Bishop (New Vampire Disorder Book 3)

by Marie Johnston

  Bishop was digging in his pockets for his vial of lighter fluid when he had another idea. Torches sporadically lined the wall between the sconces. He was in a cavern with offshoots to who knew where. Torches went off in every direction.

  If these were the fires of Hell, it was all anticlimactic.

  But the stench… How did Fyra smell so delicious when she lived here?

  He snagged a torch and held it to the demon. His greasy hair went up in flames first, then spread. Instant toast. He was debating whether to wait until he was completely ashed or try and hide the body when tiny, black, scarab-like bugs skittered off the walls and swarmed the remains.

  Bishop dropped the torch and stumbled back. A group of bugs parted and surrounded the torch. They lifted it and carried it back to the holder on the wall.

  Clean-up crew…in all ways. He gave the organisms a wide berth as he tested each offshoot by standing in the opening to see what his intuition said.

  His bond’s vibrations grew stronger by the third opening.

  He followed the path of torches, pausing before each opening and choosing which way to go. The underworld was a giant maze with no rhyme or reason he could decipher.

  One chamber he passed had a giant dais piled high with bones. The mandibles were a mixture of humanoid and monster. Somehow, it smelled even worse.

  Attuned to the bond, he kept going.

  Snarls and grunts were coming from ahead. He slowed and pressed against the wall, then pushed away because…bugs.

  Someone had to be getting slaughtered. The sounds were disgusting and full of pain. As he approached the door, he didn’t want to risk a peek but he had to know what he faced in order to get past.

  He pulled out his phone and brought up the camera. Angling it in the doorway, he recorded for a few seconds and then replayed it on mute.

  His stomach crawled into his throat. Disgusting.

  He’d rather witness dismemberment than the repugnant demon orgy. All the participants looked willing enough, almost desperate. Two had humanoid forms. The rest were legit demons, the stuff of nightmares. And from the way the human-like ones catered to their pleasure, probably in a higher position.

  Bishop shuddered. If he could scrub his own memory cells, he would. Instead, he’d send the video to Creed. For “research” purposes only, and to make his friend choke.

  Could the three monstrous creatures of the group be Circle members? Possibly, but if he were cut a swath through the underworld, it’d be no better than chopping a snake off Medusa’s hair. Another would crop up to seize power.

  Fyra was more important.

  Now, how did he get by without drawing notice?

  Vampire speed was his best bet. He tensed and when the grunts grew in volume, he breezed past the opening and stopped.

  His breath froze.

  The noise faded a few decibels and the words “frost berries” were muttered before an ear-shattering screech of demon orgasm took over. Bishop hurried away.

  Several hundred yards down, he came upon another chamber. Empty, but Fyra’s scent was strong.

  He entered and wandered around.

  This was her place. No decorations hung on the wall, but pictures were scratched into the stone. No closet for clothes. Just a stone outcropping to sleep on.

  Some of the chambers he’d passed were the homes of second-tiers.

  Did Fyra have to engage in what he’d seen earlier?

  He frowned. If she was willing, it didn’t bother him. His gag reflex prepared to react, because gross, but it’d be her choice. Though, he didn’t plan on sharing her. But he couldn’t see her being into the grotesque creatures he’d seen in the last chamber, the ones that resembled horned centaurs and a praying mantis.

  To be fair, he couldn’t see anyone being into that shit, but to each species their own.

  The walls of the cave had pictures etched into the surface. Demons were into hieroglyphs? The first sketch he stopped at showed a small female next to a taller one. Both were on fire, but appeared happy. Mother and daughter?

  Another couple of drawings were the little female growing up, then a— Bishop growled. A male. The drawing wasn’t nearly as detailed as a photo, but he was a large male with horns jutting from his forehead. Claws tipped his fingers and toes, but in most ways, he appeared humanoid, from his barrel chest to his heavily muscled thighs. The male rivaled Bishop in size, probably even surpassed him if the sketch was proportionate to the female figure.

  He moved on to another picture.

  The next was of the taller female, but on the ground. With no head. Fyra was taller than the last picture, her hair full of fire, her hands orbs of white light and aimed at the other figure, the male.

  If he interpreted it correctly, this was the story of Trance and her mother. Why’d Fyra make herself live with that awful reminder on her wall?

  And if she wasn’t here, where would she be?

  He stepped out. His bond was still active. She was here.

  A cool draft penetrated the heat and stench of the path. He followed it to the source.

  The next opening was more of an antechamber. The underworld wasn’t big on doors. He stepped in and the foul smell receded slightly. The far wall was actually a partial wall with an opening on either side. A grouping of bony branches with withered black leaves surrounded each entrance. Nestled in the thickest of the leaves were blood-red fruit.

  He knew without doubt. Frost berries. He inspected one vine and leaned in, inhaling deeply.

  So similar to his mam’s scent. Snapshots flashed through his mind.

  His mam laughing as she chased him through his childhood home. The snowmen they’d build at midnight in the deep Freemont winter snow. His father had passed when he was little. Walked into the sunlight. Vampire suicide. Bishop had never thought much about it. He’d never really known the male, and his mother had more than made up for his absence.

  But now he wondered. Had his father discovered Mam’s secret?

  His mam’s parents had died shortly before his pap had passed.

  Right before. With a sinking feeling, his feet shuffled forward, completely disengaged from his brain.

  Had his pap… Could he have…

  It was too horrible to contemplate.

  If so, how had his father found out after he’d mated Mam?

  If her blood was as…fragrant as her frost-berry scent, would his father have known she was anything but a vampire?

  It made sense. It all made too much sense. His father’s betrayal tore through him. Bishop barely noticed the white, iced stone surrounding him. The ice caves registered as comfortably cold. To another being, the subfreezing temps would be intolerable. Not to Bishop. Chill seeped into his bones, infusing him with strength—physically. His mind still reeled from what he’d pieced together about his past.

  Grumbling from deeper within the cave ceased his self-pity party.

  “Hellfire and tinder,” his demon swore. “Come off. Stryke, you’re so going to pay for this.”

  He searched the corner. Fyra was on her knees with her back to him, smacking her wrist against the stone. Her discarded sweats lay at her side. She’d followed the order to strip but had disappeared before anyone had seen. Good thing. He’d have had to go back and carve out some eyeballs.

  Except nudity seemed to be a thing down here.

  She froze, but remained kneeling and didn’t look at him. “Oh. It’s you.”

  While she was a balm to his tattered spirit, her tone made him out to be nothing more than one of the scarab-like bugs roaming around.

  “Why’d you leave?” He couldn’t tear his gaze off her rounded backside.

  She smacked her wrist against the wall again. “Duh, because Rancor has plans for me that don’t include my consent.”

  “No, not that. Why’d you leave the compound, leave me?” He scratched his head, not because it itched. The neediness in his question wasn’t anything that’d come from him before.

  “I’m so
rry.” The words dripped sarcasm. “Did I interrupt your plans to use me for information? Didn’t I give you enough time after you used me for pleasure to talk and spill details that you could take to Demetrius?”

  Ah, she’d heard. He felt like the smell of the cave. Rotten crap.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  She twisted to glare at him, her bright eyes full of hurt and anger. “Spare me the lie. By the way, Rancor still doesn’t know that you’re a demon. I managed to keep it a secret. And I didn’t tell him that Stryke is bonded to a vampire in your realm and can get around in his own body.”

  Fyra stiffened and she grimaced at the extra information she’d spilled. He coughed on a chuckle because she was so damn adorable.

  Flipping her hair, she tried to puff a strand out of her face.

  Her breasts were visible and he gulped. For once, he didn’t grow colder. Excess chill radiated out to the environment, which soaked it up like fuel.

  She switched her scathing gaze to the bracelet and shuffled over several feet—all on her knees.

  A sharp rock jutted out from the wall that she banged the bracelet on. Blood welled from scrapes on her skin, and goose bumps dotted her arms and legs.

  His fire demon was cold.

  “Why don’t you stand?”

  She slumped back on her feet. “Rancor commanded me to kneel, thus I’m kneeling. This stupid bracelet is behind it all. I can’t even summon my fire.”

  He went to her side. She was shivering.

  He grasped her wrist to inspect the jewelry. “How’d you get down here, then?”

  “M-maybe it’s not warded against me going between realms. B-but then I always seem to do things I normally can’t when I get really upset.”

  “You don’t know the bounds of your power?”

  Her shivers were increasing with his proximity now that she lacked the control to counteract his temperature. He would drop his gear and give her his shirt, but it wouldn’t help. No body heat.

  “L-like I’m going to t-tell you about my power. Do you have your boss on speed dial? Waiting for more?”

  Her incensed reaction, while deserved, wasn’t one he’d expected. He squinted at the metal, unable to locate an identifiable clasp.

  “I-I w-was hoping the c-c-cold would shhh-hatter it.”

  It was painful to listen to her try to talk. He picked her up. She didn’t struggle, didn’t have to. The shivers racking her body made her hard to hold. He paused at the exit of the chamber and peeked out.

  “W-w-w-wh…”

  “To your place. Don’t try to talk. You’ll crack your teeth.”

  He snagged a torch before turning into her chamber. He set her down in a corner he hoped wasn’t visible to passersby.

  The torch’s fire waned against his cold air so he set it on her other side while he knelt to inspect the bracelet.

  The fire warmed her enough to be understandable. “Circle…only…take off. Can’t…stay…here.”

  “Is there anywhere safe down here for you?”

  “Not safe anywhere.”

  The magnitude of her answer weighed on him. She wasn’t safe in her own realm, she wasn’t safe in his. He could find her through their bond, but demons seemed to have the ability to track each other.

  How did his kin escape to procreate without others knowing?

  His gripped the bracelet with the thumb and forefinger of each hand and yanked with all his might.

  The ends fell open and he slammed into the wall behind him.

  “Demon balls!” Fyra jumped up. “How’d you do that?”

  She rested her hands on her hips and that was as high as his gaze rose. The juncture of her thighs mesmerized him.

  Snapping her fingers in front of his face, she continued, “How are you here, anyway?”

  He ripped his attention off her completely. The only way he could function. “Demons create a vacuum when they leave the realm. We always suspected it could suck us in, just weren’t positive we could make it here.”

  “Eh, makes sense. Humans are a delicacy, but I’ve seen them down here…not usually alive, because they were getting devoured.”

  “Our kinds mate.” He saw out of the corner of his eye that she leveled her gaze on him. If he tried to look at her, all he saw was walking sex.

  “You mean, they make babies together. Um, yeah.” More sarcasm. A tone he didn’t care for, only because he preferred her carefree chatter. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Did you tell Demetrius that?”

  He met her fiery gaze. Her flush had returned and her hair fluttered around her in an unseen draft. “Yes.”

  She reared back, her bullshit look firmly in place. “Sure you did.”

  He got to his feet but mourned the loss of the angle he’d been viewing her from. “It was broad daylight when I left, and I couldn’t wait when you were in trouble.”

  “What’s he going to do?”

  “Dunno.” He tried not to think about it. His team was his life and he had nowhere to go without them.

  She pondered him for a moment, then skipped over the subject. “We need to get back to the ice caves. Rancor will either come hunting me himself or get a message back here that I need to be captured.”

  “Why the caves?”

  “Not many kinds of demons can tolerate the cold.” She popped into the cavern without a care.

  He rushed after her, checking over his shoulders and hers. “You guys can sense each other.”

  “Sometimes.”

  That’s all he was going to get. He missed her openness with him. “You don’t wear clothes down here, either.”

  “Nope.” She turned into the caves but went to an opening he hadn’t seen before. Lifting the frost berry vines, she passed under. “Oh, unless it’s skin. The Circle sometimes likes to wear the skins of their victims.”

  He grasped the vine to raise it. “Ow.” Snatching his hand back, he had to stem blood from a small slice in his finger. “What the hell was that?” He peered closer, but no thorns were visible.

  She held the vines up for him. “Their berries grow from the blood of demons.”

  He ducked under them. “How do you not get bit?”

  “I do.” She brandished her palm. Two different areas were marred with a series of pinpricks. “But I’m not as tasty as an ice demon. There’s so few down here to care for the caves that they’ll gobble you up while they have the chance.”

  “So I’m an ice demon. I guess that was kinda obvious.” His eyes adjusted incredibly fast to the darkness of the new passage they were in. Vampires were creatures of the night, but no light in the underworld was a whole new experience.

  It was just so dark.

  His genetics were developed for this place, and he walked without worry like Fyra.

  Berries grown from blood.

  “Some demon is going to eat those berries that have my blood?” He flexed his hand, but it was already healed. “What do frost berries taste like?”

  “Try one. But no, not many demons can handle the berries. It’s like swallowing liquid nitrogen. Burns so good.”

  She hung a right and they entered a large open room, not unlike her chamber. Only it was cold and more inviting.

  Touching a sconce with her fingertip, she lit a flame. The soft glow was just as comforting. It came from Fyra, and he seemed partial to her flame.

  The light danced off her hair as she shoved it off her face. A healthy blush painted her skin, and her eyes flickered with the light.

  She visibly tensed. His arousal must’ve reached her. It’d been at a steady burn since he’d found her, but alone, in the room, with her naked…

  “I think I can get us back to your world.” She sat on the ground with her legs curled under her. “We just need to figure out where we might have the ability to pop in.”

  He didn’t sit but pulled out the bracelet he’d stuffed into his pocket.

  Alarm flared in her eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Oh. S
hit.

  That male had discombobulated her so badly, she’d totally forgotten about the cursed metal.

  Never, never had she felt so powerless as when Rancor had stood over her and her muscles had obeyed him, despite what her mind had screamed.

  Now Bishop held it. Possession was nine-tenths of the law and he had the power to open it.

  His brow furrowed. “Are you scared of me?”

  “You mean, do I worry that the male who wanted to use me now holds the trinket that’ll make me do whatever he wants, like talk? No. Not at all.”

  His steel gaze went from her to the bracelet. Her heart rate kicked up.

  He flipped the bracelet into the palm of his hand and narrowed his stare on it. He shifted his stance but continued glaring at the object.

  Some of her anxiety diminished, pushed out of the way by curiosity.

  Spider webs of white traced the gold, and little fuzzies of frost sprung up.

  Abruptly, he dropped it on the floor and stomped on it before the first bounce.

  She jerked back against the wall, then prowled forward on all fours.

  “Did it work?” Had he really just done that? Her heart threatened to swell with affection, but she held it in check.

  He moved his boot. No less than a hundred shards of metal were scattered in his boot print.

  Her mouth dropped open in awe.

  Bishop’s desire grew thick and she glanced up. A cranberry hue tinted his irises. No wonder. She was on her hands and knees with her ass in the air and her mouth open.

  Snap a picture and put her in a centerfold.

  She scrambled back, combing her hair over her breasts and using her knees to cover her sex. “Not so fast, big dude. That was a nice gesture and all”—an incredibly heroic move that had saved her an eternity in the underworld…until the Circle created a new one or killed her—“but you don’t get off the hook that fast.”

  He sunk to his knees in front of her. “I’m sorry, Fyra, for using you. I should say I shouldn’t have done that, but the reality is, it’s my job. I protect those who can’t protect themselves. If I hadn’t passed on what I’d discovered, it’d be a serious breach of duty.” Propping a knee up and resting an elbow on it, he sighed. “But I can say that I felt like a huge dick. And it was a self-serving way to get Demetrius to leave you alone, to keep you around.”