The Thorndykes 1: Dispossessed

by Lynne Connolly

  “To do what?” She held on to her senses by a thread.

  “Drive you mad.” He dived, sent her wits whirling by taking her mouth in a kiss and driving hard into her, changing his angle each time. He didn’t give her space to adjust, and then his mind locked into hers, holding her as securely as his arms. For this moment he held her captive, owned her, but she knew the minute she objected he’d leave. What worried her was that he might not come back.

  Arching her body as much as she could under his larger frame, she lifted her legs, widened them to take more of him. She wanted that ring deep, deep inside her. She could feel it—a firm, smooth ridge reminding her with every stroke that she was with somebody unique in her experience.

  He didn’t speak to her mentally but warmed her, caressed her, mind and pussy, drawing her with him and sending everything else to obliteration. Nonexistence. They communicated in every way but words now, his tongue in her mouth, his cock driving her higher with every thrust. He owned her. She would have sold her soul for this.

  Her orgasm rushed toward her, every part of her honed to receive it. Agonizingly, unbelievably, he held her on the brink for a precious few seconds before lifting and with one plunge, shoved her over the edge.

  Lucille went into freefall. For once in her life, she didn’t care about being safe. Wildness consumed her, and she loved it. Embraced it because he surrounded her. This man would ensure she didn’t come to harm while she was in his arms.

  Until he gripped her tighter and cried out. It was her turn to shelter him, holding him close with arms and legs, enjoying the way his cock throbbed with every release. He gave her everything he had without limit and left her damp with sweat.

  He murmured her name and gave her one of the gentle kisses she was beginning to crave. She liked the other kind too. The devouring, greedy ones. She peeled a strand of hair off her cheek and smiled muzzily up at him. “I probably look a mess now.” She didn’t fuss over her appearance, but she preferred not to appear so tousled.

  “Sex isn’t neat and clean,” he said, grinning down at her. “Done right, it should be messy and sticky and all the things you’re thinking about.”

  “You’re in my mind again.”

  He tilted his head to one side. “You don’t like it?”

  She stared into his eyes and thought. “I think I do. I’m just not used to it.”

  He stroked her cheek. “Thank you. Maybe one day you’ll trust me more.” Open another layer, he meant. So far he only had access to that part of her mind all Talents and mortals who’d developed their psi gifts shared.

  “Maybe.” But not yet. Not after one night. He was powerful and persuasive, but she mustn’t share that part of herself with anyone. Not even her brother, except in special circumstances. Like when he’d gone missing.

  “You’re thinking too hard. Get some sleep.”

  “I need to get to work. I’m opening the bar today.”

  “You don’t have staff?” He frowned at her, concern in his gaze.

  “Yes, but I take my shifts.”

  Fortunately he didn’t argue. “What time do you have to be there?”

  “Around nine so I can open at ten.”

  He pulled gently out of her, his ring widening her just before he exited. It felt strange. Good strange. Rolling to one side, he curved an arm around her waist, so she rolled with him, still close. Still sticky. They smelled of each other, and she found that arousing as she never had before. One of the things she did immediately after sex was get clean, so this felt odd. Especially with unprotected sex.

  “Then sleep. I’ll make sure you get to your place in time.”

  She trusted him that much. In any case, how bad could it be? Few people came around early on Mondays, and her cook had a key. He could open at eleven. Or she could call him. Dreamily considering the alternatives, she drifted, and just before she fell asleep, she recalled how she’d woken up. The best dawn she’d ever had.

  WHO KNEW THEY’D fit so well? Men who said women were all the same inside hadn’t had enough experience. Or were willfully stupid. Jay gazed down at the woman sleeping peacefully in his arms. She felt good there, a warm, soft weight.

  But he had to move. He had work to do. Maybe he should have told her, but she slept with a completeness it would have been criminal to interrupt. Business didn’t wait, however, especially business like this, and some things niggled at him. He needed to ensure the family last night got away cleanly, for one thing. Then there was the mild irritant of her brother.

  While Lucille said she was okay with her brother’s disappearance, he’d picked up a thread of concern. She was worried about Drew, just not enough to go looking. Not yet. Maybe Jay was more wary, lived longer, but he wanted to know.

  And Blue. That guy needed to get off his estate. Because he didn’t identify himself, Jay worried he had something to hide. Since he’d forced himself through bad times, seen wars and worse, he never took anything for granted.

  With any luck, by the time she awoke, he’d have everything settled. Or when he saw her again, because sure as fuck he needed to see her again. Do this again. And if all went well, do it some more.

  It took him five minutes to slide her away from him, but he held her mind. He sent her waves of reassurance that smoothed over the slight disturbance rippling through her.

  He got ready in record time. While he was showering, he contacted his aide, the one who’d taken the family away under the cover of the party last night. Masquerades meant they could switch clothes easily, and then other Talents watched to see if anyone took an interest, noticing if anyone was noticing. So far, nobody. Maybe Blue observed them. Jay didn’t kid himself that Blue was some passerby; he was powerful, and he’d turned up last night for a reason. Jay didn’t know what, and that concerned him.

  He checked her again before he left the house. He wasn’t afraid of leaving her here; his security was second to none, and he’d held the party in the public part of the house. The links between that and his private quarters were either outside, in which case the cameras, guards, and locks would stop intruders, or inside through one narrow hallway, also guarded. When he didn’t throw his home open, he kept security to a minimum, but with a strange Talent on the loose, he had the place secured.

  He alerted his housekeeper to the fact that he had a personal guest and asked her to take Lucille some food. He didn’t even know if Lucille ate breakfast or what kind, so he played safe and ordered a good selection. Plus ordinary clothing. He doubted she’d considered that.

  Leaving the kitchen, a purloined muffin in hand, he nearly collided with his agent. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Nice.” Pete raised a sandy brow. “I just got back. Nothing to worry about; everything went well. You’ll get a call tomorrow morning. But so far, so good.” He fixed Jay with a more alert stare. “Something different about you today. That woman you scored was worth it?”

  Jay tried to shrug and nod, but Lucille was more than “that woman.” She was one of his kind. She needed his protection. No, fuck it, he wanted more of her. “It didn’t stop me coming to check, did it? How were they?”

  “The family?” Jay liked that Pete didn’t use any names. Better that way. That family had been close to detection by some very nasty people. Today they could have been lying dead. But they weren’t, so he should feel good about that. Shouldn’t he?

  “They’re fine. Scared, worried about what lies ahead, but fine. We’ll extract their finances and make sure they get it all.”

  “Great. Let me know if you need help.” Clearing up the possessions was a snap compared to moving the family. Routine, almost.

  He crossed the lawn at the front of the house, registering the soft springiness of the turf, another expensive luxury in this place. Someone stood waiting by the helipad, so he scanned the stranger’s mind. Just a guest out for a stroll, the normal, chaotic mind of a mortal with no idea of the power he could harness. Mortals were lazy or focused outside themselves,
or they didn’t have time to learn. Except for a few, who’d realized psi powers were available to all, depending on the level of the gift.

  Nah. Jay paused and spread his senses. Sleeping people, some amazingly still playing after the ball he’d set up last night. Nobody he considered a threat.

  Jesus, all his fucking life he’d fought this insidious menace, the prejudice against those of his kind. A few mortals knew about them, and some resented them. People had always been afraid or jealous of others who looked the same as them but weren’t. Sometimes Jay thought it might be easier if Talents just admitted they existed. What could they do?

  An answer came immediately. A lot. Threats easily turned into action, and while vampires were infinitely more powerful than mortals, they had their weaknesses during the daytime, and there weren’t many Talents, when compared to the number of mortals. A vampire at the height of his or her powers faced with a small army didn’t stand to win anything except a swift death.

  Jay carried on walking, trying to detect anything untoward until a disturbance trembled through his shields. Just a twinge. Not something he could place or force, and certainly he couldn’t pinpoint a direction, but distress. From about a mile away.

  A shame that telepathy didn’t have a built-in compass, but he could eliminate a few areas. That left…a fuckload of ground to travel. But he’d do it. Something wasn’t right. He walked farther out, hands loosely by his sides, wishing he’d brought a gun instead of the slim blade he always carried as a matter of course.

  Without warning, a Talent communicated with him. Male, and someone he couldn’t recall contacting him before. A stranger. “There’s a copse of trees. One big maple.” An image flashed into his mind, of a configuration of branches, one twisted.

  “I know it.”

  “Come now.”

  Chapter Five

  The voice abruptly shut off, and try as hard as he could, Jay couldn’t connect with it again. No help for it. He quickened his pace, ran toward the area the unknown voice spoke of.

  Was he running into a trap? Should he call for backup? He shot a message back to his agent. “Here. Now. Run.” This person was another fucking vampire, so as weak as he was during daylight hours, but that was relative. They were also trained fighters.

  Perhaps Pete would bring a weapon. Just to make sure, he corrected himself and received the incredulous, “You’re not armed?” in return.

  Jay concentrated on running.

  He reached the copse, saw a flash of color where there should be none. The blue of faded denim. A white top, maybe a shirt.

  One man slumped on the ground, lying on his back. Blood soaked into the earth. Even in his mortal state, Jay could smell it—a heated, thick aroma permeating the air. Another man leaned over him, got up at Jay’s near noiseless approach, and turned around.

  Blue. Jay recognized the Talent’s imprint now that he was closer, and Blue wasn’t doing anything to hide his presence.

  Jay didn’t stop to think. The man on the ground had called him, but Blue had intercepted the message. This bastard was trouble, and Talent or no, he had to suffer for it.

  Jay sprang, lashing out with one fist as he got within reach, but Blue sidestepped. That was why Jay hadn’t used his feet. He’d have lost his balance. So the Talent knew how to fight. He tried again, landed a punch on the base of Blue’s rib cage.

  With an inhuman roar, Blue surged forward, eyes glowing red, hands out, wicked claws extending them. Oh shit. A shape-shifter didn’t lose his powers during the daytime. Jay was so screwed.

  Not that it would stop him trying. He recalled what he’d told Lucille sometime last night—”Not all Talents are good”—and cursed himself for not taking care of the problem then. “Are you impervious to bullets?”

  “They don’t hurt me when I’m in my other form.” Scales rippled over Blue’s skin but didn’t stay. Blue had just given a demonstration. Dragon.

  “So what does?” Jay went for a kick this time, too fast for Blue to catch and twist.

  Blue raised his brows in an expression of exasperation. He stepped aside and back. “Shit, and I thought all I had to do was show up. Jay, don’t you know me?”

  “Nope.” Maybe he could get Blue to shape-shift, and then he could try for the vulnerable parts, the underbelly and between the claws where the skin was relatively softer.

  “Nathan Beaumont.” Blue watched him warily. “You won’t recognize the first name, but you might remember the second. Sir George Beaumont, terror of all London, at your service.”

  He was speaking English. English English. Blue—Nathan—dropped his mental shields and the fog he’d used to obscure his mind.

  Without the Midwest accent, the mask, and the obfuscation, Jay knew him. His memories spun back, way back to when he was first converted, when he’d torn up London. Boxing the watch, drinking daffy at a gaming hell, testing the whores in Covent Garden, making them perform like ladies—that had been Beaumont’s idea.

  Shock arced through him. He lowered his hands. “Fuck.”

  “Yes, well.” The American accent returned. “I’ve just joined the Thorndykes, but when I saw you, it was like walking into the past. I tried to get you alone, but you took that woman away. I thought you’d come back once you’d fed.”

  Jay gaped. His thoughts whirled, scenes and memories playing in his mind. He’d seen wars since then, attended more wild parties than he could count, traveled the world. This man brought him back to where it all began. “Where have you been?”

  “Here and there. Mostly here.” Blue glanced around. “We’ll do the rest later. I need help. Someone’s hurt this boy bad.”

  Jay forced his considerations into obedience. Nathan was right. Blood pooled beneath the youth who lay on the ground. He was barely breathing. “What happened?” He sensed the Talent inside the unconscious body. Nathan was inside this man’s mind, helping him to survive, moving his chest, willing him to stay alive. Jay withdrew, shuddering. “He’s near death. What happened?”

  “Silver bullet.” Nathan moved to the boy’s other side. The man was tall, early twenties maybe, with a shock of close-cropped red hair. Hair the shade of the long tresses he’d run his fingers through the night before. “You know him? Does he live around here?”

  Realization slammed into him with the force of a rocket. “Oh, fuck. It’s Drew Parker.”

  BREAKFAST WAS A little overproduced. While she’d been disappointed to wake alone, Jay’s cook arrived with an array of dishes, enough to feed all her lunch guests and probably some more. She sent away everything except the coffee and cereal. “His other guests need feeding.”

  “There’s a pile of stuff in the public dining room,” the woman said. She was about forty, hair tied strictly back from her face, a few blonde wisps that had slipped out of the clip framing her cheeks. “You can eat there if you like.”

  She didn’t like. The implied intimacy might be too much for her this morning. She smiled. “I’m Lucille Parker. Are you from around here?”

  “Houston,” the woman said shortly. “I work when Mr. Trevino has one of his parties.” She glanced at the plastic-covered garments she’d just draped over the curve at the end of the bed. “I brought spare clothes. He guessed at your size, but jeans and T-shirt, he said, and they’re not critical. If they don’t fit, pick up the phone, dial nine, and ask for a different size.”

  “Does he do this a lot?” She almost snorted. Of course he did. This routine looked well established.

  The woman shrugged. “Yes. He likes lame ducks, but he prefers his women dressed and off the premises by the time he gets back. I’m surprised there’s only one of you.”

  Pain pierced Lucille’s heart. Naturally he was old and experienced. He’d have had lots of women, and he told her he traveled alone. What else had he said? Oh yes, he was exclusive for as long as it lasted, even if it was just one day.

  Twelve hours, more like.

  Still, she couldn’t forget his prompt action when she’d s
tarted bleeding. She owed him for that.

  A pack of plain white underwear sat accusingly on the vanity where the woman had dumped it. Obviously not the friendly type. The breakfast, at least, was welcome, and she was so fucking eating before she left. “I’ll eat, shower, and get going.”

  “Go to the main hall. There’ll be a driver waiting for you. Don’t take too long. Jay doesn’t want you here when he returns.”

  He’d been so kind, such a great lover, and now this. The brush-off of brush-offs. Lucille wondered if he’d even remember her name soon. After the things he’d said last night—that he wanted to see her again, that he enjoyed her—he must have changed his mind. Wealthy and spoiled, probably jaded from years of doing what he wanted with whomever he wanted.

  Nevertheless he’d done another thing right. He’d helped the unnamed family to safety. Lucille might not know much, but she knew about the Thorndykes, even had the emergency number. She just hadn’t realized there was a station so close. Bastards did good deeds all the time, she reminded herself.

  After swallowing her disappointment along with her cereal, Lucille didn’t linger in the luxury shower or play with the expensive toiletries. She’d lost her enthusiasm for that, and the longer she stayed in this place, the more she felt like a whore. Well, not quite that, but someone who’d been used, for sure.

  She called Missy, but her phone was switched off. Probably still enjoying the hell out of her actor. That was what Lucille should have done. Enjoyed Jay and then left. Not allowed him so close.

  Lucille didn’t want to wear the borrowed clothing, but she had no choice. At least she had clean underwear. She hadn’t been looking forward to donning yesterday’s, even for the short journey home. She’d expected to arrive garbed in her approximation of a Regency lady, the dress tied up or maybe rough stitches just to hold it together. Then all the neighbors would know where she’d been and that she’d stayed out all night. Not a pretty thought.