by Sierra Dean
I pretty much stopped listening after bullheaded asshole.
I picked up a pillow from the couch and walloped him in the head with it. Mostly because I really wanted to hit him right then, and it was the only way I could release that urge without throwing something hard.
He blinked at me for a second, then grabbed a pillow of his own and smacked me with it, careful to avoid hitting me anywhere I was hurt.
At any other level of anger, I would absolutely recognize how hilariously stupid this was.
In this moment, though, I wanted to smother him.
“You don’t get to make these choices for me.” I hit him several more times with the pillow, and he stood there, patiently letting me have a one-person pillow fight.
The second I stopped, panting to catch my breath, I could tell all of the anger had leached out of him, and he was just my tired, doting husband again. In the face of that, it was impossible for me to hang on to my own rage.
I dropped the pillow onto the floor.
“I can’t live without you, you idiot,” he said. “I beat this same dead horse every time because I worry one day you’re going to get yourself killed, and I won’t have been able to save you. And if that day ever comes, I will stop breathing, and I will sit down somewhere and turn to fucking stone. I mean it. I can’t live without you.”
I looked down, because the weight of his earnestness was crushing. “Oh.”
He was right, I was a bullheaded asshole.
He sighed. “I know I drive you crazy, and I know I’m a dick about it, and I know you want to shake me until I see your perspective, but I can’t see through my own. Which is, I want to know you’re coming home alive every night.”
It was like he had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it hurt. And that’s not an analogy I use lightly, considering I have literally had that happen to me before.
Desmond kept speaking, and I’m sure whatever he was saying was lovely and moving, but I couldn’t hear a word of it. My heart was beating too loudly. Instead I looked up at him, his form now blurry thanks to the tears in my eyes, and I lunged.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and I kissed him so ferociously that any thought of speech was gone. My bruises groaned, and my knee screamed, but I so desperately needed to be on top of him right then that the pain didn’t matter.
He was taken aback by my sudden attack and fell back on the couch with me still clinging to him. His confusion was short-lived, however, because soon he was meeting my urgency with a desperate need all his own. The heightened emotions thick in the room shifted and changed into something new. The charged energy around us was now alive with fiery hunger, and he dug his fingernails into my bare thighs, pulling me even tighter to him.
The hardness of his erection was a welcome surprise, as I hadn’t been sure when I leapt that he would welcome this particular advance, but his body at least was telling me it was very keenly into this.
I ground my pelvis against him, only the thin material of my underwear and the raspy denim of his jeans keeping us apart. His kisses trailed from my mouth down my neck, where he nibbled at the delicate flesh above my collarbone. He released one of my thighs so he could bury a fist in my hair and drag my head back, exposing my whole throat.
It was a vampire-like move, one that left me exposed to the sensual drag of his teeth and the artful way he traced my skin with his tongue.
My body kept trying to remind me I was recently injured, and a lot of this was supposed to hurt, but we had found a line between pleasure and pain where even unpleasant things felt good, because my body simply craved as much of his touch as it could handle.
I undid his jeans and slid my hand inside his underwear, letting out a guttural purr when I felt the full length of the hardness that awaited me.
Soon we were a whirlwind of arms, with shirts being ripped off, my bra sent sailing across the room, and his pants joining mine on the floor.
I’d been on the pill since becoming human, thanks to my previous experience with unexpected pregnancy when I was a teenager. It also made it a lot easier to have spontaneous sex with my husband wherever we wanted without needing to worry about condoms.
So when he braced himself on his elbows over me, I didn’t need to tell him to stop. Instead I said, “Fucking do it,” right against his ear.
There was a ferociousness to his thrust that arched my spine and made me claw at his back instinctively. His hips quickly fell into a rhythm only my heartbeat and breathless gasps had known how to ask for.
“You make me crazy,” he whispered into my neck.
“Same.”
I lifted my hips to meet his next thrust, and we both found our home in one perfect moment, coming apart at the seams until all that was left was particles and satisfaction.
When we returned to our bodies, we fell asleep in a tangle of sweaty limbs on the couch.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I am here to tell you that having heart-pounding sex after you get your ass kicked might sound like a good idea, but your body will absolutely not agree with you later on.
When Desmond and I woke up an hour later, the sun was starting to set, and my entire body felt like it had been run through a paper shredder, then put back together in the wrong order, with jagged edges and little bits of tape sticking out everywhere.
Impressively, Desmond’s bandage work on my knee had held up through our sexual Olympics, so when I limped away from the couch with my underwear in hand, at least I didn’t need to get patched up again.
I took a quick shower, keeping my knee out of the water—which was precisely as awkward as it sounded—then pulled my wet hair back in a ponytail. I was in no mood to worry about drying the curls or thinking about the disaster that would await me later. I dressed in stretchy black leggings to account for my new bandage and swapped out my mangled Chloe boots for low-heeled motorcycle boots in the back of my closet. I wasn’t yet ready to bury the pool-soaked and hellfire-melted Chloes, but where I was headed I wanted comfort over all else, and that meant a low heel.
Just because you can run in heels, doesn’t mean you should run in heels.
I applied Lily’s miracle balm to the purple-hued mark on my cheek, and was impressed with how flawlessly it covered. The healing factor would help me get back to normal in no time flat. I’d have to ask her about a deep-tissue version that might be able to fix things like my knee without needing hours of downtime in the lab.
Once I was satisfied that I didn’t look like I had gone three rounds against a grizzly bear, I returned to the kitchen to go one last round with the big bad wolf.
“I owe you several apologies,” I said.
“Hey, we both got a little heated earlier.”
I waggled a brow at his double entendre, and he smirked, but I quickly put my serious-girl face back on. “No, some of what I said to you was out of line. You’re not Lucas, and you’ve never been Lucas, and for me to say that was just mean.”
“Yeah, that was a verbal testicle punch, I’m not going to lie.”
“If there’s a low blow, you know I’ll find it.”
“I’m not going to bring this stuff up again, not now, but could you at least promise me that next time we talk about this you’ll try to have an open mind and not immediately go on the defensive?” He offered me a cup of coffee, which I gratefully accepted. Years of keeping vampire hours meant I was the kind of person who really enjoyed evening coffee.
Plus he knew how to make it exactly the way I liked it.
Like most things in life.
“I can’t promise to not be defensive, because that’s how I’m wired. But I will try to work harder to listen to what you’re saying rather than coming up with ways to weaponize it against you.”
Desmond, who was having a beer instead of a coffee, stared at me for a long second without saying anything. Then he sipped the beer and gave a slight nod. “At least with an answer like that I know you’re being honest.”
“I don’t like fighting with you,” I admitted.
“You’re so good at it though.” The glimmer of mischievous humor in his eyes told me this wasn’t his way of opening up the wound again, so I decided not to be bothered by the jab.
“Mama always told me, if you’re going to do something, do it well.”
“I thought your mom always told you, Secret, you’re a blight on the world, and I’m going to murder you.”
“Yes, and she did such a good job of trying, didn’t she?” I smiled at him and drank a swig of the coffee, which was black and bitter and absolutely wonderful.
“What’s next?”
“For us, or in general?” I asked.
“I’ve been present for all our fights, McQueen, I know what’s next for us. Us doesn’t have me worried. What’s next for you, since you’re clearly geared up to hit the pavement again.”
“Not literally, I hope. I think my rib is broken.”
He didn’t say anything about that.
“I’m going to get Emilio and Harold at the airport, and then I’m hoping we’ll pick up where I left off this afternoon. There’s got to be something at that club I’m missing, and Davos seems pretty invested in getting his mitts on me, which makes me think the cult here will attempt a ceremony of their own sooner rather than later. I’m still not sure about Sig, Ingrid, or the whole thing with a loosed Prince of Hell running around the country unattended, but one thing at a time. And right now, that means getting my pals at the airport. And maybe paying a visit to the police station after that.”
“You have a weird life.”
“What’s on your schedule?” I countered.
“I need to make a plan for next month’s Awakening ceremonies and work with a lawyer to keep battling this moronic movement that wants us to force kids in the pack to wait until they’re eighteen before they can agree to the ceremony.”
I nodded. “See. I’m not the only weird one.”
“Get out of here.” He took another sip of his beer, and the entire time I was at the door getting my jacket on and grabbing my bag and my real sword, which I wasn’t about to leave at home again, I could feel his eyes lingering on me like an extension of him, as if by looking at me long enough he might be able to convince me to stay.
I left, but I had the good sense to glance back and blow him a kiss.
An hour later and a hundred swears directed at New York traffic in general, I pulled my car onto the tarmac of the small private airport where I was meeting Emilio and Harold’s plane. It had already landed, and the two of them were standing near the stairs, each trying to act like the chill wind whipping around them wasn’t making them absolutely miserable.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” I hated to show up late for anything, especially when it meant leaving one of my partners alone in the cold spring air with a literal demon.
The two of them seemed to be weathering it well, though. They didn’t even look like they were all that mad at me.
Small blessings.
Neither of them had any luggage to speak of. Emilio carried a big duffle bag that I was ninety percent sure was stuffed full of weapons, and Harold was wearing an assortment of mismatched clothes from our evidence locker at the office. I noticed what he wasn’t wearing was a new collar. I was surprised Tyler would let him out of the lab without one, but maybe he had taken the episode in the alley as evidence that we could trust the demon.
It was still strange seeing Harold in a human body. I knew it was Harold, but the face he was wearing belonged to someone who had very recently tried to kill us, which for obvious reasons made me a little leery of approaching him.
“You look so…evil,” I told him.
“Aw, you’re sweet.”
I was immediately at ease again. He might be a demon, but he was also a huge dork, and in spite of all common sense, I found myself happy he was here.
“The two of you are a sight for sore eyes, let me tell you.” I took the duffle bag from Emilio and slung it over my shoulder. I think had anyone else tried this particular move he would have rejected it and probably broken their arm, but he let me do it without any protest.
“You’re wincing,” he observed.
“Oh yeah, it’s been a bit of a day. You know how it is when demon-worshipping vampires want to turn you into a human sacrifice.”
I was doing my best to pretend I was not in agony, so the fact I was managing to only wince a little meant I might actually be pulling it off.
“I hope you put them in traction.”
“As a matter of fact…” I tossed the bag on the floor in the back and ushered for Harold to follow it. Perhaps this was my blind spot for him showing, but I wasn’t even the slightest bit worried about having a demon in the backseat next to all our guns. At this point I didn’t think this was a long-con scenario Harold was playing. I was fully convinced he wanted to help us.
He also hadn’t shied away from letting us know he could take bodies when and if it suited him, as exhibited by the cult member he was currently wearing, so I think it was safe to say this Harold was the deal we were stuck with for better or for worse.
Emilio got into the passenger side, and soon we were all on the road. I filled them in on the pertinent details of what they’d missed, including Davos taking girls from the vampire bar, the ceremony site at High Line park, and the missing vampire.
“Seems pretty obvious to me they’re planning to use Sig for the ceremony,” Harold announced when I finished my recap.
I almost slammed my car into the cab ahead of me when it braked suddenly.
“What’d you say?” I turned around in my seat to look at him. Behind me a car started to honk so aggressively you would think I took a giant shit on the guy’s lawn that morning.
“I said, it seems pretty obvious they’re planning to use Sig for the ceremony. Right? I mean they used a warden at the last scene.” Harold glanced at Emilio, then back at me, as if this were some sort of test and he wasn’t sure if he was passing.
I flipped off the car behind me and started driving again before he could whip around me in a fit of rage.
“What do you mean they used a warden at the last scene?” A tingling sense of annoyance was competing with my euphoria over this break in the case.
“Yeah, we probably should have mentioned that sooner. “Turns out the guy used as the last sacrifice was a vampire. It took ages to figure it out, though, because Lily’s healing chamber puts people in a near-death state as it is, so not to shock their systems as they get better. It wasn’t until he was out that we realized the no-pulse thing wasn’t a glitch, he was already undead.”
Vampire blood.
Of course.
Not only were the vampires managing the ceremonies, they were trying to use vampire blood, too, which would be way stronger than any offering from a mortal.
Davos had tried using two humans at once, but when that didn’t work, he must have decided to go for the big guns. Really big guns.
I couldn’t believe how stupid I felt in that moment. I had been thinking about every aspect of this wrong from the start. The clues had been there, each detail laid out, and instead of putting the pieces together I had thrown them in the air and asked, What does it all mean?
Of course they were going to use Sig for the ceremony. What better than the blood of a two-thousand-year-old vampire to open a portal to Hell? If using a measly grunt warden had worked well in Los Angeles and been enough to release two demons before we shut it down, I had to imagine the portal opened by Sig’s blood would be vastly more potent.
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of that. It was so damned obvious it could have bitten me. I’d been so focused on the smaller details, like what they were using Ingrid for, and why Sig would hold off on Davos’s warrant, and their continued attempts to use human sacrifices, that I had absolutely missed the big picture.
“Harold, you’re a genius.”
“Is there a chance we could negotiate on tha
t name a little?”
“Are you going to tell me your real one?”
“Uh, no.”
“Then I can call you Harry if you’d prefer.” If he wouldn’t give me his real demonic name, then he was going to be called whatever the hell I wanted to call him, and he should be happy I didn’t feel like giving him the name Shit Burger. Harold seemed nice by comparison.
He sighed. “Fine.”
“Harry it is.”
I turned onto the next block and navigated by memory until we were at the 76th Precinct building. Parking the car, I looked over at Emilio.
“Fancy an interrogation?”
“Why, Ms. McQueen. I didn’t get you anything.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It didn’t take much convincing for Mercedes to let us in to see Davos.
I got the feeling that she was already fed up with him and welcomed outside pressure when it came to putting some heat on him. I also got the feeling she wasn’t thrilled with all the favors I was asking for, because when I called she had said, With you back in town I might as well be on the night shift again.
Though I had no false illusions about him telling us the truth about where Sig was, I was pissed off about the attack earlier that afternoon, and more than a little mad at myself for not drawing the most obvious conclusion in the world.
I needed to take that out on someone.
Davos seemed like a good place to put my anger.
A regular interrogation room wasn’t equipped for a one-on-one chat with the vampire. While human law enforcement was slowly learning how to deal with supernatural enemies, their budgets didn’t suddenly get bigger overnight. Each precinct in the city had a sunproof cell to handle vampires, but most of them weren’t set up like our lab in L.A. yet, meaning no reinforced doors or windows. A vampire could pretty easily get out of a human interrogation room.
Which meant we were chatting with Davos in his cell, located in the precinct’s basement.