Fyra’s warm hand snaked around his bicep. “Stryke is right. He’s protecting someone, just like I was protecting you.”
Bishop stared at her, then back at the demon, whose mouth was set, but a glimmer in his dark eyes was…grateful…toward Fyra. Then his black gaze swung to Bishop.
“She had every chance to tell Rancor you carry not just demon blood,” Stryke said, “but the blood of the coveted and suddenly-scarce-for-the-last-couple-of-centuries ice demons. But she didn’t say a word.” His lips twisted in a bemused smile. “And she said plenty of words.”
Fyra giggled, not flirtatiously, but like they shared an inside joke. “It really does throw them off, doesn’t it?”
Stryke’s smile broadened. “It was a bold move, fire demon. You didn’t have shit to tell him otherwise.”
His demon burned with indignation. “I so did. I could’ve told him about…about…”
Stryke chuckled. “Like I said, bold move.”
Fyra leaned forward with a gotcha smile on her face. “I could’ve told him about the vampire you’ve got a ding-a-ling for.”
A wall slammed over Stryke’s expression. “I owed you for the bracelet thing.” His gaze dropped to Fyra’s wrist. “Which I see wasn’t a problem for long.”
“How many more of those do they have?” Bishop interjected. Otherwise, he worried the bickering would go on too long. And if there were any more, he’d tear the underworld apart one fetid stone at a time. Then he’d freeze each pebble and shatter it.
Stryke relaxed. His skin was paling as frostbite set in. The cold was affecting him more than he let on. “Just the one. It’s an epic undertaking. Each one of the thirteen has to pour a miniscule amount of their blood and power into it. Getting their cooperation is the hardest part. Then there’s the backstabbing. Literally and figuratively. However, her power scares them all enough that it expedited the process and few questions were asked about Rancor’s skill at controlling her.”
The demon’s skin resembled alabaster. How long would the male last in the ice caves?
A faint ripple ran over him and Bishop pulled back. Had he really seen that or was the male just shivering?
“Do you want to get to the human realm or not?” Stryke’s words were coming slower. “Before I freeze completely.”
Fyra peered at him. “I knew you weren’t a run-of-the-mill demon. What are you?”
His smile was delayed, like his batteries were powering down. “Your boy there needs to fly on the coattails of another returning to the realm.”
She shook her head. “But I tried and he wasn’t moving.”
“Coattails. Not just move with you. He needs to learn how the energy flows before he comes and goes. His bond to you will allow that.”
“Wait.” Fyra waved her hand to cut him off. “Any vampire we bond with can enter our realm?”
“They have to be shown the way.” Stryke swallowed. Each sentence took him a minute to get out. “How to follow the link. It’s a learned practice, but easier for you because I think… I think you have energy demon lineage and that’s why the bracelet didn’t offer total control. I can give you a quick rundown like my sire taught me, but it’s probably not much different than you learned.”
“Oh!” Fyra jumped up and down, her breasts bouncing along Bishop’s arm. “I remember my mom’s lessons.”
Another faint, albeit sad, smile. “Your mom was one of a kind. I fully supported her efforts.”
Fyra reached out to touch his shoulder. Alarm rose in his eyes and she chuckled.
“Don’t worry. I won’t cook you. I can control this much.”
Her fingertips landed and color seeped into his skin as he warmed. He shook, the movement going up to his head.
“Hellfire, I’ve always hated these caves. No offense.” His head tipped to the side. “Rancor’s getting closer.”
Fyra nodded as if she sensed it also and shooed him out. “Go.”
The male gave Bishop a quick two-fingered salute and spun out of the cave.
“What’s his deal?”
His demon shrugged. “No one knows. It’s better that way.” She danced around to face him and put her fingers to his temples. “Close your eyes and think of your kitchen, where we…you know.”
“I know.” His voice was hoarse, but he shut his lids.
Her sultry tone encompassed him. “Keep me in mind when you picture the kitchen. Imagine us walking arm in arm to the exact spot you were standing, assembling cheese sandwiches.”
Instead of imagining hanging onto her, he wrapped his hands around her forearms. Where she went, he went.
A weightless sensation accompanied the same feeling he’d had when he’d gotten sucked into the demon’s void.
The smell of home surrounded him. He still held onto her, and his senses informed him that it was almost daylight again. He’d been in the underworld the whole night.
She whooped and he opened his eyes.
“We did it!” She pulled his face closer for a smack on the lips.
“I need to call Demetrius.”
She stalled, the joy draining from her face.
His need to protect her made him reconsider his plans. Desire bloomed like their earlier quickie had never happened. “But I can wait…until after…you know.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rourke showed up at his apartment with another set of black sweats. “Boss says to meet in the conference room.”
Bishop accepted the clothing with uncustomary wariness. Other than the origin of Bishop’s identity, had anything changed between them?
Rourke’s nostrils flared. “Been back awhile?”
His tone said, You been here how long, fucking her, while we were out looking for your sorry ass?
So, not much had changed. “I haven’t been back as long as I wanted before sending the message.”
“Glad you waited until daylight,” Rourke snapped. “Instead of falling into Grace, I get to sit in a room, aiming a fire extinguisher at your female. But at least you’re not cowering in your apartment anymore.”
Rourke’s measured steps carried him away, belying the uncharacteristic outburst from his friend.
“Aww, he was worried about you.” Fyra sauntered out. The aroma of their rapid sex session trailed her.
“He was?” He tossed her the clothing and went to change himself. As he dressed, he called to her. “Are you okay with the meeting?”
Her throaty laugh made it hard to zip his pants.
There was a soft tap at his front door. He rushed to put his shirt on, but Fyra beat him to answering.
He raced out regardless. Not because Fyra answered, but of what she might experience.
“Oh my, my kindest regards, uh…madam?” Betty, Demetrius’s elderly vampire assistant—more like rescue, after the old regime fell—wasn’t often at a loss for words.
Bishop skidded to a halt beside his demon. Betty held a large shopping bag in each hand, each filled to max capacity. She held them out not to him, but to Fyra.
Fyra took them, then let her arms drop at her side. Her stunned gaze swept Betty to soak in the gray hair, tightly curled from a day spent in curlers. He’d witnessed her in them once. More than once. Sometimes she left them in at the beginning of the night, almost as if she’d forgotten. But Bishop didn’t think so. She was centuries old, had a been-there-done-that mentality, and probably didn’t give a shit, in her sweet Betty way.
“My apologies.” Betty’s avid gaze ate Fyra up. The old female likely relished any new and unusual experience, and Fyra pinged that target. “I would’ve delivered them earlier, but after I was done shopping, I sprayed them with, oh, what’s that called…” She nibbled on her lip. “The stuff humans spray on an indoor tree once a year.”
“Flame retardant?” Bishop asked.
She snapped her fingers, but her soft skin barely made a whisper. “That’s the stuff. ’Tis the season for it.”
Her gentle cackle was one Bishop never tired of. If his
mam had been allowed to grow old, she’d have sounded the same.
Fyra stared at her with an unreadable expression.
Betty folded her wrinkled hand in front of her and stood squarely on her white, orthopedic shoes. “I do hope you don’t mind that I guesstimated your size, thanks to Creed’s help with the cameras. But I make no apologies for the style.” She shook her finger at Fyra. “Young females nowadays need to leave more to the imagination. Can’t show all your cards, or you don’t hold all the power.”
Fyra made a choking sound. Bishop rigidly turned his head toward her, afraid of what he might find, but there was not even a flicker of heat. A non-reaction from Fyra worried him.
“Brimstone and tinder, I think I want to keep you.” Fyra bent down and wrapped Betty in a hug.
Bishop started, like he was going to stop her, but there was no force behind the embrace. Fyra could break Betty like a frost berry twig.
Then again, after the lecture Betty had given her on provocative dressing, the elderly vampire either didn’t fear a hug or wasn’t as fragile as she looked.
Betty patted Fyra’s back. “Yes, yes. If you require other sizes just let me know. I’m rather fond of shopping.”
“What do I owe you?” The lump in Bishop’s throat made it hard to speak.
He adored Betty. She was the resident mother hen that never forgot their birthdays, even though no one told her when they were. To see Fyra as fond of her so fast, well…it was the closest he could get to her meeting his mam.
Betty stepped back from Fyra. A fascinated expression was aimed at Fyra’s steaming eyes. “Nothing, my boy. Demetrius gave me some cash with his instructions.” She gave them a conspirator’s wink. “It’s more fun when it’s the master’s money. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She shuffled off.
Fyra snuck one last look at the long floral skirt swishing away before ducking back in to shut the door. “I think I’d die for that woman.”
Bishop grinned. “We all would, and she’d smack us on the wrist for even thinking about it.”
“Violent, too. I’m in love.” Fyra carted her new belongings into his room.
He waited where he was until he heard a strangled cry.
“What?” He bolted into the bedroom, then stopped. His mouth dropped open.
Frilly lace from a starched white blouse crept up her neck. A heavy, mauve cardigan hung in her hand as she eyed the crisp black slacks she wore in the mirror.
“As if this wasn’t erection killing enough, all she bought was athletic shoes to cap the ensemble.”
“I think it’s cute.”
She popped a brow up. “If I was a schoolmarm. Not one inch of skin is showing!”
He stifled a smile. “Schoolmarms wore long pioneer dresses that stretched from their necks to their toes.”
“All I’m missing is the bustle! I bet she couldn’t find a skirt long enough for me and that’s the only reason I was saved with pants.”
“You look nice.”
“Yes,” she hissed. “Nice. If I have to wear clothes, they’re going to be an accessory or a matter of survival, not a chastity belt.”
He shook his head. No clothes could decrease her sexiness, and he could make up all kinds of professional-woman fantasies. “You could wear shoes with Rourke’s sweats, but I can’t save you from Betty.”
“She’s a devious old vampire.” But Fyra had a hint of a smile as she donned her sensible shoes.
They walked to the conference room. The entire team, plus Calli, was there, except for Ophelia, which wasn’t a surprise. Whatever she was doing had her going deep into prime territory. A red canister sat by each person in the room. Two more by the doorway.
Fyra sat primly in one of the empty seats, the flame hues of her hair shimmering over her shiny blouse. He took the chair next to her.
Bishop filled them in on everything since he’d left, along with what little he knew of his family history.
Demetrius had his fingertips pressed together as he reclined in his seat. “Ken Godet is nowhere to be found. Neither are any of his kin.”
Bishop wasn’t surprised. If the male was a willing host, he’d be waiting for Rancor’s return. “The search I conducted led to nothing, but it was only a small portion of the prime families. I did run into Ophelia at Nadair’s house.”
Creed snorted. “Her and that male have the unhealthiest on-again, off-again relationship ever.” His gaze flicked to Zoey. “But he’s her best way into the wealthy fray of our kind.”
Demetrius sat forward. “If we shake down the primes looking for Godet, then we can’t make Nadair exempt. It’d be too suspicious.” He scanned his team. “I have to sit out, of course, due to my position on the Synod. But it’s at their request that you investigate.”
Bollocks. Bishop stole Fyra’s word. “What have you told them about my demon?”
Fyra winked at him after the “my demon” confession.
He was in so much trouble. They were literally fire and ice.
“As little as possible,” Demetrius said.
“One more thing. Two, really. I’d like Fyra with us when we sweep the primes. And,” he pinned Demetrius with his stare, “I’m not acting as your spy with her. If anyone here has an underworld question, they need to ask Fyra. If she doesn’t answer, deal with it.”
She lifted her knuckles to him and he fist-bumped her.
Demetrius’s face was a mask, but he directed his question to Fyra. “Tell me, then, how does a demon reside in our realm unnoticed and be able to procreate with our species?”
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Dunno.” At everyone’s skeptical looks, she held her palms up. “Seriously. Just like vampires have heightened senses, we have, like, a sixth sense when there’s a demon around. Some detect better than others, some demons emote more than others. If we’re promoted to second-tier and assigned to a Circle member—enslaved as I like to call it—then it’s like they have a natural homing beacon that alerts them to us. Probably so we can’t sneak up and kill ’em.”
Zoey’s sharp gaze snapped to Bishop. “She’s leading them right to us this very minute?”
Fiery hair swung when Fyra shook her head. “My good dude Stryke said he couldn’t detect me here. Your wards are blocking me is my guess.”
Calli cleared her throat to interject. “But how would they work? We haven’t used any out of the—” She clamped her mouth shut.
Fyra rolled her eyes. “I know you have the tome. Only an idiot would think otherwise. They don’t want you to know they know, but they do want to know if you know how to use it.”
Bishop grunted when she bumped shoulders with him.
“That’s what I was supposed to use the big guy for.” Fyra blew him a kiss.
His heart warmed a little at her use of was. Actually, it cooled, but for him it meant the same thing. She was still with him, and not out of a sense of duty.
Demetrius watched them with measured calm. He spoke to Fyra. “We can’t have you staying here and playing both sides. Either you’re with us or you’re out of here.”
The rest of Bishop’s team looked as surprised as Bishop felt. Demetrius had to know that kicking Fyra out would mean Bishop would leave, too.
Would D trust Fyra’s answer if she turned her back on her home? Maybe his boss wanted him to leave after his own revelation.
“D…” Bishop shook his head. They’d had each other’s backs for decades.
Even Calli was eyeing her mate with uncertainty.
“Bishop, I have to be reasonable when you can’t be. You’re bonded to her, falling for her. But she has yet to assist us in anything. We can’t afford a freeloader demon who can destroy the place any more than we can afford a demon under our roof who might be plotting against us.”
Bishop smacked his palms on the table and rose. “She’s not plotting against us. And last time I checked, there’s been no demon other than her in the compound. Unlike,” he switched his attention briefly to Calli,
“no offense, but unlike when we were infiltrated by Draken because of your mate.”
Demetrius didn’t react, as if he’d expected all the arguments and had counterpoints for them all. “That was before we knew anything. I can’t afford to be just your friend on this, Bishop. My first concern is for our kind. I have to protect them, while you’re only focus is…her.”
Heat radiated off Fyra and ice veins spread along the tabletop from his hands. If it weren’t for her warmth, he’d have created an ice cave in seconds from the emotion roiling through him.
Demetrius was like a brother. A brother in arms, a brother in battle, didn’t matter. His team was his family. Yet they were willing to turn him out because he was dedicated to helping Fyra, who, no, hadn’t been outwardly helpful. But she’d saved his ass, regardless of whether she’d been the cause or not, and he’d never sensed any ill will from her, not toward him, toward his friends, or toward anyone except Rancor and the Circle.
So what if she could incinerate them in a blink and wouldn’t know how she’d done it?
Bishop was shaking but he remained standing. The temperature in the room dropped forty degrees and breath puffed out of all their mouths. Demetrius’s eyes narrowed, but he only monitored them.
“After all these years, you’re just going to throw me out?” Bishop bellowed. No one in the room had ever heard him so loud. He was the mellow one, always easygoing and amiable.
He’d had to be so he wouldn’t freeze their limbs off like he was doing now. He hadn’t understood Mam’s warnings at the time, but they’d protected him for years.
Fyra rested a hand on his back and one on the table, her heat seeping through her touch, her body acting like a space heater.
“What do you want to know?” She spoke steadily, but he detected the urgency in her words. “But you have to understand, it’s like asking vampires ‘What are the mechanics of flashing?’ or ‘How do you know your true mate?’ Your answers would be that you just flash and you just know. Or how about: tell me about the TriSpecies Synod? Could vampires other than you tell me more than their names, much less their personality quirks? I’m a servant. You all came from prime homes. How much did you share with your workers?”
Bishop (New Vampire Disorder Book 3) Page 17