Demon Night

by Meljean Brook

“No,” he said, and took her hand, pulled her toward the office. “I reckon it’s not.”

  Though the more he considered it, the more he thought it sounded just fine.

  And when she was in his arms and the wind preventing easy conversation, her bloodlust eating through him like a thousand fire ants, there wasn’t much to do but consider it. By the time he flew down low over the Golden Gate Bridge, giving her a view that made her sigh in pleasure, he’d imagined taking her in just about every way a man could take a woman, and in his mind she’d sucked the blood from his body a hundred times over.

  He figured she’d imagined the latter, as well. She’d touched his throat twice, each time jerking her fingers away from his skin. And he didn’t know if the physical scent of her need was caused by the bloodlust or by her wanting him—but if he slipped his hand low, he reckoned he’d find her wet enough that he wouldn’t need to put his mouth on her in order to ease his way.

  Wouldn’t need to, but he’d still have taken real good care of her.

  Her brows pulled together in a frown as they flew over Hunter’s Point, banked toward SI, and dropped in quick.

  “It ain’t much to look at,” he said as he set her feet on the ground. His nerves began jumping as her gaze lifted and ran over the building. It wasn’t much at all; even her inexpensive little apartment had appeared better maintained, and had more space than her room in the warehouse did. “But it’ll do until we can find a place for you. And it ain’t so bad inside.”

  She nodded and turned in a slow circle, taking in the empty parking lot and the high fencing without expression. “Okay.”

  He figured if he’d been human, his palms would have been sweaty as he clasped her hand, led her up the stairs.

  “You’ll get a card to use here. Jake likely has already made it up.” He pulled in his identification and swiped it. “And Jeeves up there, he’ll be checking to make sure you are who you say.”

  “Okay.” Her whisper was strained as they stepped into the blank white corridor.

  Maybe he ought to have given Jake her things, so her room would be comforting, not just cleaned and ready. Or thought of setting her up in a hotel. He glanced at her; she looked away from Jeeves, her lips curving into a pretty smile, and some of his tension eased.

  “You’ll be safe, Charlie. The security is awful tight.”

  “So I see.”

  From behind his glass shield, Jeeves ran his gaze over Charlie with open curiosity—as open as Jeeves’s sour face could manage, that was. “Good evening, Miss Newcomb. Mr. Drifter.”

  Charlie’s brows lifted a little, and her smile deepened. “Good evening.”

  “You have her ID, Jeeves?”

  “Indeed, sir. I have only to record her measurements first. Miss, if you will step up to—”

  Ethan shook his head. “Just prints and retinal, Jeeves. The rest tomorrow.” Charlie wouldn’t be so thin, and it was best to get her features in when she looked as she normally would.

  And he didn’t want to have to tell her why she was being scanned for the same record twice. He figured calling her too skinny at this moment would be much worse than saying a woman was plump.

  Jeeves frowned and opened his mouth; Ethan laid his hand on the narrow ledge in front of the window and leaned in.

  “Tomorrow, Becca,” he repeated softly, but the novice couldn’t miss the edge in it.

  “Very well, sir.” The stiff tone told Ethan he’d soon have to be letting her win a poker hand or two, or she’d be sore at him for a week.

  Ethan talked Charlie through the scans, then submitted his own before leading her past the door. Fortunately, Becca was upset enough that she didn’t come out and introduce herself.

  Most of the offices they passed were dark, though a few vampires and Guardians were working on computers or talking on phones. Past the hall and offices was a large room that opened to the practice areas and the metal staircase that led to the second floor. The clash of swords sounded from the gymnasium, but the majority of the noise in the warehouse was coming from upstairs.

  He looked over at her; she was examining the ID card, a tiny line between her brows. “You all right?”

  “Yes.” She tucked the ID in her pouch, and he heard the slide of her fingers over the feather. “Just feeling a little processed.” Her smile wasn’t quite steady; she glanced away from him and added quickly, “But you’re right, it’s much nicer inside. And I like the…the…that.”

  She pointed at the zodiac painted on the ceiling, but Ethan continued to study her face, fighting the impulse to dig under her shields and discover what lay beneath the bloodlust.

  Laughter rolled down from the second floor, and she eyed the stairs, her fingers practically sawing across the feather.

  Ethan clenched his jaw as his name was added to the conversation above. “You stay here a minute, Miss Charlie.”

  He cleared the stairs in a single bound. Cards lay over the table in the common room, the game in full swing; the sofas were filled with novices chatting and reading and watching a film on the giant television. Eleven young Guardians and three vampires—and fourteen pairs of eyes swung toward Ethan, then searched the space behind him.

  Ethan shook his head and gestured for them to pay attention. She’s feeling uneasy, and she’s awful hungry. I don’t want anyone rushing at her, he signed. No questioning, no staring. You just sit where you are now and say your greetings polite.

  He ignored the surprised glances that were exchanged, and turned back to the stairs. At the head, he paused.

  And her privacy’s real important to her. If I see one wink or one wrong smile, any little indication that you think you know what’s going to happen in that room, then I’ll be rolling a few novices over pretty damn hard.

  Silence followed him back down, but he assumed they were furiously signing back and forth—likely making wagers about who would be the first to smirk and how many teeth they’d have to regrow.

  Charlie was standing in the same place he’d left her, but no longer alone. Jake and Mackenzie had come in from the gymnasium, and Jake was turning his head to the side so Charlie could see how well he’d healed up. She rose up on her toes to look close.

  Mackenzie frowned at them as he slid his sword into the scabbard on his back, then met Ethan’s gaze. The vampire pushed his flop of dark hair from his forehead, then signed, Drifter, would you like me to feed—

  Mackenzie’s pale hand closed tight when Ethan narrowed his eyes.

  Never mind, the vampire quickly gestured. And I wouldn’t have taken any from her—Becca is it for me. I was just offering because she’s in bad shape.

  Ethan nodded sharply, then slid his thumbs beneath his suspenders and studied his boots until he was certain he wasn’t going to say something he’d regret later. The thought of Charlie letting anyone else provide for her about tore him up and got jealousy roiling hot in his gut.

  He reckoned that meant Charlie was it for him, too.

  Jake was telling her about the tanker now, and her eyes were wide and bright when she glanced away from the novice to Ethan’s face, as if she wanted to gauge his reaction to Jake’s version of it.

  Ethan hadn’t been listening, but Jake must have been making him out to be a heroic warrior; she held his gaze, her bloodlust flaring. Jake blinked, and his words stumbled before he finished his story by falling to the floor with his arms and legs spread-eagled, projecting intense relief.

  Ethan’s jealousy receded, left his nerves jittering again. The feeding was just ahead, and she needed more than blood from him.

  She needed his control, and at that moment it was in short supply.

  He cleared his throat, forced himself not to think about her mouth or the heavy-lidded glance she cast at him each time the bloodlust turned her eyes more hazel than brown. “Which room, Jake? I ought to get Charlie settled in.”

  Jake raised his head. “It’s the last one on the right.” He rolled to his side, propped his elbow on the floor. “An
d Savi found a connection between Katya, Vladimir, and the Brandts, but it’s not much. It can wait.”

  “All right then.” He held out his hand to Charlie. “You ready?”

  Her lips parted, and she nodded. Her breath was slow and shallow. “At the motel, you asked Jane if Mark Brandt had contacted her,” she murmured as they climbed the stairs. “Why?”

  “Mostly my gut,” he said. “I wouldn’t like to be hit from the side, particularly if it’s regarding Legion, so I’m looking around to see what might be coming.”

  “Are the Brandts?”

  “Don’t know yet. It may be they’re just feeling things out, too.”

  She was silent for a moment, as if she was thinking it over. “I can call Mark. He asked me to dinner—probably to talk about Jane—but I can feel him out.”

  They reached the top of the stairs. “Maybe you could do that, Charlie, but I don’t reckon you’d enjoy dinner much.”

  She touched her lips. “Do you think he’d notice?”

  Ethan thought any man who sat across a table from that mouth and didn’t pay attention to it probably had little to offer for information or brains. “Yes.” He raised his voice a little, and kept hold of her hand as they moved into the common area. “This here’s the brood, Charlie.”

  He pointed and named, then hurried her on through moments afterward, not trusting that the novices would behave much longer than it took for Charlie to respond to their hellos.

  “So, this is like a dorm?” she asked.

  “That’s as good a description as any.”

  “But you live on Caelum?” Wistfulness fluttered through the rasp in her voice.

  He paused in front of her door. “I have a place in Caelum, but I don’t reckon I live there,” he said slowly. “Not in the sense that you mean. I don’t stay in Caelum for any length of time. Just visit.”

  “And drift? Is that why you went today?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t look away from her as they entered the room. Her expression didn’t change, except for a quick blink when her gaze lit on the twin-sized bed. “It’s not much,” he said again.

  “It’s okay. Like I said, kind of a dorm. Were the flowers your idea?” She turned to face him again with a smile.

  A huge burst of red roses sat atop the tiny desk. “That they were, though I’ll admit I didn’t select these. I’d have chosen something yellow.” Daisies or daffodils, or even yellow roses—any flower that looked more like the sun than like blood.

  He thought her smile dimmed, but he couldn’t be certain: she dipped her chin and dragged her fingers through her hair, letting it fall across her cheek. “It was still a nice thought. And they smell great.” She inhaled, and her eyes closed with pleasure. “I guess being a vampire does have benefits.”

  “Well, you won’t want to breathe that deep when it ain’t flowers,” he drawled.

  She laughed, but it faded when she met his gaze. Her lids lowered sleepily, and his entire being wound up tight, pulled his body with it.

  He turned and cut his thumb, activated the spell.

  “Ethan,” she whispered. Her need slammed through him, and she moved in quick. Her fingers circled his wrist as he pivoted to face her. “God, Ethan. Let me…let me—”

  Her lips closed over the tip of his thumb.

  The pleasure ripped into him, like she’d closed her mouth over every inch of his flesh. His knees near gave out, and he staggered back against the door. Charlie moaned, her fingernails digging into his skin, holding his hand to her mouth.

  The wound healed, and she released his thumb with a long lick.

  “Charlie,” he said hoarsely. That small taste hadn’t begun to assuage her thirst—it had only made her need worse. And now that she’d had some, the bloodlust wouldn’t be letting her stop. Her gaze rose to his throat, hungry and feral. “Miss Charlie. Let’s do this slow and easy—”

  She curled her fingers around his jacket collar and leapt astride his waist. Her knees banged against the door.

  Her fangs sank deep in his neck.

  She began sucking, and ecstasy replaced the pain. Her lips and tongue were cool against his skin, her bloodlust a raging fire through his veins.

  God Almighty.

  Ethan groaned, slid down the door until his ass hit the hardwood floor, and turned his head to give her a better angle. She sat in the cradle of his thighs and stomach, straddling his erect length. Her fingers buried in the hair at his nape, then fisted. Her hips rocked, hard, fast.

  Rough-woven cotton burned over his shaft. He panted her name, and within seconds she was matching her rhythm to his voice. He slowed, and she did, her tongue massaging the closing punctures on his throat, her hands sliding between them to flatten against his chest.

  Then her fangs pierced him again. He bucked beneath her, stifling a shout. Son of a bitch. His teeth clenched. It’d be so easy to vanish his clothes and remove hers, and push himself deep. He could almost see it: her pink flesh parting, glistening as she slowly, slowly took him in…

  He opened his eyes again to the sound of shredding fabric. Her blue sweatshirt lay torn on the floor.

  She whimpered against his throat, and her thin camisole ripped beneath her frantic hands. The buttons on his shirt popped and scattered.

  Her cool palms met the heated skin over his stomach, her thumbs sliding alongside his navel. His head swam. Her moans took on a needy, erotic note, as if they welled up from far beneath her throat and chest. Each harsh exhalation she made from her nose was an icy whisper over the back of his neck.

  He caught her wrists when she traced a line to his waistband, dipped her fingers in. Their cool tips circled his cock-head, her touch a shot of electricity and pure bliss. Ethan reared up against her hands, seeking more.

  He ought to have been drawing away.

  Desperately, he tugged her wrists up. She pulled them free and bit him again.

  A zipper rasped. Hers.

  “Charlie,” he gritted, and forced out the words he didn’t want to say, but had to in order to remind himself. “Much as I want you, we decided we ain’t doing this. Not until you adjust.”

  He clasped her hips to halt her rocking; the denim of her jeans was stiff beneath his hands. Stiff…but loose, and sliding against the silk of her red panties. Her scent mingled with the heavy perfume of the roses. She’d be so sweet, her aroused flesh slick against his tongue—

  He squeezed his eyes closed again, resisting the image, his need, her need. He stopped breathing.

  Her thighs flexed around his waist. Her weight eased from his aching length as if she meant to lift herself off him—though she didn’t seem about to quit; the suction at his neck continued, her bloodlust was still hot.

  And he heard it: the slippery glide of her hand between silk and skin. Her soft, muffled cry against his throat as her fingers penetrated deep.

  “Miss Char—Ah, sonofawhore—” Ethan clenched his jaw, rapped his head hard against the door, and forced himself not to succumb as her heightening arousal spiked his blood.

  She began moving. Her knuckles ground into his shaft on each downward stroke of her hips. Painful, but mostly because it wouldn’t let him forget how badly he wanted to be inside her, to be the one fulfilling her need.

  Her left hand searched out his chin, his mouth. Though desperate for any taste, he fought the temptation to suck her middle fingers in and stroke his tongue to the same tempo of her hand between her legs.

  Her pace increased, and Ethan reckoned he was going to plumb lose his mind. She was sweating now, leaning in against his chest. Her nipples repeatedly kissed his skin in a cool, wet path that matched the rise and fall of her body. Beads of perspiration fell against the back of his neck, icy drops that trickled beneath his collar.

  He nearly wept with relief when tremors ran through her. She tensed and arched, her hips coming off of him but her mouth still fastened to his throat, her palm slapping flat against the door beside his face.

  His hands tightened on he
r waist, held her as she barreled through the orgasm, gritted his teeth against the amplified wave of pleasure that rushed into his body.

  Two more icy drops fell and rolled down the back of his neck.

  Horror gripped him. “Charlie?”

  She made a panicked noise low in her throat.

  The bloodlust still hadn’t released her—hadn’t released him. Ethan ran his hands up her spine, fighting the desire so that his touch wouldn’t ask too much. He pitched his voice to soothe. “You’ll be all right. It’ll break soon. You’re just newly transformed and hungry.”

  Her tears were a steady stream down his back in the following minute; then the bloodlust finally freed her. She lifted her head, gasping with sobbing little breaths, wiping at her mouth.

  “Ethan.” Her face was stricken when she pulled back. She cushioned his cheeks between her hands, her moist eyes frantically searching his. “Are you okay? I just—I couldn’t stop—”

  “I know, Miss Charlie.” Concern melted through her psychic scent; his chest swelled, and he thought his heart actually skipped a beat. He smoothed his hand down the windblown tangle of her hair, from her crown to the middle of her back. Her features had lost the skinny, haunted look. “And I’m doing just fine.”

  “But…” Her gaze lowered, and he glanced down at her chest. Blood smeared her golden skin—and over his, darkening the edge of his shirt. “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered.

  “We got a little messy,” he said easily, and repressed his grimace as he vanished it. He forced himself to look away from her perfect round titties, the tight rosy nipples. “But next time it won’t hit you so bad, and you’ll know better how the blood flows, how fast to drink.”

  “Next time?” Her hands shook against his jaw. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you? You wouldn’t just say that?”

  He frowned. “Why are you so certain you did?”

  “I heard it.” Her eyes closed briefly. “It wasn’t mine.”

  “Heard what?”

  “Screaming.” She swallowed hard. “Or—that shriek bending metal makes? Only louder.”

  “That doesn’t sound like anything I was feeling.” His frown deepened, and she brushed her thumbs along the sides of his mouth. “When did you hear it? When you first bit me?”