“This place is, ah, not what I expected.”
“Thanks . . . I think.” She nodded to three young bucks filling out forms on her left, then to a female waiting, flipping through Crimson Times on her right. “I spend most of my time here, so I like to be comfortable. It’s important for people to feel at home when they come in.”
If the place wasn’t hopping with hungry vampires he might’ve been inclined to feel comfortable here too. Even in this form, something inside him was still hungry for the kill.
Dylan nodded to a very robust woman working the front counter, making Slade wonder if employees got discounts or seconds on their meals. She continued into the back where cherrywood filing cabinets, stainless steel racks of medical equipment, and desks with large computers reigned—her work space.
Slade could hear movement in back and in the room to his right. He wondered exactly how many people she had working for her, roaming about the facility, stirring up more trouble.
“You can take a seat at my desk over there,” she said flipping through some mail. “Just don’t touch anything.”
Seeing her open correspondence made him remember his own delivery that was still in his pocket. He pulled out the letter Ruan had delivered before he was about to bitch-slap Savage and examined the blank front and back. Then tore the side open.
A single sheet of paper rested inside. He yanked it out, opened it up.
Locate the khiss’s catacombs. Find the sacred scrolls. Your mark will be revealed when you succeed in this task.
What the hell? This shit is not what he signed up for. He promised Moses he’d kill a leech. That’s it.
Wasn’t it?
No, goddamn it. He swore he’d complete all tasks of the mission or the whole was lost. That greedy son of a bitch. Now that he was lodged in the khiss like a silver bullet, Moses wanted more.
At least now he had a goal, he supposed, and could get down to business instead of spinning on his thumbs. Not that he didn’t enjoy the back-and-forth he and Dylan were engaged in. Sure, the feelings stirring in his gut were fun and all. But business is what he came for. His status was on the line.
Dylan, of all people, would understand that.
“I thought I told you not to touch anything,” Dylan said, watching him flick the corner of the letter. “What’s that?”
“It’s junk mail.” He crumpled it up and three-pointed it into the steel waste bin. He hoped his act looked believable. He knew who his next mark would be if his secret was revealed and he didn’t want to take duty quite that far. “It’s not your concern,” he smiled, light and not too easy. “And I took care of it.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Celeste Bloodslinger, star of the reality show iSuck, went in for dental reconstructive necrosurgery this weekend. This is rumored to be the star’s one-hundredth necroadjustment.”
—Vampertainment Tonight
Slade really didn’t want to rehash the whole feeding thing. One taste of that slop at his Newborn Induction was enough. But he sure as hell didn’t need someone poking around in his veins.
For one, he despised needles, plain and simple. Second, he wasn’t really sure what the test results would upturn. He’d never had blood analyzed in a shifted form before. Would his blood be an anomaly, sparking concern and intrigue as something foreign? Would Dylan recognize his blood as therian?
He didn’t know. He didn’t know what he’d do if Dylan pushed the issue, either, as blending in with their khiss was crucial to completing his mission.
Slade realized he’d have to cross that bridge sooner than he’d like.
“Come on, let’s get you something to drink,” Dylan said, walking to the industrial-sized refrigeration system in the back. She yanked on the door and strode into a cloud of cool mist. “So what’re you feeling? AB? O? Those are usually the favorites among newborns in your stage.”
Swallowing hard, Slade hoped there was a way to drink and spit without her seeing. “Pick one. It really doesn’t matter.”
She tossed him a flat bag marked AB. “There’s a sink over there with a funnel and bottle system. Shouldn’t be difficult to figure out.”
As she walked back to her desk, Slade thought perhaps this was his chance. He slid to the sink, tore off the top of the bag with his teeth, and dumped the whole shebang into the funnel. The ooze gobbed and dribbled into a clear plastic bottle attached to the bottom. When it was full, he tossed the bag away and removed the bottle, but not before scraping a line of blood off the funnel with his finger and dabbing it around his mouth. He leaned against the sink and turned on the water, hoping to drown out the sound of the blood spiraling down the drain.
Except when he peeked at Dylan from the corner of his eye to check if the coast was clear, she was staring right at him.
“Just cleaning up,” he said, and rinsed blood off his hands. Shit, he didn’t get a chance to pour any of it down.
“And?”
“I think my problem’s solved. Thanks.” He ripped a paper towel off the dispenser and wiped his mouth with large, wide strokes. “What now? Do you sign me off as a witness to the deed or something?”
As she walked to the sink, her eyes narrowing to slits, he got the impression she didn’t believe a word he said. He budged sideways to hide the bottle from view.
“Let me see it,” she demanded, lips forming a determined pout. She sure was sexy when fired up.
“See what?”
“The bottle. I want to see how much you drank.” She leaned around, snatched the bottle and held it up. “You hardly drank anything. You better not be lying to me, Slade. I will not be made a fool of, especially in my own office. How much did you drink?”
“Enough.” It was the truth. The smudge on his lips smelled so bad he could vomit from that alone. Turning, he stalked to the exit. “You’ll vouch for me won’t you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure you drank a single thing.”
He stopped. Circled back. “Come on, what’s the big deal? I’m obviously not bloodlusting. I’m not some crazed newborn out for blood. It’s not like you can’t trust me on the streets. You have my word that I won’t lower myself by acting out against a mundane, I swear it. If you don’t believe me, I don’t know what else I need to do to prove it to you. But I’ve got shit to do so if you wouldn’t mind getting’ on with it . . . .”
She replaced the cap on the bottle and rinsed out the funnel. “That’s just it, Slade. Those reasons you rattled off are why I need to run some tests on you. You should be blood-lusting. You should want to act out by now. You should be starving . . . but you’re not. Something’s going on and if you don’t let me take at least one sample, I’m going to have to do my job and report the behavior to Savage.”
How the hell was he gonna avoid this one? His brain raced through his options in a nanosecond. He could ignore her request and bolt, but that would get him no closer to finding the catacombs or the scrolls. Or he could let her take a single sample of blood, analyze it, and deal with the ramifications after the results came back.
Maybe he wouldn’t have anything to worry about. Maybe his blood would be fine. Yeah, and maybe Moses would be righteous with the idea of him taking a kind of therian sabbatical to stay in vampire form so he could rough Dylan up a bit on his bed, no strings attached. Uh-huh, like that would work.
“One sample,” Slade growled.
Dylan opened a steel black cabinet to her right and brought out a rack of needles, placed it on her desk. “One sample, I promise.” Pulling out the thickest needle, she clamped on the widest vial, and flicked it with her finger. “One large sample.”
Suddenly lightheaded, Slade crept to her desk and rolled up his sleeve, looked away. “Do what you gotta do. Just make it quick.”
His skin pinched tight and damn it . . . stung a bit. Then it was over. He looked down at his exposed arm, at the blood filling the tube, and at Dylan’s hand on his bicep. Her grip was firm but not rough, strong and gentle at the same time.
She really did have a way about her . . . vampire or not.
“All right, you’re finished.” She slid the needle from under his skin and took it to the back table. “Within a few hours we should have the results.”
Slade jolted upright, urgency coating his tone. “A few hours? What do you mean a few hours? No, I’ve got to get back to the haven.”
“Why? It’s not like the khiss has assigned you a duty yet . . . and you can’t tell me you have a hot date you’re late for. You’ve hardly been a member one day.”
“Jealous much?” he taunted.
“Why don’t you come back here and I’ll give you another love bite. Show you how jealous I really am.” She held up a needle that looked over a foot long. She probably didn’t realize it, but she blushed.
“I think I’ll steer clear until you put down that needle. No, I don’t have a date. And it’s not a duty . . . so to speak. There are some things I have to look into and I don’t have time to waste piddling around here.”
“Well, I can’t let you leave until the results are back, so you better find something to occupy your time.”
He sighed, thinking perhaps waiting to see the results was a good idea. In the case they showed something he didn’t want revealed, he could destroy the evidence before she had time to spread it around. Therian blood in a vampire body was sure to catch fire like sparks on dry grass.
Hours must’ve passed, judging by the arc of the moon in the sky, but Slade wouldn’t have known it. Being with Dylan made every moment so important, the seconds, minutes, and hours skipped by without regard.
It wasn’t what she talked about, although that was riveting too. She further explained rules of their society. Slade hadn’t realized the vamps of Crimson Bay were so civilized. They had television networks, underground libraries, midnight museums, theatre and culture. Definitely not what he expected. He wondered why only the rumors of their bloodlusting ways and killing sprees reached therian circles. Dylan also talked about her extensive work at ReVamp. How she’d been slaving away in the lab, working until her eyes blurred, trying to find a way to solve the blood-tainting dilemma.
For the first time in Slade’s life, he thought his perceptions of vampires may’ve been majorly skewed. Or maybe he only ever paid attention to their bad sides and evil deeds. Either way, something was shifting inside him, and it didn’t have a damn thing to do with his inherently flickering nature.
Dylan really had worked her ass off to build ReVamp into her dream clinic. Her tenacity and work ethic was almost inspiring. If he’d been a man who worked a 9-to-5, he may have sat up and taken notice of how to run a business right. She’d certainly nailed the art.
Not a mention of Valcdana or the Court escaped her mouth and for that he was grateful. He didn’t need any more reason to detach Savage’s ugly bowling ball from his neck
No, it wasn’t Dylan’s regard for her work or the fanciful stories of vampires’ good deeds that had Slade sitting up and taking notice all night.
It was the way she moved that captivated him the most. Her hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned over her computer, first one side, then the other. She’d tie the curls into a knot at the back of her head, just to allow them to fall minutes later. Wasn’t this an office—couldn’t she find a rubber band to hold her hair up or something?
She couldn’t be getting pleasure from his watching her . . . could she? No, she wouldn’t be doing that on purpose. She wasn’t the type. She was all business.
Officially the sexiest businesswoman on the planet.
Her eyes would squint and her brows would knit together when she’d focus on the computer screen too hard, and then soften when he’d call her attention to the other side of the room. He had to admit he did it more than once just to watch her face soften, then harden again. Would she make the same faces when concentrating on other things?
Like his body and her own arousal?
He pushed the thoughts from his mind before parts of his lower body joined in on the party and kept his mind occupied by toying with some crossword puzzles, watching a little CrimsonTV . . . then inevitably studying Dylan some more.
Being trapped in the clinic, where her fragrance was embedded in everything, made concentrating on anything but her nearly impossible. Studying her little habits and ticks started to drive him crazy; in an insanely good way. She’d chew the backside of her pen when she was perplexed by something she studied. She’d glare at the clock every ten minutes as if it wasn’t giving her the answer she’d hoped for when she last looked.
Slade was captivated to the point of delirium; stuck in a vortex with a woman who smelled like fresh rain and created an awkward pain in his chest that hadn’t been there yesterday. In this place, with Dylan, time didn’t exist. Minutes melted into hours before his very eyes.
A loud ding at the back of the room reminded Slade why he was here. He jumped off his seat and skated to the back. Dylan shadowed his movement and after reaching the station a step ahead of him, tore a single sheet of paper off the printer, and studied it.
“So what’s the verdict?” Slade asked, peeking over her shoulder, unable to keep his curiosity on lockdown. His entire mission and his identity relied on the tests coming back normal. Too bad he couldn’t get rid of that suddenly sick feeling swirling in his gut.
“Hmm,” she mumbled, neither good nor bad. “Looks like everything’s fine. . . .”
“Thank God. Now I’m outta here.” He couldn’t possibly take the pressure and heat of her eyes any longer. Every second with her was harder to bear, harder to resist.
“Wait.” She ripped a second sheet from the printer that was still digesting orders. “Your triglyceride levels are fine, enzymes appear normal, and even your hemoglobin levels are perfect. I don’t understand.”
She searched his eyes. He tried to look away but couldn’t. Her gaze was too pure, too penetrating.
“Tell me something, Slade . . . what was your transition like?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Slade’s hands clammed.
“How old were you when you went through the first stage? Five? Ten?”
Thank God she wasn’t talking about his most recent transition and that he’d been a world-class Assassin with knowledge of a vampire’s stages. “I was five,” he lied, looking away.
“Were you sensitive to light like the others or were you an exception there too?” Her voice was clinical, her face stoic.
“Yes, light got to me.”
“And your second stage? Did your internal clock regulate quickly to night waking or was that slower as well?”
“It regulated fine.” He so wasn’t pulling this off. Time to bail. “Are you done yet with the twenty questions?”
“One more,” she closed the distance between them, her eyes boring into him. “How long ago did your fangs drop?”
“Why does all of this matter?” Slade asked, his blood pressure rising.
“Because you’re something of an anomaly. I’ve never heard of someone going through all the stages seamlessly, then getting stuck when it comes to feeding. It doesn’t make sense for your entire life to change, your fangs to drop, and then your hunger to suddenly go poof! on the wind.”
“Well it did. Would you just drop it and vouch for me already? What you and Savage are worried about is me acting out, right? I think you’ve well established that’s not going to happen.”
“Yes, but you’re still having problems with your rage.”
“Dylan, you haven’t seen anything close to rage from me yet.”
She hesitated, measuring the hardness of his voice. “I want to do one more test.”
“That’s not going to happen. You said one sample. I gave you one. End of story. Now remove that stake from your ass and vouch for me so I can go on my merry way.”
Dylan stormed up to his chest and smacked him clean across the face, a single swipe that left a sting. He rubbed the red mark with his hand. “I suppose I deserved that,”
he said.
“How dare you! I’m only trying to help!” She was so pissed off, her body so rigid, even her nipples stood at attention. The tiny points pressed through the cotton of her shirt, making Slade shift in his pants. “First you seduce me back in your room, then you insult me,” she continued. “If that’s not raging newborn hormones I don’t know what is, so don’t you dare try to tell me that I can’t identify—”
He gripped her around her waist before he knew what he was doing and planted a firm kiss right on her lips. It was a kiss of dominance. Of conquering her spirit. Proving he could kiss her when, where, and how he wanted to, and she couldn’t stop him.
“Don’t do that again,” she growled and squirmed in his grasp.
Part of him, the long-buried logical part, wanted to release her. She shouldn’t feel this good in his arms. He shouldn’t be having the urge to toss her on the floor and drive into her until they both went mad. She was a vampire. His arms shouldn’t be gripping her so tightly. But the stronger part, the lower part of him, wanted more. He felt her stiffen in his grasp, could almost hear her brain arguing against him, then she went and did it. . . .
She thrust herself at him open-mouthed, desire and anger molding into one raging beast, and moaned against his lips on contact.
Electric currents surged from his stomach to his loins as her tongue dove into his mouth no-holds-barred. Both his hands darted to her hips. He lifted her off the ground, his mouth possessing hers, and moved aside to set her on her desk. She was so light in his arms, so fragile. So completely his.
When she wrapped her legs around his waist and cleared off her desk with a swipe of her hand, he about lost all control. How could he be so close to his edge already? It’d been a long time, true, and this woman had an effect on him unlike any other, but . . . Sweet Jesus . . . he could feel the warmth between her legs.
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