Urban Legend

by Unknown

  Well, here was her chance. Hiding revulsion she looked at his eyes again in the rearview mirror. “I can turn you, just like I did Cain.”

  The laugh was both maniacal and sad. “I wish you could, Vampyre, but I’m a pureblood human. That damned vaccine will keep me that. But with the raw data, if you could make an antidote or something…” He turned now and faced her. “Church wants you dead, but I think you are much more useful alive. I’ll try to convince him of it. Wouldn’t you like that?” His grin was shiny evil when she nodded. “Pray for me, hon.”

  A car pulled up, an old gray Honda, the man inside pale, old and wrinkled in the impending dawn. Not Vampyre since he didn’t seem scared to be out. And yet something about him… She couldn’t scent him and yet somehow she knew. It was the human who could turn others into her kind. Church.

  Her captor got out of the car just as the sun burst through the clouds. She huddled in her seat and felt the mild burn. One minute. Two.

  She could see Nonnenberg’s face while he talked, could see the old man glancing in her direction with pale blue ageless eyes. She couldn’t just sit here helpless and scared while they did their thing but the sun was too damned bright for her to simply throw open a door and run like hell.

  But… there were keys.

  * * *

  The sun shone brightly above the roof level of the downtown lot, luckily empty for the next few hours. Cain waited in the security elevator, ignoring the throbbing skin over his chest. He prayed she was all right; begged gods and demons she hadn’t already become ash under that bright, vicious sun. He’d rigged the vid camera to show the one car in the lot.

  Nonnenberg had managed to hijack a fucking CHP Camaro -- complete with GPS. His Vampyre must be in there. Cain hadn’t been able to see much through the tinted windows but he figured she was too hot a commodity to stash somewhere. He hoped that Jakob had pulled his shit and managed to convince LAPD that this was a government op. Cain had cooked up a few fake codes, and it had been a snap to stick them in the feds’ database. His fake badge hung off his utility belt, an FBI patch on his vest. He just hoped Jakob did his thing.

  The wail of sirens burst that hope to shards.

  Six units -- eight -- pushed their way through toward the Camaro and the Honda, red and blues blazing, loudspeakers ordering hands to be kept in the air. A slam of doors -- more cars as CHP joined the game. He muscled open the elevator doors just as Church held up his hands while Nonnenberg stepped back. The cops piled out, weapons drawn.

  To Cain’s horror, the Camaro moved. Stop and go motions, as if the driver wasn’t sure how to work that thing. He heard the wail of sirens as the cops and loud speakers ordered the car to stop. Then a single shot was fired to take out the tires.

  Shit hit the fan.

  Cain ran toward the cars, not caring about bullets or the shouts or his life. Nonnenberg had his gun out, shooting at the cops hiding behind the Honda. The echo of the gunshots was a long drawn-out thunder as the sounds bounced off the concrete walls. Another shot and the Camaro’s back window shattered. He heard a squeal of tires as it turned around, gaining speed toward Nonnenberg.

  Cain heard someone yelling stop, more shots fired, the whistling of bullets as smoke thickened. Another cop car had pulled up, and he glanced around to see Taina running out. A van pulled up among the mess of cars -- brown and dark -- he recognized it as his own as the white Camaro smashed nose first into the Honda, moving it, giving the cops just the right angle to take the bastard down.

  More of the cops were yelling for everyone to stop; some were waving, their guns down. Radios squawked, while loud speakers howled “FBI.” Slade made his way toward the cops as Tai flipped open her fake badge. Cain didn’t care that Nonnenberg was moving, didn’t care that Church stared up at him with knowing, watery eyes.

  He wrenched the driver’s door of the Camaro open and saw horror. Bleeding, her skin one giant burn, his Vampyre had bullet holes over her chest and arms -- her T-shirt was soaking red, her hair matted. Steam rose from her as ash formed in her hair and caked on her face.

  He didn’t know where to touch her. He had to get her out of the sun. Panicked, Cain glanced around and screamed at Slade for a leather coat. More guns were drawn as Deadshot did just that, revealing the arsenal over his hips. Cain didn’t care. With trembling hands, and murmuring prayers and curses, he shoved the leather over her limp form, and finally got her out. He felt the cop’s weary eyes and the weapons on his back while on shaking legs he carried her to shade.

  “Get in.” Through chaos he heard Jakob’s voice from inside the van. The slide door opened. Much like before, he put his Vampyre inside, this time as gently as he could, straining to hear her voice, her breathing… something. She didn’t move at all -- just steam and searing heat rising when he removed the leather. Cain couldn’t see her face under the black and bleeding burns. His roaming gaze met Jakob’s. “Blood.” He saw rather than heard the Vampyre say it. “Give her your blood.”

  A dagger was pressed into his hand -- a samurai-style short sword, probably old, probably priceless. He slit his wrist with it, brought the cut over her burned lips. Flexed, twisted. Watched the life-giving liquid fall. “Come on, baby. Come on.”

  He said it like a litany, praying to Hell and Heaven. Somehow the cops didn’t come to bother them. Somehow the van started to move as Jakob got them deeper into shade of the garage then out, heading for the compound, the tinted windows keeping the sun at bay.

  His arm tingled, his lungs burned. “Come on, baby. Take it.” His blood ran dark -- her burned mouth was darker. The stench of burning skin and ash was acrid in his nose. With his free hand he ripped open his vest, tore off a chunk of cotton from his T-shirt, forcing himself not to clean the blood over her eyes. He needed ice, still water, something cool.

  Jakob sped through LA, the morning traffic not yet heavy since they were racing away from downtown. With cotton over his free hand, Cain felt her thigh, gently putting his palm under it to feel for skin. Covered by sweats, he didn’t think it would be burned too bad. He felt for a pulse.

  Heard nothing.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nick’s scent was everywhere. It curled around her while Valentina lay over his sheets that caressed her now cooled skin. It kissed her lips with his taste every time she licked them to once again check they weren’t peeled, cracked or charred.

  She wasn’t bleeding. Nor was she just plain dust.

  Now in Nick’s room, his scent surrounding her in comfort, she saw flashes of blood, of water, of him bathing her skin in coolness, murmuring something soft, sweet and incoherent.

  Val didn’t know what god determined that she’d live, but when the door opened and Nick’s shoulders filled the frame, she thought for sure they laughed at her. Arousal curled inside her belly, despite the fact that hours ago she was nearly dust. And gods help her, it wasn’t at all the boiling need that had been stabbing at her for days. This was different somehow. Emotion and arousal combined.

  “I know you’re awake.” His voice was strangely somber. “I just want to do a quick check on your burns.”

  “They’re fine.” Actually they were gone. She kept the sheets over her breasts, ready to move if he approached her. Strength coursed through her, strength borne of human blood. It sickened, frightened and excited her. She could take him, right now. Exactly as she wanted. She clamped her teeth over her lips. This wild energy coursed through her and she didn’t know how long she could contain it. “You need to go. Right now.”

  His tone was old Nick Cain -- that pure male arrogance. It made her pussy cream. “You’re in my room.” He closed the door, and pitched the room in darkness. The sun had set she realized. She had survived the dawn.

  “You need to go. Right now.” Forcing the beast down, she breathed through clenched teeth. Air was cool and sweet inside her mouth, air mixed with his scent.

  “You need me.”

  She didn’t see the point in lying. “Yes. And if you won’
t leave, I’ll take you.”

  “Do it.”

  Those hoarse words were a shock. He had another muscle shirt on; she’d seen his skin gleam in the light minutes ago. Now with the door closed she could smell the musk of sweat and male. Mine. “Go before you regret this.”

  He took another step, and she nearly moaned from just the scent of him. “My blood kept you alive. You want me? I’m yours.”

  She had to hold onto the sheets to keep from tearing into him. “I can’t be gentle.”

  “Good, neither can I.”

  Those words broke her. She reared up in bed, took a good handful of his shirt, and tore through it. She feasted on the damp skin of his chest, the crisp, sparse hair over it. His breath hissed when she grazed her teeth over his flesh, gripped both his wrists and pulled him down under her -- both of them nearly falling off the bed that now seemed too damned small. Straddling him, she ran greedy hands and lips over his face, his neck, his mouth. She wasn’t so gone that she missed his sudden tension when she licked his neck and that thudding pulse under his jaw. But then his hands clamped over her ass, and he moved his head to give her access. Giving himself to her.

  She wouldn’t take more of his blood. Instead she’d take his soul. With hot nipping kisses she feasted on his mouth, and couldn’t stop rubbing herself against the bulge already forming under her. His hands caressed her ass, her thighs, finally claiming her breasts before she scooted down to trail her lips down his ribs, his stomach. With shaking hands she tore at his zipper, pulled at his jeans until they were around his hips.

  Mine. Hot, thick and heavy, the head of his cock was already pearling with precome. Watching him in the dark she leaned over him, letting her hair brush against his belly. His sucked in breath was her reward.

  She gave him a teasing lick, just at the drop of moisture on his cockhead. The rich male taste exploded in her mouth; she needed more of him, all of him, right now. With a soft growl she covered him, took him deep inside her mouth, still looking at those glittering eyes as he lifted his head to watch her. She tongued his shaft, then slid down on his cock until the smooth, thick head of it touched the back of her throat. She sucked, she slid, she lingered. She milked him for every groan until the need inside her was unbearable.

  She straddled him again, lifted a bit, took his cock into her palm and rubbed herself with it before enveloping him completely, slamming home with such ferocity that the pleasure became almost painful -- almost too much.

  She had to pause for a second for that sweet and precious shock -- and then she rode him, hard and wild and loud. Her mouth fused with his, her tongue invading the same way his cock invaded her, so big and smooth and perfect. His scent and taste filled her senses, his mouth hot, his hands a death grip on her ass as he slammed her onto him with hard vicious strokes.

  His pelvis met hers as she bounced on his, his cock rubbing against her, her clit grinding against his skin. Wicked sensations coiled through her, electrifying every nerve ending. She shuddered as she rode him, feeling herself tighten more, the thick base of his cock rubbing against her opening, so good, so tight. She coiled and tensed around him, and felt him gasp into her mouth -- short, ragged intakes of breath -- and then he surged inside her, pumped into her, just as her own orgasm overtook her, rattling her. She buried her face against his neck and shuddered with him.

  * * *

  Cain had been content to just keep lying there with Valentina sprawled all over him, when she scooted away and got up. His brain barely managed to kick start into gear by the time she’d exited the bathroom.

  He’d hardly slept in two days. He’d been shot at, shocked with a taser, fucked by a Vampyre. Fallen for that same Vampyre. All in two days. His brain bone tired, his body still too wired for rest, he watched her as she approached the bed. “I need my clothes. I left them in the locker but…”

  Yeah. He didn’t want her thinking of the “but.” “I’ll get them for you.” He wanted to just grab her wrist and tug her back to bed. He wondered if she would let him do it. With her strength now, she was as strong as ten of him.

  “It lasts a week. Ten days,” she said, as if she’d read his mind.

  “Prolongs your life too, doesn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “About three years. I’m sorry you had --”

  “Don’t be.” He grabbed her wrist now, and pulled her down to sit next to him. In the dim light, her skin gleamed like finest gold. “Look, Jakob is straightening out this mess with your Council. You’ll need to talk to them, but if it all works out, they will allow you to update the vaccine without having to give us anything. So stay here. I’ll rig up a lab for you.”

  She frowned at him. Cain wished he could see what she was thinking behind that thoughtful gaze. “The Council won’t harm me.” There was a strength in her voice he hadn’t noticed before. Some sort of confidence, an edge. “Don’t feel like you need to babysit me. I’ll get back to San Francisco and update the vaccine from there.”

  “Fine.” He reared up in bed, his muscles finally starting to feel sore and used. Adrenaline had gone, and for the moment lust was satisfied. The heaviness that sat over his chest was all emotion. Foreign and bittersweet. “I’ll go to San Francisco with you. I can’t stay there for good, but maybe for a week at a time… if you let me.”

  Again she frowned. “What are you saying?”

  She was torturing the words out of his mouth. “I’m falling for you. Okay?”

  Her hand fisted in his. “I never quite knew what that meant.”

  He swore now, pulled her closer knowing at any moment she could pull away, that her strength was so much greater. Still, he would try. “I’m falling in love with you.” There, he’d said it.

  Somehow she didn’t look stunned. Or happy. “It’s just the pheromones.” Her tone was cool and just a touch too calm. “My need was strong and you’re responsive. It’s done now. We have… nothing.”

  It would have been nothing if he hadn’t heard the telltale hitch in that siren voice. That and the past tense reference to her need. “You think?” He placed a sweet, slow kiss over her lips, nibbled her cheek, her jaw. “This isn’t nothing. I don’t know what it is, but… stay with me. Okay?”

  She looked at him for one silent long moment. He didn’t know what she could read in him, didn’t know what he could offer her. But then she nodded, and hope bloomed in his chest.

  “All right. But get a bigger bed.”

  Fiona Jayde

  Fiona Jayde is an author, a pilot, a ninth degree black belt in three styles of martial arts, a computer hacker, a mountain climber, a jazz singer, a weight lifter, a superspy with a talent for languages, and an evil genius. All in her own head, of course.

  In real life, she really is an author, insists she is a good driver even though various loved ones refuse to let her drive, possesses a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do and blue belt in Aikido, a web developer, scared to death of heights, loves jazz piano, can bench-press about 20 pounds -- with effort, speaks English and Russian fluently, and when not plotting murder and mayhem enjoys steamy romance novels, sexy spy thrillers, murky mysteries and violent movies where things frequently blow up.