She turned to trot upstairs to her quarters. He stayed on her heels and she jabbered the whole way.
“I just have to throw a few things in. I mean, I’m done, but if I can have another minute, I can throw more stuff in.” When they reached the top of the stairs, she spun and walked backward while talking, her hands flying with each word. “I don’t need help, but I really appreciate it. I bet a guy like you has better things to do than carry luggage.”
Creed grunted his reply. She darted into her room, but he waited outside. Curiosity propelled him toward the opening.
And she was still jabbering about what she’d bring, what she’d decided to leave behind, and what’d she fucking packed for the children.
Creed didn’t bother smiling and nodding. He caught every word and couldn’t help but think her name fit her. Her voice wasn’t shrill or annoying, but a pleasing sound that he only minded listening to because she had a major thing for him.
He examined her room. He had expected bubble-gum pink and frills, and it was…if he counted her pink-camo bedspread.
He cut into her next sentence about choosing which toys to bring for the boys. “Is that antler rack real?”
Without missing a beat, she explained, “It was my dad’s. He was an avid hunter and that was the biggest buck he’d ever tagged. In storage, I have all of the wild game he hunted and preserved before I was born.” She fell quiet, her expression introspective. Creed hadn’t known she had a serious side. “I’ve been thinking about finding a museum to donate them all to. I know what some people think about hunting and hunters, but he really loved and respected nature. Do you need a bearskin rug?”
Creed’s gaze had wandered to the mounted fish hanging above her bed, but it ricocheted back to her. “What?”
“That’s a nice trout, am I right?” She grinned, her baby-blue eyes twinkling. “I caught that one and I love a good fish fillet, especially the way my dad fried it, but I was only, like, eight and it was so pretty that I started crying when my dad went to fillet it. He had it mounted and gave it to me one Christmas. The bearskin is really nice. My dad was so proud of it. It was the biggest game he’d hunted.” She giggled, a sound like musical bells. “The tale of his bear hunt was always part of my bedtime stories. No princesses for me, no sir.”
“Ah… I must decline. My thanks for the offer.”
She slanted him a humorous look with her mouth quirked. “You become very formal at times.”
“Is your bag ready?” Creed didn’t mean to sound short, but being busted acting like the prime male he’d been born as by the little pixie chatterbox caught him off guard.
Her eyes were as round as saucers. “Yes, sorry.” She zipped the suitcase and dragged it off the bed. “So sorry. I really…that was out of line. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
While her attention was on struggling with the heavy luggage, Creed rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He stepped in her path and secured the suitcase, easily hefting it. He marched out and down the stairs as she gushed her thanks behind him.
Creed went straight for the garage to load her bag, and to his relief, she veered off to help the Blanchettes gather the boys.
Rourke was in the garage, arranging items in the trunk of a teal sedan. “I’ll drive Grace’s parents and the boys. You flash back with Melody and get her settled.”
“You can’t be serious.” Creed shoved the suitcase on top of the rest and frowned. Melody had actually packed less for herself than the others.
Rourke paused in his task. “Why not?”
“She’s human. She won’t take the flash well.” Creed had flashed with her once before and she’d passed out. He’d caught her and added another level to the pedestal she’d put him on.
“She’ll recover; she always does. You’ll cover her and if we run into any problems, we can flash quickly with the kids without worrying about Melody’s safety.” Creed’s expression must’ve reflected the dismay he was feeling because irritation flared in Rourke’s dark eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with the plan?”
“The plan has me in charge of Melody. You know how she is about me. I don’t need to encourage her—we all know nothing can happen between us.” He tapped a hard rhythm on the side of the vehicle. “She’s got this hero worship or something and it’s ridiculous. I’m a vampire from a wealthy family and she’s a fucking human we’ll forget not long after her short life ends.”
A soft gasp echoed in the silence after Creed’s tirade. Rushed footsteps faded into the house.
He closed his eyes. That did not just happen. “Fuck. That was her.”
“Yes,” Rourke said quietly. “She’s gotten good at sneaking up on the boys. I didn’t hear her until you were finishing your prime-vampire rhetoric.”
Creed opened his eyes to glare at his friend. “Fuck off, Rourke. You know I’m not like that.”
Rourke arched a brow.
Of course his friend was a commoner, so what Creed had said sounded as bad to Rourke as it had to Melody.
“Fuck!” Creed spun and stomped after Melody.
He found her waiting by the front door, her back to him, her shoulders hunched.
A hundred things ran through his mind to say. All sounded inane compared to saying she was nothing compared to him. He settled on, “I’m sorry.”
She straightened with a sniffle. “Apology accepted.”
Her words were lifeless and Creed felt like a heaping pile of old manure. She refused to meet his gaze and he missed the life in her eyes, missed it directed at him.
He opened the door and stepped out. She did the same, and when he held out his hand, she accepted, her face set, staring straight ahead.
“Ready?” he asked. The flash would give her a raging case of vertigo.
She nodded without looking at him, her touch cold, light.
He flashed them outside of the compound. Melody surged into him with the landing and he went to wrap his arms around her to steady her. She shoved herself away, swaying and weaving toward the door, one hand on her stomach.
Her humanity had always been a detriment to him, but now that she’d shut herself down in front of him, he found he missed it.
Chapter Eleven
Zoey checked her messages while Stryke dug through the records Lee’s parents kept in the house. The office was as out of date as the rest of the house, with cornflower-blue-plaid curtains and faded, threadbare carpet. The smell of death didn’t cling to this room as much as the rest of the house. She’d worried Stryke would lose it again coming back here, but he maintained the calm focus that seemed to be his default. It’d been his idea to come here in the first place. Since Lee’s family had seemed to avoid him, it made sense that they had a lake cabin or property close by.
Darkness knows, they hadn’t spent their money on their son.
Zoey had found Lee’s phone, but there were no missed calls. She checked the call history. “Mom and Dad” only showed up once in the last two months and it was all of a thirty-second call.
Before Zoey had totally demolished her family ties, she’d kept in touch regularly. When Zoey ran across her mother in her work, they were civil to each other. Zoey suspected that she’d been granted some leeway after losing Mitchell. Not in her right mind and all that.
What would they think now—but Zoey didn’t care what they thought, and hadn’t since they’d presented her with her first starched dress.
She raised her eyes to where Stryke tapped at an old desktop computer, looking like an extremely attractive thug businessman. He wore a black, long-sleeved turtleneck and black cargo pants, his wavy brown hair slicked off his face and hiding those horns. Her belly rippled. It’s not that the horns turned her on. They reminded her that Stryke wasn’t an ordinary male, and that turned her on.
Was he what it took to get her out of her funk from the loss of her mate? Her walk on the wild and irresponsible side? She couldn’t deny that his single-minded attraction to her was an aphrodisiac. She hadn’t experienced that in
a long time.
Or ever, if she were to be honest. Mitchell had loved her, cared deeply for her well-being. He’d just been more “them” minded.
If Zoey announced she wanted to feast on a Chicago-style pizza and dance all night long, she suspected Stryke would drop whatever he was doing and use his energy transit system, or whatever it was called, to haul her ass to Chicago and steal the closest radio.
Turning away to rummage through the file cabinet, she hid her self-disgust from both him and herself. She’d prided herself on her independence since she was birthed. No good came from that level of devotion from a male.
“Here’s something.”
Her insides warmed at his voice, desire flooding her sex. The previous day should’ve worn her out, chafed her nethers, but leave it to Stryke to take care of that, too, always ensuring she was wet and ready. They’d fucked in so many positions, the variety kept her body on a fine edge of readiness for him.
She sifted through the papers in the cabinet, afraid that if she turned around, she’d walk right into his lap and ride him fully clothed. “Oh yeah? You found something?”
“Yep. A lake cabin, north of town.” He whistled. “Look at the specs on this thing.”
If it impressed Stryke, she had to see. Her traitorous body planted itself next to him within seconds.
“A six-thousand-square-foot cabin. I think eight of my caverns could fit into that thing.”
Her gaze cut to him. His ease in the human world made her forget that he had been raised in the underworld and his home was a cave. Bishop had been in the underworld and he’d described it as dark, dismal, dank, and disgusting—and Bishop wasn’t a high-maintenance guy. But that was Stryke’s home. The cell he’d been imprisoned in was probably worse.
Stryke could be lying to gain her sympathies, but she didn’t think so. She sensed no lie or deceit.
She checked her messages. Nothing from Creed or Demetrius that they’d secured their loved ones. “Can you get us there or will we have to drive?”
“I could maybe find it, but you still couldn’t flash there and I can’t transport you.”
“Do you basically flash?”
He nodded. “It’s similar and both are likely based on energy. Probably something that stayed from my ancestors.” Pushing back from the desk, he stood and she despised herself for how excitement coursed through her when those broad shoulders hovered close. “Lee has a truck we can use. It looks like the cabin is just a couple hours away.”
“I…” She frowned. For once in her life, she didn’t have the drive to ingest salt. At one point during the day, he’d cradled her head to his neck and she’d drunk her fill. So rich, so salty, so full of the energy her body craved.
She glanced up at Stryke. His violet eyes shone with interest and the constant simmer of sexual heat.
“I need to stock up on juice.” Heat flooded her cheeks. “I should have it in case I can’t drink from you.”
Desire flared. His gaze swept over her until she felt as naked as when she’d woke snuggled into his body. He inclined his head. “Better safe than sorry.”
There it was again, his concern for her overriding his male ego. Her disorder craved him and him only, but her safety was his priority. If they were separated, he wanted her prepared.
They were alike, only her dedication was to her work. She hadn’t faulted Mitchell for thinking about himself, or them, instead of her solely. Because her work comprised 100 percent of her concern. And Mitchell had understood. She considered Stryke. Did he understand? Could he accept it?
What was she thinking? There was no her and Stryke. The bond between them flowed one way, but she needed him to annihilate Hypna. With the demoness after her, Zoey couldn’t do her job. Her job was protecting the species in this realm, and sometimes the underworld interfered with that.
So did her disorder, and that was another place Stryke came in handy. If she didn’t have to rely on food and drink to replenish her electrolytes, she could fight more ruthlessly. The next time Hypna came for them, Zoey would be stronger from Stryke’s blood.
Once Hypna was dealt with then, well, Zoey would have to deal with Stryke. When it came down to it, she wasn’t losing her job over a male.
Zoey peered around. Stars littered the sky, millions more than she could see in the city. Nothing but trees, water, and a few roads this far out from town.
This area was the human equivalent of a prime neighborhood. Sprawling mansions disguised as cabins dotted the lakeside. The lake, Canary Waters, wasn’t cheap to build on. Canaryville was the only city nearby, and when they’d stopped there for a few more supplies before hunkering down at the cabin, Zoey had learned they offered high-end grocery and catering services. The rich people that “camped” out here spent enough money to justify the services. Zoey had choked when she’d bought her juice and some snacks. Never had she had to spend three digits to buy junk food.
The cabin came into view, a real-life version of the blueprints they’d seen. Two stories high, it had an alpine roof with floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the water, an attached garage—because that’s roughing it—and a deck that spanned its width.
“I wonder if Lee ever came here.” Anger infused his words as Stryke glared at the structure.
His attachment to Lee made sense after hearing the story about his brother. Purebred demons were cunning, cruel monsters that cared only about themselves. But as they’d procreated with “lesser” species like humans and vampires, they hadn’t been able to breed out emotions. Stryke had cared that his parents were hateful creatures and he’d cared that he’d been too late to save a brother. Lee had been the human version of his brother, a boy forgotten and destroyed by his parents.
Zoey pursed her lips. She didn’t need to empathize with Stryke. It was hard enough to keep her distance physically. She couldn’t fall for his caring nature.
He jumped out and punched in the garage door code that had been attached to the cabin’s records. Pulling inside, Zoey gathered their things and got out.
The same code let them into the house.
Eyes wide, she studied her surroundings. The deeper they went into the place, the more opulent it was. Quality logs comprised the walls, and the peaked ceilings were lined with beams. The glass shimmered with moonlight and this high up on shore, the expanse of midnight-blue water created an image more beautiful than any artwork.
Plush furniture lined each room and Zoey noted marble countertops, ceramic flooring, and wall art, all in warm colors and comforting hues. This house was the stark opposite of Lee’s place. Zoey hadn’t met his parents, but she knew they’d put more effort into designing this house than they had raising him.
For the first time ever, she wished to kill humans she’d never met.
“I hope Hypna finds us here,” Stryke said with the same uneasy expression Zoey must have. “I’ll gladly trash this place, turn it all to unusable ash.”
“I say we do it anyway.”
He flashed her a smile with a hint of fang and her insides went liquid.
She found the kitchen. The power wasn’t on and the fridge was warm, so she spread their groceries on the counter. Her skin tingled as Stryke came up behind her.
“Whatever should we do while waiting for some demons?”
Keeping her back to him, she continued organizing her chips and pretzels and juice bottles. Strength coursed through her veins, no sense of encroaching fatigue. She hadn’t felt this whole since her time with Mitchell. Which made sense; she’d never told him about her condition, and he’d drunk his fill from her. She’d peppered him with salty food and gotten him to drink Gatorade to mask the lingering effects her blood had on him.
But Stryke had only sipped enough to create a maximally erotic experience. Since she hadn’t had to worry about making up for her electrolyte-deficient blood, she’d been more uninhibited than normal.
To be sexually free with Stryke wasn’t enough to make up for all she’d lose. Fyra had been inc
orporated into their world and she’d proven herself an asset. The demoness had had to prove herself before she’d been allowed to live with them. But Fyra wasn’t Demetrius’s mate, who sat on the Synod. She was Bishop’s. And Zoey sat on the board.
Could Zoey give up her position on the Synod? Who else could take her place? Creed and Ophelia had refused. The Synod couldn’t risk putting someone they didn’t trust in a place of leadership. The primes were too infested with demonic activity and while Demetrius had trashed their previous government, he and Zoey were primes and therefore more likely to be accepted with grudging regard. Throwing a non-prime on the Synod just wasn’t a situation her people were ready for.
Why was Zoey even considering stepping down? She was with Stryke because she had to be to destroy Hypna, and terminating another member of the thirteen was always a goal. Keep them disrupted. Rancor’s death had upset the Circle, as evidenced by Hypna’s impulsive and blatant attacks. Zoey and her team could deal with obvious demonic activity; it was the insidious undermining they were behind the curve on.
Another reason why Zoey needed to retain her position, to keep their government strong.
But as Stryke curled a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and his warmth seeped into her, the song of his blood promising to fulfill her needs, it was harder to convince herself that she could keep the relationship between them “just sex.”
Again, a sexual relationship with a demon. She was crazy! She wasn’t this irresponsible girl. The last five years, she’d worked hard to rid herself of any frivolity. But sex with Stryke was way more than Saturday-morning cartoons and lip prints on her pajamas.
Her eyelids fluttered closed when he pressed a kiss to her nape and his hands landed on her hips. She sank back into him. This felt too good, too right.
But it was so wrong, and she had to find a way to free herself.
Free herself. As if she were here with her arms tied, pleading with Stryke to let her go. She exhaled slowly to ease her mind. It was a conscious decision, not a matter of the heart.
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