Bound By His Blood

by Jennifer August

  “Later then.”

  “We need to leave, McCallister.” Brooks studied the room with intensity. “Barrett might be here.”

  McCallister growled. “He was here. He killed one of the bartenders.”

  “Damn,” Brooks muttered, his gaze sliding the direction Calliope had taken. “He must not have known you were here or there’d been even more bloodshed.”

  “I don’t know. He’s not that dumb or naïve,” Leopold said. “I suspect this was deliberate. Not a trap, though. Something...more.”

  McCallister couldn’t squash the same notion. Barrett was cunning. Orchestrating something like this was right up his alley.

  Brooks finally turned his attention to Sheridan. “This your girl?”

  Her head lifted. “What? No. I just know him, that’s all.” She lightly punched his side. “Tell him.”

  “Yeah, she’s mine.”

  A smile chased briefly over Brooks’ face. “Good.”

  McCallister felt Sheridan’s heart give another kick, but whether from annoyance or pleasure, he wasn’t sure. If he were a bettor, he’d place odds she wasn’t exactly thrilled.

  Too damn bad.

  “You’re right, we do need to get out of here and to your place,” McCallister said shortly. “Get Valdór, too, if you can find him. Leopold is cleaning up a little mess and I think Sullivan is informing management about a small incident in the Red Room.”

  Brooks nodded. “All right. See you there.”

  He faded into the crowd, following the same route Calliope had taken.

  McCallister looked down at Sheridan who wore a frown and a mulish set to her jaw he was coming to realize meant she was about to be stubborn.

  He was glad to see the shock had faded from her eyes.

  “Hold tight, little one,” he said, folding his arms around her.

  “What—”

  He misted before she could speak further. Though he was slightly more prepared for the extra burden of transporting another person this time, when they re-materialized at the corner of the street across from the club, he staggered and gasped.

  “Whoa, there, big guy.” Sheridan steadied him and he blinked a couple of times, trying to filter away the shadows still lingering.

  “Where’s your car?” he asked.

  “Lot across the street.”

  She didn’t seem winded or shaken by the mist experience. A good sign.

  “Great, let’s go. I’ll drive.”

  Her low, sultry laugh vibrated from his head to his balls. He liked the sound. A lot.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked as they stepped into the street.

  “You’ll see.”

  Even before they reached the other side, McCallister sensed the shift in wind. He grabbed her and tried to mist, but he was too weak to do more than waver their bodies. “Fuck,” he muttered.

  She struggled against him, pulling away and shoving her hair from her face. “What’s that about? I thought we were driving.”

  “Get down,” he gasped, bending over and trying to keep his beer from coming up.

  A loud screech of rubber on pavement and her eyes went wide. She dropped, pulling him down with her.

  Nano-seconds later, three pops whistled the air and glass shattered over them. The squeal of brakes, the clunk of heavy metal doors opening and leather soled feet scraping over graveled street.

  McCallister gritted his teeth, seeking strength.

  Sheridan’s fingers curled around his neck, her sweet lips pressed to his ear. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  A surge of energy flitted into his tired body.

  A deep, rumbling voice broke the night. “Get back in your car, boys. This is not an area for you to play in.”

  The Guardian.

  Relief swept McCallister.

  “Where’s your car?” he whispered.

  “Two to the left,” she replied softly.

  “We ain’t got no beef with you, man,” an unfamiliar, rough-edged voice called back.

  “Let’s keep it that way. Good evening, gentlemen.”

  The men murmured for a moment then seemed to reach a consensus. The footsteps retreated and McCallister caught the squeak of springs as they returned to their car. The doors shut and they drove slowly away.

  “What the hell trouble are you in now, McCallister?”

  Strong hands hauled him to his feet. He shrugged them away and sucked in a deep breath, grateful his equilibrium returned quickly.

  “Guardian,” he said with a nod.

  The big black man lifted Sheridan with much more gentleness, and she gifted him with a thankful smile.

  Made his damn fangs hurt.

  He unclenched his jaw.

  “Nothing for you to be concerned with, Guardian. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Uh-huh. The Brigade wants to talk to your lady friend about Ernest.”

  “No.”

  The man’s grin flashed white in the shadows. “Yeah, figured you’d say that. Tell me what happened.”

  “I don’t know but I’m trying to find out.” He knew they would not be able to leave unless the Guardian allowed them to. “All I know is Barrett’s involved. He killed Ernest.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Paxton Barrett killed him,” Sheridan said. “I watched him, though I didn’t know what was going on until it was too late. It was a message.” She shivered.

  The Guardian shifted his attention to her, and McCallister felt her shrink away from the ebony gaze. Her fingers curled into his, and she tried to squeeze herself into him. He sighed and wrapped his arm around her.

  “What kind of message? And to whom?” Guardian asked.

  McCallister shook his head. “I’ll give you and the Brigade a full report when I have it.”

  The taut silence stretched long and tense until the Guardian gave one sharp nod. “Before you deal with Barrett,” he said, “we must have the facts.”

  The hell with that.

  “Fine.”

  The black man rolled his eyes in disgust. “You always were a lone wolf, McCallister. Be careful.”

  He silently vanished, re-appearing across the street, once more guarding the green door to Vesper’s Bite.

  McCallister looked down at Sheridan. She wore a contemplative look and he saw the wheels turning in her mind, trying to put all the pieces together.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “You are going to explain all of this, aren’t you?”

  She dug out her keys and handed them to him, that damnable smile still kicking up her sweet lips.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. Here we are.” Her voice held a wealth of mirth.

  He looked down at the small VW Bug. “You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t fit in this toaster.”

  She shrugged and held out her hand. “The passenger seat goes way back. I’ll drive, you direct.” She lifted a brow. “Unless you have another way to get there? Where’s your car?”

  McCallister growled. He hated giving up control, especially in the driver’s seat. “It’s at home.” He dropped the keys in her hand then swept her against him and covered her mouth with his. He kissed her hard, taking in her surprise, her small moan then the warmth of her hands when she clutched his neck.

  He’d sought to prove his dominion over her and instead found himself drowning in her Essence.

  He pulled away and stared into her brilliant blue eyes. “Fine,” he said. “You drive.”

  Chapter Six

  “Jeez,” Sheridan muttered as she pulled up to the iron gates. “This isn’t a house, it’s a damn mansion.”

  McCallister’s chuckle was dark and sexy, just like him. Distracting, too. More than once during their drive her attention had wandered, filled with the vampire beside her. He invaded her every sense, nearly overwhelming her capacity for coherent thought. She had serious doubts about his claims regarding vampiric lore—specifically the mesmerizing thing. She just wasn’t
the kind of girl who got involved with guys like him.

  Dangerous men didn’t appeal her. She liked ‘em sweet, biddable and ... boring.

  Sheridan eyed the handsome scoundrel taking up all the space in her car. The only thing he’d have in common with boring would be deep into her body with his magnificent cock.

  “Yeah, Brooks has done all right for himself. Owns a few companies. Or thirty.”

  The gate swung open and she pressed the gas, forcing herself to remain mentally on task. If that was even possible, which she doubted. Tess lurched and purred her way up the long drive. Sheridan pulled into a parking spot just off the side of the house and waited while McCallister unfolded himself.

  He banged his knees on the dashboard and his head on the roof. She giggled as his curses filled the air.

  “Laugh it up, little one,” he said, suddenly beside her, his hand firm and heavy at the nape of her neck. “I’m going to take it out on your sweet ass later.”

  A rush of sensual awareness sped through her, pooling between her legs and tightening her breasts even as her mind rebelled. “I told you, I don’t play those games.”

  She shivered as an unspoken yet filled her ears. Was that his voice or her subconscious?

  She hated admitting he’d intrigued her with his questions about bondage. Piqued her curiosity in ways that had her panties in near-constant dampness. Which was weird considering the many fetish balls and parties she’d once covered as a reporter for her college’s alternative lifestyle paper. Never once had the action turned her on.

  So, then, why did McCallister’s sensual discipline threat have her squirming with anticipation?

  “Damn,” he hissed, turning her to face him. He lowered his head and nudged her cheek with his nose, dotted light, sweet kisses along her forehead. His fangs glinted in the moonlight when he pulled away. “Do you have any idea how much I want to take you? Right here. Now?”

  Sheridan shuddered at the sexual threat threading his words. She swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I think I do.”

  A flood light glared over them. “Time for canoodling later, kids.” A man’s humor-tinged voice floated on the air from another speaker near the front door. “We’ve more important things to discuss right now.”

  “Screw you, Sullivan,” McCallister said.

  He traced her lower lip with his index finger, setting off another round of super-sensitive shivers. Her nipples tightened almost painfully against her red bra.

  “We should go in,” she whispered.

  “Damn it.”

  She drew a deep breath, trying to clear her head from the sensual fog he’d created. It did little good.

  “McCallister,” snapped a new voice. “We’re all here. Waiting on you.”

  She watched his green eyes flare dangerously then narrow as irritation creased his brow. “Keep your shirt on, Brooks, we’re coming.” He lowered his head and kissed her, nipping her bottom lip sharply with his fangs.

  She gasped and clutched his chest for support, knees weak and trembling.

  “You, little one, just might come later. If you’re a good girl.”

  The arrogance of his words took a moment to sink in. When they did, she huffed and shoved away from him, heading for the brightly lit front porch of the mansion. But beneath her affronted irritation, a new sense of excitement built and swirled.

  Trying to play with herself last night had been a disaster. His words, his voice denying her had wracked her incessantly. It’d been both exasperating and intriguing. But mostly it just ticked her off.

  What kind of damn hold does the vampire have on me?

  McCallister caught up with her just as she reached the door, which swung silently inward.

  A man of indeterminate age, sporting an immaculate tuxedo and matching black hair, waved them inside. “Please, come in. Master Wingate and company await you in the billiards room.”

  She hesitated at the threshold, but McCallister’s big, comforting hand wrapped around her arm and gently tugged her forward.

  “Don’t worry, little one, I’m the only one allowed to bite you.”

  Sheridan bucked. “Anyone ever tell you the size of your ego is astounding?”

  “All the time.” He stopped at a set of oak double doors, one hand at the brass knob. “And I notice you didn’t dispute my claim. Good girl.”

  Again, the odd phrasing felt...right, for lack of a better word.

  Sheridan had the sensation of being mired in sexual quicksand. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted out.

  He pushed open the door and escorted her inside.

  The room was immense. Like Grand Central Station big. Three separate pool tables were scattered about. A vaulted ceiling towered over them, a brass and teardrop crystal chandelier dangled from the two-story drop. Bookcases so tall ladders were required lined two walls. A natural stone fireplace jutted from one corner near a row of stained glass windows. In front of the crackling fire were several large chairs and a sofa, each the color of cream-tinted cocoa.

  Forget Dick Tracy, this place is straight out of The Great Gatsby.

  As McCallister dragged her toward the area, she studied the people—vampires?—seated and staring at her. She’d met all but one, however briefly. Leopold with the golden eyes, Brooks, the one with the cool, reserved demeanor, and Sullivan the shameless flirt. He was also the man Bert told her to look up at Vesper’s Bite, though she had no idea how the two even knew each other.

  That, of course, had been before Barrett got hold of her. Sheridan shivered and instinctively stepped closer to McCallister.

  His warm fingers tightened around her shoulder and she relaxed slightly. She didn’t want to delve too deeply into why he made her feel safe, but he did.

  The fourth man sat at the farthest chair, closest to the fire. He studied her as they approached, his fingers held out to the crackling flames. He looked a little strange. Almost blue, as if he’d been in the cold too long. He wore his silvery-brown hair tied in a queue and she could see the tail end peeking out near the middle of his back. His square jaw was emphasized by a close cropped gray-shot beard and mustache that only served to make his light blue eyes shine like silver. He was burly, broader in shoulder and chest than even McCallister, and he was one big dude.

  “Valdór,” McCallister said as they reached the group. “This is Sheridan, she’s mine.”

  The firm words made her gasp and she slugged him again.

  He lifted a brow and bent his head. “You do realize I’m keeping track every time you do that, right? There is a consequence.”

  Sheridan ignored him and held her hand out to Valdór. “Hello.”

  He looked startled and slightly mistrustful, but eventually he dwarfed her hand in his and shook it once. “My lady.”

  His accent was heavy, even in those two words. Definitely not American. Slavic? Nordic? Viking?

  She clamped her lips over the wild giggle which threatened. If she lost it now, she might not regain her sanity. She was in a millionaire’s house, who just happened to be a vampire, surrounded by three other vampires and accompanied by a man who made no bones about wanting her in his bed. Oh, and he was a vampire, too.

  When had she fallen through the bloody rabbit hole?

  “Please sit down, Miss Aames,” Brooks said. “Would you care for a refreshment?”

  “No, thank you.” She started for one of the vacant chairs, but McCallister hauled her onto his lap as he sat down on the sofa. She pushed futilely at him. “Let go,” she hissed.

  “No,” he said pleasantly.

  Intensely aware of all eyes on her, Sheridan crossed her arms and sat up ramrod straight. Beneath her skirt, his strong thighs cradled her butt. If she inched back any further, she knew his cock would be just as hard.

  Her pussy moistened.

  “Relax,” he murmured in her ear, pulling her back to his chest. “And quit thinking dirty thoughts. At least for right now.”

  Gravity compelled her ba
ckward and she grunted as his muscles stopped her fall.

  He looped his arms around her waist, covering her hands. “Comfortable?”

  Sheridan bit her lip, refusing to admit just how snuggled she felt.

  “Miss Aames, please tell us what happened tonight with Barrett.”

  With that simple request, she shuddered and sank further into McCallister’s embrace. “I received a phone call from him this afternoon. He claimed to have information about a story I’m working on. I knew who he was, of course. Who doesn’t know Paxton Barrett?” She tossed her head a little, amazed at her own naiveté. As a reporter, she really should have known better. Should have checked him out before agreeing to meet with him. But, she’d been dazzled by his reputation, his power. To be truthful, all she really thought about was how she could parlay a meeting with him into much more than just information on her drug angle.

  “How did he know about your story?” McCallister asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. He told me to meet him at Carter and Fifth. I did. Jeez, imagine my surprise when the building went from dump to jumping.” She twisted to look at McCallister. “What’s the dope with the card, anyway? I looked at it one second it was black and red, the next it showed all kinds of names on it, including yours.”

  “Shows your connections and appointments. It’s a way to ensure you’re legit and not some damn Hunter—sorry Leopold— ready to lay waste to the vampire population once you got in.”

  “Oh. I see. I think. Anyway, I met with him in the Red Room, which by the way, you guys have a wicked sense of humor. I chuckled when I heard it. Well, until it actually happened, that is.”

  “Why?” Valdór asked. He seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “Uh, Red Room. Redrum? Murder? The Shining? Look, I had no idea the guy was going to ice Ernest. Or me, for that matter.”

  McCallister’s body went rigid beneath her and not the good “I’m-so-hard-I-could-fuck-you-through-my-pants” kind of rigid. His fury swept over and through her, stealing her breath. She gasped and plucked at his arms, seeking air.

  “You’re smothering the girl,” Leopold said.

  The pressure in her chest eased and the shadows faded from the edge of her vision. She glared at him. “More vampire crap?”