by Unknown
She reached to pull up the sheets. When she neared Dylan’s shoulders, she realized his eyes were slitted. He was watching her.
“You are a naughty girl,” he whispered.
“You were awake? The whole time?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” He smiled—a wicked, self-satisfied smirk. “A man would have to be dead to not notice when a beautiful girl is enthralled with his cock.” He patted the bed beside him.
Emmy crawled over him, mortification heating her cheeks. Spooned together, Emmy waited for his breathing to quiet and his body to relax. Her heart finally stopped thumping in her chest. He’d never let her live this down. Her stomach growled loudly, and she decided to go in search of leftovers. But first things first.
After showering, she found his robe lying in a heap on the floor and put it on, cinching it around her waist. Tonight, she’d have to make a trip to her apartment for some of her own clothing. Walking around naked all the time was positively decadent.
Letting herself out of the bedroom, she closed the door and turned toward the stairs. She heard a creak on the staircase below and stiffened. Had one of the dogs gotten into the house? Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard a single bark. Surely, she would have awakened earlier if she had.
Senses on the alert, she walked slowly to the head of the stairs.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a movement and gasped, but before she could call out, a hand closed over her mouth, and she was drawn back against a long, tall body. Her head bumped against the hard shell of a helmet.
“Not a word…” a voice whispered in her ear, “or I’ll see Dylan dies before he clears the bed? Do you understand?”
Her heart pounded with fear, and she could only nod.
“We’re leaving now. Do as I say, and you won’t be harmed.”
Not believing a word Nicky spoke, nevertheless Emmy let herself be dragged down the stairs and out the front door.
Chapter Eleven
‡
“There were two vamps,” Dylan said, as he surveyed the bodies of his dogs, lying in a heap next to the side gate. Indentions from boot prints in the mud next to the dogs told the story. Intruders had scaled the wall, and then fought with the dogs, breaking their necks.
“Nicky’s doing?” Quentin asked as he knelt beside one cold body.
“Of course, it was his doing.” Dylan ran a hand through his hair. He had to keep it together. He could only imagine how frightened Emmy must be now.
“He’s mad. Surely, he realizes he’s courting death.”
“I have to hope that’s exactly why he’s doing it,” Dylan said, stony resolve making his voice hard.
“And he’s using her for leverage so that we don’t go after him? And if he isn’t?”
“Then we need to find her fast. Otherwise, he’ll kill her.” Dylan fought the panic that rose in his throat. Calm. He must be deliberate and calm.
The moment Dylan had woken at dusk, he’d known she was gone. He’d smelled engine oil and leather inside the house—but so far outside, he’d only scented the dogs’ blood.
“But where do we start?” Quentin asked, raising his stark gaze to Dylan’s.
“I know where. In hell.”
*
Emmy fought the rising terror that threatened to choke her. Flickering candlelight distorted the shadows the vampires cast as they moved around the cramped room, making them appear larger, darker. She already knew they were dangerous as hell—and crazy to be fucking with her boyfriend.
Nicky had tossed her robe to a dark corner of the room as soon as they’d entered, and she was naked.
Naked and spread-eagle on the soiled mattress—in the back room of The Viper’s Den.
Smells of stale sex, urine, and a few unidentifiable odors emanated from the mattress. The cockroaches and mice she heard skittering from the room were the least of her worries.
Nicky’s gleaming gaze sent warning signals clambering to her brain. He’d prepared well. Spikes had been driven into the floor and walls, to which chains fitted with manacles were attached.
Emmy struggled against the chains to free herself, but only managed to further injure the tender flesh around her wrists and ankles. She gave up hope of rescuing herself. Instead, she prayed for Dylan to find her soon.
“Leave us,” Nicky said to the male vamp who had remained silent throughout Emmy’s kidnapping.
He’d driven the second motorcycle, while Emmy had clung to the back of Nicky’s, sitting on the edges of her robe to keep it from flapping away. Her stomach had tightened to a knot when she’d recognized their destination. Nicky didn’t intend to ever let her go. She’d die in hell.
After one last covetous glare, the male vamp shuffled from the room.
Relieved his unblinking stare was no longer on her skin, she focused all her attention on Nicky.
The apartment outside the small, stifling room was quiet. Emptied at Nicky’s order, no doubt. Still dressed in the leather biker gear, he had removed his helmet and gloves. His long, tousled dark hair framed a symmetrically perfect face that was marred by a twisted sneer.
He bent to pull one of her chains, stretching her legs wider. “Now you look…perfect.” His hand skimmed over her calf and up her thigh, pausing inches from her sex. “This will be the first thing he sees,” he said, and then cupped her mound. “I can see why your flesh fascinates him. You’re so responsive. I’ve raised gooseflesh, even here.”
Emmy fought the urge to cringe from his hand. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
“Never doubt. You’ll be mine tonight.”
For once at a loss for a snappy comeback, Emmy could only glare. She hoped like hell rape wasn’t part of his agenda.
“All this lovely white skin,” he said, smoothing a hand over her belly, and then up to cup one breast. “Very pretty. Monica didn’t do you justice. Said you were a lumpy little thing.” He twisted her nipple.
She fought the urge to cry out, knowing any response would incite a reprisal. Time was her friend. Dylan was on the way. She knew it. She could feel him drawing closer.
“What will Dylan say when he sees you like this?” he asked, echoing her own thoughts. “Will he care?”
Of course, he’ll care. He’ll kill you, asshole! Unable to stop herself, she jerked when he knelt on the mattress, and then climbed onto her, straddling her hips. “You know, I’d be very worried if I were you. Very worried, indeed.”
She cleared her throat of the lump burning there. “Speaking of Monica. I’m surprised she isn’t here for this,” Emmy said, trying to prolong the conversation. “After all, she introduced us.”
Nicky’s hand caressed her jaw and turned her head to the side, exposing her neck. “Monica suffered a severe case of sun burn. She won’t be joining us—ever. I don’t accept failure.”
Pain shot through her chest, and Emmy closed her eyes. The Monica who had been her friend had died days ago. “So this little party’s just for me? I mean, it seems you went to an awful lot of trouble for one lumpy girl.”
“You’re just the appetizer, sweetheart. And the bait. Sweet bait.” With a low growl, Nicky bared his teeth.
As she watched his fangs slide over his teeth, she could hear her heart beat so loudly it pounded in her ears.
He stepped his knees between her legs and ground his leather-clad crotch against her pussy. “He’s coming,” Nicky said. “But he’ll be too late.” Planting his hands on either side of her chest, he leaned forward and sank his teeth into her neck.
Emmy cried out against the pain—he hadn’t prepared her tender skin as Dylan always did. And he bit deeply into her body. Blood left her face and mind, racing to the two small wounds in her neck as he suctioned.
As light faded, she had a fleeting thought that perhaps Dylan would be better off if she were never found.
*
Dylan turned the door handle to the entrance of The Viper’s Den and pushed, letting it creak open a couple of inches. What he
already knew was confirmed. A single vamp lurked inside the living room.
Quickly, he drew back and flattened himself against the wall beside the door. To Quentin flanking the other side, Dylan raised one finger.
Quentin nodded, and then stood in front of the door. With a powerful thrust, he kicked open the door the rest of the way, making it bounce against the wall loudly, and charged into the room.
Already in full bloodlust, the vamp within roared and leaped at Quentin. Quentin feinted to the side, and the vamp hit the wall. Hunkering on his haunches, he sprang at Quentin, taking him to the floor.
Now that Quentin had one of them well in hand, Dylan took advantage of the vamp’s preoccupation to skirt around the combatants and into the hallway beyond. His heart pounded heavy in his chest as he approached the small dreary bedroom at the end.
The door swung open and Nicky stepped into the opening, clothed only in leather pants, the snap at the top open, and the zipper halfway down. Dylan smelled Emmy’s blood on him, along with her perfume—and Emmy’s own musk.
Dylan roared his agony, his face reforming, and his teeth sliding down, ready to take apart Nicky. He raised his hands, letting the bloodlust transform his hands into claws to swipe the self-satisfied gloat from his enemy’s face.
Then he heard a soft mewling like a weakened kitten from within the room.
“What will you do, Dylan?” Nicky taunted him. “You have only a few moments to save her—if you can. Or are you so far gone you have to take me, instead of saving her?”
Fighting the bloodlust, Dylan bellowed again and stepped inside the room.
Emmy lay on the bed, her pale skin nearly translucent and blue-tinged. A dark crimson ribbon of blood stained her neck and the tops of her breasts. But Dylan could hear her thready pulse and see her chest struggle to rise.
Brushing past Nicky, he let his armor melt away as he hurried to the mattress. Nicky’s mocking laughter trailed down the hallway, but Dylan cared only that Emmy still lived, still had a chance. But not much time remained. He knelt on the mattress beside her. “Em. It’s Dylan. I’m here.”
Her lids fluttered, but didn’t open.
“I’ll turn you, love. You can stay with me, if that’s what you want.”
“Dylan…” she whispered.
He leaned closer, his ear to her lips.
“Will I have…this ass for eternity?” she asked, a feeble smile lifting the corners of her lips.
His eyes filled at her show of spirit, even as she lay dying. “Yes, love.”
“Then do it… Don’t want to leave you. Promised.”
Dylan’s jaw clenched. “First, I have to take more of your blood.”
“I know…”
I can’t lose her. Dylan closed his eyes and murmured a quick prayer, and then bit into the unmarked side of her throat. Her blood entered his mouth, sluggish and cooling by the moment.
When he heard her breath rattle one last time in her chest, he stopped and tore his wrist with his teeth, and then held it to her mouth, trickling blood onto her tongue. “Drink, Emmy. For God’s sake, drink.”
Her throat didn’t move to swallow. He leaned back and massaged her neck, until he felt a feeble gulp, and then again pressed his wrist to her mouth. This time, she latched onto it, her tongue working against the edges of his flesh. Pulling away, she inhaled, her lungs gasping for air.
Tears streaked down Dylan’s face. Emmy would make it.
“Dylan, Nicky set the place on fire,” Quentin yelled from down the hallway.
“Bastard!” Dylan continued to let Emmy feed, needing the extra minutes to make sure she was strong before he moved her.
Behind him, Quentin slammed the door. “We’ll have to take her through the window.” Quentin shoved aside the curtain and cursed. “Bars. We’re trapped.”
“We haven’t a choice, then. We have to go through the fire. Help me with the chains.” Dylan pulled his wrist away from Emmy’s mouth.
Her eyes, hollow but shining in the dark, offered him her trust.
Together, he and Quentin wrapped the chains in the floor around their wrists and pulled with all their might, working the stakes free. They lost precious minutes tugging on the chains in the wall, and ended up breaking chunks of plaster with their fists to free Emmy’s arms.
Dylan helped her to her feet, and then dipped down to drape her over his shoulder. “Get the mattress. We’ll use it as a shield to walk through the fire.”
With Quentin in the lead, Dylan followed down the hallway, which was filled with a roiling cloud of black smoke. When they reached the entrance to the living room, Quentin laid the mattress on the floor, and then lifted it, tamping down the next few feet of flames that ate at the wood flooring.
“We’ll have to run for it,” Quentin shouted over his shoulder, and then with a roar, he held the mattress in front of them and charged toward the door. Without breaking stride, Quentin pushed the mattress through the closed door, splintering the wood.
Dylan, gripping Emmy tightly, was at his back, and the two men stumbled through, landing on the smoldering mattress in the hallway beyond the apartment.
The flames had traveled through the ceiling, and cinders rained down from above. “Run!” Quentin shouted and pushed Dylan in front of him.
Filled with smoke and the crackling roar of the fire above, the hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before Dylan. Unable to see beyond a few inches in front of his face, he rushed forward, praying he had the strength and breath to make it to the door.
Hold on, Emmy. Almost there. He slammed into the wooden door at the entrance and wasn’t the least surprised to discover that the door handle had been removed. “Quentin!” he shouted above the roar of the fire.
Quentin shoved him aside and rammed his shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. He backed up and hammered into it again. A crack in the center sucked air into the foyer. Another blow, and the doorway gave, but the fire roared toward them, fed by oxygen funneling through the gaping hole.
Dylan leapt through the gap and cleared the steps beyond. Quentin slammed into his back, and together with Emmy, they rolled clear of the ball of flame that followed them toward the street.
Coughing, Dylan crawled, dragging Emmy across the grassy weeds to the sidewalk. He rose on his knees to strip the shirt from his back and draped it across Emmy’s naked body. “Emmy? Are you alright?” he asked, afraid of her pallor and her stillness.
Her chest raised, and she expelled a ragged breath that caught. She curled on her side as a series of coughs racked her body. Dylan lay down beside her, stroking her hair, kissing her shoulders, knowing she’d recover soon. She was a vampire now, and the injury to her lungs would heal in moments.
“I’ll bring around the car,” Quentin said, standing over the couple. His soot-covered face cast a worried glance at Emmy before he walked away.
As her coughing quieted, Dylan crooned into her ear and wrapped his arms around her. The danger was past. Now he was left to wonder whether her soul was intact—and whether he had the strength to do the right thing if it wasn’t.
Chapter Twelve
‡
Emmy sat quietly in the leather armchair as the locksmith sawed at the remaining cuff on her ankle with a thin, wire blade. She shivered at the chill the fire was slow to dispel. Her hair, still wet from her shower, dampened the shoulders of the new robe Dylan had given her.
She leaned toward the locksmith, alert to the aroma of his cheap aftershave—and the resonant thrum of his heart pushing blood through his veins. The beats were as clear as the crackle of the fire, the ticking of the clock above the mantle, and the metallic scrape of his saw.
Unable to resist, she rimmed her mouth with her tongue, which was already tingling with anticipation of a meal.
The man looked up at her, his gaze falling to her wet lips, and he stiffened. He darted a glance over his shoulder at Dylan and Quentin, before continuing the seesaw movement of the wire blade beneath her cuff.
&
nbsp; Emmy smiled when he adjusted his thigh alongside her foot. He thinks I want to fuck him. That would never happen. The duo who stood watch to ensure her good behavior would prevent any playing with her food. Spoilsports!
Not that she truly wanted to fuck him, but she’d give him better—a bite to send his heart fluttering and his dick gushing in his pants. Instinctively, she knew she had the power to orchestrate the man’s response, physically and mentally. The only problem was, she wasn’t sure once she tasted him that she’d be able to stop—drinking and pleasuring, that is.
The urge to experiment with this man was fast becoming impossible to ignore. Her breasts tingled, the nipples sharpening to hard peaks against the silver, silk robe. And her tongue massaged her gums and the roof of her mouth, which itched unbearably. Her body was slowly changing, and it thrilled her, awakening a hunger that made her teeth ache and power that tensed her muscles.
What would Dylan do, if I drew this man between my hard thighs and pressed my breasts against his chest while I drank?
Emmy gripped the armchair tighter.
The man’s forehead glistened with sweat, and the crotch of his coverall tented over his erection.
Can he smell my arousal just as I can smell his?
One last scrape, and the blade passed the rest of the way through the metal cuff. The locksmith set aside the blade and reached for another tool with handles and a vice-like snout.
Murmuring a husky apology, he carefully placed her foot between his thighs, so that her toes touched his erection, and then slipped the nose of the tool around one edge of the break in the cuff. He twisted upward, bending the metal—and sliding her foot along his cock. Doing the same to the other side of the break, he finally removed her last restraint.
Emmy patted him with her toes, before sliding her foot to the ground. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a husky purr.
“Next time, make sure you have the key,” he said, his gaze conveying a message that no doubt meant, I’m available for a fuck, anytime.