by CJ Ellisson
Darryl looked back to the dance floor. Located his charge. Felicia Trent was a redhead. Dark red. She had the body of a siren and unlimited access to credit on a ton of cards. She could have anything she wanted. And usually did. She was pure man magnet. And totally sure of it. She shouldn’t even be allowed in a club at her age. She was years away from legal and light-years away from ready. And it got worse. She had the hots for him. Darryl Bailes. She’d called him ‘Big Gun’ the moment they’d met two days past. He’d hoped she meant his arms - on display because the only shirt he owned for this climate was a thermal, long-sleeve Henley, one size too small, purchased on the fly from the nearest department store.
But, no.
She’d meant something completely different.
Her next questions were proof. Was he packing? Always. Was he locked and loaded? He’d narrowed his eyes and nodded. And then she’d flashed a saucy grin and asked about his pump action. Felicia Trent was not what he needed. He’d spent the rest of that day purchasing larger shirts and avoiding her. It was senseless…unless she was looking for a daddy replacement. He supposed, if she was comparing him to the lean youths surrounding her, he did look big. Solid. Muscular. But honestly. She was seventeen in years, thirteen in hormones, and about forty in guile and manipulation.
And he was a broken-down ex-soldier. One cursed with celibacy since his injury. Felicia was more than wasting her talents with this bodyguard. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t know if he could. Sex was a really nice memory…or a hellish experiment in pain management. It wasn’t something he was willing to try. Not with Felicia, anyway. Pain was the perfect antidote to raging libido. No wonder fathers the world over threatened their daughter’s suitors with it if they stepped out of line.
He grimaced as she flashed him a look that would’ve melted the others. It was followed by a kiss blown his direction, and then a pout. And that was prelude to an even wilder display of flesh as she raised her arms and gyrated about. She had a toned mid-section. Full breasts that weren’t under control of a bra at the moment. And an ass that was about to jump right out of her micro-skirt. He knew what she was doing. Her frontal assault and blunt words hadn’t worked with him earlier today. He’d told her he wasn’t interested in children. This was her response.
Her daddy sure had his hands full.
“Hello, Handsome.”
Darryl’s eyes went wide. Everything on him went stiff. Taut. Tense. The dagger in his hand reacted, too, throbbing against his fingers. An ice-water-trickle slid down his spine, settling on the bullet, making it shift. That sent a shockwave of fire-like pain down both legs. He’d have groaned if he didn’t have everything locked tight. The doctors had told him he’d get used to this.
Like hell.
Darryl finally swiveled his head and looked down. He managed to pull in a shallow breath, but it trembled. It was her. The vampire. Although nothing about her looked anything other than feminine and pretty much perfect. Blond waves of hair cascaded past her shoulders, to land somewhere near her lower back. A wide strip of black leather teased at the nice-sized breasts it covered, while more black leather molded like a second skin to eye-catching legs. And she finished it off with little ankle-high boots. Low heels. Damn. She was gorgeous. He hadn’t been wrong about her eyes, either. She really did have light, purplish-toned eyes. It was especially visual in what lighting this place claimed.
His heart immediately kicked at him, making him choke. A gulp from his water fixed that. Darryl drained the glass. Set it on the counter at his side, the move buying time. He had to consciously make sure nothing rattled against the countertop, though. He wondered if she noticed.
“Remember me?”
Damn, her voice was sweet. Her scent was even sweeter. Darryl turned to put his back against the bar, pushing against it with the move. The counter didn’t shift. Good. Nice to know something had his back.
“What do you want?”
“Answers.”
He narrowed his eyes. It matched her expression.
“To what?”
She reached a hand toward him, stopped for a moment before connecting, and then seemed to force the final inch. Her fingertips touched him mid-belly, and sent a solid jolt of lightning through the spot, gaining her a groan and a look of shock. He didn’t have to guess. He couldn’t control either response. And she had the exact same reactions. She lifted her hand. The electricity ebbed a bit, sizzling somewhere in the space between them. He was actually wondering if his hair had caught fire.
“What…are you?” The question trembled.
“Reika.”
Nice name. Just foreign enough to be exotic. It fit.
“I didn’t ask who. I asked what.”
She smiled. She had spikes on her canines. Nothing like the fangs from the other day, but something was not normal.
“You already know. You’re just denying it.”
Darryl swallowed. Looked away for a bit. Focused on the dance floor. Found Felicia. Good. She hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she’d sloughed off her crush on her bodyguard.
“We need to leave this place.”
“Why?” he asked.
“We need to…talk.”
“Right. Talk.”
“You coming nicely…or not?”
“Oh. That was a request?”
“I can force you,” she replied. “You won’t enjoy it.”
It should’ve been laughable. It wasn’t. He already knew her strength. He had the hand-sized bruise in his bread basket as proof. Nobody would believe this. Him. Darryl Bailes. Facing a man-handling by a woman half his weight. He really needed another glass of ice water. Or something. Things like this didn’t happen. They were in the most fashionable club in St. Moritz. Near midnight. The place was hopping with wild tunes and wilder bodies. And he was being threatened with assault. By a slip of a woman.
And then it got worse.
Darryl caught Felicia’s movement as she left the dance floor, aiming straight at him. She had her four hired bodyguards on her six. And three other men Darryl hadn’t met yet.
“We’re about to have company,” he told the vampire chick.
He watched her look over her shoulder and then move in front of him, her back to his front, blocking access. That should have been even more laughable. It wasn’t.
“Don’t you dare hurt her. You dig?”
The look she sent over her shoulder at him flashed purple daggers. And then she snarled. Darryl pulled back slightly at the menace of one little female. It wasn’t planned. And it sure wasn’t manly. It happened anyway. Those canines of hers might have been little spikes before, but they were long, sharp fangs now.
“Is she your…woman?”
“Oh, hell no. That there is Miss Trent. My charge.”
She softened somehow; all the nightmare scary part changing back to dick-hardening sexy fem. Right before his eyes. His knees shook. His legs felt like jelly. Darryl bowed his arms onto the countertop and leaned back. The wood cracked. He just hoped it held. The other choice was dropping at Miss Vampire Chick’s feet.
“Miss. Trent.”
She made two words out of it. Slightly slurred-sounding. That might be a result of talking around elongated fangs. But he didn’t have much to go by except some Halloween experiences from his pre-teens.
“Don’t hurt her.”
“Why not?”
“Please?”
“Tell me one good reason why not.”
Darryl pulled in a breath. “Because if you go around killing everyone I’m protecting, my resume is going to be very short. And that means my employment prospects are going to have the same issue.”
“So?”
“Come on. Give over. I’ll tell you what. I’ll go with you and we’ll meet in a nice little cozy somewhere. We’ll talk. And in exchange, you’ll spare Miss Felicia Trent the vampire stuff.”
She tipped her head as if considering it.
“We have a deal?”
“Why would I agree to
that? You already know you’re leaving with me. I can force it.”
“You ever try doing anything nicely, Lady?”
“It’s Reika,” she replied.
And then Felicia reached them, her entourage forming a half-circle around her, making a wall of sorts. None of this was going unnoticed. They were creating a lot of interest in this side of the club. And since he was so tall, Darryl got to watch as dancer after dancer stopped what they were doing and moved a little closer to the action. In moments, the DJ would probably notice. Darryl only hoped the guy didn’t stop playing tunes.
Felicia didn’t like what she saw. Maybe she wasn’t used to competition, but she was starting to flush. And her hands were knotted into fists. She flung her head back, looked Reika over insolently and then looked up higher at Darryl. And then she tossed her head, moving the mass of dark red hair. Narrowed her eyes. And jutted her little chin out.
Oh shit.
He was about to have a cat-fight. Over him. That might be great dream material, but it sure was a nightmare at the moment.
Chapter Four
Did she ever do anything nicely?
No.
Nice was another word for weak. In her experience, nice wasn’t a trait one desired or nourished. Being nice was a ticket to defeat and enslavement. Nice people got killed and raped and pillaged and plundered a hell of a lot faster than un-nice ones. Reika looked over the child/woman glaring at her with such hostility. This Felicia girl looked so young. But not so innocent. The look in her eyes was easy to read. She considered the man, Darryl, her property.
And Reika was competition.
Stalemate.
They were gaining attention. Reika sensed the crowd about them growing. Expanding. Adding complication. The situation was approaching difficult. Not impossible, but more than she wanted. The Reika of a minute ago would’ve given the redhead short shrift. A quick slice across her throat; a forced taking of the man; problem solved. Eliminated. Defused.
Two things stopped her.
For starters, she was in a state of semi-arousal that hadn’t existed prior to entering this club. It hadn’t for centuries. Darryl was the cause. And that meant only one thing. As impossible as it sounded, this man was her mate. The one. The only. Her mate. That fact was jaw-dropping. Astonishing. It approached wonder and joy. Never-ending tremors seemed to emanate from him, bombarding her entire back half with sensations she’d never felt. Not in the nineteen years she’d lived, nor the seven centuries since. He was her mate. She already loved him. Wanted him. And craved union with him.
The last thing she wanted was his look of horror and shock.
Secondly, if she didn’t calm the situation it might be impossible to contain. She’d need a 4-D Team. Reika rarely needed to call in the VAL’s elite clean up teams, and this wasn’t even a sanctioned hit. As large as this crowd was getting, she might need two of them to handle fallout. Akron might even send the Findlay Blue Team. Doctor Findlay specialized in the second of the four D’s: Destroy. This was a very lovely building. It would be a shame to destroy it. It would probably earn her another look of horror and shock from her mate.
That left few options. Nice might actually be one of them. She worked at pulling her canines back. More. Reika sucked on the roof of her mouth to bring them in enough for a closed-mouth smile.
“Hello,” she said finally, and attempted it. “My name is Reika.”
“So?” The other spat the word.
Okay. Maybe she needed to work on her smile.
Reika pondered the girl while it felt like her heart kicked into gear somewhere in her chest. Ridiculous. Impossible. It still felt exactly like her heart reanimated and started thudding away in her chest; ricocheting a pulse through her. The disbelief coupled with amazement was what caused another lengthy pause as she considered the other.
“So…maybe it was an introduction?”
Reika finally answered, doing her best to sound defenseless and young. How did one manage something they’d never been? She’d been old before her time back before Akron changed her. Now, she was just old. And not remotely defenseless.
“Do you know her?”
Felicia directed the question over Reika’s head, apparently deciding Reika wasn’t worth her time. Hmm. So much for nice.
“We’ve met.”
Two words, and yet they ratcheted Reika’s new pulse into a higher cadence, sending a humming sound to both ears. She almost missed the girl’s answer. This was impossible. Incredible. Unbelievable. Yet, it was still happening. To her. Akron had told her of mating, but so long in the past, it wasn’t even a memory. She’d heard rumors, too. Over the years. Whispers. Entreaties. Even angered diatribes. Some yearned for a mating. Some ignored it. Some bemoaned fate over the lack of it. But nobody had described this.
Maybe because they couldn’t.
“That’s it?”
“You need to go back to partying, Miss Trent. Now.”
Darryl answered with a low tone. Authoritative. Uncompromising. Every word sought Reika’s core. Once there, they warmed. Spun magic. Energized. He didn’t answer. Some of the men about Felicia did.
“Yeah. This is getting filmed on a few cell phone cameras now. I’m going to guess we’ll be an internet video within the minute.”
“And your father informed shortly thereafter.”
“Come on, Babe. We’re not finished with our dance.”
Three of them reached for her arms. They might as well save the effort. She yanked free.
“I want to dance with Big Gun.”
“Me?”
Reika’s eyebrows rose at Darryl’s answer while a spark of anger slapped at the ecstatic feelings wrapping about her. Big Gun? If that meant what it sounded…? And if this girl had been and done…?
Ooh. It was about time to get un-nice. Reika lowered her chin and trembled with controlling the instant itch. The killing urge. The jealousy.
The fangs.
And Miss Felicia just opened her mouth and kept speaking, completely unaware of how near death she was.
“Yes. You. I want to dance with you.”
“Not happening, Miss Trent. Not my style.”
“You’re my employee.”
“Wrong. I’m your father’s employee. And I’m about to be an ex-employee. You get what I’m saying?”
“All I want is a dance.”
The girl had decided whining might work. Her voice grated on the ears. It also cooled Reika’s urge to rip her throat out, although it took a bit of work and concentration to retract her canines again.
“No can do, kid-do.”
“Why? Because of her?”
Reika had the girl’s attention back; along with wide eyes at Reika’s revealing snarl; and then the girl went pure stupid. A short, thin, switchblade appeared in one of Felecia’s hands. A micro-second later it was in Reika’s possession, and a moment after that, she was yanked off the floor and right into Darryl’s chest, where a riot of issues happened. The voltage he seemed to send raced everywhere, centering finally at her throat where her newly awakened heart had affixed, choking off her cries. Touching him earlier had been electrifying. Direct contact with him was oceans more. A blizzard of shivers coursed her skin, lifting goose bumps to the sensation of air and cool leather. Over and over. Again and again. Her nipples peaked into tight darts, her limbs to quivering appendages; her loins to quivering need.
His hug was probably meant to imprison, securing her with both his arms locked about her torso. It wasn’t necessary. Reika’s body irradiated with the sensation of molding to him. Someone should have been more specific! This mate sensation was incredible! It jolted everything to a new awareness. It wasn’t a hum in her ears anymore. There was a chorus of angelic voices or something. The girl was forgotten. The knife fell somewhere to the floor. And then he spoke. The words went over her head, but the vibration of them resounded through him. Right into her.
“Show’s over. Chuck and Bob and uh…Greg?”
“Chet and Rob, Man.”
“Whatever. Get moving. Do your jobs. See to Felicia. Start confiscating cell phones and deleting video. Double time.” He started walking. She’d say she allowed it, but that was a lie.
“Where you going?”
“Damage control.”
“You’re going outside?”
“Yeah.”
“With her?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s below freezing out there.”
“Good,” Darryl answered and walked out the door with her.
St. Moritz was known for its snow, its skiing, and its setting. Alpine peaks were silhouetted against a winter sky containing uncountable stars. A half moon. Wisps of clouds. The view was a bit hazy and indistinct due to the frosted air. If she looked, she’d see the frozen outline of the lake. Light from the buildings bounced off pristine snow. It was actually easier to see out here than in the club.
He put her down. Her boots settled into a knee deep snow bank and she shuffled her feet for a bit before finding decent footing. He hadn’t waited. He’d stepped back to the plowed section; crossed his arms over his chest and stood, looking down at her with an enigmatic expression. It was definitely cold. And he was definitely feeling it. She watched his breath fog about his face, while little pinpricks showed his nipples reacting beneath his turtleneck sweater. He should probably have grabbed an overcoat. Or fastened his jacket.
“All right, Lady. Start talking.”
His voice was gruff. But it trembled. Reika sucked in her cheeks and regarded him for a bit before answering.
“The name is Reika.”
“What’s your last name?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Bullshit.”
So. He was going to try the hard line with her. She’d seen enough cop films and read enough cheap novels to know the ploy when she heard it. It was amusing. She had to force a look of seriousness to her face.
“Fine. My father was a barrel maker. Call me that.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Back when they decided everyone needed surnames, they usually gave the lower classes the names of their occupations. Baker. Smithy. Brewer. Miller. My father was the village barrel maker.”