Me and You and a Ghost Named Boo (Southern Vampire Detective Book 2)

by Selene Charles

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What am I talking about?” She laughed, the sound cruel and biting and frenzied. “There’s something in me, Merc, something dark and fucking wrong and... and...” She sobbed, covering her face with her hands as she dropped her head to his chest.

  Biting down on his back teeth, he wanted to tell her, wanted to tell her so damn badly, but Pandora’s words echoed in the back of his skull.

  Agonized, swallowing heavily, he dropped his chin to her wet hair and blew gently on the back of it, covering her in his scent, letting the whole fucking world know of his weakness, but he didn’t give a shit anymore.

  Scarlett was hurting. She was his woman, and she was broken. She said he didn’t have the right to touch her, to hold her. Fuck that. Maybe the time had come to change that. Maybe the time had come to let everyone know just how much of a right he did have.

  He’d been thinking about that ever since his showdown with Dean, that he should tell her, warn her what he was going to do, but she would stop him, tell him no. His nostrils flared as he waged war with the angel and the demon on his shoulders—right and wrong, back and forth.

  “Scar,” he said, voice tight with pain.

  “I tore its face in half, Merc.” Her words were a horrified whisper.

  Mercer trembled, but not for the reasons she might believe. Scarlett had killed before, many times, and she was damn good at it, but he didn’t think the killing had her feeling like she did.

  When he’d met her darkness, he tasted the great and awesome scope of its power. Even he had feared it, the female hidden inside Scarlett’s soul, the monster with the soulless eyes.

  It had been hard for him to reconcile the woman he loved with the thing she kept caged inside. Strumming his fingers down her back, though, he realized that at some point, he’d stopped fearing her beast.

  The beast, while primitive in many ways, had saved him, had looked upon him with something close to curiosity, maybe even wonder. That beast inside of her no longer terrified him. It called to him just as surely as Scarlett herself.

  “It wasn’t the killing, though, was it?”

  A strangled sound spilled off her tongue, and he knew he was right.

  “You wanted more? You thirsted?”

  “I... I wanted...” She licked her lips then said, with a hint of shivery velvet behind it, “I wanted to end them all. I fucking wanted to dine on their entrails and bathe in their blood.” She shuddered as her voice hitched.

  “It’s normal,” he said.

  Her hot gaze cut to his. “What?”

  Feathering his fingers over her cheek, watching her soft pink lips part into a tiny, confused O, he nodded. “It’s called bloodlust.”

  “No.” She shook her head, scowling down at her feet. “I’ve felt bloodlust before. This wasn’t th—”

  “Scar,” his voice was a heated rumble that caused her skin to wash with prickles, “I’ve felt that too. After battle. The adrenaline of the fight.”

  Her eyes were wide and looking at him with a sort of desperate hope that told him how badly she wanted to believe him.

  “I’ve walked off the goddamn battlefield with a fucking erection, and let me tell you, there wasn’t a piece of ass on it worth plowing.”

  A faint twitch of a grin ghosted past her lips, making his heart soar.

  “It’s the blood, Scar. Watching the bodies fall. Hearing the cries ringing all around. It grips ya, turns you from a man into an—”

  “Animal,” she said softly, nodding as though she understood, and he thought maybe she did.

  “Yes. A mindless animal that only wants two things. To fuck. And to kill.”

  She wet her lips, causing his cock, flagging just seconds before, to spring back up, tight and hard and desperate. He tried to hide it, but the space was tight, and moving only caused him to poke her thigh.

  The sound of her thrumming pulse rang like music to his ears. She wanted him. Both of them could try and deny what they were feeling, but she knew. Scarlett had to know.

  “How did you stop it?” she asked, ripping him away from his thoughts. “How did you stop from doing it? It was so hard, Mercer. The only thing that kept me going was...” She inhaled deeply. “You.”

  Feeling as though she’d shoved a dagger through his heart the way it suddenly twisted violently inside of him, he took a step—not away but toward her, bringing her body fully flush to his.

  Her lashes fluttered, and her fingers dug into his wrists, no longer fighting his hold on her. God, it would be nothing to lift her and shove his cock in deep. He smelled her desire, her wetness. He knew she’d take him, knew she’d let him fuck her ten ways to Sunday.

  But Scarlett had just broken up with James, and he didn’t want to be her goddamn rebound because that wasn’t what was happening. What burned between them was total. Complete. This was all things for him. Until she could say the same back to him, he would wait. He’d always wait.

  “I fucked,” he snapped, voice rough and raw.

  She trembled, swaying against his hold as her thighs lightly rubbed against him. Tilting her chin up, she gazed at him with imploring milk-chocolate eyes. Bathed in curls of steam, with her mahogany hair curling sensuously across her face, he wanted to do it.

  Damn, did he want to do it.

  “Mercer,” she whispered.

  His nostrils flared as his grip on her tightened.

  “You hurt me,” she said, making him flinch, “more than anyone in the world can hurt me, but...” She shook her head as she trailed a finger down the line of his chest, making him hiss and suck in a sharp breath. “Kiss me. Kiss me like you did that night. Please.”

  “Fuck,” he snapped, then he was framing her gorgeous face between his palms and diving in for that kiss.

  Stealing her lips, her words, he slipped his tongue down her throat, and she growled, greedily taking all he had to give. Mercer shoved her against the wall, wedging a knee between her thighs, and Scarlett went wild.

  Her eyes didn’t just swirl with bands of bloody red but curls of deepest obsidian. The monster within her was aware too. It was excited, and it wanted.

  It wanted him.

  With a snarl of victory, Mercer fucked her mouth the same way he wanted to fuck her body—deep, hard, penetrating. Sucking and pulling on her velvet tongue, he tasted the tart sweetness of it.

  He also tasted the lingering metallic tang of blood—his blood—and the taste that was uniquely hers alone, frost and fire, winter and sunshine.

  “Scar. Scar,” he mumbled when her nails dug into his scalp, scraping so hard that it made him wince.

  She followed the burn with pleasure, though, licking at his mouth, teeth banging against teeth as she tried to consume him. Her fangs had dropped, shredding the soft meat of his mouth and tongue, but he didn’t dare stop.

  He didn’t fucking dare because he was holding her, his sunshine girl. He was the one making her sing at his touch. He was the one making her writhe, bringing the flush out in her pale cheeks, the one making her grunt and growl as she rubbed her wet center harder and harder against his thigh, seeking that elusive release.

  Cupping her ass tightly, he lost himself in the scent of her, in the rhythm of her, the way she moaned, the way she moved.

  Fuck.

  Her body tightened, every muscle going taut and stiff, and he knew she was close. He could smell it. Then she howled like a wolf, the sound exultant and hot, and it drew the beast out of him.

  Mercer didn’t think, didn’t reason or stop to consider for a second that he was about to do something she might possibly never forgive him for. Scarlett was his mate whether or not they’d declared it in words. His wolf had claimed her from the very first moment he’d spied her.

  Fangs punching out, he attacked, sinking them deep into her collarbone, close to her shoulder, making her gasp and cry out. Her cries quickly morphed from shock and pain to unbelievable pleasure.

  “Mercer, oh my fucking
God,” she gasped, muttering incoherently.

  His tongue lapped at Scarlett’s blood, but he wasn’t after her taste. A shifter could only do what he was doing once in a lifetime. He sank his mark into her. Invisible to the naked eye, it would leave only a scar behind, but his scent would forever imbue hers. His wolf would always be able to find her thereafter.

  Wherever she went, whoever she went with, she was his.

  All his.

  Forever.

  And he was hers, now, forever, and always.

  “Mine,” his wolf snarled, and Scarlett didn’t fight back as she bloomed beneath his heated touch.

  Chapter 18

  Scarlett

  Mercer and I hadn’t said a word to each other after what had gone down. To be honest, I couldn’t really make heads or tails of what we’d done.

  My stomach fluttered when I thought about his big body crowding mine, his teeth on my neck. He’d bitten me so damn hard it had brought tears to my eyes, but I’d been unable to move or to reason beyond the need to keep feeling him biting me.

  I couldn’t even really describe the sensation of it, as though my body was pliant but my veins were pumped full of adrenaline. Something hot and heavy coursed all the way through me—not sexual awareness, not exactly, but definitely an awareness of something.

  We’d left Oz shortly after that, neither of us saying a word. I was staring at my shoulder every so often with a thousand questions burning through my brain, but none was capable of passing over my tongue.

  Mercer had done something to me last night, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes, as if he felt guilt about something. Confused and irritable, I went to bed when we’d finally dragged our tired asses back to my house.

  Emerson had taken Steven for the day, so Mercer and I were free to talk the situation out, to figure out what the hell we’d done and how I’d gone from feeling broken after that fight with the hellhound to desperate with lust and desire for him.

  I’d thought that maybe we would wind up having sex. We were naked in a shower together, trapped together in a world outside our own, away from the prying eyes of his pack and responsibility.

  Then James’s words would punch through the lust, reminding me that Mercer wasn’t mine to take, that someone else would be coming between us soon, that he’d be forced to carry that mantle, and that it would kill me to see that happen. The only way I could possibly survive would be to sever things soon, to walk away before I gave him any more of me.

  I shuddered as I recalled his fangs piercing my flesh, the heat of his tongue scraping over my blood, and the poke of his massive erection pressing tightly against my thigh, letting me know that I wasn’t the only one feeling that... thing, that burn. Even after all the times he’d told me he hadn’t wanted me, that hadn’t been true.

  Believing that was hard, though, accepting his feelings were real after years of him shoving me aside, of him practically pushing me into the arms of another.

  Frowning, I turned my face aside as I studied my neck in my bathroom mirror. Vampires healed incredibly fast, especially when their veins were bloated with blood as mine were.

  The only marking that’d ever stayed was the one Sharp Elbows had inflicted on me four months before, a long thick vertical scar that ran from the hollow of my throat to between my breasts. The venom she’d pumped into me had been full of a necrotizing agent that had hindered my body’s natural ability to heal properly.

  Brushing my hair off my shoulders, I studied the silvery bite mark that gleamed faintly in the light of the moon. The marking wasn’t as obvious as my other one. In fact, I could only see it when I turned my body at a certain angle. But why the hell hadn’t this healed?

  Just what had Mercer done to me last night? The memory of his touch, his hands on my naked body, his tongue, and that sensation of fullness that’d swept over me when he’d bitten down consumed my thoughts.

  I could just ask him, but I had the feeling, based on how he’d acted, that he’d tell me nothing. Call me crazy, but I could swear he almost felt guilty, which was ridiculous. I’d wanted his tongue on me, his teeth on me. I’d fucking loved every second of it. I’d wanted a hell of a lot more than what I’d gotten.

  I didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on that, though, not that night, not anymore. I still had to get to the graveyard to untether Boo. Wetting my lips, I let my hair slide back into place, covering Mercer’s mark.

  In three more hours, a limousine would be sent to the house to pick up Mercer and me for the ball.

  To say I wasn’t ready would be an understatement. I’d heard Mercer leave about an hour before, still without saying much to me, not that I really minded. I wasn’t sure I was ready to face him just yet.

  Something had changed between us the night before, and I was stupidly terrified about it. Yes, I’d wanted him for as long as I’d been a part of the Veiler world, but everything was changing. Everything was different. I wasn’t the same person I’d been when I’d died at twenty-one, and neither was he.

  Glowering, I snatched the necklace Jezebel had given me, shoved it into my pocket, and donned a massive pair of blackout sunglasses. I looked like my granny had back in the eighties when she’d undergone cataract surgery.

  The sun hadn’t yet set, but it was weak enough that it would be only a minor irritant to me. Rushing out the front door, I debated whether to leave him a note or not and decided against it.

  Mercer knew when the limo was coming, and he’d either be there for me, or he wouldn’t. I drove quickly toward the graveyard, knowing I had a million and one things to complete before hitting that ball.

  I had to dress, obviously.

  I was also waiting on Carter’s call and hoping to the gods that he’d found something that could help me, that might give me the upper hand. My mind a whirl of too many thoughts, I wasn’t even aware how far I’d driven until suddenly I was parking and staring at the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery.

  Getting out quickly, I glanced both ways before rapidly scaling the fence and dropping with barely a sound onto the balls of my feet in a tight crouch.

  The shifting breeze picked up the scent of humans, that sugary sweet smell of blood laced with liquor and spiked with endorphins. Whoever they were, they were happy, and they were drunk. My stomach growled. I’d fed plenty on Mercer the last few days, so it wasn’t hunger that made me twist on my heels and stalk the laughing foursome.

  The humans were male, tall, and very heavily muscled. They were also young, no older than nineteen or twenty at the most. Each of them wore a gray shirt with the image of a roaring lion on it.

  I guessed they were football players, maybe defensive guys, just based on their size alone. All of them were easily pushing close to three hundred pounds.

  A pile of beer cans rested at their feet as they belched and laughed, talking excitedly among themselves about an upcoming game. Their drunken leers and glazed eyes told me they’d been at this for hours.

  I hated drunks. Drinking from one always made me feel boozy, too, giving me a little buzz, depending on how long they’d been at it. But this was probably my last chance to eat. Human blood wasn’t nearly as satisfying as shifter, but I didn’t want any of the vampires smelling Mercer on me.

  Blue’s warning to not give up any weaknesses to them was a constant and nagging reminder.

  Checking my wristwatch to see how much time I’d lost already, I realized I was already down half an hour. I couldn’t stay much longer, so either I would have to drink some dinner or walk away, take Boo, and leave.

  My fingers curled. One of the beefcakes tossed another empty can. It skittered across the sidewalk before thumping against my boot with a soft thud.

  “The hell?” Muscles with the green eyes said before glancing up, finally aware that something was out there with them.

  Squaring my shoulders and deciding the encounter must have been fate, I smirked and stepped into the light. “Hiya, boys. Want some company?”

  Three of the fou
r chuckled but declined. The biggest boy, with hair of wheat in sunlight and eyes as blue as ice, wet his lips.

  I had a hard body and the sort of country-girl appeal that made most rednecks drool on themselves. With a crook of my finger, I tempted him over to me, not even having to use thrall on him.

  Testosterone, hormones, and booze—didn’t get much easier than that.

  Big boy rolled smoothly to his feet and walked drunkenly toward me. Even from a few feet away, I could smell the sudden rush of endorphins and see the bulge at the front of his jeans.

  “Whoop! Skeeter’s ’bout to pop that cherry, boys!” one of the three behind him cried out with a drunken laugh.

  “Fuck off,” Skeeter said but tossed me a flirty grin. Judging by the way his eyes gleamed, I was pretty sure Skeeter thought exactly that.

  Blowing him an air kiss, I winked at the three boys behind him who were making crude gestures with their hands.

  God, I could kill them all right now. Little ol’ me, sometimes the big ones fell the hardest. I wasn’t here to harm any of them, though.

  Much.

  With another crook of my finger, I led Skeeter away from the group, toward a more private section of the graveyard. Leading him by the hand, I walked toward a bench behind a large, gray mausoleum.

  Tossing him a flirty grin, I took a seat, crossed my legs, and slipped one of the buttons on my shirt out. He licked his lips, dropping ungracefully beside me.

  “I wanna—” He started to say in a higher-pitched voice than a man of his stature should have.

  I planted a finger against his warm lips, shaking my head. “This won’t hurt a bit, beefcake.”

  His eyebrows gathered into a tight scowl, his nostrils flared, and he pushed back on his heels, the primitive mind already knowing what his eyes refused to believe. I might have been tiny, but I was the monster there.

  Slapping my hands on either side of his face, I forced his eyes to mine. “Just relax. Breathe. Breathe.”

  He fought for only half a second more before the thrall took effect. I was nice with my food—not all of my kind were—and by the time I finished with him, he would never remember the hot girl he’d hoped would finally pop his cherry.