by Tamara Hogan
His hips jerked beneath her. “You want me to drink from you.”
“Yes.”
“Here, in the back seat of a limo.”
“Yes.”
“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered.
“Always.” She couldn’t imagine a time when it wouldn’t be true.
Suddenly his fingers were gone. She lost her grip on his penis as he lifted her, slid off the seat to kneel on the thickly carpeted floor, and then set her back down. Pressing gently against her shoulders, he urged her to stretch out, to lie back.
Cool leather kissed her hot, hot skin. Excitement lashed like a whip.
“When I imagined drinking from you for the first time, I pictured doing so slowly, and romantically, in a big, soft bed.”
She almost melted into a puddle, right there on the seat. “Am I ruining your plans?”
His fangs flashed in a wolfish grin. “Plans can be changed, especially when I can fulfill a fantasy.” Leaning over, he captured her lips in a fiery, succulent kiss, opening his mental floodgates: He wanted her. Needed her. Desired her, and wanted to please her.
Repeatedly. Endlessly.
Irrevocably.
When her breath caught, he pulled back slightly. “Are you okay?”
His hair was awry, his fangs were elongated, and his eyes gleamed in the rosy light. His jacket was gone, his shirt half stripped off, and his cock jutted from his open fly. He was looking at her like a starving man bellying up to an all-you-can-eat buffet, his everyday sophistication gone, ripped away.
That she could tear away his outer layers, expose his essence like this…that they could do this to each other… She reached for his hand, lifting it to her mouth. “Drink from me,” she whispered against the veins throbbing in his wrist.
He dragged their joined hands on a tour down her body—cheek to throat, throat to breasts, breasts to abdomen, abdomen to hip. “Where shall I bite?”
A smile threatened. Even with his penis bobbing in the breeze, trust Wyland to ask such a heated question using utterly proper grammar. “Do you have a preference?” As a doctor, he’d know the location of every vein and artery, every obscure location from which pleasure could be wrung. Her blood sizzled just thinking about it.
“Your neck? Your breasts? Hips?” His fingertips tickled her mons through the fabric of her skirt. “Here?”
Her hips lurched against his hand.
“You like that idea.” His voice stroked like dark velvet.
She liked the idea a lot, but Wyland would be mortified if Nick suddenly opened the window and found his head under her skirts. She’d save that particular pleasure for their big, soft bed, where they’d have privacy and all the time in the world. Right now, she wanted him to mark her, to possess her, in the most primal way a vampire could. “Neck, please,” she replied. “But keep your hand right where it is.”
A carnal smile flashed. “As you wish.”
He leaned over, his hot breath puffing against her neck, then…the touch of his lips. His tongue swirled, softening the skin over the vein he’d chosen—her left carotid. The scratch of his fang was a dark, erotic sting, one that made her gasp in silent pleasure. She tipped her head to the side, giving him room. Waited, tense and poised.
Waited.
“Tia.”
She almost punched him. “What?”
“This will change things between us.”
By inviting him to drink, she was giving him the most intimate possible access to her thoughts. How like him to ensure she understood the ramifications of what they were about to do.
“You will be mine.”
The blatant possessiveness rocked her to her core. She stroked his cheek, then tucked his disheveled hair behind his ear. “You silly man,” she whispered. “I already am.”
He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Hang on,” he murmured, adjusting his hold.
“Always.”
When his strong fangs pierced her, she hissed with pain-laced ecstasy. Clutching at his head, she sagged back against the leather seat, eyes rolling back as she gave herself over to the hot suction of his mouth. To her lifeblood, mingling with his.
Surely. Sweetly. Irrevocably.
Her blood was a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart—immediately addictive, a taste he’d forever crave. Hot, piquant, coppery…absolute bloody bliss. Her pulse fluttered like hummingbird wings against his tongue. Her head was tipped back, her neck exposed, but she was in no way submissive. She held his head in place, demanding he press closer, suck harder. When he slipped his hand under her skirt, slipped his fingers inside her, she cried out in ecstasy, nearly levitating from the seat.
Faster…oh my god, faster…
During the time they’d been lovers, he’d learned how to read her body language, but having intimate access to her thoughts while he touched her was…indescribable. She couldn’t hide what she wanted, or how much pleasure she felt. How much pleasure he brought her.
She didn’t even try.
Her hips jerked. “Wyland…” And then she was coming, breaking apart in his arms, her hot, tight channel spasming against his fingers. Her thoughts dissolved, forming a speedball of pure heat, pure feeling. Pure pleasure that he gladly took broadside.
“Wyland.” She grabbed his free hand. Yanking his wrist to her mouth, she bit. And then she was drinking from him, a drugging suckle he felt to his very last corpuscle.
Oh, sweet universe…
She loved him, and she wanted him to know it. Feel it.
I love you…
Was it his thought, or hers? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He sank his fangs into her neck ever more deeply, submerging, suckling for all he was worth.
He took instinctive gulps, knowing he’d retrieve liquid, not air.
Drowning, in her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two days later, Wyland used the Underworld Council meeting’s last scheduled break to return some phone calls. He’d just left his last message when Bailey gestured to him from the conference room adjacent to Elliott’s office, where she sat with Jack. He glanced across the lobby to Sebastiani Labs’ open boardroom doors. The catering staff was still refreshing the beverages, and Elliott’s executive assistant, Willem Lund, was nowhere in sight.
They had time.
When he entered the room, Bailey, looking simultaneously annoyed, resigned, and excited, handed him an evidence bag. “Look what I received at work today.”
Mental alarm bells clanged. Peering through the clear plastic, he studied the familiar-looking business envelope, with its generic Times New Roman font, lack of return address, and downtown Minneapolis postmark. “Where’s the stamp?” he asked Jack.
“We’re testing it for trace.”
Flipping the packet over, he read the letter from beginning to end. His eyes narrowed. “The fact that you have succubus blood is closely-guarded information.”
“Very closely guarded,” she agreed.
A puzzle piece clicked into place. “You suspect a confidentiality breach at the hospital.”
Bailey nodded curtly. “And if I’m right, we just caught a huge break.”
Pissed off that her private data had been compromised, she was a sniper on the hunt. “Who else knows about your test results in the…” What was that disgusting phrase he’d heard her use? “In the meat world?”
“Rafe, of course. You and Jack.” She ticked names off on her fingers. “Lukas, Scarlett, Elliott, Claudette. Dr. Melvin and Dr. Penn.”
Too many people, but every person except Rafe was either a Council member or a doctor, and well-versed in confidentiality. “How about Sasha or Antonia?”
“No.” Bailey tapped her index finger against her lip. “No, we need to look at the hospital. Every person who treated me had access to my records.”
“With a valid reason, and within specific parameters,” he said. “I have to log on and log off every time I examine a patient. I have to log off if I leave a patient alo
ne in an exam room for any reason. There are access limitations, and policies and procedures, governing who can access which data, when, why, and how.”
The cynical look she shot him called him naïve. “And who slaps your hand when you forget to log off? Who even realizes it happens?” she asked. “Policies and procedures are only as good as the programming and oversight which enforces them. All programs have bugs. All processes have loopholes. People are the weakest link.”
Jack pulled a notebook from his briefcase. “We need a list of everyone who treated you, everyone who accessed your records, when you were in the hospital.”
“And since,” Bailey muttered. “We need help from the technology staff. We need to suspect the technology staff. And depending on the security architecture…” Bailey rattled off a series of technical questions. Jack, scribbling in his notebook, tried to keep pace.
“I’ll get you the names of people who can answer your questions,” Wyland reassured her. The hospital’s CTO would answer to him, tonight. It was bad enough that Bailey had received a threatening letter from an unhinged species purist, but if that unhinged purist exposed her private medical data to humanity, they’d have a much bigger problem on their hands. He turned toward the door. “I’ll roust the CTO out of bed as soon as the Council meeting is over—”
“Hold on.” Jack reached into his briefcase again. “A couple more things before you leave. First, I have some information about the man who assaulted Tia in SebSec’s parking lot—not a lot of information, but some.”
His hands formed fists.
“We finished analyzing the security tapes,” Jack continued. “The assailant is male, about 5’10”,wearing a long-sleeved black shirt and jeans. Black knit hat covering his hair, a dark bandanna tied around his face. No hair color, no eye color. There was a crowbar left at the scene, but there were no prints.” Frustrated, he tossed the file folder onto the table. “Someone’s been watching CSI.”
“Approximate age?”
Jack shook his head. “Adult male muscle mass, and he moved smoothly, with purpose.”
“Until Tia showed up,” Bailey broke in. “Her arrival threw him.”
“Given where she parked, and the angle of the security cameras, we can’t see what happened in the front seat of the car,” Jack said. “He was already inside when Tia opened the driver’s door. There’s a struggle; Tia said he was trying to steal her camera. She falls backward, hits her head on the edge of the driver’s door, then falls, unconscious, to the pavement. He runs westbound from the parking lot.”
Leaving Tia for the sun.
“We’re canvassing the neighborhood, pulling security tapes from other businesses. It’s taking some time.” Jack’s lips tightened. “We also discovered why she lay undiscovered in the parking lot for so long. The person monitoring the cameras here at SebSec stepped away for a glass of champagne when news of Coco’s birth made it down to the first floor. That person is no longer employed by Sebastiani Security.”
Wyland nodded, satisfied. The worker’s lapse had almost cost Tia her life. “And the other thing?”
Jack pulled another evidence bag from his briefcase.
“Another letter? Whose is it?”
Jack looked at him oddly. “Tia’s, of course.”
His heart skipped a beat. “What?”
Jack and Bailey exchanged a glance, then Jack handed him the bag. “Tia gave it to me at Stanton and Lyudmila’s party.”
Fear was cold, like a polar vortex. “When did she receive this?” And why hadn’t she told him about it?
“She said she found it in her mail the day of the party,” Jack answered. “Honestly, she didn’t seem very worried about it. When she handed it to me, she rolled her eyes and said it was probably her turn.”
But why hadn’t she told him about the letter? She’d had plenty of opportunity: When he’d gone to the guest room. When he’d carried her to his bedroom. After they’d made love, while they’d showered together. They’d had nothing but time during the long ride to the party, or on the way back, when they’d finally joined in the most elemental way two vampires could.
Several days had passed. He’d sensed nothing amiss.
The emotional sting, for that’s what it was, receded slightly. Jack was right. He hadn’t sensed even the slightest throb of concern from Tia because she hadn’t been worried about it. “She should be. Worried, that is.”
“Damn right she should.” Jack’s expression was grim. “Look at the mailing address on the envelope.”
Marine on St. Croix, not Stillwater. His address, not hers. Damn it. “He knows where she is.” And he hadn’t heard from her today. He made a clumsy grab for his phone. The evidence bag fell, unheeded, to the floor.
Jack was suddenly at his side, holding onto his arm. “Wyland, she’s okay. She’s okay. Nick’s with her. He dropped her off at the Archives not fifteen minutes ago.”
“He dropped her off?”
Jack’s grip tightened. “A figure of speech. He pulled the SUV into the garage, closed the door behind them, then escorted her downstairs. He made sure the security doors were engaged on every level before he went back to Vamp Central. She promised Nick she’d call him when she was ready to leave.”
The ventilation system seemed unnaturally loud…or maybe that was him, struggling to draw a single, stingy breath. Okay. Okay. She’d promised to call Nick. She’d promised. “Sorry.” When he cleared his throat, he tasted bile. “You can let me go now.” Because Jack still held him by one arm, and Bailey by the other. Supporting him. “Thank you.”
After an embarrassingly long hesitation, they backed away. Jack had just picked up the fallen evidence bag when Willem appeared at the door. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re ready to resume.”
Time to get back to business.
They followed Willem back to the boardroom, where the Underworld Council’s representatives, two for each species, gathered around the long, glossy table. Except for Lukas and Scarlett, they had a full house today, with Val attending the beginning of the meeting via holo but then departing. He and Bailey were next on the agenda, with an update on their archiving project, followed by Jack, who’d provide a Security and Technology update. In one more hour, two at the most, he’d be able to go home. Once there, he’d chew Tia out personally, then tie her to the bed for a whole goddamn day.
While Bailey connected her laptop to the display device, he made a detour to the beverage station. While he prepared his drink, Willem took a quick walk around the boardroom, ensuring the windows’ security filters were still activated before closing the big double doors and taking his seat at Elliott’s right. “Are we ready to resume?”
At his nod, Willem resumed the meeting recording. Picking up the ceramic coffee mug, Wyland sipped, then nearly stumbled. Instead of warm coffee, chilly carbonated bubbles danced on his tongue.
He’d made himself a blood-spiked Mountain Dew.
“Wyland?” Bailey’s voice dragged his attention to the oversized flat screen monitor mounted on the far wall. Their presentation was displayed, ready to go, and around the table, a dozen colleagues looked at him expectantly.
Waiting.
He drained the mug as fast as the carbonation allowed. The blood zinged into his system, giving him the boost he needed, and as Bailey advanced the slides, he quickly and succinctly provided their update, focusing on document preservation and digitization work. Unfortunately, Tia’s priceless contributions—her interviews with Valerian—were condensed to a single anonymous bullet point. “We’re embedding audio and video materials as time and resources allow,” he concluded. It was better all the way around if Krispin Woolf assumed Bailey was doing the work. “Are there any questions?”
As Krispin opened his mouth, the air around Lukas’s empty chair flickered. When he shimmered into the seat, he wasn’t alone. Scarlett sat at his side, cradling Coco. With the holograph optimized for one large person, not two people sitting hip to hip, their slightly translucent b
odies exceeded the width of Lukas’s boardroom chair. They looked tired but ecstatic.
Elliott’s grin nearly split his face in two. “There’s my little Coco Bean—”
“Shhh!” Scarlett whispered, frantically waving her hand. “She’s finally asleep.”
“We just wanted to say hello,” Lukas said quietly, “and to thank everyone for their gifts and good wishes.”
Though the holo wasn’t the best diagnostic tool, Scarlett seemed to be moving well, and her cheeks were washed with healthy color. Lukas clearly hadn’t touched a razor in days, but the stress lines around his eyes had smoothed out.
His patients were on the mend.
After a couple of minutes that found half of the Underworld Council lapsing into baby talk—an audio file Tia would probably kill to get her hands on—Lukas and Scarlett dropped off the conference call.
“Well.” Elliott leaned back in his chair, every inch the proud grandpa. “Where were we?”
Willem consulted the record. “Wyland had just opened up the floor for questions about the archiving project.”
“I have a question for Wyland,” Krispin said. “More of a comment, actually.”
Danger suddenly stained the air, and his fangs dropped to meet it. Jack and Lorin glanced at each other and straightened in their chairs.
“Congratulations.” Despite his jocular voice, Woolf eyed him like prey. Their gazes clashed across the table, both of them wielding silence like swords. Finally, Krispin spoke again. “I understand you have a new lover. A very…young lover.”
“Wyland’s private life is not a subject for discussion,” Elliott snapped.
“Maybe it should be.”
The other man’s words twisted like a dirty knife, but he’d be damned if he let Woolf know he’d hit his target. His blood was boiling, his vision bleeding red at the edges, but this was the Underworld Council boardroom, a neutral space. Violence was verboten.
A vein throbbed at his temple. Bloodlust pounded a savage beat.
He wanted to tear Woolf’s throat out.
“Wyland, I know it’s been a long time since you dipped your wick,” Woolf said, “but…fucking an investigative journalist?”