Stryke (New Vampire Disorder Book 4)

by Marie Johnston

  Zoey moaned and fisted her hands in his hair.

  He ignored the door and prepared to rip her pants open.

  The knocking continued.

  With a frustrated hiss, Zoey broke contact with Stryke. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed, and her chest heaving. She blinked at him a few times, her mouth slowly turning down into a frown.

  She put a hand to her forehead, spun, and lurched her way to the front door.

  Stryke took a step to follow, but glanced down at the tent his cock had formed in his pants. What a sight he’d make. His cheeks were probably red from desire, his eyes crazed, and his horns straightened to pierce the one who dared disturb him.

  Zoey’s face when she’d left… Stunned regret.

  Stryke fisted his hands, yearning to punch a hole in something, but he went to stand by the door and eavesdrop instead.

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m coming!” she shouted at the door. She could’ve been—almost was. Until someone had saved her from her traitorous body. What was it about Stryke that had her abandoning duties left and right? “Just stop the damn knocking.”

  The pounding finally quieted. She sensed Creed on the other side.

  She inhaled and held it for a second to steel herself for a whopper of a lecture. A demon. In her place. Having a damn sleepover.

  She ripped the door open. “Creed.”

  He backed up at the ferocity of her greeting.

  “Just checking in. You haven’t called or reported to Demetrius.”

  Oh shit, she hadn’t.

  Creed narrowed his eyes. This time, she stepped back. Did he suspect she’d just been intimate?

  “Is Stryke in there? With you?”

  “It’s as good a place as any.” What a dumb answer.

  He crossed his arms. She often forgot what an opposing figure he could be when he wanted. He usually avoided drawing attention to himself unless it was for his supposedly lackadaisical persona. But he was still in his black tactical gear, his hair swept off his forehead. A stunning male, just not one she was attracted to.

  “We have a prison.”

  As if she hadn’t thought of that. Thankfully, she had. “One with an electronic lock. And electric lights. He could stroll out anytime he wanted with the touch of a finger.”

  Creed scowled.

  “And there’s nowhere else to stash him without one of us babysitting him.”

  “What about the host’s place you reported to us about?” He shot her a look like he’d busted her flimsy excuse.

  “Hypna knew about it.” She checked over her shoulder. No sign of Stryke, but he was probably listening. It’s what she would do. “The host was killed,” she said quietly.

  He shook his head, his expression flashing anger. “That demon is dangerous. He can’t be allowed to stay here. Not when we’re bringing in Grace’s family…and Melody.”

  Zoey considered Creed. Genuine worry glimmered in his eyes. Creed didn’t want Grace’s family at risk, but he also wasn’t admitting that Melody’s safety was just as important to him.

  Her guilt at stringing him along until she’d broken things off diminished. But she couldn’t rejoice. Melody was human, and while her celebrity crush on Creed was sweet and humorous, there was no chance for a serious romance. Long-term to a human meant a forty-year marriage, not a five-hundred-year mating.

  And Creed was right. If they were bringing people here to protect, having Stryke under the same roof was bad planning.

  “We’ll be gone by nightfall.” Maybe they’d need to get out of Freemont altogether. Where would they go? It had to be away from people Hypna could hurt.

  Creed’s eyes flew wide. “We?”

  “Hypna’s after me as much as she’s after him. We’ll both go together and distract Hypna until you can get Grace’s family and D’s parents to safety.”

  Creed opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Like Zoey, he couldn’t think of a better plan. “Be safe.”

  “Always.”

  She let the door close. When she turned around, Stryke was leaning against her bedroom doorframe, blending into the shadows. His broad shoulders filled her doorway and his head came close to touching the top. Those stupid pants of his were cute as hell on his hard body and her arousal irritated her.

  She steeled herself and walked toward him, only to veer off into her weapons room. She went to take off her tactical belt, but her fingers swiped air. With a burn of humiliation, she recalled Stryke had taken off the equipment during their make-out session.

  Her core ignited with the anticipation the memory brought. She bent down, unhooked the knife holsters on her legs, and flung them aside. Disappointment with herself raged hot, displacing her desire.

  The reasons why she couldn’t get close to Stryke kept piling up. He was an unknown, for one. Could they trust him? He’d tricked her into bonding with him. What if Mitchell had lived? It’s not like she and Mitchell would’ve just invited him into the mating. And so many people were threatened by Hypna’s obsession with the male. Grace’s parents, their two little boys, and Melody. Demetrius’s parents. Ophelia was out there, working undercover. Could Zoey even count her? Hypna and her worker bees would likely go for the easy targets.

  Zoey stared at the grains in the hardwood floor. She should clean up. During her shower, she could figure out where she was going to sleep. Entering her bedroom again was a bad idea. She could wait until he was asleep and get some clean clothes. Maybe he’d lie down and pass out while she was in the bathroom so she didn’t have to put her crusty lake clothes back on.

  She crossed the hall into the bathroom. Stryke had remained in the same spot, not saying a word. She slammed the door and methodically stripped down.

  The room smelled like Stryke. His towel hung on the rack next to the shower. She glowered at it as she took the pins out of her bun.

  The demon in her shower, using her towels, made him seem, made it all seem, so damn normal. The more he was around, the more he ingrained himself into her world and the more natural it felt. The more she wondered how empty her life would be without him.

  No, she wasn’t a lonely, desperate female. She’d never been that girl. She’d grown up chafing in the dresses that were so common for females of her time and station. Even human women at the time had worn trousers, which had made it worse for her kind. She’d fallen in with Demetrius, and the idea of true mates hadn’t been for her, she’d had a job. She’d kept that job even when she’d found her unlikely true mate, and that job had saved her from heart-wrenching insanity when he’d passed.

  Throwing her job away for a male wasn’t in her DNA. Not at all.

  She stepped under the warm spray. The memory of the icy lake water rose, but she quashed it. She wasn’t cold anymore. She was well fueled with Creed’s blood and her electrolyte juice. That was all she needed. The void inside her was something she’d grown used to after her mate had died and she’d get used to it again.

  Suds piled up as she massaged shampoo into her tresses. The weight of her hair was pleasant, a sensation she didn’t often feel since she was always working.

  Rinsing the soap out of her hair, she froze when the door opened with a whoosh of cool air that snaked into the shower.

  The door clicked shut, but she sensed his presence. His hulking form now leaned against the wall outside of the shower.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “No barriers.” He was infuriatingly calm.

  No barriers? Was he fucking naked, too?

  “I want to talk,” he continued. “Just you and me.”

  “We can do that when I’m done with my shower,” she said between clenched teeth. And she had no intention of talking with him, or being in the same room. They’d have to leave together, but she’d be occupied with evasive tactics.

  “After you’d finished in there, you would’ve gotten out, dried off, twisted that glorious hair of yours into another bun, and walked out with your armor in place. Your weapons mig
ht be stored away, but I know where your real strength is.”

  She quit hiding behind the curtain and whipped it open, an angry retort on the tip of her tongue. His hungry gaze licked a path down her body and leisurely made its way back up. He still wore those ridiculous pants.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  The sincerity in those two words robbed her of breath. Most vampires didn’t draw the short straw in the looks department, but she wasn’t as voluptuous or as ethereal as many other females, especially prime females, who were supposedly raised with the best of the best. Many considered Zoey plain by vampire standards. Zoey had always considered herself adequate and above the notions of superficial creatures.

  Until Stryke told her she was beautiful with both words and hungry looks.

  Facing him without clothing was a bad idea. “Get out.”

  He shrugged. “I’m here. Might as well chat.”

  She shut the water off and reached for a towel, dismayed to find that she’d forgotten to grab a fresh one and the one he’d used was the only one available. Better than nothing. She wrapped it around herself and stepped out. His smoky scent lingered on the fabric and teased her. She stayed on the opposite side of her small bathroom, but he was blocking the exit.

  “Just what do you want to chat about?”

  “Why you’re stopping yourself from enjoying how good it can be between us.”

  What had she expected—that he’d wanted to discuss the weather? Their plan to stop Hypna from targeting her friends’ families?

  She squared her shoulders and met his violet gaze. “I’ve already done the mutually pleasurable thing and it didn’t work out. And I’m not jumping into bed with you because of the bond.”

  His gaze turned smug. “You and I would be more than ‘mutually pleasurable,’ and the bond isn’t why you want me.”

  She crossed her arms. “Why do I want you then?”

  He crowded her. Out of self-preservation she backed up, but her butt hit the sink counter. “Because you’re starting to feel like you can be yourself around me.” His hot finger tapped her chest over her heart, making her body tingle. “Because deep down, you know I know you and you’ve seen how badly I want you and you like it.”

  Indignation bubbled but faded as his heat seeped into her. “You don’t know anything.”

  A sad smile touched his lips and kept her gaze riveted on his full mouth. “I know you.”

  He wedged himself between her legs and she didn’t resist. The flannel was soft against her thighs and she craved the touch of his skin. He feathered his hand over her wet hair. “I can’t wait until this dries. Your hair has given me many long, painfully hard nights.”

  Her legs spread wider. If he kept spilling sweet nothings, he wouldn’t have to move. She’d do all the work.

  He leaned his head down closer. “I want to kiss you again, but I need to taste the rest of you.”

  Her already loose towel fell away with little effort on his part. He closed a large hand around a breast and she arched into him. Addictive. All of him. His deep voice murmuring all the things he desired about her. His hot skin stroking hers. His hard erection pressing into her.

  His other hand skimmed down her belly to her center. Damn her legs, they had a mind of their own. Her reasonable brain had shut off and she was nothing but a pleasure center waiting for ultimate satisfaction.

  A calloused finger parted her folds and she released a needy moan and rocked into his hand.

  He wore a cocky grin as he descended on the other breast. When he closed his lips around her nipple, she cried out. He lapped her with his tongue as his finger found her clit and began circling. She gripped the sides of the vanity for stability, her knuckles white. Part of her wanted to close her eyes and drown in the ecstasy, but his hard head with the tips of his horns peeking out was erotic as fuck. His hand disappeared between their bodies and stroked her to a fast release.

  She matched him, rolling her hips almost frantically, her orgasm rising rapidly.

  She never came this fast and he was barely trying. Humiliation took a backseat to the impending climax. There’d be time enough to berate herself for her reaction afterward, but she wanted this. She wanted something for herself.

  He shoved his pants down and his cock bobbed against her leg. He removed his hand and placed himself at her entrance but didn’t press in. Releasing her nipple with a smack of his lips, he rose and met her gaze. The smoldering intensity only stoked her climax.

  “I want to watch you when you come.” He shoved in halfway. She sucked in a breath at how the fullness felt so right. He backed out and she rocked into him as he surged forward.

  Once he was fully seated and coated in her juices, they paused. She didn’t see a demon in front of her, but a very aroused male that enjoyed pleasuring his female. His female.

  She almost embraced him but kept her hands planted, as if keeping part of herself away from him. He couldn’t have all of her. This was just an orgasm.

  He began thrusting, fast and hard.

  Not just any orgasm. It coiled inside her, tighter than other previous experiences. She hitched her legs up and he lifted them over his shoulders. Her breathing came in pants and the vanity shook with the force of their coupling.

  “I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

  She tightened her grip. The orgasm just grew, promising to demolish her when it hit. It didn’t help that his voice reverberated through his cock until she dissolved completely. She was putty, his for the taking, and he took her. Hard.

  “Stryke!” Who was that needy female calling his name?

  She bowed, needing to find her release. Her peak slammed into her and she tensed briefly before she shook in her climax.

  He growled and went rigid as his pumps shortened and he spilled his release inside of her.

  She cried out as wave after wave crashed into her and she clenched her inner muscles to milk every second of it. She jerked with the force and nailed her head on the mirror over the sink. The sounds of breaking glass filled the bathroom, but she didn’t care. She needed to finish her orgasm, needed to feel him as long as possible, more than she needed her next breath.

  “Oh shit, Zoey.” His words came in breathless huffs as his climax waned. “Are you okay?”

  Okay? She went limp. Only the shattered glass behind her and her legs on his shoulders kept her from rolling off the vanity.

  Finger by finger, she released her grip on the counter. Dazed, she looked down to see it had fractured under the force.

  Stryke gently lowered her legs and eased himself out of her. Instantly, she mourned the loss of him inside of her. Could they do this again? Those types of orgasms had to be once in a lifetime.

  He gathered the towel from behind her as he drew her toward him. “You’re bleeding. Shit, are you hurt?”

  She cautiously touched the back of her head. Warm, sticky blood covered her hand. She twisted around, still in his arms. The glass was more than spider-webbed. Shards had loosened where her head had ground into it.

  Damn it, she’d probably given herself a ton of lacerations.

  Stryke bunched the towel to the back of her head. “You’re really bleeding.”

  Scalp wounds did that. She batted his hand away and put pressure on the towel.

  Time for that berating.

  She’d just started to ask herself what she’d been thinking when Stryke lifted her down and shuttled her toward the shower. He had a fresh towel in his hand.

  “What are you—” Her question drifted off as he shucked his pants.

  He wasn’t flaccid. He could take her again, and she’d let him. But instead, he helped her into the shower and rinsed the blood off them both.

  Vulnerability wasn’t an emotion she felt in front of many people, but it was raging now. Only she also felt safe. She felt taken care of.

  Why did she want to run?

  ***

  Stryke rinsed them off and wrapped the towel around her. Her movement
s were hesitant as she exited the shower. The minor wounds in her head had already mended shut. Stryke expected her to bolt and shut herself in her bedroom. Her stubborn streak was probably to thank for that—she had to see where he was going with his actions.

  But his only plans were to keep her in his arms all day.

  He snagged his sweats off the floor and ushered her toward the door. He didn’t steer her toward her bedroom when they left the bathroom, but to the main area where he’d left his bags.

  She waited with her eyes narrowed on him as he retrieved a bag and dug through it. He handed her a couple of garments to sleep in.

  “What the hell are these?”

  He bristled at her harsh tone, but it wasn’t unexpected. He stepped into his pants and jutted his chin toward the pile in her arms. “Matching pajamas.”

  Her expression said You’ve got to be kidding me when she looked over the boy shorts with lip prints all over them. He’d chosen them because they came with a white tank that would outline Zoey’s breasts beautifully. And because the red lip smacks all over the short shorts matched his pants.

  “If you like them so much, then why don’t we trade?” A touch of honey dripped from her words and he smiled.

  “I’m all right if you just wear my bottoms and no top.”

  She glowered at him before she turned and shimmied into the clothes. Adjusting her towel as she dressed, she managed to remain covered. As if he hadn’t seen every glorious inch as she was coming and screaming his name. His name.

  She tossed the towel over the back of a chair and started for the kitchen. He beat her there and stood in front of the fridge.

  “Hungry?” she snapped.

  Propping one arm on the fridge and the other on his hip, he smirked. She was trying to distract him—she was after her juice. She’d fed from— He couldn’t go there or he’d take her again on a different countertop. She’d eaten while he cleaned up, but a bloody spell had happened and now she was after her drink.

  “Thirsty?”

  “I’m not going to apologize for what I drink.” She shoved him, her hands digging into his bare chest.

  He didn’t move but admired her effort. “Good try.”