Then, he hit a spot deep inside her that stole her breath for a moment. “Oh, God,” she moaned, burying her face against his throat, nipping at his skin as he continued to move in her. “I’m going to come again.”
One stroke, two, three…and she was lost. The world around them splintered apart, fading into nothing but hazy, bone-liquefying pleasure as yet another orgasm shook her to her core.
Riddick followed her over the edge a moment later. She felt his hands—one on her butt and one on her breast—tightening helplessly as he throbbed and pulsed inside her.
She had no idea how long they stayed like that. Water slicing over their skin in rivulets, clinging to each other, panting, trying to catch their breath.
She was still OD-ing on bliss when he pulled away from her to help her wash her hair and body. She returned the favor, deliberately lingering over some of her favorite parts of his body.
When they were done, in addition to being very, very clean, she was also bone-tired, barely able to keep her eyes open as Riddick toweled her dry, carried her to bed, and tucked her in between the cool sheets.
He climbed into bed beside her and pulled her against him. Harper snuggled closer and asked, “Do you think you can sleep now?”
He let out a deep breath and tightened his hold on her. “I’ll try.”
Just as she was drifting off, she heard him whisper into her hair, “I won’t lose you. I promise I’ll take care of you.”
“I’ll take care of you, too.”
“I love you,” he said, so softly she almost missed it.
She smiled. “I know.”
Chapter Thirteen
It took an inordinate amount of cajoling, but eventually, Riddick let Harper bring Romeo in off the terrace. With a little more time, she hoped she’d even be able to convince him to uncuff the poor bastard and let him eat something. But she’d take any progress she could get at this moment.
Baby steps and all.
Unlike Riddick, she just didn’t see the point in continuing to abuse Romeo. They were all in this thing together now. They needed each other. And while she certainly wasn’t expecting them to hug it out anytime soon, it was time they start acting like a team.
The future looked grim for all of them if they couldn’t at least tolerate each other in short bursts.
Riddick shoved Romeo—none too gently—into a chair at the tiny lacquered table in their kitchenette. Harper took a seat and slid him a cup of coffee, ignoring the dirty look she earned from Riddick for showing Romeo even that small kindness.
“So, do you have a plan, or are we winging it?” she asked Romeo.
He looked insulted. He must not remember all the times they’d winged it in the past. Sometimes with great results. Other times…not so much.
“Of course I have a plan,” he scoffed. “It’s like this: The boss, Archer, is at a vamp club called Blood Moon every Friday night. He has a standing private booth in the VIP section.”
Harper raised an incredulous brow. “You want us to walk up and introduce ourselves? That’s the laziest plan I’ve ever heard.”
He frowned at her. “That’s not the plan, smartass. Besides, you’d never be able to walk up to his booth. He’ll have no fewer than five guards at all times—all huge, all armed to the teeth.”
“Human?” Riddick asked, restlessly spinning his hunting knife around in his hand.
“You wish,” Romeo answered. “Vampires. Each over fifty years old.”
Harper repressed a sigh. Of course. A vampire’s strength grew exponentially each year after his death and rebirth. After fifty, they were a real pain in the ass to fight. Muscling their way past the guards to get to Archer would be...problematic. And most likely messy. “Get to the plan, Romeo. I’m getting bored.”
“You’ll need to make a scene big enough to entice him into extending you an invitation to his booth.”
He had a twinkle in his eye when he said “scene” that made her very, very nervous. “And what, pray tell, would your friend Archer find enticing?”
“He’s always had a fondness for pretty couples.” His gaze shifted between them and he smiled, a bit too smugly for Harper’s liking. “You two should fit the bill nicely.”
That struck her mute for a moment. When she recovered, she asked, in the snarkiest of snarky tones, “Your plan is that we get an invite to his booth by making him want a three-way with us?”
“Yep. Archer likes to watch men who are…let’s just say less than gentlemanly to their women during sex, and he usually pays handsomely for the privilege.”
In other words, Archer got off on watching men hurt women during rough sex. Great.
Riddick stopped spinning his knife and slammed the blade into the table, narrowly missing Romeo’s bound hands. “No way. She’s not getting near this sick fuck. I’ll take my chances with the guards.”
Romeo eased his hands under the table discreetly and snorted. “Balls before brains, huh, pretty boy? Can’t say I’m surprised.” He shook his head. “You’re good, but you’re not that good. You’d be dead before you got within ten feet of Archer.”
Riddick smiled, but there were far too many teeth showing for it to be anything but a warning. “Underestimating me would be a mistake.”
Romeo leaned forward and flashed a maniacal grin of his own. “Same goes. Not many people get invited to his table, but I did.”
Harper’s lip curled up involuntarily. “You didn’t…?”
He immediately shook off the question she couldn’t bring herself to even voice out loud. “No, of course not. I’m a Southern boy, Harpy. You know my mama would tan my hide if I ever treated a woman poorly.”
She raised a brow at him, remembering how he jammed that hypodermic needle full of poison into her neck. Not exactly the act of a sweet Southern gentleman.
He had the decency to look contrite. “Present company excluded,” he mumbled.
Harper rolled her eyes. “So we convince Archer that he’d like to see Riddick hurt me during sex—and let me be the first to say ewww, what kind of disgusting little turd would get off on something like that?—and then what?”
“Then you appeal to the only thing he follows more than his dick.”
She was almost afraid to ask. “And what’s that?”
He smiled and took a sip of his coffee. “His bank account.”
Harper made a mental note that just as Romeo had said, looking good and walking past the line like you owned the place often did convince a bouncer to let you right in ahead of everyone else. Who knew?
Blood Moon was nothing like The Lair, which was the vamp-owned club back home in Whispering Hope. The Lair had a swank, modern lounge feel to it. But the décor at Blood Moon was straight-up gothic, with black and red velvet booths, ornate lacquered tables, and hundreds of chandeliers sporting tapered candles.
The place had such an expensive, antique vibe that Harper felt like she’d stepped into a Victorian brothel.
The only thing modern about the place was the driving techno music that pounded out of the speakers. Harper glanced at the dance floor, which was full of expensively dressed, model-esque men and women gyrating on the dance floor. She was glad she’d splurged on a new dress. Whether or not Harper was super-confident, the bouncers would’ve laughed in her face if she’d tried to get in wearing her usual clubbing outfit of tight jeans and a tank top.
The dress she’d chosen was simple, but impactful. The black silk flowed over her body in that elegant way that only silk can manage, stopping at mid-thigh. It was clingy and showing enough cleavage to be sexy, but not so much that it screamed desperate.
Riddick had gone with a much simpler look for their night out, opting to wear a simple pair of dark-wash jeans, black t-shirt, and black leather shit-kicker boots. He looked like, well, he looked every woman’s wet dream, as usual. Something told Harper he could’ve shown up in his sweat pants and the bouncer still would’ve let him in.
Glancing at the bar, Harper noticed that
drinks flowed freely, as did blood on tap, which was just another difference between Blood Moon and The Lair.
There were actual vampires at Blood Moon, not just pathetic wannabes.
Bartenders, wait staff, bouncers…they were all vampires. Hell, Harper would bet that even the restroom attendants were vampires.
Not that there weren’t also a few pathetic wannabes, she thought, eyeing a kid in a black satin cape and enough white face paint to choke a mime. He offered a drink to a girl dressed up like Selene in the Underworld movies. Selene was unimpressed by the kid’s overture.
Riddick slipped an arm around Harper’s waist and turned her subtly toward a raised platform at the edge of the dance floor, roped off in black velvet cord. A vampire sat at the first table, eyeing the crowd of dancers like a hungry lion eyeing a herd of unsuspecting gazelle at a watering hole.
Archer.
It was hard to tell while he was sitting down, but Harper imagined he was about five-ten, one-sixty, probably leanly muscled, and obviously of Greek descent, as his family name would attest. If she had to guess, she’d say he’d been about twenty-five when he was turned, which, according to Romeo, was about three hundred years ago.
Archer wore a designer suit that Harper assumed cost more than her car. His shoulder-length, black hair was super shiny and styled to within an inch of its life.
He looked exactly like Romeo described him: smug, pretentious, rich, powerful, and exceedingly good-looking. The kind of guy who’d pay men to hurt women during sex while he watched.
Harper hated him on sight.
Romeo had told them that while Archer preferred women to be subservient in the bedroom, he was all for a woman who took charge outside of it. So, once they got his attention, it would be up to her to talk them through this fiasco.
No pressure or anything.
She turned and looked up at Riddick. “You know what we’re going to have to do to get his attention, right?”
He frowned at her. “I don’t dance.”
“I remember that about you,” she said with a smirk. “But we don’t really have a choice this time.”
She extended her hand to him, and his chin hit his chest as he took it.
Riddick looked like he was being led to the gallows as she dragged him to the dancefloor. She tried not to take it personally.
When they were directly in Archer’s line of sight, she smiled up at Riddick and crooked her little finger at him. He gave her his crooked grin, but shook his head.
Oh, so he was going to play hard to get, huh?
She’d just see about that.
Harper lifted her arms and snaked her hips back and forth, slowly sidling toward him. His eyes darkened and his grin faded as he put his hands on her hips.
She gasped when he spun her around, pulled her firmly into him so that his front was pressed to her back, and started bending and swaying to the music in perfect time with her movements.
“I thought you said you didn’t dance,” she said on a breathy sigh.
He nudged her arms up so that they were around his neck and pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below her ear. “I never said I couldn’t dance.”
She shivered as his hand slid up her thigh so that the tips of his fingers were under her skirt. Wow. It would be so easy to forget why they were here.
Hell, it’d be so easy to forget her name when he touched her like that.
If only they could afford that luxury.
They danced until a light sheen of perspiration covered her skin and she could feel loose curls brushing against her neck, indicating her up-do wasn’t as pristine as it had been when they entered the club. Her feet were actively protesting the mile-high, strappy stilettoes she’d paired with her new dress. And still, Archer hadn’t extended them an invite, even though Harper could practically feel his beady little eyes on her every so often.
Guess they weren’t the best three-way option in the room.
Harper felt both insulted and relieved by his disinterest. On one hand, the scary vampire who liked to watch men hurt women didn’t want to see her hurt—so, yay for her! But on the other hand, damn it, they looked hot. Why didn’t the scary vampire want to watch Riddick hurt her?
Reactions like that were exactly why Mischa called her a weirdo, she decided after a little more contemplation.
“Want something to drink?” Riddick asked.
“Absolutely,” she said, peeling the neckline of her dress off her breasts to fan her cleavage. “Anything but blood.”
He smiled and grabbed her hand to walk her toward the bar. She stumbled to a stop when a stranger grabbed her other wrist.
Harper used half of her mental focus and concentration on blocking any visions that might come off this guy. Nothing to see here, she told her brain. Probably just a grabby, drunk jerk who likes the new dress.
She saved the other half of her focus for breaking the hold he had on her wrist correctly. Just as she’d done to Riddick the night before, she grabbed the guy’s thumb and bent it back until he released her. She was prepared to punch him in the solar plexus next, but Riddick saved her the trouble by doing it for her.
“You okay?” he asked her, examining her wrist. She nodded and turned back to Mr. Grabby Hands. “No touching, pal. I like my personal space.”
Mr. GH lifted his hands in surrender, but she could see the barely contained fury in his eyes. “No disrespect intended, I assure you.”
Riiiigggghhhhttttt.
Anyone who’d spent any time at all with douchebag assholes would be able to spot Mr. GH from a mile away. And Harper was somewhat of an expert on the type.
He was about her height without heels, which would put him at five-five or five-six. Average for a girl, but short for a guy. Harper would bet every penny she had that Mr. GH suffered from short man syndrome, and probably treated everyone around him like crap in an effort to feel better about himself.
He was also a vampire. She could see his fangs peeking out from underneath his top lip.
Leave it to her to attract a vampire with short man syndrome and grabby tendencies.
Riddick shoved her behind him when the vampire moved toward her again. “Don’t make me fucking break your jaw with this many witnesses, man,” he said to the vamp through clenched teeth.
He stopped in his tracks, but didn’t retreat. “I mean the lady no harm. I was merely instructed to extend an invitation to my sire’s table in the VIP section.”
Harper glanced up at the VIP section and found Archer watching their little exchange with interest.
Well, hallelujah, they’d pulled it off after all.
Not wanting to look too eager and raise Archer’s suspicions, she shook her head. “Sorry, but I already have a date.”
Mr. GH smiled at her in a totally creepy way that gave her a screaming case of the willies. “Of course your gentleman friend is invited, as well.”
She glanced back at Riddick, pretending to think it over for a moment, then shrugged. “What the hell, right? You only live once.”
His answering smile was so patronizing and cold, she itched to slam the flat of her hand into his nose and force the broken bones up into his brain. It wouldn’t kill him like it would a human, but it’d hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.
“True, my dear,” he murmured. “But I know from experience, you can die, many, many times.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Not only was he a vampire with short man syndrome, he was also a wannabe philosopher.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Chapter Fourteen
Leon Steinfeld was not hard to find. Mischa, who had near-perfect recall of all things numeric, remembered his social security number from when he’d worked for TEV. After no more than five minutes of serious hacking, she’d learned all she’d ever wanted to know about the little nerd.
He’d been a perfect Sentry recruit. Genius IQ, genetic engineering degree from Villanova. No loved ones to miss him if he died in the line of duty.
N
owadays, Leon spent an ungodly amount of money each month on Xbox games and Star Trek collectables, and most of his downtime on SmackThatBigAss.com, a site where men and women could watch people, well, smack big asses.
But that was beside the point.
The most important tidbit of information Mischa gleaned from her research on Leon was that he spent most Friday nights at the Kitty Kat Palace, stuffing dollar bills into Misty Mountains’ G-string. So, assuming he didn’t change up his pattern—which, it seemed, he never really did—she knew exactly where she’d be able to find him tonight.
Now she just needed someone to persuade him to help her. And she knew just the right vampire for the job.
But what would she have to do to persuade him to help her?
Wolf Hunter—or just Hunter, as he preferred to be called—met Harper when he asked her about renting the basement apartment in her building a few weeks after vampires officially came out of the coffin.
“You don’t care that I used to work for Sentry?” she’d asked him.
It was a fair question. But Hunter had merely shrugged and asked, “You don’t care that I’m a dead guy?”
That’d been years ago, and they’d been friends ever since, with a kind of easy rapport that Mischa envied the hell out of.
Mischa’s relationship with Hunter was a little more complicated. After all, she imagined not too many people had almost-sex with someone whose death they'd ordered.
Ten times.
Hunter had been turned in 1492, right about the time good old Christopher Columbus started wiping out and enslaving the native people.(American history books tend to gloss over that little fact, don’t they?) Over time, he developed quite a few talents, mind reading being the most prominent. He also had a fair amount of control over the weak-minded.
His talents—and reported proclivity for draining humans—earned him a place on Sentry’s most-wanted list, which put him in Mischa’s crosshairs.
But after she lost ten slayers in her war against Hunter, he confronted her, and they developed an uneasy truce. He promised not to kill humans, and in return, she promised not to kill him. All things considered, it was the best offer either of them could’ve gotten.
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