He’s right. I’m being a total hypocrite.
“Okay, you want to help?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“The club is hiring a bouncer. Get the job and do some recon. Tell me what you feel, see, smell, and hear,” I say. “Keep an eye on the girls and whoever comes around them. And watch that Alexis Alexander.”
“Done,” he says. “I’ll go down tonight and apply.”
I nod.
He takes a few steps to me, leaning down to kiss me. “I love you, Amy,” he says. “I hate fighting.”
“I know,” I say. “Me too.”
His hands caress my breasts while mine play with his growing erection. I rub him against my sex, the want for him growing as his mouth joins his talented fingers, pinching and biting at my nipples. When I’m good and wet, he lifts me up as if I weigh nothing, impaling me. I cry out at the delicious invasion, wrapping myself around him as he pushes me against the cold steel of the refrigerator.
“You feel so good, Amy,” he breathes. “Like you were made for me.”
I don’t say anything in return, preferring to enjoy the feel of him inside of me, the build of orgasm swelling inside my core.
He pushes me closer and closer, his hands on my backside, my breasts pressed against his chiseled chest. When I release, I let out nonsensical, sexual cries and he follows right behind me.
We stay there, attached to one another, for some time, trying to catch our breath, coming back to reality.
Reality comes to us, though, when the doorbell rings.
“Maybe we should answer the door just like this?” I ask.
“Definitely,” he says with a wicked grin as he sets me down and grabs his pants. He winks and says, “Dinner first…then dessert.”
After dinner and some nice, slow shower sex, Damon sets out to apply for a new job while I get online and search for information about Alexis. She doesn’t seem to have an online profile at all. This is uncommon in today’s day and age, and it makes me suspicious. I mean, I don’t have an online profile either, but that’s because I’m a cop.
Damon calls an hour later and says they were desperate for help and hired him on the spot. He’s staying to work and won’t be home until after two.
He actually sounds excited and I can’t tell if it is because he got a job, because he got a night job, or because he is helping with my investigation. Maybe all three. Damon is a guy who is used to being busy, physically active, and awake at night. This transition has been hard for him and, frankly, is probably playing into his desire to be in my business all the time lately.
I am actually happy for him to have something to do. Hopefully, it will be helpful to my investigation while also keeping him busy. This could be a win-win if he continues to shy away from staying in the Hunter brotherhood. Being a Hunter is in his blood. I know he has a lot of motivations for staying away, but I hate that our bond and relationship means he cannot be part of what he was born to do. Investigating something for me, with a probably supernatural connection, might just be the next best thing.
* * *
I am not good at sitting around. I think about going to the gym but decide, instead, to call Cara to see if she’s free to meet up for a drink.
When I call, I can hear in her tone that she wants to say no. Her reluctance practically takes solid form, and I almost let her off the hook, but before I can, she sighs and suggests we meet in thirty minutes.
We meet at one of our favorite bars, the Cosmopolitan, where we go when we are not interested in being hit on, especially by the owner, Adam. Even though I do owe him a huge favor. Cara slides into the booth with a martini, looking gorgeous. Her cheeks are fuller, her eyes are brighter. She has her hair up in an elaborate, braided style. She wears an expensive, cashmere sweater with skinny jeans and sky-high heels. Her handbag probably cost more than my rent for the month.
“You look really great,” I comment.
“Thanks,” she says, sipping her drink. “I’m feeling much better, day by day.”
“It’s hard to get back to normal after something so traumatic,” I say. “I’m really happy to see you like this.”
“I look like I always do,” she says, but she won’t meet my eyes. “I mean, how I usually do.”
“I saw you when you were with him, Cara,” I say. “It wasn’t good. I was really worried about you.”
She stares into her drink, stirring her olives around idly in the murky mix of vodka and olive juice. She swallows a few times before she speaks.
“I never thought I would get caught up with someone who would hurt me,” she says quietly. “I always thought I was stronger than that.”
“There is no shame in it,” I say. “I have seen so many battered women in my job. They come from all walks of life. And it’s not your fault.”
She looks up at me. “Amy, I’m sorry we’ve drifted apart.”
I reach across the table and she takes my hands. “I am too, Cara. I mean it. There’s so much I wish I could tell you, but I need you to know that in spite of all the weirdness in both of our lives lately, I still love you like a sister. I need your friendship. Can you forgive me for making you feel abandoned?”
She sniffles. “Yes, of course.”
That’s how real friendships work. Cara and I are very different in many ways, but we are always going to be there for one another. And I meant it when I said I need her friendship. With so much uncertainty, I need one thing that is real and solid. And after what she went through–much of which she does not remember–I know she needs me, too.
“It’s so strange to me,” she says. “I can remember his face and…how he made me feel. But he’s just…gone. Like he disappeared. And while I know that I was unhealthy when I was with him, that the relationship was unhealthy, I can’t quite remember the details. It’s all very hazy.”
I can feel the way my face scrunches, my eyebrows pushing inward, my mouth turning down at the edges in a concerned frown. It’s a face I wear when I see a murder scene for the first time. It’s not a face I ever thought I’d wear with my best friend, but when I think of the way Cara looked when she was in thrall to Charlie, I realize just how close she was to being a victim, another body for me to investigate.
“It is probably a blessing,” I say. “Not remembering. Your mind is probably protecting you from further trauma.”
“Yes,” I suppose,” she says with a heavy sigh. “I think I loved him? I’m not sure.”
I remember the blush on her skin while Charlie had his way with her at Olivia’s. The other vampires had commented that her feelings must be real, because blushing was a real response, that humans being compelled did not blush like that.
“I think you did, too,” I say. “Love is cruel sometimes.”
My mind wanders to Vincent, just for a moment. I feel him through the bond we share. I have tried to keep our minds separated, tried to stay away from his thoughts. For just a moment, though, I allow myself a quick dip, just to let him know I am thinking of him.
“Well,” she says, her tone resolved as she wipes an errant tear from her cheek, “Let’s talk about something else, shall we?”
“Gladly,” I say cheerfully. “How’s work?”
“It’s been good,” she says. “It’s been keeping me from thinking too much, you know?”
I nod. “Yes, work was always that for me, as well, until recently.”
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“Oh, Rick is limiting my investigations,” I say. “There has been a lot of drama and craziness and I haven’t been well, either, so he’s leery of allowing me to resume my normal duties.”
“That must be hard for you,” Cara sympathizes. “I know how much you love your job.”
“It is, but I have an interesting case right now,” I say, “so I am hoping it will help me convince Rick that I am okay to get back to normal workloads.”
“Normal workloads can be a blessing and a curse,” Cara says. “I can think of ple
nty of times when I’ve wished for extra time off, but now, work seems like a safety net. Plus, there’s a new attorney at work who keeps trying to flirt with me.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask. “You flirt back?”
“Oh geesh,” she says, giggling. “He’s totally gorgeous but I’m not ready to date again yet, I don’t think. But if I were, I’d totally go out with him.”
“You’d date a coworker?” I ask.
“Sure, why not?” she asks.
“I mean, what if you break up? Wouldn’t it be awkward?”
Cara laughs. “I guess, maybe. But we’re all adults. Right?”
This feels like the old Cara to me. It feels like our old friendship–me, being overly cautious and rational and her, throwing caution to the wind. It has always been like this for us. We are a good balance that way.
“How is Damon?” she asks after telling me the office gossip.
“He’s okay,” I say. “He started a new job as a bouncer tonight.”
“Oh, where at?” she asks.
I grimace. “At the Centerfold Club.”
A wide smile blooms on her face. “No kidding?”
I shake my head. “He is actually helping me stake the place out for my latest case.”
“Oh,” she says, laughing. “That makes more sense. I mean, I would be so super jealous if my boyfriend was working around naked women all night, every night.”
“Well, it’s not like he needs to go elsewhere to see a naked woman,” I say, grinning. “He sees me naked every day.”
We giggle and swap sex stories and it means so much to have my best friend back in my life tonight. I needed this more than I realized and I pat myself on the back for calling her, for inviting her out, instead of retreating into the introvert cave for the night, just me and a movie on my couch.
Around eleven, she tells me she needs to head home because she has a court appearance in the morning. We hug for a long time and promise to get together again soon.
* * *
I stand outside the bar, deciding whether or not I am too drunk to drive myself home. Contemplating the few mile drive versus a taxi ride, I turn to find a large man next to me on the sidewalk.
Tristian, eye-patched and thickly bearded, huffs a greeting at me.
“Ugh,” I groan. “What do you want?”
“I need Damon back,” he says. “There’s some crazy shit brewing. Vampire nests are getting bigger, covens joining together and feeding more regularly than usual. Werewolf packs that have fought for years over the territory now hunting together. I’ve heard that Witches are experiencing power surges as if they’ve all been plugged into some kind of supernatural grid. Something is not right and we need all the Hunters we can get before all Hell breaks loose.”
“I never asked him to leave the brotherhood,” I say.
“He gave it up for you. After that business with the Sisters, he knew his attachment to you would get him in trouble. But that boy can’t stay away from the Hunt. And because I need him, but he wants you, I need you to send him back to work.”
“Talk to him yourself,” I say. “I’m not his keeper.”
“But he quit because of you,” he says. “He won’t leave you unless you make him.”
“You make it sound like his relationship with me and his role as a Hunter are mutually exclusive,” I say. “They don’t have to be.”
“They do, though,” he says. “And you know it. He nearly got killed because of his feelings for you.”
“Well, regardless of that–and for the record, I’m the one who saved him–it’s not my choice to make for him.”
He scoffs. “Okay. Well just know we need him and you keeping him like a pet is doing no one any favors.”
“A pet? Are you kidding me? You piece of sh—,” I start.
Before I can unleash some truly choice language, I’m overcome with a feeling of utter terror as the world around me falls away.
I’m running. We were having a normal conversation and he just…switched. His eyes went black and he started calling me filthy names. When he grabbed the knife, I just ran. And now I’m trying to get to the police station, trying to get somewhere safe and…oh god, he’s catching me up. Maybe if I turn around, show him how scared I am….
“Why are you doing this, Jimmy?”
He mocks me, repeats the question I just asked. I back away with my hands up.
“Don’t hurt me. I love you. Why are you doing this?”
He laughs a maniacal, inhuman sound. He says in a voice that is not his own, “Because it feels good.”
I scream and turn to run but he’s there, and the knife is…and oh my god. Is that my blood?
* * *
I come back to the world slowly, like waking up after surgery. Everything is foggy. My mouth is dry. I feel like if I stand up, I’ll vomit.
“Where am I?” I mouth, my voice scratchy and hoarse. Someone is holding me.
I blink a few times and see the familiar blue eyes first. Vincent.
I struggle to sit up, but he shushes me, his finger at my lips.
“Amy, take a moment,” he says. “You have had a vision of some sort. When I found you, you were convulsing and screaming on the ground. I worry you have hit your head.”
As I sit up and look around, my vision is fuzzy but I can see there are people standing around, watching. Great.
“Where is Tristian?” I ask looking around. “I was about to unleash verbal hell on him for calling Damon my pet.”
“The Hunter was gone when I found you,” he says. “Very chivalrous of him, was it not?”
“Indeed,” I say. “What a jerk. Help me up?”
Vincent does as asked. He notices my cheeks reddening from embarrassment and says, “Can you stand on your own for a moment?”
I nod and he wanders off. A few moments later, the crowd dissipates and he returns to my side. “Shall I call us a ride?”
“I was debating driving or calling a cab when the weirdo with a beardo came up to talk to me,” I say, laughing weakly at my own joke. Vincent doesn’t get it, though, which doesn’t surprise me. “You need to develop a sense of humor, Vincent.”
“Sweet Amy,” Vincent says. “You need to rest. May I drive you home, then?”
I hand the vampire my keys and he puts his hand on the small of my back as we walk the block or so to where I parked my car.
Just a few minutes later, Vincent pulls into my parking spot and escorts me into my apartment building. After a quiet ride in the elevator with Vincent’s hand once again unobtrusively on my back, he hands me my keys and I unlock the door, practically collapsing onto the couch, shoes and all. Apparently, a few drinks and a weird, seizure-inducing vision on a city street really take it out of a girl. Who knew?
The vampire picks me up and whisks me to the bathroom, where he runs a bath and helps me with my clothes. I’m not so out of it that I don’t realize this could be a bad scene should Damon come home right now, but I am totally beat and a bath sounds amazing right now.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here before your hunter friend returns.” He scoffs.
I nod, stepping into the tub. Several times, Vincent gently jostles me awake, finally pulling me from the warmth of the water and enveloping me in a soft towel. He dries me and helps me into a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. I don’t bother to ask how he knew where to find them.
I lie down in my bed and he sits on the edge.
“Amy, what did you see?” he asks. “I was drawn to you as soon as the vision began. It felt as if it were really happening.”
“Erin, one of the murdered girls. I mean, I was in her body and feeling her feelings in her last moments,” I say. “It was gruesome.”
“You screamed quite loudly,” he says.
“She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t himself. And he really wasn’t. His laugh, his voice, none of it was his. And his eyes were black.”
Vincent nods. “Interesting.”
“Faye says someone is
harnessing a lot of power and that it’s making our powers stronger. I think that is why I’ve had this vision. I felt something similar, not quite as intense, at work the other day. It’s getting stronger.”
“And the creatures are all gathering,” he says, mirroring what Tristian said. “I have not seen such cooperation between covens since the last great war.”
“Great war?” I ask.
“Oh yes,” he says. “Maybe two-hundred years ago, a rogue vampire tried to mix bloodlines of many different creatures to create hybrids. Some chose to follow him and his research. Others felt that his creations were abominations. There was a war that lasted twenty years.”
“Do you think something so significant is happening now?” I ask. “Tristian said that werewolves that normally battle for territory are now hunting together. He thinks that something big is happening. Could it be something similar?”
“I do not know. I hope not, yet I feel the pull. I feel the need to return to my kind, to assure they are safe,” he answers. “It is innate when war is brewing. I fear whatever is coming is now unavoidably driving us toward war.”
I frown but my eyes are heavy. Vincent says, “Sleep now,” and I cannot fight it.
He kisses my neck. My chest, my naked breasts, hardened in the brisk, night air. His long hair flows around his wide shoulders, his defined pectorals lead to a stomach planed with muscle. A thin patch of hair trails to a larger patch of hair from which his erection protrudes.
He’s a beautiful being, perfect with his strong nose, regal cheekbones, kissable but masculine lips. An angel in a devil’s body.
His tongue works my taut nipples as I fight against the chains that hold my arms above my head. He chuckles, continuing to trail south, his lips meeting my stomach, his fangs grazing against my hip bones as I struggle and writhe, moaning softly.
When his lips finally meet that apex between my legs, I cry out. His tongue works magic against my folds, in between them, into the hole that begs for more than just this sweet torture. I widen for him, feeling the early build of release.
It swells and swells, a tidal wave threatening to sweep me away. When the levee breaks, I stop breathing, stop moving, and just let the feeling overtake me.
Fatal Allure Collection Page 38
