Bound By His Blood

by Jennifer August

  McCallister’s anger rose swiftly and he crowded her into the hard brick wall behind her. He braced his arms around her and leaned close. “Listen up, sweetheart, I’m a cop, you’re a hooker, ergo, I take you in.”

  She shoved at his chest and McCallister braced himself for another psychedelic occurrence of the memory game, but nothing happened.

  He breathed a little easier.

  Until the shadows sharpened and her profile outlined to pink-tinged white once more. Even the brilliance of her blue gaze grew sharper. Her voice dimmed and seemed to be coming through a speaker doused in honey.

  McCallister turned his head and spied the purple Caddy doing a slow crawl along the road. As he watched, four bright bursts emanated from the rolled-down window.

  Bullets.

  He wrapped the hooker in his arms and dropped to the ground as the ammo struck the bricks, spraying them with bits of red dust and shrapnel.

  Her scream reverberated in his ears. McCallister winced even as he looked up at the car.

  Once more the Caddy roared off, its deep engine rumbling through the night.

  He pulled back and stared down at the girl, whose eyes were now as big as baseballs.

  “What just happened?”

  “Someone tried to kill you.”

  “What? No, they didn’t!” She glared at him. “Probably some other mug you ticked off.”

  He rose, reaching out to her again. This time she placed her trembling hand in his.

  McCallister sighed, shrugged out of his beat up sports coat and draped it over her shoulders. “I get the feeling you know why.”

  Guilt covered her face in shades of pale panic and red awareness. “No. That bean-shooter’s lead was meant for you. Not me.” She bit her lip, stared at the bullet-riddled wall, and gulped. “They weren’t after me.”

  “Liar,” he said gently. “Hold on.”

  “What?” she asked, looking up at him.

  But McCallister didn’t give her any time to think. He wrapped himself all the way around her, staved off the rush of memories and feelings she poured into him, and misted.

  He’d never shifted from once place to another with a passenger and he grew tired and disoriented with frightening speed.

  Doggedly, he tightened his mental grip around her and focused on his house. Within seconds, he managed to find the living room and re-appear just in time to collapse onto the sofa.

  The girl lay sprawled atop him, still somewhat dazed and incoherent.

  He groaned and dropped his head back to the sofa cushion, hoping for time to regain his equilibrium.

  Unfortunately, her delectable body pressed along his in all the right places which made his cock spring to attention. McCallister constricted his arms around her, pressing her full tits closer to his chest. He shifted his legs apart and caught her pelvis against his.

  He smothered a groan.

  She sighed and nuzzled his throat.

  Did she feel his erection? Feel the carnal tension pervading his body?

  Apparently not, because she muttered something soft, moved again, and curled her fingers onto his chest.

  He gave serious thought to tugging her sheer red top off and unhooking her bra to free her tits. He really, really wanted to feast on them.

  His damned inbred gentlemanly manners prevented it, however. Sometimes, being born in the eighteen hundreds with all that damn formality was a pain in the ass.

  McCallister nudged the girl.

  She stirred, stretched, and pressed down on his hard cock.

  He gripped her hips and pulled her into him.

  Her light blue eyes snapped open.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Her fingers curled savagely into his chest and her knee came up, knocking his erection to hell.

  He grunted as she shoved off him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she yelped, halfway across the room. Her wild eyes locked on the door and she bolted for it. The white and pink aura now raged red and black.

  McCallister rubbed his sore dick and sat up. Couldn’t blame her. Good instincts. Nice fighting abilities.

  He shook the thoughts away.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  She pulled and tugged on the door, fighting the impenetrable lock his good friend Sullivan Alexander installed.

  “You’re not getting out unless I allow it,” he murmured and moved behind her, though he kept a respectable distance. One blow to the balls was enough to last a lifetime.

  Or six.

  “Easy there, Sapphire.” He held up his palms, hoping she’d accept the peaceful sign. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on, just like you are.”

  She slumped, head pressed to the door, then turned to face him. Her eyes were wild and scared, but held a rush of determined fervor. “I think the question is who are you? Or, more accurately, what the hell are you?”

  McCallister hesitated. He thought about lying through his fangs but decided she’d probably call him on it instantly. How is she going to react to what I am?

  “What do you think?” he hedged.

  She snorted and crossed her arms but uncertainty covered her face. She shook her head. “No. Not possible. I don’t believe in fairies, ghosts, or vampires.”

  McCallister shrugged. “Well, I’m not a fairy or a ghost.”

  Her gaze widened then she flicked him with a taut stare that grew more incredulous by the moment. “You— The street—Then we— And you’re a— Holy shit.”

  She trembled and fell against the door, one shaking hand holding her neck. She licked her lips and he groaned.

  “Try finishing a sentence, Sapphire.”

  She looked like she was in shock and maybe even about to faint.

  “You need to sit down,” he said and reached out toward her.

  She cowered against the door. “Don’t touch me!”

  His hand curled and dropped back to his side. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Irritation nicked at him like fleas on a dog. He gritted his teeth. “It’s true—I am a vampire.”

  She whimpered.

  He sighed. Loudly. “But it’s also true I won’t hurt you. That’s not how it works.”

  Her eyes went a little wild. “How it works? Like, you have rules? Oh my God, does that mean there are more of you?”

  McCallister knew he was quickly losing control. That never happened to him. Well, not since he’d escaped Desdemona’s.

  He quickly shut down that line of thought and focused on the scared woman in front of him. The woman who called to him on such a primitive level that it scared the shit out of him. If he had half a brain, he’d take her back to Dorchester Street, drop her off and vanish without a backward glance.

  Too damn bad the very thought made his entire body rebel.

  He moved a few steps into the living room and sat back on the couch. “Come sit down,” he said softly. “And I’ll explain what I can. You have my word as a cop that I will not hurt you.”

  Repeating the words seemed to ease her mind a tiny bit because she peeled herself from the wall and took a couple of steps closer.

  “You’re not messing with me, are you? Those,” she waved her hand in his direction, “things could be goth props, right?”

  “They’re real,” he assured her. “Come sit down.”

  She finally inched her way to the recliner that sat to the right of the couch and perched on it like a bird ready to take flight.

  She took a deep breath and more of the tension flowed from her. He could smell her fear, could hear the rapid beat of her heart but he also saw the growing curiosity in her eyes.

  “Are you going to bite my neck and turn me into a vampire?”

  He cursed the very existence of movies, idiotic lore and legend.

  “No,” he said and tried to cover his exasperation. Apparently he didn’t do a good job.

  “Don’t get snippy with me,” she snapped and more color appeared in he
r cheeks.

  Good, she’s getting back to normal. I think.

  He didn’t know her, had never laid eyes on her before today, but something about her seemed as familiar and necessary to him as blood and breath.

  “Look, most of what you know from popular entertainment is crap.”

  She lifted a golden brow. “Crap, huh?”

  “Think about it. Drive a stake through a vampire’s heart and it’ll kill him? Well, yeah, but it’d kill anyone.”

  A smile twitched her beautiful lips. “Never thought of that.”

  “And sleeping in a coffin? Forget it. Those things are too small. I prefer my king-sized bed.” He left out the part about the dirt of his grave. Start small, graduate to the bigger, freakier things later.

  Her breath hitched and her pulse picked up as she flicked a glance over him.

  Some of the tension gripping his shoulders released.

  “What else?” she asked. Her blue eyes glowed with interest now, all fear seemed gone.

  He wracked his brain for some of the more innocuous things. “I happen to love garlic. I use it all the time.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I always wondered about that one. I mean, why garlic? Why not onion, too? They’re part of the same family.”

  McCallister heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe now he could steer the conversation back to her. He needed to find out everything about her. The thirst for the information thrummed in his blood like a hard and fast drum beat. He tipped his head. “Your turn. You don’t act or really look like a hooker.”

  Her gaze skittered away and he knew he was right.

  “Spill it, sweetheart.”

  She sighed, slumped into the chair and raked her fingers over her platinum blond hair which came off in her hand.

  Long, tangled honey-shot golden hair cascaded around her elfin face.

  She met his gaze squarely. “I’m Sheridan Aames. I’m a reporter for the Boston Metro.”

  Chapter Two

  Sheridan studied the handsome vampire. Vampire. That was still a little difficult to take in. Okay, a lot difficult. Improbable. Impossible.

  If not for the very unsettling way he’d winked them from the alley and onto his couch, she would doubt his claim. She didn’t remember much of the journey but the leftover jiggly feeling still rang strongly in her body and mind. Not to mention his fangs and super-human—super-vampire?—speed. Add it all together and she should be uneasy, not intrigued. But Sheridan found herself unable to look away from him. No denying he was damned gorgeous, but something else caught and held her.

  Mesmerism, perhaps. Is he waiting for the right moment to strike?

  Although...he claimed the vampire lore she’d grown up with was crap and he made some good points. She’d sometimes wondered about the whole vampire/garlic connection herself. His confirmation just sealed the deal for her. Plus, she didn’t feel in any kind of danger.

  Being a reporter, she was used to that uneasy sensation. In fact, before McCallister appeared in the middle of the street and nearly gave her a heart attack, she’d been getting a distinctly disquieting feeling about the guys in the Caddy.

  But maybe that disquiet had been him all along.

  A burst of energy flitted through her. Sitting still suddenly put her on edge. She rose and paced from the recliner to the door and back again.

  She could feel his green eyes on her every step. “You didn’t really explain anything, you know.”

  His jaw pulsed. “What do you want to know?”

  Everything.

  “I’m a reporter,” she said. “I like to think I’m pretty savvy. Where did you come from? How do you stay so hidden? And by you, I mean the vampiric race.”

  When he smiled, his entire face transformed from hard and unyielding to mischievous. Her heart fluttered at the scamp look. She always had been a sucker for a bad boy and if she were reading McCallister correctly, then he was a really bad boy. That breath-stealing sex appeal was exactly why she stuck with bland-as-bread-soup guys who usually talked non-stop about their favorite video game.

  “I could tell you of our origins but it might freak you out.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no, now I’m even more intrigued. Besides, I haven’t flipped yet, have I?”

  “As a matter of fact, you haven’t. You’re not going to back down until you get your answer, are you?”

  “Nope.” She winked. “A lot of my colleagues call me Bulldog.”

  “Figures. All right, Cliff Notes version. After the Crusades, during the time of the Templar persecution, horrific torture and experimentation was carried out on those men sworn to God. Because of these acts, through a perversion of holy and unholy, vampires were created.”

  A great chill, as if she’d been impaled by a giant shard of ice, encased her. “Are you saying your race is the remnants of the Knights Templar? The Holy Protectors? The Pope’s private army?”

  He shrugged. “So legend says, with one exception.”

  She leaned against the wall. “Unbelievable.” She cast through the memory banks of her high school and college years, searching for every piece of knowledge she’d ever gleaned on the Templars. She was coming up mostly empty.

  “Who performed these experiments?”

  “Priests, bishops, men who had the Pope’s ear and his blessings. They were given free rein over the Templars. Men who’d faithfully served were now tormented. Pushed beyond their physical capabilities.” He swallowed hard. The stories of Beginnings continued to haunt him. “Turned them into vampires.”

  His tone spoke of great sorrow wrapped in great horror. She wanted to ask more questions, demand answers he clearly did not wish to give. “Wait a minute. What’s the exception?”

  “A Viking.” His voice grew even more distant.

  “A Viking? But how did that happen?”

  “A discussion for another time.”

  The stop sign was loud and clear. She closed her eyes. What have I gotten into the middle of?

  “Sheridan?”

  He stood halfway across the room between door and couch. How did he move so silently?

  She looked at his feet to make sure he was standing on the ground and not hovering. His black running shoes were firmly on the carpet. She lifted her head and found herself ensnared by his brilliant green gaze. Sensual danger pulsed in those mysterious eyes, in the clench of his jaw. Hell, even his sandalwood scent tempted her to drown in him.

  He easily topped six feet by a good three inches and carried a frame of solid muscle. Hell, he’d squished her with that strapping strength when he tackled her to the ground.

  Not that she minded really. He appeared physically perfect and wasn’t half bad to look at.

  She swallowed another burst of awareness. Okay, he was damn good to look at. Almost too good.

  Thrilling in a way. His hair, a sort of wavy brown that looked as inviting as any dark chocolate bar she’d ever savored, was kind of long and shaggy, the edges just brushing past the collar of his knit shirt.

  “Is this where you mesmerize me and convince me to be your slave, McCallister?” she whispered.

  He gave her a disgusted look and stalked forward, his mane of brown hair rippled with the motion. His powerful arms bracketed her head. She was enveloped by his heat and smell. Mixed into the sandalwood was leather and spice. Rum, perhaps.

  She liked it.

  Sheridan licked her lips and he groaned, his compelling green gaze dropping to her mouth.

  “That’s dangerous,” he whispered.

  “What is?”

  “Darting your tongue out like that. Swiping it along your lips.”

  Her nipples puckered at his soft, evocative words. “Why?”

  The cop eased closer, leaned in and nuzzled the side of her neck. His breath wafted warmly over her throat and she shivered. Again, not in fear, but in growing awareness and stirring need.

  “You know why.”

  There was a soft snick and she trembled again, fairly certain he’d just
let his fangs out.

  A roil of emotion blindsided her, started in the middle of her thighs and traveled upward. She should be terrified. Horrified. Not...turned on.

  No, this wasn’t fear she was feeling. It was hardcore sexual attraction and she was honest enough to admit it. Who wouldn’t be attracted to this man?

  McCallister was the epitome of dark, sexy and mysterious.

  He pulled back and met her gaze.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Sheridan Aames.”

  “Are you asking permission?” she whispered.

  He shook his head and one lone lock curled over his forehead, dipping down toward his incredible, startling green eyes. They shone eerily from the inside as if they were backlit by some mysterious source. “I don’t ask permission, something you’ll soon learn.”

  Sheridan’s breasts throbbed. She wrenched her eyes from his gaze and looked down, gasping and covering herself when she saw just how peaked her nipples were. Even through the padded bra, they jutted out like stiff pencil erasers.

  The air around her thickened and her breathing grew labored. His scent assailed her with tempting demand as though he was invading her very pores. Flutters rose in her stomach and she dropped her hand.

  “Look at me.”

  Compelled once more by something unknown, she lifted her gaze. “Are you using your vampire powers against me?” she asked.

  The right corner of his mouth kicked up. “No need to, you want me without them.”

  Damn. “So, you admit you have them?”

  This time, the vampire closed the distance between them entirely, fitting their bodies together, shoulders to knees and every valley in between. Heat exploded from each point of contact and she couldn’t separate herself from the feel of him.

  His erection nestled in her belly and the contact shot straight to her pussy before careening wildly to every other erogenous zone she had.

  He lowered his head and brushed a soft kiss along her lips, traveled the fullness of her bottom lip to each corner of her mouth and back again.

  His touch was light and tender.

  She whimpered, hands fluttering up to clutch his waist. He pulled back.

  “More?”

  I should say no. “Yes, please.”