“Is it? Ask yourself that when you’re around her, then make sure to fucking call and check in. Because I will hunt you down and I will destroy her to free you.”
Bishop’s ire snapped like an icicle. “Glad I could help you with Grace’s demon situation by threatening to kill her.”
“That’s the only reason I’m not there right now helping you decapitate your demon.”
Bishop ground his teeth together. The image of Fyra’s vibrant hair bloodied and rolling away from her body would give him nightmares. “I’ve got it taken care of. Let me find out what she’s up to. She’s coming back, I’ve gotta go.”
He soaked in the few seconds of her hips swaying in that ridiculously short skirt.
When she opened the door, the phone was tucked away like he’d been patiently waiting the entire time.
“It’s like an ice cave in here.” She yanked her bag out of the back. “Come on, sweet cheeks. We have a room to recoup in.”
She was off before he’d climbed out.
He hefted his duffel and glared at her back as he followed her to the room. What if he were to tell her Rancor was likely on the way? She assumed it, but to have it confirmed?
No, he’d find out if she was lying about escaping the underworld because of him.
Once they were in the room, he ran through what needed to be done to get Fyra back to Freemont. He was going to need a shower, and he couldn’t watch her and clean himself at the same time.
Shoving the bathroom door open, he jerked his chin toward it. “Get in and sit on the toilet.”
Her indelicate snort was as sexy as a porn star’s moans and groans. “I like kink, but not when it involves toilets. Sorry, I get enough of feces back home.” She shuddered. “Not even monkeys throw their poop as much as candy demons.”
“Candy?”
Her eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Y’all really know so little? They’re good to eat, like candy. Some second-tier coined the term in the last century or two. Turns out we have a sweet tooth, and candy demons have sweet blood. They’re not demons really, but creatures basically created to feed us so we don’t feast ourselves into oblivion.”
Filing away the information, he tried not to appear too interested. She was spot on. They didn’t know much about the underworld.
He pointed to the toilet. “I’m going to shower and I don’t want you running off. Sit.”
“You’re keeping me captive by having me sit and watch you strip down and clean off that hard body? Ouch, vampire. You hit me where it hurts.”
A growl escaped as she pranced to the toilet. She delicately settled on the end and crossed her legs.
He dumped his bag on the counter and dug out fresh clothes. The ones he wore were trashed, should be burned. If he stuck around Fyra, it would happen before the night was over.
Reaching back to pull off his shirt, he stalled. Attempting to be a hard-ass and ensure she didn’t escape him, he’d put himself in a place of great temptation. Her candlelight gaze was glued to his body, and licks of heat flared wherever it touched.
Steeling his resolve, he tugged off his shirt.
Her sweet campfire scent grew stronger. When he disrobed completely, she’d see the evidence of what she did to him.
He ripped his pants open and shucked them off before meeting her gaze. Or trying to. But hers was skimming over his body. She was as still as an ice sculpture, only her eyes moving. When she noticed him watching, she cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.
Instead of bending over and mooning her to get the water on in the bathtub, he stepped in and flung the curtain shut. He turned the spout on but didn’t wait for it to heat before pushing the shower lever.
Ice water hit him but didn’t lower his libido any. If anything, it got stronger.
“Did you know you smell like frost berries?”
He paused in scrubbing the soap over his bloodstained body. What the hell were frost berries? “No.”
“They grow in the ice caverns at home. Betcha didn’t know we have ice in the underworld.”
Of course he didn’t know.
“I used to hide there,” she continued. “The berries are bitter as fuck when they’re not ripe, but I’d eat them because they smelled so sweet.”
“The girl on fire in ice caves?”
There was a pause before she answered. “Perhaps you noticed that I sometimes run a little hot.”
“You mean the mangled tanker and the crater it created.”
“It was an accident.” Her defensive tone wasn’t a put-on. He could believe she hadn’t meant to.
“And the cars at the gas stations?”
“Like I said, I can run a little hot. What about you and the cold? I didn’t think vampires had the ability to change the temperature.”
He roughly rinsed himself off. “I don’t get cold. You just think so because fire’s your thing.”
“Bishop, there’s frost on the mirror.”
What? He drew the shower curtain out of the way. Frosty glass obscured the mirror completely.
Fyra laughed and held her palm up. “You’re making it snow!”
Oh shit. He slammed the water off before he created a homemade ice rink in the tub.
Think warm thoughts. His mam’s words echoed in his mind and he frowned as he tried to remember when she’d used them.
He’d been on a frozen lake—No. That wasn’t right. He’d been in a corner, facing a brick wall. His bedroom. And his floor had transformed into an ice-skating rink after he’d heard his mam fighting with Pap.
He’d been five or so at the time and heard Mam screaming. Was it you? My parents weren’t evil! What about me, what about your son? Is that what you think of us? Is that what you’re going to do to us?
His pap’s deep sobs twisted Bishop’s heart even decades later.
He frowned. Pap had passed that morning. Mam had said it was an accident, but he’d walked into the sun. Had it been on purpose?
An icicle fell off the showerhead and shattered on the floor. He jerked to the present.
Shit. Was he…was he the cause?
Dear child, calm yourself. Think of the warm times, Mam had once cooed when they’d huddled in the middle of a snowstorm.
No, his recollection had to be wrong. She’d said that in the closet. He’d been upset about…hellfire, it’d been so long ago. And what was he thinking—it couldn’t snow indoors.
Another chunk of ice shattered on the shower floor.
Think about campfires, think about s’mores, the fire demon with the long legs and curves for miles…
He stepped out and stood, clenching and unclenching his fists until he got his internal thermometer under control. With his memories assaulting him and his demon’s sweet scent teasing him, he strained to remain controlled.
“What’s the matter?” Fyra purred. “Do you need to be warmed up?”
She dropped to her knees and prowled toward him.
Her rounded ass in the air paralyzed him. His cock jutted out and twitched as it waited for her.
Move, he screamed to himself. But his feet were frozen in place and it had nothing to do with the cold phenomenon.
She reached him. Most women would find that kneeling to give him a blowjob while he was standing wasn’t possible. He was too tall. But Fyra’s head rose to the perfect level.
Her warm hand circled the base of his shaft. He released a breath that puffed in the chilly bathroom.
A good sign he was heating up. A few more seconds and he’d be warm enough to push her away—he hoped. Putting distance between them wasn’t a message his feet were getting.
Her mouth closed around the tip. In his mind, he melted into a pool at her feet.
Searing heat teased his erection, the flick of her tongue like a flame taunting his sensitive flesh.
His groan bounced off the walls and instead of shoving her off him, he buried his hands in her hair. She sucked him in deeper and he had to lock his knees or he’d topple.
; Up and down his shaft, her tongue swirled. His breaths came quicker. He was almost too far gone to notice that instead of ice cold, or blazing hot, the temp in the bathroom had regulated to normal.
Like they evened each other out.
Before he could think too deeply, she used her other hand to grasp his balls. No mouth on him had ever felt so…been so… No one had ever done this much for him. He hadn’t found anyone compatible in size. Not even vampire females possessed the height and curves he desired.
She took another mighty pull on him and then blew his mind by humming. All coherent thought left his brain. He gritted out words of encouragement, or maybe even please don’t stop. If he was intelligible, he’d be surprised.
His climax approached and he caressed her face before holding her head in place so he could thrust. She didn’t gag, didn’t throw him away from her. He rocked his hips and she took him, her humming driving him over the edge.
Having the sense to hold in his roar, he grunted through clenched teeth. He couldn’t squeeze his eyes shut, had to see her. Had to watch her take his release.
She didn’t flinch. Pure bliss etched across her features.
When he was done, he sagged but managed to stay upright. He still held her face. Abruptly, he let go and stepped back. His cock made an audible pop as it left the ecstasy of her mouth.
“Wh-what did you… How…” He shoved a hand through his hair. Rourke was right. She was hot and he was letting it affect his thinking.
“I think you saw how.” She stood and wiped her mouth.
His dick twitched. No, no more. Yes, more. With jerky movements, he began to dress.
She didn’t step back to give him any space. “I told you I know what you like.”
“Is that what this is?” He gestured to her body. “You’re really a grotesque hag from the underworld, but you can change into this to seduce me?”
She ran hands down her torso. “You like how I look?”
Bloody hell, yes. “You should adapt to something that’d blend better.”
“The only way I can do that is to possess a human.”
He loaded his arsenal of weapons and strapped them back on. “Why not a vampire?”
“Not strong enough. Story of my life.”
He barely heard the last sentence she muttered. “Not strong enough to possess?”
“No, I can possess, but I’d be like a passenger in your Hummer. Hanging on for the ride. Not many second-tiers are strong enough to overpower a vampire, much less enough to be able to use their powers.”
More info to file away. Much of it his team already suspected. But hearing it confirmed, and that some second-tiers were powerful enough for vampire possession, was beneficial. If he could trust that she wasn’t trying to lead him astray, feed him bread crumbs to take him down the wrong path.
He couldn’t help but think that wasn’t the case. For a demon, one who’d been savvy enough to bond him, she seemed like she had a strong sense of…innocence.
Rourke was right. She was getting under his skin.
“Get into bed,” he barked.
“Isn’t it my turn to shower?”
No way was he that strong. He’d be on his knees returning the favor.
She trailed her fingers along her neckline. “Oh, so we’re going to—”
“No!” Cold began to seep into his bones, which he started to recognize as a precursor to overpowering lust for the fire demon. “You’re going to sleep and I’m going to block the door and catch some shut-eye. At sunset, we take off again.”
She eyed his body. “We can sleep in the same bed.”
“Not after what you just did. You might get away with seducing others out of their minds, but you’re not getting one over on me with a quick fuck.” Again. Geez, he’d made it easy for her.
He wasn’t prepared for the hurt in her eyes, but she quickly covered it by turning away to march to the bed.
“I am good at seducing men out of their minds, aren’t I?” Her snarky words ate at him. How often had she done this?
“I’m surprised that with your skill set, you aren’t one of the thirteen.”
Her shoulders stiffened and she spun on him, her fangs bared. “You have no idea what it’s like down there. You think I’d fuck my way through thirteen of the worst demons? Matter of fact, the last—and only—member of the thirteen I had sex with I trusted, and now he’s dead.” She reared up into his face. He flinched back. “By my own hand. And yes, it earned me the prestigious position of being their fucking slave, where they actually think they can do what they want to me. Do you think that’s okay because I’m a demon?”
He glared at her, trying to process the information. She was a trickster, she was playing on his emotions. Everyone knew he was a softie and she’d even exploited it before.
“You do, don’t you?” She stumbled back, making a choking sound that he realized was a sob. “You males are all the same.”
He stood helpless as she buried herself under the covers. Trickster. He had to keep repeating it. She was manipulating him. Of course he didn’t wish life in the underworld on anyone. But anyone taking advantage of her, mind or body, made him homicidal.
Trickster.
The bed shook with her soft crying, like she tried to hide from him in vain. She’d just given him the most amazing physical feeling, one he hadn’t thought possible. The gift of being himself with someone in an intimate act was enough. And he’d insulted her so badly she cried.
Trick—
Hellfire, he didn’t know anymore. He backed up to the room door and sank down to the floor with his knees up. Draping his arms across them, he stared at his hands until he dozed off.
Fyra popped her head up. Bishop’s breathing grew even.
He must be asleep.
She rubbed her eyes. Black circles dotted the sheets, like someone had singed it repeatedly with a cigarette. It was just her tears.
Stupid. She pushed her hair off her face. It was another example of her naivety, falling for the big vampire. How’d she think he’d view her? Mate material?
Demons didn’t get happily-ever-afters. Demons didn’t get happy, period. A product of her deceitful, evil ancestors.
What would they think of her? Pathetic. Weak. Gullible. She’d proved all of it.
A sizzle of dread scooted up her spine.
Something bad this way comes.
Second-tier or Rancor?
Did it matter? She needed to run.
Sunbeams bled through the thick curtains. She could open them and bake Bishop.
She leaned over to peek at him. His legs were stretched out, hands limp on his lap, his head cocked at an atrocious angle.
He should have a neck pillow. She’d snuck one to her realm once. Sleeping against stone walls had been so much easier with that thing. Until it’d been burned to ash.
She stifled a sigh and tried to get angry at Bishop. And still she couldn’t hurt him.
Lifting her hand, she concentrated and blew across her fingertips. What killed Jim wouldn’t kill Bishop, but it’d make him sleepy-weepy until she was far away and the carbon monoxide was aired out of the room. She missed the days when she’d had enough power over him to knock him out, but the more their bond strengthened, the more she had to play nice with him.
She waved her hands around, waiting for Bishop to slump farther, inspecting his skin for the cherry-red glow that accompanied carbon monoxide poisoning.
Nothing.
She frowned and crept closer. One of his hands twitched.
Bollocks. With a flick of her wrist, she stopped the flow of gas. It was just her luck that vampires didn’t react the same way to the gas.
She huffed out a breath. Now what? There was nothing heavy enough to bash over his thick skull to knock him out. She faced the window. Sure, she could get out, but could she without waking him?
Only one way to find out. They were on the second floor, but she had no problem making the jump as long as no Good Samarit
an saw her and called her in.
She tiptoed to the window and ducked behind the curtains to inspect it. A slide window with a lift-out screen. No problem, and bonus, it was nice and sunny out. If her vampire woke, he couldn’t pursue her until the rays started to fade for the day.
Painstakingly slow, she unlocked it. Bishop snorted and murmured in his sleep. It’d be adorable if he hadn’t insulted her so deeply earlier. And after award-winning head. He should’ve been groveling.
Fortifying her nerves, she slowly pushed the window open. Sounds from outside filtered in. She froze, waiting for Bishop’s deep voice to ask her what she was thinking.
When she peeked out from behind the curtain, his head hung farther down. Her smirk might’ve been a little self-satisfied. He was still recovering, thanks to her blood, and like most males, a good orgasm made for good sleep. She’d done that.
She lifted the screen and made more noise than she’d intended, wrestling it into the room. Letting it fall to the hedges below would have attracted too much attention.
The screen leaned against the wall, the curtain muffled some of the noise from outside, and Bishop was still asleep.
Fyra crept to grab her bag, and a glint of silver reminded her that she hadn’t given his keys back. For good measure, she snatched his duffel, too.
She almost laughed but zipped her lips shut. Her grin didn’t go away as she went back to the window and peered out. A couple disappeared inside the entrance of the hotel and the rest of the parking lot was quiet. The Hummer was parked by the exterior wall. If Bishop woke when he heard the vehicle start, he still couldn’t get to her in time, not when she was in full sunshine.
An easy leap out of the window and she hit the ground in a crouch with her luggage clutched to her chest. Her bare feet complained about the landscape rock digging into her flesh, but it was a minor inconvenience. If Rancor caught her, the rocks would feel like paradise.
She scurried to the Hummer and jumped in.
Well, Chicago hadn’t worked out. Where to next?
She pushed the hair out of her eyes as she maneuvered through the streets. She’d need a new vehicle. But the Hummer might throw her pursuers off. If they knew what Bishop drove, it would be the last place they expected. And perhaps Bishop’s scent in the vehicle would mask hers.
Bishop (New Vampire Disorder Book 3) Page 7