by Anya Bast
He inched to the door and peered out. The house had gone still. He held up a hand in her direction. “You stay here,” he whispered. “I’m going down to check. If something comes up those stairs that isn’t me or Christian, use that gun.”
She nodded, her breath coming shallow.
He eased into the hallway and down the stairs. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying Christian was all right.
Low, pained breathing drew her from her prayers. Her heartbeat momentarily arrested, she slid from the bed with a nearly silent swoosh of fabric and wrapped both hands around the gun, pointing the muzzle at the doorway.
A soft, dragging sound met her ears, a muted shuffling noise mated with the labored breathing of a wounded animal.
Eyes wide, she swallowed a whimper of fear. She knew what it was in that hallway; she could smell it. Her whole body shook when what was left of Louis rounded toward her in the doorway.
His form was coated with dark, sticky blood and open wounds from his battle with Christian’s wolf. His deformed body hulked in the doorway, small black eyes peering at her from a face that was forever caught between human and wolf, a grotesque mixture that twisted the viewer’s mind. He opened his mouth to reveal bloody fangs, like that of a vampire’s—fangs that had probably ripped into Christian’s body.
She raised her gun and pointed straight at Louis’s head. Her body shook, but her hands didn’t. Louis narrowed his eyes and growled, making all the hair on her body raise. Still, she couldn’t make herself shoot him.
This was her fault.
She would be able to shoot in defense of Michael or Christian, but not in defense of herself. If Louis leapt across the room and tore her apart right now, she would let him. She deserved it.
But Louis didn’t budge. He only stared at her, dripping blood on the carpet, his fangs gleaming dully and a thin growl trickling from his parted jowls. They locked gazes—held.
Sounds came from the stairway and Louis sprang from his crouch straight through her bedroom window. Glass and wood crashed. Kylie covered her head, rolling to the side to protect herself from flying debris.
In an instant, Michael was there, lifting her away from the glass and carrying her to the safety of the hallway. “Where is it?” he rasped through his fangs.
She shook her head, realizing she was still gripping the gun. “Gone. Jumped out the window.”
He put her down and she followed him back into the bedroom. Rain pounded into the huge gaping hole that used to be her window and the wind rustled the yellow curtains that still hung on either side. Together they peered out, letting the rain and wind hit their faces.
Louis was gone.
She let out a shuddering breath and tossed the gun to the bed. Then she asked the question she was afraid to hear the answer to, “How’s Christian?”
“Wounded, but he’ll be okay.”
She let out a pent-up breath and went for the door. Hitting the stairs running, she was at the wolf’s side in a heartbeat. He lay in what remained of her living room, a furry, dark lump on the carpet that was now shredded from scraping and scratching claws.
She lay her hand on the wolf’s shoulder and threaded her fingers through his silky fur. “Christian?”
The wolf let out a whuffling sound. After a moment, he started to shift. She backed away, watching the transformation. This was what Louis couldn’t do. He was forever caught in a distorted triple life of wolf, vampire and human. If anyone from Sweet Rock knew he was stalking these woods, he would be hunted down like the monster she’d turned him into.
Finally the nude, blood-streaked form of Christian lay where the wolf had a moment ago. She hurried to his side and began assessing the damage. It looked as if most of the blood was not his, but he did have one nice gash in his shoulder, probably made by Louis’s fangs.
Behind her she felt Michael’s presence as he entered the room.
“How bad is it?” she asked Christian.
He pushed to a sitting position with his good hand. Blood caked his hair. He glanced at his shoulder, then grinned. “I guess I might need a Band-Aid or two.” The rasp in his voice betrayed the flip response. He was hurting.
Michael walked over to stand near them. “Christian wounded Louis really badly and he won’t be back for while. I suggest you clean him up while I cover your broken window. He’s a wolf—it won’t take him long to heal, but it would be better if the wound was clean when it happened. Once that’s done, we can head to my house. I have safeguards in place to prevent that thing from getting in.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She looked around at her wrecked house. The extent of the damage hadn’t really registered yet. “I don’t want to stay here, that’s for sure.”
“I won’t let you stay here,” came Michael’s firm reply. Then he was gone.
She helped Christian to his feet and led him into the downstairs bathroom where she had a first aid kit. After lighting a few emergency lamps, she guided him to sit on a chair so she could work on cleaning up the gash in his shoulder. It would be better to do this in good light, but Michael was right about needing to get it done quickly. Werewolves healed fast.
So did the verdorben, but there was no one to clean Louis’s wounds. The thought made her unutterably sad.
She wet cotton with antiseptic and gently swiped it along the edge of the wound.
Christian jerked. “Ah! That hurts, woman!”
She stifled a smile. “I barely touched you. Come on, you just fought a monster—surely you can handle a little antiseptic.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. Even through all this, he had a mischievous look on his face. “Only if you promise to kiss me and make it all better.”
“Considering what you just did, I think I owe you more than a kiss.”
He gave her a mock leer. “I’ll be looking forward to that.”
She shook her head, amused and not wanting to be. “I can’t believe you can joke at a time like this, Christian.”
“I’d rather laugh than cry, baby. Now, go ahead, do your worst.”
She concentrated on cleaning up the wound and dressing it, but before she even got the bandage on, she noticed that the wound had begun to heal. She put the bandage on anyway. At least it would heal clean.
After she was done, she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Thank you.” Emotion clogged her throat. She still hadn’t really dealt with the fact that Louis had showed up in her home after all these years.
She’d thought him long gone.
The lights flickered, then came on steady. Michael had probably gotten them going again. By the light, she could see the extent of the blood marking Christian’s body, but most of the scratches and bruises were already gone.
He stood and turned to her. Cupping her cheek, he looked down into her eyes. “I was terrified for you when that thing made it into your house. My thought—Michael’s too, I’m sure—was about protecting you. He’ll be back for you, Kylie. You know that, don’t you? Somewhere in his messed up head, he still thinks you’re his.” Christian pulled her close to him and she laid her head on his shoulder. “But you’re mine, mine and Michael’s. He can’t have you.”
The fierce note of protectiveness in his voice made her shiver. “You should let him have me, Christian. I did that to—”
He pulled away and grasped her shoulders. “Stop it right now, Kylie. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. You had no idea he was carrying that virus and that you were the one person in a thousand who could trigger it. Not your fault.”
“If I had never met him. If we had never kissed—”
“You didn’t know. Neither of you did. It could have just as easily been you carrying the virus. It could be you out there in the woods right now. This is the reality of the world we live in.”
Grief rose from the deep center of her gut, like dark sludge. She fought against the sob that came with it, unable to release herself from the memory of that night.
One kiss. Just one innocent li
ttle kiss, their first kiss. It had been Louis’s last kiss.
Little had they known that Louis had carried a mutated form of the Doom Virus that was triggered by her own altered genetic makeup. They’d just been kids in love and such a thing had been far from their minds. After all, there had been a one-in-a-million chance that they would have the right combination to trigger the virus in Louis.
And they’d won the lottery.
She rested her head against his shoulder. “I just want to get out of here.” It was the first time in her life that she wanted to escape her father’s house, and the feeling made her nauseated.
“Then let’s go.” Michael had come up to stand behind them. “If Christian is healing, so is Louis. Time to get out of here.”
Chapter Nine
Christian watched Michael and Kylie in the shadowed back seat of his car. Kylie had her head on Michael’s shoulder. Before this evening, he would have felt a pinch of jealousy at that sight, but he and Michael shared one thing fiercely in common—protecting Kylie. Tonight had brought home that common goal with a vengeance.
Traveling down the rain-slicked back roads to Michael’s house, the swipe, swipe of the wipers working constantly to clear the moisture from his windshield, he remembered back to the day the town first heard about Louis Millhouse going verdorben. Kylie had taken all the blame on her shoulders, he remembered that well.
Kylie’s father, along with a hand-selected group of weres and vamps, himself included, had gone out to hunt Louis down. The most humane thing to do was shoot the man. They’d never found him. They’d figured he’d fled the area.
Guess they’d been wrong.
Christian kept his eyes on the road, watching for any sign of the monster hiding in the bushes. And monster he was. He’d never seen anything like Louis before—never fought anything like him. He didn’t want to do it again, but he knew they hadn’t seen the last of him. The creature had come back for Kylie and he wasn’t going to give up.
A part of him pitied the thing, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill him when the time came.
He turned down the long, winding driveway leading to Michael’s house. From the back seat he heard the sound of gentle murmuring and a kiss. His stomach clenched a little.
Maybe not all the jealousy was gone.
He pulled up in front of the house just as the rain was tapering to a drizzle. With his enhanced vampiric senses, Michael made sure Louis wasn’t lurking in the bushes. Once he gave the all clear, Christian helped Kylie from the car and carried her bags in. She seemed a little in shock, quiet and pale.
Christian glanced at the huge picture window as Michael unlocked the front door. “You said your house has extra safeguards. What’s to stop Super Monster from just crashing through that window, just like he crashed through the window in Kylie’s room?”
Michael opened door and glanced back at him as he ushered Kylie through. “Those windows are bullet and shatter-proof. My grandfather had them changed out to protect the house during doomsyear when there was so much chaos.” He tapped the door. “The doors may look like wood, but they’re reinforced steel. Louis isn’t getting into this house.”
Slicking the rain back out of his hair, he entered the classy foyer and watched Kylie taking stock of the place with dull eyes. He wanted that look off her face. He wanted to make her laugh, cry—something.
“I need a drink,” he said, striding for the kitchen. He was sure he’d seen bottles of alcohol in there when he’d stopped to pick up Michael earlier. “I think Kylie needs one too.”
“I don’t drink,” she said, following him.
“Yeah, why is that? I mean, you own a bar, Kylie.” He entered the kitchen and found a bottle of Grey Goose on the counter. Oh, good, Michael had taste.
“Yes. That’s why I don’t drink.” She entered the kitchen and leaned against the wall, hugging herself.
He poured two glasses of the vodka and pressed one of them into her hand. “Tonight, you do.” He clinked the edge of her glass with his and then tossed it back.
She stared at the liquid for a long moment, then drained it to the dregs. Her face twisted into a grimace and she made a mock gagging noise. Then she handed the glass back to him. “More.”
Christian poured them both two more drinks and led her through a fancy, obviously not-often-used dining room and into an equally unused living room. The fussy furniture didn’t really seem much like Michael. Christian suspected the vampire had simply left everything as it was since his grandfather’s death.
She went to stand at the window, looking out into the woods. Michael came into the room, lighting a couple of small table lamps as he went. She drank her vodka and set the glass down on the window ledge.
Christian shared a look with Michael, drained his glass and then went to her, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened, then melted against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Christian closed his eyes, enjoying her weight against him.
The rain came down harder and a breath seemed to shudder out of her body—like a release of tension. She turned in his arms and leaned up to press her mouth to his, pushing him back into the living room. Her action was so aggressive it made him stumble a little as he went.
He broke the kiss and held her away from him. He liked the sudden change in her behavior, but it was strange. “Kylie?”
“I want you to distract me. Make me think of something other than Louis.”
His gaze flicked to Michael—who looked like he was holding himself back from leaping over and pulling her into his arms—then back to Kylie’s beautiful eyes. “Michael and I are dreaming about distracting you.” Christian brushed his knuckles across her lips and over her jaw.
A smile, almost shy, crossed her full mouth. She brushed her hand over the front of his pants, finding him almost painfully hard. Christian’s breath hissed out of him. He wanted her bare hands on him, fingers curling, stroking. She was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.
He drew his hands down the fine curve of her ass and met Michael’s eyes for a moment. Christian understood what the focused look on his face meant. Without even speaking, he knew how Michael felt—they needed this woman, and they needed her badly. But she would require a slow seduction and Christian wasn’t sure he and Michael could handle it.
Christian closed his eyes and groaned as she rubbed the length of his cock through his jeans. He cupped her face and kissed her, biting gently at her lips and forcing his tongue into her mouth to mate with hers. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her.
Apparently unable to just stand back and watch, Michael pulled her away, whirling her into his arms. For a moment jealousy nearly overcame Christian. He clenched his fists and refrained from the impulse to take her back.
Share. They had to share Kylie.
That was the only way this was going to work.
Michael crushed her to his chest, mouth slanting possessively across hers. Her knees seemed to go weak and Michael held her up until she found her footing once more. She held on to his upper arms, trying to stay upright under his hungry onslaught.
It was clear that Christian wasn’t the only one feeling jealous. The kiss Michael gave her was probably curling her toes.
Christian watched Michael’s hands roam over her clothes, then threaten to ease under the edge of her shirt. Michael slid his thigh between her legs and rubbed it against her sex. Kylie bucked against him, eager for his touch.
It was pure torture to have to watch this and not be able to touch her. Jealousy flared again and he turned his face away, tamping it down, with effort.
Kylie looked between the two men, sensing the tension between them through the haze of her lust. She wanted both these men—wanted them singly or together. She just wanted them. The force of her desire scared the hell out of her, but it was no match for her hunger.
“I want your hands on me,” she said to both of them. “I want you both any way I can get you.” She swallowed hard. “I…ache for you and it�
�s frightening.”
Christian stepped toward her. His fists were clenched at his sides and his eyes were dark with desire. “It’s the bond, Kylie. Michael and I feel that hunger too.”
“I want you both to make love to me,” she whispered.
Michael’s grip on her tightened and his breathing grew just a little heavier. Kylie felt herself respond to him, to his growing arousal. The need he had for her was laid bare in his expression. He gripped the edge of her jeans, his fingers at the buttons. “Then let’s go upstairs,” he growled.
Christian drew her from Michael’s arms and lifted her like she weighed nothing. He shared a challenging look with Michael, before Michael turned and led them up the stairs, down a hallway and into his bedroom. Like the downstairs, the upper part of the house was filled with antique furniture. His bed was a huge affair—probably a good thing, considering what she’d initiated—a four-poster that was taller than most.
The thought made a shiver run up her spine.
Michael eased her from Christian’s arms, bracketing her between them. She had a moment of hesitation. What was she doing? She’d never been with two men at once and she was relatively certain that neither Christian nor Michael had ever been in a threesome either.
Yet suddenly they seemed to have some strange, unspoken synchronicity in their actions. Michael gathered material, eased his hands up her arms, drawing her shirt over her head. Offending garment gone, he cupped her breasts and teased her nipples through the fabric of her bra as Christian worked her jeans over her hips and off her. Soon, she wore only her bra and underwear.
Christian stood, drawing her into his arms, kissing her open-mouthed, his tongue hungrily mating with hers while his hand pushed beyond the elastic band of her panties to stroke her sex. Finding her clit, he toyed with it, priming her and making her moan into his mouth.
Michael growled low in his throat and lifted her away from Christian, laying her on the huge bed that dominated the room. It was a California king, big enough for three people. He came down over her, covering her body with his, rubbing his clothes over her sensitive, bare skin as he kissed her deeply, hungrily, while Christian slid in beside her and worked her panties over her hips and down her legs.