by Jenna Black
His grin no doubt held a touch of evil. “Because I don’t want you coming until I’m good and ready, and I’m planning to very much enjoy what I’m going to do next.”
Her eyes widened a bit at that.
Sitting up, he positioned her more comfortably on the couch, releasing the glamour so she could move. When she was settled, he slid her skirt up to her hips, revealing her panties once again. His cock twitched eagerly. Not yet, he told it.
As stunning as she looked in those panties, it was time for them to go. Her skin shivered under his touch as he drew them slowly down her legs. The musk of her arousal filled his senses, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last.
He tapped with one finger on the inside of her thigh, and she spread her legs in response to the silent command. He began again the maddening tease, not sure which one of them he tormented most as his fingers explored the soft, sensitive skin of her thighs, her hips, her lower belly.
“Please, Gabriel,” she gasped, her hands clenched into fists beside her.
He grinned at her. “Please what?” he asked, but at just that moment his fingers brushed against the curls between her legs, and her voice was lost in a gasp.
The look on her face, the little breathy moans, the scent of her, combined in a heady blend of erotic energy that seized him by the balls. He’d never felt anything like this before, never ached so desperately for release while still denying himself. Never known how unbearably arousing it could be to bring his partner pleasure, how her pleasure could be as intoxicating as his own.
He spread her legs wider, and she held her breath as he kissed the inside of her thigh, just above her knee. Moving a little higher up her thigh, he pressed another kiss to the tender skin there, then followed the kiss with a quick flick of his tongue. Jez’s breath hitched, and he smiled.
The smile faded momentarily when he found the mass of scar tissue where her attackers had torn her open to get at the femoral artery. Would a kiss there trigger an unpleasant association despite the shroud he had drawn over the memory? There was only one way to find out.
A pleasured sigh eased his concerns, and he traced the scars with the tip of his tongue. He was so close to her tantalizing warmth! But he feared if he tasted her now, he might lose the last of his control. He didn’t want to be distracted by his own pleasure when she came, wanted to drink up every quiver, every spasm, every cry.
“Please,” she moaned again.
His glamour wasn’t pinning her anymore, but her muscles trembled with the strain of keeping herself still. And despite his desire to take everything glacier-slow, he couldn’t resist her for another second.
He was woefully inexperienced at giving women pleasure, having in the past concentrated on his own selfish needs. But Jez’s responses were so transparent, there was no doubting that she enjoyed what he was doing. When he finally allowed himself the luxury of tasting the glistening flesh between her legs, she almost jumped off the couch, her back arching wildly, an incoherent cry bubbling from her lips.
Draping one arm over her hips to hold her down, he used his other hand to part her, then took a long, tantalizing tour with his tongue, noting her reactions, seeking out the spots she liked best.
“Oh,” Jez moaned, “there!”
He allowed himself one quick, smug smile, then set to work, flicking her sensitized flesh with the tip of his tongue, then trying a tentative suckle. Her hips bucked under his arm, and he settled into a rhythm, eyes closed, all his other senses tuned into the rhythm of her body. He knew she was close, knew her release when it came would be explosive. He slid his finger inside her just in time to feel her sheath spasm, her cry almost a scream, the firm grip of his arm the only thing keeping her on the couch.
He didn’t let up stroking her until he’d milked the last possible shudder out of her and her breath came in frantic wheezes and gasps. He raised his head, making a pillow of his hands right above her sex and laying his chin on them as he regarded her face. He was pretty sure the smug smile was back, but he didn’t much care. His cock was still rigid, still ached with need, but for the moment he preferred to revel in the satisfaction of having so thoroughly pleased his beautiful little fledgling.
Jez opened her eyes on a contented sigh. She met his gaze and laughed suddenly.
He raised his eyebrows. “What?”
Still giggling, she shook her head at him. “You look like the cat who ate the canary.” The look on her face said she heard the double entendre just half a second too late.
“Meow,” he said, then licked his lips slowly and sensuously.
She shivered, and her eyes darkened with desire once more. “I’m one happy canary.”
He raised his head from his hands and began climbing up her body. “Should I make a remark about how happy the pussy is, or would that spoil the mood?”
She laughed and grabbed him by both ears, dragging him up to her a little faster. With her urging him on, he finally let go of the reins of his desire. And when he slid inside her, the sense of connection was so much more than just the joining of two bodies.
Something deep inside him cracked, a small, hairline fracture that wasn’t quite a break. A chip in his defenses that could one day be his downfall. And even as the pleasure and the joy of his union with Jezebel sang through his body, he knew that he would have to work swiftly to mend that crack before all was lost.
17
CAMILLE KNEW A TEST of her resolve when she saw one. But resolved as she was, even she found her current errand distasteful. Not that she’d ever been particularly fond of children, or that she had any deep maternal instincts. It was just that some remnant of the human being she’d once been insisted she was about to cross the final line, make the final transition from human to monster.
She smiled faintly as she approached the playground, which teemed with screaming brats under the only sometimes-watchful eyes of their parents and guardians. It was time—past time, really—that she lay the last of her humanity aside, embraced her true nature and blossomed.
She’d dressed in her casual best for this little adventure, wearing hip-hugging designer jeans and a crisp button-down blouse. She looked eminently respectable. No one gave her a second glance as she sat on a bench and watched the children playing. No one so much as guessed that a wolf sat in their midst, looking for the perfect sheep.
Gabriel, with his strange squeamishness around mortals, would probably be moved to stupidity no matter which child she selected. However, she was determined to pick the one that would push his buttons the hardest.
A girl, naturally. And a pretty one at that. Young enough to tug at heartstrings, but not so young she wouldn’t understand exactly what was going to happen to her.
A little boy, probably no more than four years old, tripped over his own awkward feet and sprawled on the asphalt. An older girl, very likely his sister, ran to him and gathered him up in her arms, making cooing noises even as she rolled her eyes and shared a long-suffering look with her giggling friends.
Camille studied the girl with the eyes of a connoisseur. She guessed the age at somewhere around eleven or twelve. The cusp of womanhood, but not there yet. No sign of budding breasts, no telltale curves. Long, straight dark hair was tangled messily in a scrunchie, and her clothing was cheaply nondescript. But her face was sweetly heart-shaped, her eyes large and expressive.
Yes, she would be perfect. Trussed up like the proverbial Christmas goose, eyes red and swollen from crying, lips trembling as Bartolomeo held her in his lap and smiled for the camera, she would call to Gabriel’s all-too-human sense of pity, and he would realize just what the cost of avoiding his fate would be. The pitiful fool would walk straight into their trap, no doubt thinking himself more than a match for his adversaries.
And when Bartolomeo finally had his hands on his longed-for target, Camille knew exactly how she could use both of them to catch Eli as well.
The last of her qualms buried, Camille rose from the bench and started d
own the street. Her glamour called out to the child she had chosen. The girl broke away from her friends, an expression of mild confusion on her face, and followed haltingly in Camille’s footsteps.
DRAKE STOOD IN A corner, far away from the rest of the Guardians. Eli had called an emergency meeting, and Drake had been sorely tempted to play hooky. He didn’t imagine the Founder could have much to say that he’d want to hear. And yet, he’d come anyway, out of long habit, or curiosity, or sense of duty.
Amazingly, the meeting hall looked as it always had, all the windows repaired, no sign of the overpowering rage that had stormed through it only a few nights past. The news, however, was grim in the extreme.
As if Gabriel himself weren’t enough of a threat, Camille and at least two other Killers had come to town as well. And they were down one Guardian, because Jezebel turned out to be Gabriel’s fledgling and spy.
Eli handed out assignments, trying to treat this massive invasion like he would any other hunt. His explosion of the other day must have had a calming effect on him in the long run, for he seemed much more sure of himself tonight, much less distracted and emotional. Drake approved of his aura of calm confidence, even as he wondered how long it would take everyone to realize it was a smoke screen.
The meeting was nearly over, and Drake was anxious to get the hell out, when suddenly Fletcher rose to his feet, drawing everyone’s attention. Drake had been leaning one shoulder against the wall, but something about the glitter in the Guardian’s eye made him stand up straight. He knew without a doubt that he didn’t want to hear whatever the puppy had to say.
Fletcher reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, dumping the contents onto his chair and then picking through them and holding up a wallet-sized photograph.
“There’s been a vampire kill in our city that I thought everyone should know about,” he said, passing the photograph to the Guardian nearest him, then picking up another from the pile and handing it to the Guardian on the other side of him.
“His name was Antwaan Evans,” Fletcher said, his eyes homing in on Drake. “He’s served time on drug charges and for assault and battery, but his record has been clean the last couple of years.” He leaned down and picked up yet another picture, this one a little larger, of an attractive young black woman, holding a pudgy infant. “This is his widow, Tawnya, and his son, Antwaan Junior.” Another picture, this of a white-haired woman, scrubbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.
The room had fallen eerily silent as the Guardians passed the pictures around.
“This is his mother, LaShanda. She had three boys. Antwaan was the youngest. Her first boy was killed by a stray bullet in a drive-by shooting when he was only nine. Her second died in a car accident, hit by a drunk driver, when he was twenty-two. Antwaan was twenty-nine when a Killer sucked every drop of blood from his body, and then left him on the subway tracks for a train to mangle beyond recognition.”
Drake’s heart beat somewhere up around his throat as every eye in the room fixed on him. He held his head high and gritted his teeth. He was not going to get drawn into this, was not going to defend himself.
Fletcher met his eyes again, daring him to say something. Drake refused to give him the satisfaction.
“He was a human being, Drake,” Fletcher continued. “He wasn’t a saint, he probably wasn’t what you’d call a nice guy, but he was human. He had people who cared for him, who relied on him. And you killed him without a second thought. So don’t give yourself airs, don’t pretend you’re one of the good guys. You’re a Killer just like the rest of them, and you don’t belong anywhere near the Guardians.”
“That’s enough, Fletcher,” Eli said quietly.
Drake bit down on a surge of anger. Couldn’t Eli have spoken up earlier?
Fletcher held up his hands. “I’ve said my piece.” He gathered up the contents of the envelope, sticking the pictures back in it, then headed for the door, passing by Drake on the way. He dropped the envelope at Drake’s feet without looking at him.
Everyone else watched him, eyes boring into him. A few faces showed sympathy and understanding. Most of them, though, held unbridled hostility and condemnation. He glanced at Eli, wondering if the Founder was going to defend him, but Eli was staring at the floor, his eyes troubled.
Leaving Drake out to dry.
Drake had a sudden flash of understanding for how Gabriel must have felt when Eli had tried to kill him. Being left out in the cold by someone you’d counted on sucked. He clenched his fists and promised himself he’d deal with the pain of it all later. For now, he just had to get out of this room alive, which could prove a challenge if Eli had removed his protection.
“I do what I have to do to live,” he said quietly, hoping his words would spur Eli into action. But Eli still had that lost look on his face, almost like he hadn’t heard anything. “When I was turned, my maker failed to mention that the kill was optional. I’ve never had the choices you all have had.” He frowned, those words resonating strangely in his head. Then he remembered where he’d heard them before—Gabriel, sneering at him and Jules for their sanctimonious attitudes. Gabriel, who like himself, had never had the choice not to kill. No choice other than death, that is.
He looked at Eli again, and realized the Founder was making the same comparison. That’s why he looked so troubled, so haunted. That’s why he didn’t speak in Drake’s defense. He was thinking of Gabriel, once again.
“You know,” Gray said, interrupting the oppressive silence that had fallen, “nothing’s changed.”
All eyes—except, naturally, Eli’s—turned toward Gray. Drake was glad to have the attention move elsewhere, but he wasn’t sure Gray was doing himself any favors by speaking up. He, too, hovered around the fringes of Guardian society, for he’d killed a mortal when he was turned. With some vampires, one kill was enough to make the blood addiction take hold, but Gray had dodged that bullet. Still, even that single kill made him suspect in many of the Guardians’ eyes.
“We’ve always known that Drake is a Killer,” Gray continued. “That’s why he’s been such a help to us.”
“I hate to say it,” Jules said, making a face, “but I agree with Gray.” A few of the Guardians chuckled at this once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. “We’ve been thankful enough for his help in the past. Seems rather hypocritical to sit here and sneer at him now just because Fletch has shown us a bunch of pictures.”
Eli finally came back from whatever mental distance he’d disappeared to. “I’ve killed far more people than Drake could ever dream of,” he said, and once again a stunned silence descended on the room. “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”
No one spoke, and no one seemed to know where to look. “Go home, everybody,” Eli said. “You have jobs to do. Killing Drake isn’t one of them.”
There were a few grumbles and murmurs, and lots of speculative looks. Drake was sure many of the Guardians were dying to ask Eli what he’d meant when he’d claimed to have more kills than Drake. No one was brave enough to ask, though.
When Drake made to follow the crowd out, Eli beckoned him to stay behind. He hesitated for a long moment in the doorway. Then, he shook his head.
“No, Eli. I’m going home. I’ve had enough for one night.”
“I’m sorry,” Eli started, but Drake didn’t want to hear it, not now.
Turning his back on his mentor, he hurried out of the house and hoped the rest of the Guardians weren’t waiting out there to kill him.
JEZ SLID QUIETLY OUT of Gabriel’s bed. He mumbled sleepily, reaching over toward the warm spot she’d just vacated and pulling her pillow up against him, but didn’t wake up.
She’d never actually seen him sleep before. He was usually far too wired, too full of conflict and painful energies. For him to be sleeping when it wasn’t even daytime must mean she’d really tired him out!
The thought brought a smile to her lips as she donned her shirt and panties and crept out into the liv
ing room.
She turned on the TV, muting the sound and then flipping absently through the channels. Naturally, there was nothing on at this late hour, but she didn’t much care. She found an unfamiliar black-and-white movie and left the TV tuned to that station, the sound off.
It was a good thing she was a vampire, or she’d probably be too sore to move right about now. Gabriel was capable of being gentle when he wanted to be, but he obviously preferred it passionately rough. Making love, to him, was almost an act of desperation. She didn’t like the idea that his passion was motivated by despair, but she certainly liked the passion itself!
She drew her knees up to her chest, stretching her shirt over the top of her legs.
She liked the passion too much. She was sailing dangerous waters, losing her heart in bits and pieces. It felt wonderful. Addictive. But just like the cigarettes she’d been addicted to as a mortal, Gabriel could turn out to be a fatal addiction.
He wasn’t the heartless, soulless monster he made himself out to be. Yes, he had a streak of cruelty to him—a wide streak—but it was much more controlled than he liked to admit. Unfortunately, the fact that he wasn’t a monster didn’t mean he wasn’t severely fucked up.
The two of them were so much alike it wasn’t funny. They’d both reacted to their family’s scorn by pretending to be something other than what they were. The difference was, Jez had escaped from her Gram’s poisonous influence when she was eighteen, and in the six years since, had come to understand how badly she’d been hurting herself in her effort to hurt her Gram.
Gabriel had never escaped. He’d been beating himself up with Eli’s opinion of him for five hundred years now. How could she possibly expect a wound like that to heal? And how could they possibly have anything like a relationship when he was so full of anger and self-loathing? They might be able to stumble along for a while, but anything between them was doomed to fail.
A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it angrily away. She hadn’t even known she was crying.