way underneath. That left her vulnerable. Shaken to her fucking core. And pissed off as hell. She needed those damn thorns. They were the only things protecting her fragile insides. Her skin was a rose bed of them…and the bed was thinning quickly.
Not knowing how to deal, she did something she was not proud of. Going against the grain that made her who she was.
She ran.
From him.
From herself.
From them.
In the beginning, it was self-preservation. The detective detested her kind and in some twisted way she understood. Xavier had taken away the female he thought he was supposed to spend his life with. But he wasn’t meant to spend it with Jamie. He was meant to spend it with her; he just didn’t know it. And he certainly would never accept it. Didn’t that just figure. He hated her guts because of something that was completely out of her control.
Same story. New century. Different male.
Try as she might, though, she couldn’t seem to escape him. They’d been incessantly thrown together now for months on end and it was a daily struggle to keep her feelings hidden. They both pushed each other’s buttons. Danced around their feelings. It felt an awful lot like a game of cat and mouse. While Giselle was always the stealthy feline, in this particular game she was most definitely the timid prey. Goading him was all fun and games until she realized he actually wanted her back.
But now…now she ran because…well, she was scared. Terrified, really. Humans and vampires were no different when it came to the ugly truth. They would say they want to know you, the real you, but once you let them inside, they’d want to turn away because viewing genuine ugliness through a clear lens is like getting a sneak peek into hell. It’s impossible to comprehend the depths of deviance and depravity others are capable of, and seeing it up close and personal means you can’t deny it’s real anymore.
And when you loved someone, you opened that fucking door and let all your insides pour out. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
So this…
“I love you, Giselle.”
…this was almost too much to handle.
He’d want to see her ugly and she couldn’t let him.
So where did that leave them?
She really didn’t know.
It had been more than twenty-four hours since she’d left without a word, running scared. Twenty-four hours during which she’d done nothing but think about him and replay his confession over and over again…“I love you, Giselle.” And while it made her sick at how those simple words sent flutters through her belly, she could finally admit that she loved him back. Hell, since the moment she’d laid eyes on him, she was in love with his smart mouth and sexy-as-sin ass. But knowing it and admitting it out loud, especially to him, were two totally different things.
She loved him but she didn’t deserve him, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Soul-searching hadn’t helped. That ended up being a vicious cycle of acceptance, then confusion, then anger. She was getting dizzy trying to deny what they were but wanting it all the same. Convincing herself why it may work, then justifying her spineless decision to cut out on him.
Still, without answers, all she knew was she missed him terribly and desperately needed to see him again. But when she finally drummed up the courage to face him, the bastard was nowhere to be found.
She hadn’t heard from him since she’d slunk out like the coward she was. He didn’t call. He hadn’t texted. He’d been radio silent. At first, she couldn’t quite decide if that thrilled her or angered her. But as the hours passed, it was pretty clear which emotion she was feeding from.
Her slow burn had turned into a raging boil.
So here she sat, stalking Mike fucking Thatcher like a goddamned idiot. And by stalking, what she really meant was crazy-ass, balls-to-the-wall, nonstop hounding. If she were human, she’d probably be in jail by now. Phone calls, text messages, pacing the length of his porch waiting for his home to show any signs of life. But he was just gone, so in addition to getting worried, she was now a volcano of ugly pissiness ready to blow.
He’d begged her to stay. Demanded it, actually. Fingered her until she melted under him. Why, then, was he now avoiding her? Maybe the endorphins from the orgasm they’d both pumped him to while she drank down his lifeblood loosened his tongue and lips and he hadn’t meant what he’d said. Maybe he realized he’d been wasting his time. That she wasn’t worth it. That she was too damaged to invest any more effort into.
Maybe he was finally done with her. That thought sat hard and hated in the pit of her stomach.
Hearing a noise, she looked up to find Ren padding into the darkened room.
“Hey, baby girl,” he greeted, pulling a bowl of fruit out of the fridge.
Dev’s security detail, which included Ren, Manny, Thane, and herself, lived at the mansion with Dev. Manny and Thane were close and shared the same wing of the house, but both Ren and Giselle had their own private quarters. Over the years, she’d become used to living with “roommates.” Most of the time, it was convenient. Except when it wasn’t. Like now.
Taking another drink, she relished the slow burn all the way to her stomach. “Why do you insist on calling me that?” she growled, needing to take her anger out on someone. Besides Ren, she would sooner cut out someone’s tongue before allowing them to use an endearment with her.
Except Mike. I let him call me baby all the time.
Shut up dammit!
“Because it riles you up.” The smooth smile that lit his face was brilliant. Ren was one of the best-looking males she had ever met, but she’d never been attracted to him as a female should. He was more like the brother she should have had. Ren and Dev, they were h
er family. Had been ever since Dev saved her.
“You feed recently?” Ren asked.
Yet another secret of hers that Ren held tight to.
Using Mike the way she had was something she hadn’t done since the day she was fully blooded.
In dire situations, vampires fed from bagged blood, but that was like tofu. It was empty, unsatisfying, barely nutritional. Vampires really needed a live host to thrive. Males fed from female humans and female vamps fed from male humans. It was the way for them. Except her. Giselle couldn’t stomach the thought of touching a male in that way because that would lead to sex, so she’d either nourish herself from a willing female at one of Dev’s clubs or use the bagged crap.
Her belly constricted now just thinking of Mike’s taste—having it on her tongue and running through her veins again. It was Eden. God, her mouth watered.
“I’m good.” Her voice sounded thready, wobbly. He smirked and she ignored him, taking another sip.
“Why aren’t you with your detective now?”
Her retort was hot and fast. “He’s not mine.”
“Yeah, he is,” he taunted knowingly. “Have you fucked him yet?”
No, but God how I want to. “Jesus, Ren. Invasive, much? Asshat.”
Ren threw a few pieces of fruit in his mouth and chewed, watching her closely. “You know, I never took you for being a runner, a quitter. Guess I had you pegged wrong all along.”
Her anger spiked. Lightning fast. Giselle wanted a good verbal sparring. Could use it about now. That she knew. That was the skin she comfortably fit into. It was like a tailored glove, molding to her ragged edges perfectly instead of this lovey-dovey shit she was trying to muddle through.
Opening her mouth to verbally assault her friend, her mentor, she caught a gleam in his eye and clamped it shut before she could spear him with a caustic word. “I know exactly what you’re doing.” And she almost fell for it, dammit.
“Elle…”
“Just stop already. I don’t need another lecture from you.”