Blooded blade, p.5
Blooded Blade, page 5
He sighed and lowered me to the ground, but didn’t release me—his mouth slammed over mine in a deep, possessive kiss. “No apologies for your nightmares, Kit. Remember that.”
“Okay.” My breath was ragged, thanks to the kiss and the heat in his gaze and I backed away before I could give into the temptation I saw waiting there.
“Be safe.” His lids drooped low of his eyes, shielding the intensity of his emotions. “Send me a message when you can.”
I jerked my head in a nod, then turned, running out of the room. Grabbing my phone on the next alert, I hit the button. “Colbana.”
“Code R,” the voice intoned. “Young vamps from House Whittier were being transferred to Allerton and the transport vehicle was rear-ended. Three were contained immediately, but two escaped and are at present, loose in East Orlando.”
“Shit.”
“In a word, yes. Details incoming. Apprehend if possible, but prevent loss of life to the populace, no matter what. Termination on sight if no safe means of retrieval. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged.” I swung by my room, grabbed the emergency kit I kept ready and hit the door, still running.
It would take me a long while to remember that I never did find out what—or who—was in the room.
By the time I thought to look again, the dungeon had been emptied.
Chapter Two
Six Weeks Later
A headache pounded behind my eyes as I dragged myself out of my car and into the Lair. My legs felt like cement blocks as I dragged myself the thirty feet or so that separated the connected parking garage from the sprawling, and ever-expanding, building that was the East Orlando Lair.
I was drained in a way I hadn’t been in a long, long time.
I wasn’t hungry—I was too tired for that, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a real meal, so I took the sandwich a juvenile shifter pushed into my hands as I passed by. I’d been tracking a runaway offshoot for the past week and had barely managed enough time to breathe, much less eat or drink.
Now that the boy was in the safe hands of his mom—human, but accepting—and his not-human and asshole, abusive father was locked up in a cell at the Assembly awaiting trial for abuse, trafficking and slew of other charges, I wanted to sleep for a week. Maybe a month.
The scent of roasted meat drifted up from the wrapped sandwich and my stomach grumbled, deciding that maybe I wasn’t too tired to eat.
All around me, people chattered and moved about, daily life in the Lair carrying on.
Needing the fuel and rest, I kept a blank expression on my face as I strode to the quarters I shared with Damon. There were waves, smiles and greeting and I made myself respond, nodding at a couple of juveniles and waving to a little girl who often crept up to watch Doyle as we trained together. I wasn’t in the mood to socialize, but Doyle had been drumming it into my head that if I kept ignoring the Clan, they’d think they’d done something wrong.
You’re part of the Clan now, Kit. Even if you’re not a shifter, you’re family. They don’t want to crowd you, and they won’t. But they’re still social creatures. You’re not. I get it, but they just...don’t. You don’t have to make eye contact, but if you walk around with your eyes on the floor, they feel like they’ve messed up or hurt your feelings.
I hated shifter politics and the general shifter culture. Maybe it wasn’t so bad in reality, but the shifters in Florida were still coming out of the trauma of dealing with a batshit crazy Alpha who would kill somebody over the minor offense of not smiling brightly enough—or smiling over the wrong thing. I wasn’t cut out for this life, but I loved the man who led these people and the clan had been willing to die for me, bleed for me. What was I supposed to do?
Fortunately, nobody tried to stop me. My stomach was making strident demands now and my mouth was watering. I dumped the plate on the counter, moving to the sink to wash up. No way was I touching food or anything else without washing up. I was filthy, stinking to high heaven.
Stripping down to my utility tank and panties, I left my filthy clothes in a tangle on the floor, stowed my gear, then did a quick wash-up in the kitchen sink. Once I climbed into the shower and the heat got to work on my sore muscles, I’d be done, so food first.
I managed to get half the sandwich down before my body decided it had had enough. My eyesight went blurry, my vision going dark—and while I was still in the middle of chewing a mouthful of roasted turkey, lettuce, and tomato, which a thick slice of smoky cheddar and creamy mayo to top it all off.
Since I didn’t want to choke on the sandwich, delicious as it was, I wrapped the rest of it back up, shoved it into the fridge and went to shower.
After scrubbing off days’ worth of sweat, dirty and any lingering scent of blood, I shut off the water and climbed out.
My reflection showed a woman who’d lost weight. I didn’t look unhealthy, but I really needed to stop getting by on protein shakes and granola while on some of the heavier hunts I’d been doing.
I’d been called out on a lot of heavy hunts lately, starting with a couple of vamps who’d tried to make a break for it a little over a month earlier.
Since then, it had been one shit show after another.
Logically, I knew I wasn’t the only Assembly freelancer getting slammed. We’d escaped military involvement by the skin of our teeth after an outbreak of vampiric violence, but such an outbreak almost always spiraled into more chaos.
I’d never experienced anything like what was happening in the city, but some of my colleagues and other, older full-time employees like the desk clerks and armory sergeants had been through similar cycles. The worst of it is behind us, I’d heard several times. I sure as hell hoped so. I was exhausted.
Findlay, a vampire who worked for the Tribunal, the highest NH authority in the country, was still stuck here in East O doing clean up after the vampiric outbreaks. Helping stabilize the vampire population wasn’t a job he’d wanted but as one of the strongest vamps in the region currently, he didn’t have much choice. I didn’t feel sorry for him. He’d been the one to let Jude out, and Jude, as expected, had come after me almost immediately.
I’d killed him.
Findlay didn’t hold that against me and I doubted he was requesting that every shit job come my way as any sort of personal vendetta.
Findlay was frozen in a body that would look forever young. His eyes blazed with intelligence and cunning, but sometimes, too, with a glint that made me think he remembered more of his human life than most vampires.
He was still an old bastard, which meant he could be an arrogant ass.
But he wasn’t so arrogant that he’d put me on shit jobs just because he was pissed at being stuck here still...was he?
Brooding over it, I swiped a towel off my hair, hung it up and tugged the oversized t-shirt I’d stolen from Damon off the hook on the back of the door. It was worn and faded and smelled like my lover. Taking comfort in the scent of the forest and wild things, I pulled it on, then brushed my teeth. The fog of sleep edged closer and I trudged into the bedroom, hoping against hope to see Damon push through the door, even though I wouldn’t. I’d sense him if he was anywhere close by.
And he wasn’t.
Climbing into bed, I pulled the covers up, grabbed his pillow and hauled it to my chest. It felt like I’d barely closed my eyes and sleep grabbed me, pulled me under,
I rarely rested deeply when I was in this bed alone.
Tonight was no different.
The nightmare awaited—she awaited, lurking in this hellscape that had begun to haunt me with regularity, playing out the same way time and again almost every time I closed my eyes.
“Granddaughter.” Fanis stood in front of me, her features and clothing familiar but...not. Her eyes looked hollow in her face, her cheekbones more prominent, cutting against her skin so sharply, they looked ready to slice through. Her voice was an eerie echo, as if she spoke to me from beyond the grave.
In the misty, murky space where we stood, I couldn’t make out anything beyond her.
“What do you want?” I asked. Behind my back, I fisted my hands, cutting my nails into my palms in the vain hope the pain would help me wake.
Wake up, Kit...wake up. Wake up!
“You’re weary. And weak,” she said, instead of answering my question. “You shouldn’t let yourself get into such a state. So much easier for the hyenas to pick you off if you let yourself grow weak, child.”
“I’m so touched you care.” I sneered. “What do you want?”
“What I want...that is my concern. Yours...well, your concern is to just stay alive. There is no need to divine anything in our conversations beyond what I tell you, Kitasa.” She smiled as she spoke and the warmth in her expression was terrifying. “All will be revealed in time.”
A stuttering fear gripped me. I fought it back.
She saw it anyway.
“You should fear me.” She leaned closer, bringing with her the scent of spices and herbs, things I’d forgotten until now. They made my stomach clench. “I run out of time, granddaughter. I run out of patience. If you will not return, then I will come for you.”
Run out of time for what? But I didn’t ask.
I curled my lip at her, faking bravado. “Didn’t you already try that, sending your pets out to haul me back to that hell you call home?”
“My pets.” Fanis arched a brow and cocked her head, something incredibly inhuman about the movement. “You speak of Reshi.”
“Sure. Yeah. Okay.”
“Shhhh...” Something cold brushed against my arm, the sort of cold that sank into my bones. A ghostly whisper followed. “She doesn’t know you and I are...connected, little sister.”
Some strange knowledge, primal and instinctive, told me not to react to the voice, or the sudden presence of the Lemera, a chill touch along my senses. Not looking at the specter, I smirked at my grandmother. “Neither Reshi or Fenele did a very good job collecting me, Granny.”
Fanis smiled. It was a lewd smile, made even worse by rich red paint she’d slicked on her lips. I’d never known my grandmother to use cosmetics—even as old as she was, she was still stunningly, staggeringly beautiful—or rather, she had been, back when I’d still be trapped in Aneris Hall.
The use of cosmetics would be like framing a sapphire with garishly cut glass masquerading as diamonds.
But now, the red stain on her lips was obscene, rather like decorating a days-old corpse.
“Is Reshi back, Grandmother?” I asked. From the corner of my eye, I could see Lemera. She was circling around my grandmother, head moving in strange, abrupt movements, almost batlike, a predator closing in on her quarry. “She didn’t seem very happy when she left Florida. Had her tail all tucked between her legs and everything.”
Fanis narrowed her eyes. “What game is this?”
“Game?”
“Both twins have been stolen away, Kitasa. I’m most displeased by this.” Time seemed to blink and in a heartbeat, she was in front of me, cruel fingers squeezing my chin while nails sharpened to claws cut into my flesh.
“Reshi left weeks ago, you old crone,” I snarled, jerking free.
“Enough of your lies. Your time is just about up, mewling whelp. I come to claim what is mine. You will take nothing more. You took Rathias. Your fool mother gave her loyalty to you rather than her queen. And you took the twins from me, stupid girl. But I’m coming for you now. And you will pay.”
“Kit, wake up!”
I jerked upright, full awareness falling on me like the skies had opened to drench me in icy water.
Shivering, I sucked in a ragged breath just as Damon wrapped me in strong, warm arms and hauled me onto his chest.
“Fuck, Kit...are you okay?”
I didn’t answer, burrowing into him, so desperately cold, it hurt.
“It’s alright,” he murmured into my ear, rolling onto his side and hauling me into the hard curve of his body. He threw one leg over mine, wrapped his arm around my waist until I was surrounded by his heat. “It’s alright, baby girl. I’ve got you. She can’t hurt you. She won’t ever hurt you.”
I desperately wished I could believe him.
Pressing my face into his chest, I clung to him and let the deep, rolling timbre of his voice wash over me.
* * * * *
Warmth surrounded me.
I don’t know how long I’d been sleeping but the solid strength of Damon’s arms held me tight throughout the night and no more nightmares came. The heavy lassitude in my muscles gave me the vaguest idea—I’d finally gotten more than just two or three hours of sleep. Opening one eye, I saw light filtering in around the curtains, a soft, ethereal glow that spoke of early morning.
I might have just rolled over and burrowed deeper into Damon’s warmth but my bladder demanded attention.
His arm tightened around my waist.
“Bathroom,” I said, gripping his wrist and tugging until he released me.
After taking care of business, I caught sight of my reflection and cringed. Damn, I definitely needed to get a few more meals in me. My hips and collarbones were so pronounced, they looked ready to cut right through my skin. Since I’d collapsed into bed with my hair still wet, the fine, slippery strands looked like I’d decide to style them by sticking my finger in an electrical socket.
“Good thing you’re not overly vain,” I muttered, grabbing a brush. Once I’d smoothed my hair down, I washed my face to clear the fog from my brain then grabbed my lotion.
I almost felt normal by the time I opened the bathroom door.
Damon stood on the other side.
My heart jumped, lurching into panic mode at his sudden, completely silent appearance.
Dragging in a shaky breath, I glared at him. “I’m going to put a damn bell on you one of these days.”
He didn’t say anything, the intensity of his eyes slamming into me like a velvet punch. When he moved forward, crowding into my personal space, I fell back a step, then another and another, until he caught my hips to still me.
The heat of his palms on my skin was searing, almost like a brand, the barrier of my panties and sleep tank next to nothing—and then even those barriers were gone, falling away under his touch with an ease that spoke of a leopard shifter’s claws.
Those claws brushed gently over my skin before he retracted them, but the eyes that held mine had gone a swirling green-gold.
“You’ve got to stop shredding my clothes,” I said, the words ragged.
“Not if I keep buying replacements.” He dipped his head, mouth going to the curve between neck and shoulder, his teeth scraping over the scar he’d left on me, a mark that told anybody who looked I was his. I’d bitten him, too, and more than once, but my normal teeth just didn’t do the damage a shifter’s did. Also, I healed a lot slower, giving the faint ridge of scar tissue time to form.
Although there was nothing normal about the scar left by Damon’s bite. It seemed to get more sensitive as time went by. Now, as he scraped it with his teeth, then lingered to give it slow, teasing licks, sensation swept over me as if he was doing something much more erotic.
He turned and boosted me onto the edge of the marble counter, the cool surface a shocking contrast to skin overheating under the demanding, delicious touch of hard, hungry hands.
One of them glided up over my ribs to palm my breast and I gasped as he tugged on my nipple, shuddered as he toyed and played until it was pulsing in time with my heart.
“Damon!” I gripped his shoulders, nails digging in as he slid his free hand between my thighs, fingers seeking out the wet heat there.
He growled in rough approval before withdrawing.
Me, on the other hand? I groaned in disappointment because he’d already stopped.
Not for long, though. He shifted his grip to my knee, fingers possessive and tight.
As my center of balance changed, I sagged backward and braced my weight on my hands, eyes locked with his. The grey of his irises gave way to the swirling green-gold of his cat’s and that gaze held me captive while he tucked the head of his cock against my entrance and began to push inside me.
I whimpered, head falling back and lashes fluttering down.
“Look at me.”
I tried, but my lids felt weighted down, the muscles in my neck limp.
He started to withdraw and I tightened around him, curling one leg around his hip. “Don’t.”
“Then look at me,” he said again, pushing his free hand into my hair and tugging until he had my head angled to meet his gaze.
“Bossy, grouchy cat.” I smiled at him as he flexed his hips, pushing back inside me. “So pushy.”
Instead of responding, he pulled out, tugged me off the counter and turned me around, the movement so quick, my head was left spinning. He kicked my legs apart then dipped his knees.
“Damon!” The strangled cry bounced off the walls of the bathroom as he drove into me, this time filling me in one hard, driving thrust.
“If you’re going to call me bossy and pushy, I might as well live up to it.” He adjusted his grip, dragging me up until my toes left the ground.
His length pulsed inside me and I whimpered, head falling onto his shoulder. His cock pulsed inside me. My body reacted by squeezing around him which only made him pulse again, the delicious cycle so erotic, I thought I might come even if he didn’t move.
But he moved—Damon wasn’t a passive lover.
He urged me forward until my weight was bent over the marble counter, the cold of it a tease against my nipples while he gripped my hips and began to ride me. Whimpering, I reached back, grabbing onto his wrist, needing something to anchor myself.
Damon only let it last a few seconds, then he caught my hand and pinned it at the small of my back. “I’m bossy and pushy, baby girl. And right now, it’s all my way.”
Then, almost as if to preempt the move, he took my other wrist, holding both of them pinned in one hand at the small of my back, his other hand gripping my shoulder as he thrust.
I clenched around him with a broken moan.
