by L. E. Wilson
No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than he heard a keening cry coming from the opposite direction. Punching up off the floor, Christian was down the hall, down a rickety set of steps, and in front of an open doorway before he realized he’d meant to move. The fact that he was able to do so with barely any pain didn’t register as he zeroed in on his next meal.
An overweight, brown-skinned man was sitting on his knees on the floor. He had a dead woman in his lap. She was nearly as large as he was. A quick glance around proved the rest of the room to be empty. Looking closer, he saw the floor was concrete with nothing but thin blankets thrown down to sleep on. What looked to be a small bathroom was in the back of the room. There were no windows except the one in the door, and bars covered the glass there. A deep breath carried the scents of multiple females, including the one he now knew well.
He wasn’t in a room, he was in a cell. No wonder she’d escaped as soon as the opportunity had presented itself.
Stepping inside, he waited for the human to notice him. Underneath the sour smell of unwashed skin and the spicy stench of Mexican food, he could smell the blood that pulsed through his veins. It didn’t smell near as good as the girl’s, even with the drugs in her system, but it would serve his needs. He had to feed, to heal his skin and regain his strength somewhat before he headed out at sunset. There was no telling who or what he might run into.
The man on the floor finally noticed him standing there. His eyes crawled slowly up Christian’s large form, from his thick-soled boots to his burned face, and on up to the long fangs, exposed in an aching snarl. “Dios Mio!” he muttered. In his shock, he dropped the dead woman onto the floor and crossed himself.
“I’m sincerely sorry about this,” Christian told him, but then shrugged one shoulder. “But I’m also pretty fucking sure you hold girls here against their will, so yeah, I’m not really that sorry.” Joining the man on the floor, he gripped him by the hair and yanked his head back. The man closed his eyes, mumbling what sounded like a prayer in Spanish. He didn’t fight back. Didn’t struggle to get free.
“I’ll try not to kill you,” Christian told him. Then he reared back and struck hard. He nearly retched at the first vile mouthful of blood but forced himself to keep drinking. With pure force of will he managed to keep it down. He needed this. He needed to regain his strength and hopefully a little self-control so he could find his female, before another guy like this one did.
Chapter 6
Josiah rubbed his palm back and forth over the tight curls that covered the top of his head. His steps were short and stilted as he paced the length of Leeha’s room in the little country house they’d escaped to.
Everywhere he turned, she was there. Her scent filled his nose. Her dressing gown was still lying on the armchair exactly where she’d left it. One of her sheer gowns — the white one, his favorite — was hanging on the closet door. It was covered in dried blood. Both her own and the blood of the two vampires she’d attempted to kill. Looking at it made him want to puke.
He knew he should pack it all up. Put her things away somewhere. Hell, he could make this into his room. He was the one in charge now. And his love was dead. Beheaded by that fucking werewolf right in front of his eyes.
He could still see her gorgeous, timeless face lying in the grass where it had landed next to his feet. Could still see her lifeless eyes staring up at him, the color and life in them faded to a dull brown. All of the nightmares gone.
Grief welled up inside of him, so hard and fast he dropped to his knees with the power of it. He rolled with it, knowing that was the only thing to do, letting the pain run its course. Josiah stayed on the floor even after he’d gotten his emotions under control again, his mind and body too numb to move.
Showing weakness like this would never do in front of others, but sometimes when he was alone it just snuck up on him. He had loved her utterly and completely for all that she had been. He would’ve done absolutely anything for her, but now she was gone. Truly gone. Forever. All thanks to those fucking vampires.
Especially that British son of bitch, Aiden.
He still didn’t know why she’d been so obsessed with that one. He was nothing but a smartass and a pussy. At least her thing with Luukas he’d understood. Josiah hadn’t liked it, but he’d understood it. Luukas was a formidable Master vampire. He controlled the entire continent and all of the colonies within. By his side, Leeha would have controlled it with him. And Josiah knew how power hungry his lady had been. There was nothing she liked better than being in control. Yet Luukas had turned out to be stronger than either of them could’ve guessed. Seven years of starvation and torture had not broken him, and he’d eventually escaped thanks to that worthless witch, Keira. Josiah had even heard that they were now mated.
Mated to the female who had used her magic to keep him powerless so Leeha could play her sick games. Go figure. Honestly he was surprised Luukas hadn’t killed her the first chance he’d gotten.
But now Leeha would never get the chance to show the world just what she was capable of. All of that passion, all of that hunger, all of that beauty and life was just…gone. She could have been the most formidable queen their species had ever seen. And he would have been right there with her. Maybe he would’ve been on the sidelines, seen as unimportant by the masses, but he would’ve been there. All that mattered was that he would’ve known how important he was to her.
She’d needed him. She’d needed him to pull her back to earth when her passions had risen too high and clouded her judgment. She’d needed him to take out her frustrations on.
Alone, in her bedroom, she’d enjoyed proving her authority over him. And he’d enjoyed letting her. Though he’d never let her know as much, for then it wouldn’t have been fun for her anymore.
If it were the last thing Josiah ever did, he would make them pay for taking her away from him. Every last one of those fucking vampires. And their pet dogs.
A hoarse sob broke free and echoed through the chilly room. He missed her. He missed her so much. He was nothing without her. Nothing! Who would ever understand him the way she had? Who would understand his needs? She had known exactly how to handle him without his having to tell her. It was like she could read his thoughts, knew all of his darkest desires. She’d known what he wanted before he had. No other female would be strong enough, or twisted enough, to feed his cravings so completely. What would he do now? Without her?
Josiah was so lost in his grief that he didn’t notice the shadowy form flickering near the window. Its head jerked to the side, much like a bird studying a juicy worm, right before it plucked it from the dirt to feed to its young. Red eyes glowed with a psychotic fervor from within the hazy features, the color getting richer and clearer the longer they watched him grieve. The spectral woman reached out a hand towards him and smiled, then she began to fade.
By the time he lifted his head and pulled up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his eyes, she was gone.
Chapter 7
Ryan shot into the side alley between the building she’d just left and the one next door. Her hair stuck to her forehead from the intense heat, and she pushed it out of her eyes.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It was a hallucination…or something.
Her eyes squinted against the sun, and she glanced back over her shoulder to check that the creature with the glowing eyes and pointed teeth wasn’t following her. When all she saw was the empty alley, she went straight to the dumpster and threw back the lid. Rummaging around through the rotting food and plastic bags of old clothing, she found what she was looking for: a pair of shorts and some decent flat leather sandals that were fairly clean. Whenever new girls were brought in, their old clothes were thrown out. It was just another tactic to discourage them from trying to leave. The combination of the lack of clothes and the mind-altering drugs kept the escape attempts to a minimum.
Tossing her ridiculous shoes into the bin, she slid the shorts on over her thong and slid the s
andals onto her feet. They were a little big, but they would work.
Closing the lid again, she had to stop for a moment. She ground her teeth together to keep them from chattering, and wrapped her arms around her middle so they wouldn’t flail about. Her stomach cramped as bile rose in her throat, and she knew that aching bones, fever, and the rest of the flu-like symptoms would be following within a few hours. She needed to get herself somewhere safe before that happened.
Another sucky symptom of her withdrawals? The voices were back with a vengeance. They swirled around her, screaming things she couldn’t understand, things that made no sense. Her head was already aching from the noise, and the hot Mexican sun was making her dizzy. Her stomach rolled and she bent over behind the bin, grateful that her hair was pulled back off her face.
She was almost glad she was feeling so shitty. At least it took her mind off what she thought she’d just seen. Because if her eyes were telling the truth, she’d just released some kind of monster from the room behind the glass.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It was just your mind playing tricks on you. He was just a guy. Like all the other guys that came to watch you.
Just a guy who had tried to attack her like some kind of…of…a vampire or something as soon as she’d let him out. She reached up and touched the small wounds on her throat again. No, she hadn’t imagined that part.
She hoped Josefina had made it out okay. After the matron had fallen to the floor, Jose had dug the keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door. They’d debated looking for the other girls, but Jose had been against it. She’d said they’d figure it out for themselves when they were brought back to the room. Besides, they were total perras.
Bitches.
Holding hands, they’d crept down the hall and up the rickety stairs. Quickly and quietly, they’d stolen down the hall towards the exit. But when they’d gotten close to the performance room, Ryan had pulled her young friend to a halt. Jose had tried to get her to come along, but she couldn’t move. Feelings of pain and need, anger and hopelessness had pressed down upon her. They were so heavy, her chest had physically ached.
It was him. And he was hurting.
Jose had been excited and scared during their escape, but also determined. Ryan deduced quickly that she would be fine on her own. She’d given her vague directions to her old apartment about six miles away. The girls there were dancers, like her, and although they’d kicked her out for being unable to pay her part of the rent, they weren’t heartless. They would help her young friend. She was sure of it. So Jose had taken off, and Ryan had gone in to help the guy in the viewing room.
Her thoughts drifted back to the present, and Ryan headed in the opposite direction Jose had gone. She was in the rundown portion of Zona Norte, the red light district of Tijuana. The hot air carried the stink of fried chicken, sweaty people, and beer. Prostitutes littered the streets even in the middle of the day, their outfits ranging from innocent schoolgirl to evening dresses and heels and everything in between.
Ryan fit right in with her short shorts and sleazy shirt. But she wasn’t looking for a trick right now, she was looking for a dealer. Maneuvering her way along the cracked sidewalk, she kept her head down, dodging the neighborhood locals and a few American tourists, mostly men, until she saw the person she was looking for: A young, thin guy leaning up against the wall near the side of a club. His skin was bronzed from the sun, and his dark hair was clipped short off his neck. He was dressed like all the other guys in the area in a tee shirt and black pants, but she could tell by the way his eyes went from person to person as they walked past that he was looking for potential customers.
Plus, she used to be a regular of his before her latest little adventure.
With a discreet look around, she struggled to appear normal. Gritting her teeth against the sickness in her stomach, she walked up to him. “Hey Greg, como estas?”
“Ryan!” His smile was all teeth and false cheerfulness. “Where have you been, chica?” he said in perfect English. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Yeah, I, uh, ran into some friends.” She tried to ignore the ever-increasing volume of her invisible companions, but it was hard. She could barely hear what he was saying over all the racket they were making. “So, whatcha got for me?” she asked.
With a furtive glance around, he smiled and gestured with his head for her to follow him around the side of the club. Once they got about halfway down the alley, he ducked into a doorway and she followed him.
“How much do you need?” he asked. She could already see him calculating his profit in his head as he pulled a foil packet out of his pocket. Opening it, he showed her the dark, sticky substance inside.
Ryan couldn’t answer for a moment as her stomach cramped again. Although she wouldn’t call Greg a friend, he’d been her normal dealer for quite a while now, and he’d always been good to her. He’d never tried to take advantage of her, never gave her bad dope, never asked her for sex or even for a blow job. And with her pale skin, blue eyes, and strange orange hair, she attracted a lot of attention from the men around here.
She flinched and closed her eyes, pain ricocheting around in her head as a particularly insistent voice tried to get her attention. It would help if they wouldn’t speak all at once and she could understand what the hell they were saying. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her quizzically. “I’ll take all you’ve got,” she told him.
He laughed. “Chica, you can’t afford the amount of tar I’ve got.”
Swallowing hard, she pushed down her feelings of self-hatred for what she was about to do. “You’re right. I can’t. But I need it.” Because she wasn’t sticking around this piece of shit town, and it would take her time to find a new dealer wherever she ended up. Her vision blurred, from tears or from the stabbing headache she now had, she wasn’t sure. “And you’re going to give it to me.”
Greg laughed again, a bit uncomfortably this time. He ran his eyes up and down her sleazy clothes. “I don’t see any wads of cash hidden anywhere on you. And I’m not interested in having my dick sucked by a whore. So, how are you planning to pay for all of it?”
Her back stiffened and her eyes hardened at the insult. “Like this.” Ryan spoke silently to the voices in her head, telling them what she needed them to do. A few made sounds of protest, but she didn’t want to hear it.
Her dealer watched her. Amused. Waiting. Then suddenly his eyes popped open wide. The foil fell from his hand and he started to gag. One hand went to his throat as the other grasped the side of his head. Blood trickled from his nose and ears.
“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her hurt at his uncouth comment quickly dissipating. But it was too late. His eyes were confused as he dropped down hard onto his knees in the street. Spittle leaked from the corner of his mouth as he tried to draw breath. Then, with one last spasm, his body relaxed and rolled onto his back as his arms fell to his sides.
Ryan quickly and efficiently cleaned him out of everything he had. She even found a lighter and a couple of clean needles. Simultaneously racked with guilt and complete denial that she’d just done that, she shoved everything into the pockets of her shorts and ran out of the alley as fast as she could without drawing attention to herself.
She didn’t look back.
Chapter 8
Nikulas watched from the comfort of his bed as Emma attempted to perform her hocus pocus on him. She stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes focused completely on his, but squinting a bit as she concentrated. She was trying to use her magic to make him immobile. So far, she hadn’t been able to do it. Not since that one time when they’d gotten into that fight right after they’d had sex for the first time.
Speaking of sex…
Crossing his arms behind his head, he grinned at her, flashing his fangs. He couldn’t help it. She looked so fucking cute with her face all scrunched up and her strawberry-blond waves pulled back on her head, leaving little wispy things curling around her face.
“Stop moving!” she fussed at him.
“I thought you were supposed to be taking care of that part?” he teased.
“Nikulas! I mean it. Stop distracting me.”
Biting his bottom lip, he lowered one arm and slowly pushed the sheet farther down his torso, not stopping until every inch of his rock hard stomach was showing. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath the sheet, and he slid his hand under the thin material. Cupping himself in his palm, he slid his hand up and down his swollen shaft as he watched her watch him do it. The scent of her desire grew strong in the air and he growled softly as his upper lip pulled back from his fangs.
“Nikulas!” Her tone wasn’t quite so irritated this time as she tried to keep her eyes anywhere but on that sheet that barely covered him now.
He moved the sheet down a little more, until the head of his cock was showing. She caught the movement and her eyes dropped down to watch each new centimeter of skin as it was revealed. Then she closed them tight and raised her hands, palms out.
“Nik, stop. Please. I really want to practice this. I haven’t managed to do it since that one time.”
He stopped teasing her and stared with disappointed blue eyes. “You’re lying,” he told her.
“What?” Her eyes popped open to stare at him with disbelief.
“You’re lying. You suck at it. Still. You’d much rather be in this bed with me.”
“Nikulas…”
“Come here, Em,” he ordered. “I want to fuck you until you’re too senseless to wield any spells on me.”
Her mouth dropped open, then closed, then opened again. Her eyes flew to his to see if he was joking.
He so wasn’t.
His cock kicked and he tightened his hand around its wide girth. But he would much rather it be her tight little body squeezing it. Or maybe that lusciously smart mouth. “Emma, take off my shirt, and get your little ass in my bed. We can practice later. And leave the lights on,” he demanded, knowing she would turn them off the first chance she got. She didn’t like him to see her scars. Sometime in the next hundred years or so, he hoped he’d be able to convince her that they only made her all the more beautiful to him.