Intervamption

by Kristin Miller

  Acting on instinct alone, Dylan fell back onto the pavement and frantically covered Slade’s head with her coat.

  “I need some help here,” she said exasperatedly, looking at her makeshift sweatshirt bandage soiling with Slade’s blood. “I can’t do this alone.”

  As if answering her quiet plea, a small form in a black turtleneck and black slacks charged up the sidewalk.

  Meridian.

  She was at Slade’s side in a blur of fluid movement. Her black eyes, blazing like hot specks of coal, scanned the heap of coat that was Slade. She closed her eyes and breathed in; a giant, labored breath. “Must I do everything around here?”

  Dylan stared at the sharp planes of Meridian’s face as rays of sunshine bounced off them. DayGuards weren’t available for consumers yet and no other prototype had been reported through the linked systems. Then Dylan remembered—mawares.

  Although it was farfetched, Dylan thought maybe she’d have a maware that could heal . . .

  “Meridian, help him, please. He’s not responding to anything and he’s losing so much blood. Please, if there’s anything you can do. Help him . . .”

  “Quiet,” she snapped. “Let’s take him back to my apartment before it’s too late.”

  “He’s not going to make the walk back without getting sun-scorched.”

  “Do you want my help or not?” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “You have to trust me. Grab his left side, I’ll grab his right. Ready, and . . . go.”

  As they stepped over the therian’s lifeless body, Dylan saw the roll of scroll lying in the gutter. Before she could retrieve it, Meridian waved her free hand in slow figure eights, her fingers flying on an unseen breeze. The scrolls disappeared before her very eyes.

  When Meridian spotted the wary look in Dylan’s eyes she said, “Housekeeping, dear. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  If Dylan wasn’t supporting most of Slade’s weight, she would’ve stopped to see what would become of the flickering corpse. She would’ve asked what happened to the scrolls and if they were in good hands. Hell, she might’ve demanded them back. Under the circumstances, all she could do was move forward and not look back.

  Within the first few drags on the narrow walkway, Dylan knew Slade’s skin was exposed to the sun’s lethal rays.

  “No reason to worry about that now,” Meridian said, yanking back the coat covering his head. “We worry about the blood loss first, then his strength, all right?”

  Dylan’s first reaction was to release Slade’s arm and pull the coat back into place.

  As if reading her mind Meridian snapped, “Forget the sun. Look at him, for Christ’s sake. He’s fine.”

  She did.

  Slade didn’t twitch, burn, scream, or awaken from his sleep-state, which meant one of two things: either Slade was fading faster than she thought and didn’t respond to the threat of being barbequed, or because of his therian blood, the sun didn’t affect him.

  Dylan knew it was the latter. She didn’t have time to think about what that meant. How he’d somehow become a combination of his therian self and chosen vampire form. How his build and frame, his eyes and face, were the therian she admired in the catacombs—with deadly fangs dropping at whim, she knew the vampire shape hadn’t loosened its hold.

  Even though his body was heavy and her heart was pounding like a jackhammer in her chest, she couldn’t resist stealing a glimpse at him. Sunlight graced Slade’s face, highlighting the ridge of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lips. Dylan had to catch her breath. He had the face of an Adonis, one stripped right from the Parthenon. It was amazing what beauty daybreak brought with it.

  When they were within eyeshot of Meridian’s apartment and her mysterious world of porcelain cats and fast-talking mumbo-jumbo, Slade groaned.

  “Slade, everything’s going to be all right,” Dylan said, dragging him with all her might. “We’re going to fix you right up. You’re going to be good as new real soon.”

  His cracked lips opened, the back of his hand grazed her cheek. “You’re beautiful in the sunlight, you know that? An angel . . . my angel . . . come to save me from the night.”

  Dylan and Meridian maneuvered him toward the door. “Talk to him, dear,” Meridian whispered. “Keep him talking. He’ll respond to the treatment easier if he’s awake. I’ll have a better shot at saving him.”

  “Slade, we’re going to move you inside now. You’re going to heal up just fine.”

  “DoyoulikethedarkDylan?” Slade slurred, his head lolling back. “When I went back . . . I wanted to . . . I forgot to ask you if you liked the dark.”

  What an odd question to ask in a situation like this. “Yes, Slade, I like the dark just fine.” She struggled to keep her voice steady and her tone easy-breezy for his sake. “What about you, Slade? Do you like the dark?”

  They ducked under the stairwell that looked much less creepy with sunshine illuminating the corners, and around the overgrown shrub that was predictably still overgrown. The front door opened on its own accord. Like it was welcoming them in for tea and crumpets.

  Slade moaned as they stepped over the threshold, past the living room and lines of stoic cats, to a guestroom off the side hallway as dark as the night they’d left. It was cool and soothing, with hints of lavender and jasmine floating on the air.

  “I like the dark, Dylan,” Slade breathed, once they laid him out on a majestic bed that didn’t fit the loony motif of the rest of the house. “I like the dark . . . because you’re there. There’s fire inside me, Dylan. It’s too intense. I don’t think I can handle much more of this.”

  “Shh, just relax. Try to concentrate on something other than the pain. Think about when we first met. Or our time in the catacombs.” She weaved her red-tinted fingers in his.

  Dylan didn’t realize until that moment Meridian had left the room. Or maybe she’d just vanished into thin air.

  Silence puffed and tumbled through the air like fog. Slade’s grip on her hand tightened. He grimaced and swallowed hard. Like stacks of pins and needles were scratching and pricking their way down.

  “I’m scared,” he whispered. “I’ve never felt this before . . . God, I’m such a putz, aren’t I?”

  She leaned over him. “There’s no reason to be afraid. You’re going to come out of this stronger than you were before. Do you think you can focus enough to shift? If you can find a way to change, you won’t be in any more pain.”

  He shook his head as his knees jerked to his chest. “I’m not scared of pain,” he breathed, heavy and choppy. “Or death. I’m scared of feeling this way and losing you. Tomorrow you’re . . .”

  As Meridian returned with a small pan of water, Slade relaxed into the black satin pillow, the rest of what he wanted to say lost forever. Small gem-like rocks lined the bottom of the silver pan. Steam escaped from the top, though it didn’t look hot to touch. Meridian set down a shooter glass of—

  “Is that vodka?” Dylan asked.

  After pulling off his sweater and yanking up his white cotton shirt, Meridian went to work dabbing water on her fingers, then flicking them over Slade’s wound. He hissed and moaned, shuddered at her touch.

  “If he makes it out of the woods he’s gonna want something to take the edge off. Vodka’s always done the trick in the past. Unless you’d rather him use you as a soundboard. Make yourself useful and hand me that towel over there, would you?”

  Dylan did as she was told.

  As Meridian dabbed at the wound, Slade hissed violently through clenched teeth. His pain looked too intense to bear. The cut was deep, slicing straight through flesh and muscle, right down to bone. Blood was everywhere. Soaking through the sheets on the bed, his clothes, even Dylan’s skin.

  “Is he going to make it?” Dylan whispered, knowing Meridian could at the very least glimpse the future. She should’ve waited until Slade wasn’t within earshot, but couldn’t stifle her anxiety. Her nerves felt as frayed as Slade’s wound looked.

  �
��He’s going to be fine after I clean him up—aren’t you, dear?” She flicked her hand. More water went flying. Blood around the cut dried, stopped flowing completely, within seconds. Red streaks circling the wound turned to a whitish-gray. “He’s going to need something to drink soon if these stitches are going to heal properly. If he doesn’t feed, infection will set in and he’ll fade right here on this bed. It’s a shame you don’t carry extra bottles on you for occasions such as these. Blood-Blasters you have. Nourishment you forget.” She shook her head disapprovingly, like a mother who’d told her teenager to clean her room a thousand times and it still wasn’t done.

  “How . . . ?” Dylan’s mind raced. “Oh, forget it. Tell me where your nearest khiss is and I’ll make a mad dash for supplies.”

  Meridian huffed and held Slade down by the shoulders as a seizure racked his body. “I was hoping there was another way to do this, but it doesn’t look like the universe is gonna open up any other options. Can’t say I didn’t try, though.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have to go. What’s written cannot be changed, and it comes sooner than I expected.” Meridian raced from the room, her silver hair looking less slicked back and more brown. Dylan wondered just how many secrets Meridian was keeping, how strong her maware really was, and when they’d be able to see her true form. “You stay here with him and do not leave his side. Got it? Don’t leave his side for a single second. If you do, it could mean both your lives.”

  “Where are you going? When will you be back? What should I do?”

  “You ask too many ridiculous questions. You’ll know the path you’re supposed to take because according to the scrolls, it’s the only option you have.”

  Meridian was out the door before Dylan could argue further.

  As the tremors left Slade’s body, he slumped into the bed, growing weaker by the second. He was fading fast—Dylan could hear it in his cough. See it in the dropping pallor of his face. But she wouldn’t follow kooky Meridian and leave him, simply to ask what the hell the scrolls had to do with their current situation. No, that wasn’t an option.

  Buffy and Xena she was not, but she had something they didn’t. A man she didn’t want to fade away into oblivion. A man who challenged her, who was a royal pain in her ass more often than not. But a man she wanted at her side more than anything. A man she . . . loved? Could that be the stinging feeling pinching her heart?

  Falling in love with her sworn enemy was not in her life plan. Neither was finding the scrolls, saving the vampire race from the therians, or going through the Valcdana with Erock. Everything was falling apart. Yet she’d never felt more in charge of her path than she did at this moment.

  “Dylan,” he moaned. “So weak . . . I can’t focus . . . I can’t. . . .”

  Leaning so close she could taste the sweetness of his mouth, Dylan grazed her hand across the stubble of his cheek. The solution hit her core like a thunderclap. “Slade, there’s only one way to give you the strength you need. It may not be enough to sustain you for long, but it’s all I have to give.”

  He shook his head and peeked at her through parted eyelids. Beneath the fans of black lashes his eyes were pitch black. Blacker than a moonless night. “You smell so good . . .” he whispered. “I can taste you. . . .”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” she said, climbing onto the bed, straddling his middle. She went wet between her legs the instant she felt his arousal beneath her. Even in his weakened state he wanted her. Moving her hair over her shoulder, she leaned over him and bared her throat. “You need to drink from me. I think it’s the only way.”

  His fangs dropped, his face paled. “I’m so hungry,” he muttered. “If I . . . hurt you, I couldn’t—”

  “You’re not going to hurt me. Here . . .” She clutched him behind the neck and pressed his lips against her vein. “Let me do this for you. Take me, Slade.”

  He ran a line of butterfly kisses along her neck, then snapped his head back.

  For a second she thought he’d turn her down. Die rather than feed from her. Then he ran his fangs up and down the length of her neck and nipped at the sensitive skin behind her ear.

  The instant her weight registered on top of him, Slade went rock hard. The scent of her arousal filled the room, invading his senses, obliterating anything other than his hunger for her.

  Tonight, though, his hunger was twofold.

  Not only did the blood pumping through her veins smell like the most tender, flavorful, juicy prime rib he’d ever savored, but she was also the hottest female he’d ever laid eyes on, hands down. Especially from this angle, splayed on top of his hips, she dangled over him like a tantalizing feast for his eyes and tongue.

  Flames rivaling the pits of hell rose up in him again. Trying to fight the urge to succumb to the forever dark, he snapped his head back. Letting primal instincts reign, Slade reared up and sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck.

  “Slade . . .” Dylan moaned at the first pull. “That’s . . . it.”

  As the sweet taste of her blood hit his tongue, tingling sensations shot down his spine. Like someone played erotic glissandos at light speed along his nerves. With that single drink, he felt something inside him knit together. Like his wound stitched from the inside.

  He curled his arms around her back, pressed his palms flat, forcing her to collapse on top of him. The first series of dragging sucks on her vein were spicy and sweet, warm yet chilled his throat on the way down.

  Without warning, something changed. Shifted.

  It wasn’t enough. Having her flattened on top of him. Her honeysweet breath, now coming in pants, coating his face. Her juices flowing full from her milky-smooth neck.

  His insides changed into a writhing, spitting beast, wanting more. Needing more. Strength surged through his muscles and he could’ve sworn his wound healed itself completely.

  He pushed flush against her vein, sucked strong to hold her in place. His hands darted to her jeans and unzipped. After he kicked her pants off her ankles with jerks of his feet, his hands skated inside her powder blue baby-doll tee.

  She raised herself up with her arms to slip off the light cotton, detaching Slade from her neck.

  He growled, and pushed her back down. Took another long draw. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The power flowing through him tasted too good, and he’d been so weak.

  A sweet chuckle escaped her lips. “You can’t have it both ways, you know. If you want me undressed, you have to—”

  He fisted her hair and tilted her head before going for the other side of her throat. As his teeth sunk into her tender flesh again, a shudder ripped through him. Snapped something clean and crisp in his core, like a twig breaking in two. The thought that it may’ve been his hardened interior didn’t faze him enough to stop. If the ice-shield he’d built in his chest was warming from the softness of her body and the loving rays of her heart, so be it.

  He wanted more. He wanted to melt into her.

  In a jolt of bloodlust, Slade gripped handfuls of her sweater and ripped it from her body.

  She gasped, going rigid in his arms. It was enough to release his hold on her neck; for the moment anyway. His eyes showed greed beyond bloodlust.

  She caught his mouth and shoved her tongue between his lips. It was enough to make his heart stop, if it wasn’t pumping full of a hoppin’ mixture of his blood and hers. He rolled her over, spread her legs wide, pushed his hips against her.

  “Sweet Jesus . . .” he panted, fighting the bitter battle between tasting her at her core or her throat. “You’re so beautiful. Have I told you that?”

  She squirmed beneath him, flaring her mahogany curls on the pillow behind her. Allowing him a clean shot at her punctured neck. “Now look who’s gaining strength.”

  “Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  He let his hand lead the way up her body, stopping for awhile to let his fingers play at her pleasure spot. Even through her pan
ties he could feel her moist center. He moved the lace aside, needing to feel her, flesh to flesh. A rumbling moan escaped him on contact. She was so hot. So ready for him.

  “I don’t know what you do to me,” he said on a deep exhale. “I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.”

  “No one’s asking you.” Her long, beautiful fangs pierced two small holes into her bottom lip.

  As a growl thundered through his chest, he tore through her panties with his teeth and pushed the useless threads aside. He looped his arms around her thighs and licked one thick line up her center. She squirmed, arched up, moaned in ecstasy. He dove in again, driving her to grip his shoulders, his neck. Studious flicks and swirls of his tongue sent her desperately clawing her way to a violent orgasm that peaked when she called out his name.

  On an inhaled hiss, he sunk his fangs into the muscular flesh of her inner thigh. With the taste of her sex still wet on his tongue, he drew her sugary sweet blood into his mouth again and again until he was sex-drunk on a spellbinding Dylan Cocktail.

  After what seemed like an eternity of long, heavenly pulls, Slade dislodged from her thigh. He palmed her belly, following with fevered trails of his mouth, traveled up to her breasts where her nipples begged to be teased. He let his tongue dance around her temples of pink, tugging her nipples into his mouth with little sucks.

  He raised above her, poised the tip of his straining erection at her center, hovered on the brink of release. He sheathed himself in her in one solid stroke, causing them both to cry out. He drove into her hard, the taste of her filling him up, the scent of her dancing across his skin, the warmth of her clamping tight around him.

  As she pulsed around his shaft harder and harder, she moaned and arched up.

  He wrapped his strong arms around her tiny middle and dropped down for another fill at her neck. The instant the sweet taste of her blood grazed the back of his throat, he shattered into a thousand pieces. On the verge of tears, feeling weaker than he’d ever been, he came with a defiant roar. A cry to the Gods that through it all, on the brink of death, he had newfound strength.