Bishop (New Vampire Disorder Book 3)

by Marie Johnston

  Not that another member of the Circle wouldn’t come after her, but she wagered Rancor hadn’t let slip that he had a minion on the loose. Didn’t look good when you couldn’t control your own underlings.

  The front door clicked, but she waited in bed for several minutes.

  After deeming it long enough that he hadn’t forgotten anything and wouldn’t be coming back, she got out of bed and went in search of those sweats Bishop had stripped off her.

  Can’t censor what I say. She could keep a secret! And Bishop with his cold body and frost berry blood had a helluva secret.

  She chortled. Helluva secret.

  Tossing on the clothing, she tallied what she’d need and went in search of a bag and some extra shirts. And money.

  She opened every drawer and secret compartment she could find until she found a wad of cash. Thumbing through it, she counted a few hundred dollars. That’d get her a little ways until she could dupe a human into doing her bidding. She found a black hat. That went into her bag.

  Had she fed them enough about Rancor that they’d find him before the fearsome demon found her?

  Stryke was out there somewhere. Hopefully in Freemont because he had a tiny obsession about this place.

  Packed and ready to go, she plotted her escape. It was daylight, so no one but Bishop could pursue her once she got out of these walls.

  Objective one: get out without being noticed. Objective two: get away fast enough Bishop couldn’t catch her.

  The bond would lead him to her, but she wouldn’t worry about it. She just had to get away. Life in danger or not, she had her pride and being used for sex while he gleaned information was not going to be her future.

  The sex part wasn’t so bad.

  But she had her pride!

  Racking her brains for a way to get out without notice, she couldn’t come up with anything. The first level had windows, but the cameras and the surfer dude who watched them would be on to her immediately.

  Same if she snuck through the garages.

  Too bad she couldn’t flash like a vampire.

  Or could she? How had she gotten to this realm? Would the anti-flashing wards affect her dematerializing? Anti-flashing wards were for vampires, and while their ancestors may have bumped fuglies long ago, she was a demon.

  Only one way to find out.

  She clutched the tote bag to her chest and closed her eyes. The room she’d first appeared in came to mind. The broker’s house. A square bedroom with sparse furniture and the symbols of her world scrawled on the walls. Blood stains on the floor and “do not cross” tape on the doors. She’d go there.

  For a second she was weightless, her individual molecules spreading apart. They crashed back together and she opened her eyes. The bond worked to get her into this realm, but she couldn’t move around in it, at least not from within the wards.

  Her bond, her bond. It was the key.

  She could go back home, touch down, and then go back to the house.

  Her appearance in the underworld might send a ripple of awareness to those who hunted her. But what’s the difference? They could track her up here, they could track her down there.

  The main question was whether she would land back at the same spot she’d disappeared from. Rancor’s lair wasn’t on her safe list, but rather a one-way ticket to his private hoard of bones.

  Her safe spot. She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined icy stalactites overhead with stalagmites jutting up from the earth. She shimmered again and it was stronger this time.

  Frozen earth. Easier to envision after being covered by Bishop for hours on end.

  Frigid air wafted over her and her eyes flew open.

  Yes!

  She stood in her favorite ice cave. The temptation to stay and hide was strong, but there were more Circle members down here than in the human realm.

  Of course, Rancor was in the human realm. Where he’d be weaker because he’d be cloaked in a host.

  Back to Earth.

  The dowdy room popped into her mind. Unfortunately, so did Bishop’s face.

  That stupid bond. It wanted to go where he was.

  The room. The symbols.

  Not working. Maybe she needed more motivation. She recalled the reason why she’d left. Rancor’s sour breath and six-inch fangs hovering over her breasts.

  Stale air assaulted her.

  She smiled in triumph as she found herself back where her flight on Earth had begun.

  Okay, same routine as before. Lift a car, find some clothes to blend in with, and then figure out what to do.

  The floor creaked and human voices drifted in from the lower level.

  “It’ll need a good cleaning before we can even consider listing it,” a man’s voice said.

  “You’re the one who thinks we can flip a house that was the place of a double homicide, with a suicide chaser,” a woman replied in a bitchy tone that Fyra approved of.

  “You can’t beat the bank’s price on the place.”

  Fyra sighed. This house couldn’t be left empty forever, but it would have been really handy. She crept through the upper level. The house was old and while it was well cared for, the floor upstairs was susceptible to groaning and she was a big female.

  “What was that?” the woman cried.

  Fyra searched the top level. She needed an escape before they found her. The bedroom facing the back of the house had a window she could jump out of. She glided toward it, wincing as the floor squeaked again.

  “Maybe it’s just a squatter. Wait here.”

  So the human man wanted to be a hero.

  Fyra smiled. Her situation might be dire, but she could still have a little fun. She called out in her most haunting voice. “Ooooooh. Geeeeeeet oooouuuut.”

  Both humans screamed and Fyra pushed her laughter down as she pried the window open and crawled out onto the overhang of the porch.

  She launched off and landed on the crunchy grass with a roll. From there, she didn’t delay in case they spotted her.

  Insane barking rattled the night. She trotted faster and passed a house with a white poodle attacking the window to get at her. She chuckled at its predicament and stuck out her tongue.

  Dogs were not a demon’s best friend.

  Winding her hair up into a knot, she pulled on the black hat she’d snagged from Bishop’s place. She made a wider arc in her search for a suitable car to lift. It was daylight, after all, and she’d stolen two cars from the neighborhood already.

  Several blocks away, she tensed as a blue and white pickup pulled up behind her.

  “Back in Freemont already?”

  The voice was unfamiliar, but she’d know that drawl anywhere, even before his scent hit her. “Nice wheels, Stryke.”

  “Nice sweats.” He leaned over and pushed the door open. “Want to tell me what you’re doing walking around Freemont? I thought you’d be hunkered down with the big guy and using him to keep us from finding you.”

  She hopped in the old truck. Twenty years old—both Stryke’s host and the truck—but they’d blend perfectly. Everyone would think she was a cougar or his host’s older, unusual-looking sister.

  “And I thought you’d be sneaking around Freemont looking for the vampire you’re obsessed with.” She snickered when his obsidian eyes flared in alarm. “Oh wait, you are.”

  “I’m working. Rancor’s furious, by the way. He’s even come to the realm.”

  “Yeah, I heard.” She didn’t know where Stryke was driving to and didn’t care. It’d be far enough away that she could steal her own car.

  “He’s got more of us up here.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Weird, though. Your demon vibe has gotten fainter in the last day.”

  “You still found me. Ah, because you were close to the compound.”

  He didn’t answer. “I tracked you there, but when you got behind its walls, I couldn’t detect you. Then suddenly there was a little vibration that told me you were in the underworld, followed
by another that announced you were here again. Sweet escape plan.”

  “Of course.” She wouldn’t admit it’d been a total crapshoot.

  They passed through the business district and Fyra watched the smattering of high-rises pass by and transition into more residential digs, which thinned into bigger and wealthier housing.

  “No quaint motel for you or what, Stryke?” Unease curled its way into her belly.

  “Not all hosts are poor college students. Some are rich kids still mooching off their parents.”

  She detected a thread of deceit. Demons. All for themselves. She could respect that, but it was still disappointing.

  Their surroundings were becoming more rural, more wooded. Just the way prime families liked them.

  “Well, Stryke,” she had no plan, but getting driven into Rancor’s arms wasn’t on her to-do list, “it’s been fun. Give the big R my worst.”

  She flipped open the door and jumped out, hearing Stryke let out a string of swear words. Bumping and rolling off the pavement into the ditch, she came to a stop but didn’t remain idle. Popping up, she did a quick assessment. Bruised and battered, but not broken, she took off into the woods.

  “Fyra!”

  She smiled as she tripped through the countryside. The brisk weather helped keep her temps down so she didn’t burn a path as she ran. Stryke’s host wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. She didn’t have vampire speed, but she was still faster than a human.

  Ducking and swerving, she had to slow her pace as the trees grew thicker. Again, yay. A human would be worse off.

  Her breathing was loud in her ears and the cracks and snaps of dried branches sounded like thunder. Heavy gray clouds stretched across the sky. Snow during her escape would be a blessing and a curse. Burning down the woods would pose a lower risk, but it’d be a glowing arrow marking her path. Though if she didn’t keep her heat under control, it would happen anyway.

  She was probably far enough. Without slowing, she formulated a plan to get back to the city limits. She could go back to the ice caves, but the house was no longer safe to pop into.

  A force shoved her from behind. She went cartwheeling through the branches, snagging her clothing and hair. She yelped as she was pushed to the ground, a huge hunk of hair ripping through some limbs.

  She rolled over, fists flying, only to be caught off guard.

  Stryke’s dark eyes were grim as he caught her wrists and clicked a bracelet around one.

  “What is— How are you—”

  He was in his handsome demon form. Naked as the day he was spawned. Her mind couldn’t wrap around encountering another of her kind in their natural form in the human world.

  His mouth was a flat line as he jerked her up.

  She snapped her fingers, prepared to burn down acres of woods to escape. No flames appeared.

  Using both hands, she tried again. Nothing.

  Her powers were dormant. “What did you do?”

  Her fire might be stifled, but he wasn’t that much stronger than she was. She yanked her right arm free and let a hook fly.

  The crunch of bone was satisfying. A chuff of breath left her mouth as she laughed. A surge of excitement went through her until she realized it was only the natural reaction of her warm breath in the cold air.

  “I deserved that.” He held his nose but tugged her back in the direction of the pickup.

  She dug her feet in and when he turned to yank her again, she kicked at his knee.

  “Fyra, don’t make me—”

  “Don’t make you what? Take me back to Rancor? I thought you were better than that. I thought we were—”

  “What, Fyra? Friends? You have more sense than that. Quit thinking like you’re from this realm.”

  Her next punch was aimed at his dangling, but impressive, genitals. He blocked and hooked his arm around her neck until she was in a headlock. At her new angle, his junk was up close and personal. And guess what? She was no longer interested.

  “My mama taught to be smarter than the average demon.” She wrapped her arms around his waist to flip them both to the ground and hopefully break his hold. “You should try it sometime.”

  “You would choose Bishop over me. You can’t blame me for doing the same. Hypna has me by the nuts.”

  She’d choose Bishop? And why had he brought up Trance’s bitch of a sister, Hypna?

  Just as she was going to throw her physical power into the fight, he slammed his fist into her head.

  Her brain rattled and she dropped.

  “Demons and their hard heads,” Stryke muttered and hit her again.

  Blackness claimed her.

  Stryke dropped Fyra’s still form and straightened to catch his breath.

  Sweet brimstone, for a moment there, he’d worried she would kick his ass.

  He shoved a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. His human host was probably highly confused and wandering around. Hopefully, he hadn’t flagged down a ride. The last thing Stryke could do was show up at the mansion in his own body. He’d take Fyra and her ample proportions and go on the run first.

  But Hypna would find him, and she’d make Fyra pay for torching her brother. As long as Stryke was of use to Rancor, the fetid demon wouldn’t hand him over to his fellow Circle member.

  He stooped to heft Fyra into a fireman’s carry, groaning under her weight. She was a beautiful creature but not his first choice to carry through the woods.

  Once he had her secured, he picked up his pace, steam puffing like smoke from his mouth in the brisk air, taunting him about the bracelet he’d secured to Fyra’s wrist. His betrayal. He could barely stomach turning Fyra over to Rancor, but when it came down to her or—well, his choice was always the same.

  The Circle had been working on warding the strip of metal. Fyra was too useful, her body and power coveted by too many in the underworld. And after she’d flambéed Trance, her power scared them. They needed a way to control her without ending up in flames like Trance.

  He wondered what story Rancor had fed the other twelve to get his claws on it. No matter what, Fyra was screwed in all ways.

  Hope she’d had fun with the vampire while she’d had the chance.

  Guilt weighed heavily on Stryke. What proper demon even felt guilt?

  He sighed. His time in this realm years ago had changed him and he didn’t know if it was for the better.

  The trees thinned closer to the road and his human host roamed aimlessly around the pickup, holding his head.

  Stryke had to stop and consider what to do next. He’d need to put Fyra in the bed of the truck and he wasn’t sure the human boy had enough muscle for it. But he couldn’t stride up to the truck, buck-naked, carrying an unconscious woman, and load her up in front of the kid.

  What a freaking mess.

  Hypna and her purrs of making him hers. She was more devious than her brother had been. Rancor left him alone as long as he got shit done. Hypna wouldn’t, and she might discover the bond he’d hidden for years.

  He dumped Fyra and she landed on the ground, a whoosh of air escaping her prone form. Concentrating on the confused human, Stryke dissolved into the air. He swept into the human and, with a not so gentle shove, wormed his way inside.

  Adjusting to the host, he opened the bed of the pickup and tromped back to Fyra.

  The human’s muscles quivered and shook, but he managed to half drag, half carry the demoness and load her up.

  He hopped back into the pickup but didn’t throw it into gear. Not yet.

  Everything inside screamed at him not to turn her in. But if he didn’t and Hypna got ahold of him, he risked… As always, when he thought of his vampire, her soft brown eyes and the silken fall of her chestnut hair took over his thoughts.

  He’d meant it when he’d admitted to Fyra that he would choose a vampire over her, just like she would. It had been dangerous to say that much.

  But sweet hellfire, he didn’t want to take her to Rancor. Unless he could get an
anonymous tip to Bishop and his crew…

  He put the vehicle in drive and continued on his mission.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bishop tapped his boot under the table. “That’s all I got out of her.” And he wanted to get back to her, not sit here, feeling like a traitor.

  Rourke snorted. “The whole night you had with her, and that’s it. Was her mouth busy?”

  Bishop shot a glare toward his friend. “Watch it.”

  Rourke and Demetrius matched his stare.

  “A hot demon is still a demon.” Demetrius’s tone was frank.

  “I get it.”

  “Do you?” Demetrius made a disgusted noise as he pushed Bishop’s new phone toward him. Bishop pocketed it and Demetrius continued, “I feel like we keep having this conversation. She’s after something. They always are. Has she offered to release you from the bond? Has she even mentioned it?”

  “Have you even asked?” Rourke’s voice was soft, but accusing.

  Bishop slammed his hands on the table. “Yes, I’ve asked.” He was pretty sure he had. “Do you remember not too long ago that to a shifter, any vampire was a bad vampire? In their minds, we were always after blood and death. I’m not saying she comes in peace, but I’m saying give me a little time.”

  He leaned over the table and met Demetrius’s incensed green gaze. “Like I gave you when you brought Calli in, who was bonded to a demon who happened to get into our facility.” He turned to Rourke. “Like I gave you when your female was possessed by one of the Circle.”

  “The difference—”

  Bishop let out a frustrated roar. He had no leg to stand on. The difference was that both Calli and Grace were vampires and not demons. He spun and walked out of the office. Didn’t care what the other two were going to do.

  They followed him, dammit.

  “I’d love to give you time, Bishop.” Demetrius was catching up. “But I don’t know that having a demon under our roof isn’t endangering everyone here.”

  Words that didn’t make Bishop feel better. Especially not after his time with a female he could almost fully be himself with. She’d drunk from him and hadn’t said anything about his flavor and what it might mean to anyone. Maybe his mam had been scared about nothing. But there was his resistance to sunlight… Could the genetic mutation be real? Not likely. There weren’t even rumors about vampires who could tolerate the sun.