by Aliyah Burke
“So if it is progress, Cheza, why are you here experimenting on your own skin instead of out there with her?” Hara asked.
She turned her head all the way around and stared at him while the wound on her arm sealed up. “I was waiting for you.” She rose and walked toward him while her head realigned itself properly on her body. “I believe you owe me something else.”
His cock rose to attention at the thought of her blood again pouring over his tongue—rich and vibrant. He closed a clawed hand around his dick and showed a mouthful of teeth. “Climb on.”
“Here?” Uma cried out. “We don’t want to watch your vulgar fucking.”
“You know you do,” Cheza said, sitting on his cock so her back was to him. “Why don’t you come over here and join us.” She hefted her breasts. “Come, Uma. You know you like these.”
Hara leaned forward and ripped into her skin—no finesse, no warning. He wanted her blood. He didn’t care if Uma and Pelur joined them or in what capacity, so long as none but him got her blood. It was a good thing that was his mindset for moments later, Pelur pressed his body at Hara’s back, replacing the chair he’d been sitting in. He closed his eyes and rode the pleasure high that Cheza’s life source gave him, while she took what she wanted from him.
Chapter Fourteen
“I brought Klaus.”
Roz crossed her arms and tried really hard to ignore the need thrumming through her body because of this man. “Bring him. There is a kennel set up until he is ready to be with the children.”
He got the dog out of the truck and followed Roz across the green grass to a kennel that hadn’t been there before.
“It’s half an acre. By the time he’s ready to run on more than that, he’ll be healed and won’t need to be out here at all.” She waved them both in and shut the gate, latching it.
They entered the small building, a pristine area filled by a large bed there for the dog along with stainless steel dishes with food and fresh water. He took the dog’s leash off and let Klaus inspect everything. The dog door was big enough he wouldn’t have to squeeze in and out. He slipped out, off to explore his new area.
“Did you read my note?”
“No. I have it in my pocket. I was going to read it on my way back.” He stepped toward her. “I am so sorry how this is turning out.”
“Not as sorry as you will be.”
There was menace underlying her tone. She ran her gaze over him. No jeans today, but drab olive cargo pants. The throbbing between her legs was most unappreciated. His shirt was khaki. She closed her eyes on the mental image of her taking it off him.
“You think this is one of Their tricks?”
His question brought her back to the here and now. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Do you really believe your wife, who died over ten years ago, is actually alive?” she countered with her own question.
“No,” he said in a low tone. “I do not. At least not as the same woman who died beside our son.” He raked a hand through his curls. “There are too many differences.”
She perked up. “Like what?”
“She does not remember our son or his name. When I mentioned it, she acted as if I spoke of another man she may have been with or fancied.” His words were submerged in a type of pain she didn’t believe she would ever experience.
She couldn’t imagine how much that had to have hurt him, to have a woman who looked identical to the one he’d married and had a child with act like the kid had never happened. “I’m sorry.”
“Then she uses contractions all the time. Hadil, when I was married to her, never did.”
“Like you don’t.”
He nodded. “Precisely.” He took a deep breath, sidelining her attention once more. “Then there is the smell.”
“Smell?”
“Sulfur.”
“It’s a demon.” How did I miss that when I was there? Or the night at the bar?
“What is a demon?”
“This thing impersonating your dead wife. Sulfur is one of the strong scents they emanate.”
“So, it truly is not my wife.”
She didn’t respond, since it had been more of a statement than a question. Roz turned from him and paced as she tried to figure out how to keep him safe from a demon. She knew they had used demons to take the place of people but never before had they impersonated a dead person—that she knew of. What was the best way to handle this? And if they will use the wife, what’s to stop them from using his son?
Whipping back around to face him, she reached for his arm. His tortured eyes met hers. “You know if they will use her…”
“My son may be next.”
He turned from her and she spied the handle of his handgun sticking out from his pants. Licking her lips, she stepped closer and placed her palm in the middle of his back.
“I’m sorry.”
“Does this ever end?”
“According to the prophecy, it will at some point.” She backed away. “Look, we need to go over how you will protect yourself from the demon. Our guess is they will try to get you on their side to fight against us.”
“Us. Our guess.” He faced her again. “The others know? Of course they do. Protecting the world and all of that.” He bunched a fist in her shirt and pulled her near. “Why did you not let me explain that night?”
“I was jealous and furious you wouldn’t let me do my job. That you would protect a woman I knew was New Order.” Roz saw no reason to lie to him.
“How did you know she was New Order? I have seen no such mark on her.”
The thought of him seeing her naked made her gut clench but she shoved it aside. This was bigger—so much so—than her own petty feelings. “I saw it on her neck in the lightning.”
“Then at the house, our house? What was that about?”
“That was me playing into her assumption that I was still furious.”
“And you were not?”
“No. I had worked it out in my head by morning.” At least the best I can.
He drew her closer until they were pressed against each other. “Did you?”
She nodded, unable to find the words. Any words. He lowered his mouth until it was a hair’s breadth away from hers.
“Where are we now?”
She lost herself in his eyes. “Kennel.”
“And are we safe here?”
“As we can be on the estate.”
He nipped her earlobe. “Will we be interrupted? By the children?”
“No, they’ve been told to stay out of here and leave Klaus alone until I feel he can safely interact with them. That won’t be until his leg has healed first.”
He cupped her breast in one hand, fingers tugging the nipple. “I am going to fuck you,” he said, nipping the side of her neck. “I want you to remember who I am, even if we are apart.”
“I remember who you are, Altair. That’s not anything you have to worry about.” Her cell rang in her pocket and she withdrew it. “Hill.”
“Sorry to bother you, Ms. Hill. This is Officer Menkin.”
Her insides clenched when Altair pinched her nipple as he pushed his other hand down the front of her pants, the elastic band easily giving way to allow him to enter.
“What can I do for you, Officer?”
Altair met her eyes then slid two fingers deep in her pussy. There was a fire in his eyes she couldn’t recall seeing previously. It was different, it was…more.
“We had a lead on the assailant to Ms. Simmons. I was wondering if you had time to come to the station? Or I could meet you somewhere.”
She had to clamp back the moan of pleasure dangling from her lips. Gulping for air, she licked her lips. “I can meet you. Either at my office or your station. Up to you. I’m not in the office, so the trip to either place will be fine.”
“I’m out as well, currently, but I can meet you in your office in, say, two hours?”
She wrapped her hand in Altair’s hair, holding
him against her skin as he flicked his tongue in her belly button. “That will be fine.” She ended the call and with a hand that wobbled, she pushed it back into her pocket.
“How long?” he murmured.
She grabbed his wrist he had between her legs, bringing him in farther. “Long enough,” she panted.
He stood and lifted her with one hand as he put his glistening fingers to her mouth. “Open.”
She did and cleaned off her cream. Using the side of the kennel as support, he shoved her pants down. She wiggled until they were off then wrapped her legs around his waist, purring when his cock rested against her slit. She drew hard on his fingers and a low rumble left him as he readjusted then speared his cock into her. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It was exactly how she wanted it.
* * * *
Altair shouldered his work belt as he walked from his truck to the house. He was grateful Klaus wasn’t around to get hurt, even though he would miss the damn dog. He composed himself as he neared the door.
“Hadil?” he asked, when he pushed through.
“In here,” she called back.
He hung up his belt, double checked that his pistol was still in place then went to find her. She stood by the sliding glass door, staring out over the backyard.
“What are you doing?” He ignored the trays of burnt food resting upon his counters.
“I was waiting for you.” She turned and he had to struggle not to back up a step. A chunk of her skin had fallen off, exposing the greenish-ocher color of the demon beneath.
“I told you I had to take the dog to her.”
“Yes. I know.” She wrung her hands like she was nervous. “I don’t like her and don’t want you to see her again.”
He let that comment pass. “What happened here?” He gestured to the food.
“I got distracted while cooking your dinner.”
He moved slightly, giving himself more maneuverability for the attack he knew in his bones was imminent. “What distracted you?”
“Some visitors.”
“So you have already made friends?”
“I’m a very likeable person.”
He heard the front door open again and he dropped to the floor just as the first shots rang out. He rolled, taking in the feathered dart embedded in the wall close to where he had been standing.
“Grab him,” the creature posing as Hadil screeched.
His stomach revolted and churned as he saw leathery wings sprout from the back of the woman who looked like his wife. Her face elongated while her arms shrank, becoming thin, tipped with three-fingered hands boasting long, lethal claws.
He’d palmed his pistol by the time he regained his feet. Men and women in black stormed in from all entry points. Some even thundered down his stairs. He fired, making sure each shot counted. Bodies fell but the tide was unending. A fireball exploded past his head and he turned to see the demon flapping its wings and releasing a God-awful noise. He shot it, emptying the rest of his magazine into it.
Turning to hand-to-hand, he held his own until another dart sank into his neck. He tried to reach it and pull it out but whatever concoction they had in it defeated him instantly.
As he lost consciousness, he saw the fuzzy outline of two people standing over him. “She will be caught soon enough then we can kill him. If we can’t offer the trade, she won’t come.”
The drug won and he sank into darkness.
* * * *
“Roz.”
“Hey, Jefferson,” she said, heels clicking briskly on the tiled floor. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to talk to you. Got a minute?”
She stopped and looked at the man at her side. He didn’t seem healthy. “I am on my way to my office to meet an officer.”
His expression was crestfallen.
She scratched at her eyebrow and sighed. “I suppose we can take the elevator and you can tell me on the way up.”
“Thank you, Roz.”
“I know this is none of my business, Jefferson, but have you been to the doctor? You don’t look good. I’m worried about you.” She stepped into the elevator and ignored the tingling in her jaw as he stepped in as well.
“He says I need less stress in my life.” An awkward laugh. “Hard to do that when you’re an attorney is what I told him.”
“Take care of you, Jefferson. We don’t want to lose you.”
“Hold the elevator,” a man called.
Her unease at having more in the small space calmed when she saw Menkin step in. He smiled at her.
“Officer Menkin,” she replied.
“Just the woman I wanted to see.”
Her unease spiked again when two more people entered. The tattoo on her shoulder shifted as her power flowed. Instantly alert, she realized this was less than an ideal situation—in an elevator with no way out. The only one had others between her and it. I hate these damn things.
Jefferson looked at her again and gave her a smile. “Sorry,” he whispered.
She forced a shrug. “It happens. What did you need to talk to me about?”
“Not that,” he said, looking sad. “For this.” He stabbed her in the shoulder with a syringe, depressing the plunger.
She dropped her briefcase, noting the elevator had rocked to a stop between floors. The others in there, Menkin included, turned to her and attacked. There was no room in the elevator car for her bow, so she pulled other weapons.
Her sign did what it could to rid her body of the concoction as she fought.
“I’ve been attacked at work. They shot me with some kind of drug that’s paralyzing my muscles.” She sent her cry out over the common link they all shared.
The prick of another needle around her ankle had her looking to see Jefferson stabbing her with the last bit of breath in his body. It was too much for her to ward off and she dropped to her knees as the small space closed over her. How could she have been so blind and foolish? She should have known better than to assume she was safe in her own building.
Chapter Fifteen
The sounds that woke him reminded him of a prisoner of war camp he’d spent some time in. Altair slowly opened his eyes and took in his surroundings—dark and dank, with faint screams echoing off the walls.
The cell he occupied was empty other than him and a small bit of straw. No windows, and the door was solid, except for a small space with two bars at the top that allowed a little light in.
He moved, only to freeze. Either I got my ass whipped worse than I figured, or they continued to pound on me after I passed out. Pain radiated out from each inch of his body. Gingerly, he sat up as his mind moved from civilian carpenter to military. Not that it had truly changed, but he was focusing on how to escape and get back to Roz.
Roz. He hoped she was safe. Inching back until the cold wall resided against his spine, he took several deep breaths. Then he struggled to get to his feet, shoving the pain into a small box and locking the lid. Worse pain was going to come, so those minor aches weren’t worth his attention.
He faced the wall and, while clenching his jaw shut, he slammed his shoulder into the unforgiving cement, popping his shoulder back in place. It still hurts to do that. He moved around, trying to limber himself up, wake the muscles that seemed content to remain drugged. He wanted the shit—whatever it was—out of his system.
It wasn’t that big a space. Five paces by eight. Still, he stayed mobile until sweat ran down his body and he felt better. A shadow blocked out the light and he sank to the floor, lying back how they had him.
The heavy lock gave and, with a creak, the door swung in. He watched through lowered lids. A grotesque behemoth stood there while a man slipped in and came to stand before him. He reached out with a booted foot and kicked Altair square in the ribs.
“Get up,” he snapped.
Altair lay still as death.
“Get in here and bring him. Whatever they did to him still hasn’t worn off.”
“Carry prisoner, Blak
e?”
“Yes, yes,” he snapped with impatience. “Carry the damn prisoner, you stupid monkey.” Blake stepped out and the large creature entered.
Altair knew why the man called Blake had left—there would have been barely enough room. Massive hands lifted him with ease and he found himself tossed over the creature’s shoulder. Sulfur burned his nose and he took shallow breaths. They left the cell and went down the corridor.
The thing holding him lumbered like Quasimodo as he followed Blake.
“Where are you going?” a woman demanded.
“I’m going to interrogate this prisoner, Haley. Get out of my way.”
“I still don’t like you, Blake. And what do you know about interrogating?”
“I know plenty,” he snapped.
Altair could picture him stomping his foot in childish frustration, for that’s how he sounded.
“You wish.”
“Get out of the way. Lamar is waiting.”
Altair filed those names away and cracked open his eyes slightly. More doors lined the stretch of corridor they were in. He couldn’t see into any of them but he knew at least some were occupied, for there were cries escaping. The thing that had him slung over its shoulder had skin with boils on it—ones that seemed ready to burst at any moment. If it bothered the creature that Altair was on them, the being didn’t let it show.
Haley must have moved, for they began progressing. He continued to lie there, closing his eyes once more except for occasional peeks. His head was pounding—he wanted to save what little energy he had for what lay ahead.
The creak of another door pierced the air like a bullet leaving a gun—sharp and decisive.
“Hurry up,” Blake bit off. “Put him in the chair.”
“In chair,” the thing carrying him said.
“Yes, monkey. Do it.”
“Not monkey,” it said, swinging him down.
Altair’s groan of pain slid free but he worked hard to make it appear as if he were still not alert. The hard flat of a wooden chair met his butt.