Crimson

by Jordan Summers

  The man’s eyes got even wider if that were possible and his struggles increased. Michael brushed his scraggly hair away from his neck. His skin was dirty, but it mattered not, because what Michael was after wasn’t found on the outside.

  It was difficult to hold the guard with need riding him so hard, but somehow Michael managed. He stared at the man’s neck and concentrated, watching his pulse jump beneath his skin. The movement was hypnotizing.

  A small tear opened the guard’s throat, gradually growing larger and larger, then deeper and deeper, until it reached the carotid artery. The man’s cries had turned into terrified whimpers. Michael mentally plucked at the vein and it opened, exposing glorious fountains of crimson. They showered him, covering his face, blanketing his clothes. Michael closed his eyes in ecstasy and licked his lips. So warm. So salty. So delicious.

  Michael placed the canteen against the man’s neck and waited for his heart to do its job. It didn’t take long to fill. When it was finished, he sealed the lid.

  “Do you have any more?” Michael asked the woman, but she didn’t hear him. She was already going into shock.

  The man’s color began to fade. Michael moved quickly and covered the opening with his lips, sucking hard. The coppery taste exploded on his tongue. So good. So sweet. More. He needed more. He drank and drank until Michael was convinced his stomach would burst. The man tasted so fresh. If Michael didn’t stop, he’d be blood sick. But the thirst remained, driving him to gluttony. Or maybe it was the chip. Michael released the man and he fell. Deceased before he hit the sandy floor.

  The woman was staring in his direction, but Michael didn’t think she could see him. He searched the tents and found two more empty canteens. The rest were full of water. He’d take as many as he could carry. Michael returned to the woman. She hadn’t budged. The merciful thing to do was to kill her.

  He plucked her off the ground. She didn’t struggle or cry out. She simply lifted her matted blond hair off her neck and tilted her head, so he’d have better access. Fang marks glared back at him. Someone had fed from her before. Michael didn’t recognize the vamp’s earthy scent. A twinge of guilt hit. It was wrong to poach on another vampire’s food source, but guilt had no place in no-man’s-land.

  “Thank you,” he said, then clamped onto her throat with his teeth and ripped.

  She didn’t make a sound as Michael filled his canteens and then left her to bleed to death. It seemed like such a waste of blood, but he couldn’t carry anything else. Michael’s power surged, striking her heart. By the next beat it stopped and the woman was dead . . . just like the rest of her people.

  He went back into the tent where he’d found Red’s scent. It mingled with Morgan’s. They’d stayed here, and not long ago. A day perhaps, two at the most. The scent was too strong to be old. At least now he knew they were still alive.

  Michael left the tent and its contents behind and gathered the canteens, making his way back across the entrance and out where he’d left his weapons. He added the canteens to his supplies, then climbed the ridge of the nearest dune and looked out at the ever lightening horizon. The black had been steadily replaced with light gray. The sun would be coming up in a matter of minutes. There was no time to waste.

  The breeze increased, bringing with it a familiar odor wafting on the air. It stopped Michael in his tracks. He turned his face into the wind. The scent was there again, stronger, closer. Michael inhaled deeply to be sure he was not mistaken. He wasn’t. He was still far away, but the wind confirmed Michael’s fears.

  “Raphael, what are you doing here?” he asked the night, not expecting an answer. The spicy odor of his brother taunted him. Made Michael long for his company, when he needed no man. Raphael’s scent was tangled with a lighter one, sweeter almost. One that seemed vaguely familiar. His brother wasn’t traveling alone.

  Michael debated for a moment whether to contact him, but decided against it. There could be only one reason Raphael was out here. And that was to stop him. Michael went back into the compound and grabbed a lean-to to take with him. The thought of burning the remaining tents crossed his mind, since it would eliminate his scent, but the flames would draw Raphael straight to this location. If he didn’t burn the place, there was a possibility his brother might miss the compound. Michael decided to leave it standing.

  The best thing his brother could do was stay as far away from him as possible. Michael loved Raphael, but right now he was a danger to him and anyone who might be traveling with him. And he would remain so as long as this chip stayed in his head. Raphael’s blind devotion prevented him from seeing the truth. For both their sakes, Michael prayed that never changed.

  chapter twelve

  T

  hey smelled death before they saw it. Raphael and Catherine approached the camp, spotting the pile of bodies immediately. The fire burning in a deep trench was almost out. It wouldn’t be long before the predators approached.

  Catherine put her hand over her nose and mouth. “What in the hell happened here?” she asked, gagging.

  Raphael could tell she wasn’t really looking for an answer. He inhaled, catching his brother’s scent. It was faint due to the decomp, but strong enough to let him know that he’d been here recently. Michael had certainly been close enough to hear his call. Raphael made his way around the pit and walked into the middle of the tents. He picked up three more familiar scents—Red, Morgan, and Demery. Every muscle in his body clenched. Had they all been here at the same time? Were they among the dead? If not, who was responsible for these deaths?

  “This one’s throat has been ripped out,” she said, standing over the body of a woman. “And that one’s been slashed.” She pointed to a man lying nearby. “I don’t see any marks on these others. It’s like they just died.”

  “I doubt very much that they all laid down in a pile and died. Have you spotted Red or Morgan?” he asked.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Not yet. I’ll keep looking.”

  A wave of relief hit. “Let me know if you find anything,” Raphael said.

  She scowled. “Other than Red and Morgan, what am I looking for?”

  “Signs of trauma.” Raphael wasn’t about to share his insights into what had happened here. This carnage wasn’t the work of shifters. The only creature he knew of who could kill like this was a vamp, which meant either Demery or his brother, Michael, had been behind the killings. The question was why? Had these people tried to attack Red and Morgan? There was no reason to assume so. Yet this was no-man’s-land. They didn’t exactly operate by the rules, nor did they need a reason to kill.

  After a few more minutes of searching, Catherine approached him, looking paler than she’d been only moments ago. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon. Soon it would be beating down upon them and they’d have to take shelter. This place was as good as any.

  “Are you okay?” He reached out to stroke her cheek.

  She swatted his hand away. “I’m fine. What are we going to do with the bodies?”

  “Move them out into the desert, so that the predators don’t come in here while we’re sleeping.”

  “I’m not staying here.” Catherine gaped, looking around at the destruction. “This is a dead zone. We don’t even know what happened. What if whatever killed them comes back?”

  “It won’t.” Raphael had no doubt the killer or killers were long gone. “The sun is coming up. We won’t get far in the heat. This place has shelter and probably a few supplies we can make use of. It’s not like they’ll need them anymore. Rigor has come and gone in all the bodies. They’ve already begun to decompose.”

  “What if something in their supplies killed them?” she asked. “We have tents. We should go.”

  He hadn’t thought of that, but this clever woman had. Raphael walked over to the pile of bodies. He hated to do this, but he had no choice. He leaned over them and breathed deep. The scent of decay hit, rolling his stomach, but beneath that he smelled nothing unusual.


  Raphael reached out and lifted one of the victim’s arms. It crumpled, bending in an abnormal way. He started at the wrist and felt up to the elbow. The bones were like gravel beneath his fingertips. He dropped the limb. Definitely a vamp’s work.

  “I don’t think they were poisoned,” he said, slowly backing away from the bodies.

  “Then what killed them?”

  More like who, he thought. “I’m not sure what happened here.” That was the truth. Raphael had seen only one sign of shots fired and the slug was still in the ground.

  “Do you think Red and Morgan did this?” Catherine’s green eyes were wide as she looked around cautiously. Her hand moved unconsciously to her pistol.

  He shook his head. “No, I’m certain they didn’t have a hand in this slaughter.”

  “If not them, then who? Do you think your brother came this way?” she asked casually. “You said you were following him.”

  Raphael tensed, but kept his features calm. “I doubt we’ll ever know what was behind this massacre. Now help me with the bodies before the sun gets much higher,” he said. “My eyes are watering from the stench.”

  “Why don’t we burn them?” she suggested.

  He shook his head. “The animals we encountered are starving. These bodies could keep them fed for a week or more.”

  Catherine frowned. “But they’re people,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  “Yes, they were, but they’re dead now. They won’t feel a thing and their deaths will help ensure the survival of others,” he said softly. “I know you find this distasteful, but I could really use your help.”

  Raphael looked at her. He could see the battle raging behind her soulful eyes. She wanted to fight him on this, but part of her understood and agreed with his reasoning. In that moment he realized how young Catherine really was, and he’d never felt so old.

  “Fine, let’s get this over with.” She marched toward the bodies. Catherine grabbed the smallest one and began to drag the corpse over the walkway that led out of the compound. Raphael didn’t speak. He walked over, picked up two of the bigger bodies, and followed.

  They drug the bodies out fifty yards from the moat of fire and scattered them over a forty-foot area. Raphael took out a knife and sliced through the corpses’ clothes, wrenching them off.

  “What are you doing?” Catherine shouted, her color high. She was out of breath and itching for a fight. He knew it was her way of dealing with the death surrounding her.

  “I’m making it easier for the animals. This way they won’t have to eat their way through clothes. And if anyone wanders by in need of clothing, they’ll have it readily available.”

  Catherine shot him a look of disgust. “You’re creepy sometimes, you know that?”

  “I know,” Raphael said quietly. Her assessment hurt more than it should. “Now come here and stick out your arms.”

  She did as she was told. Raphael cut the clothes away and piled them in Catherine’s arms. When the pile reached the top of her head, he told her to go back to the compound. He finished what he’d started and collected the remaining outfits.

  He could already hear the predators approaching. They were silent, but not silent enough. There was a pack heading in from the east and a big cat coming from the north. Maybe even the same one they’d encountered earlier. It wouldn’t matter. There was enough food here for all of them.

  Raphael straightened and headed back to the compound. He could feel the sun’s needlelike rays begin to sting his skin. He hadn’t bothered putting on sunscreen because he’d planned to be inside by now. He hurried, dropping the rest of the clothes on a table near the center of the compound.

  He found the fuel the group used to keep the fire in the pit going, a combination of rags and various flammable liquids that Raphael had never seen before. He wondered where they’d gotten their hands on such a thing, but quickly released the thought as the pain in his skin intensified. He replenished the moat until the flames once again rose high, then grabbed their packs and slipped into a tent.

  Chaos watched Raphael rub his arm and seek shelter. She glanced out over the horizon. The sun was higher now and so was the heat. It was like someone had tossed flame onto the ground and set everything alight.

  She missed the climate-controlled dome at IPTT. Hell, even the shuttles were cooler than this and the air only worked half the time in them. She started to turn away when movement caught her attention.

  A pack of canines had found the bodies and began to feed. There were coyotes with them, which let out excited yips before joining in. A big cat with black and gold stripes came in from the opposite direction. The pack tried to run it off, but didn’t succeed.

  Despite the bones sticking out of its sides, the cat was large and powerful—easily big enough to kill every canine. Chaos rubbed her arms to ward off the chill skating over her spine. She couldn’t think about what the animals were eating or she’d scream. She gave the horizon one last look and followed Raphael into the tent.

  He was lying down, holding his arm when she entered. Raphael sat up quickly and dropped his hand.

  “Let me see your arm,” Chaos said.

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a little burn. It’ll be gone by nightfall.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, pushing his hand away so she could roll up his sleeve. Blisters covered his arm where it had been exposed to the sun. Chaos gasped before she could stop herself.

  “I’m fine.” He winced.

  “Like hell you are, this is bad.” Chaos looked around the tent for her pack. She saw it perched against the wall and left him to retrieve it. She dug into the bottom and came out with a white tube.

  “Really, it’s nothing.” He sighed. “At least it will be in a few hours.”

  “Yeah, you’re a big tough guy. I get it. This should help,” she said, opening the lid and squeezing some of the clear substance onto her fingertips. “It’ll hurt a little at first, but it should take the pain away.”

  Raphael watched her, his dark gaze unwavering. He didn’t try to stop her when she reached for his arm and drew it onto her lap. Chaos dabbed the medicine on his skin and carefully smoothed it over the burn and the worst of the blisters. When she was done, she popped the lid back onto the tube and dropped it into her pack.

  “Try not to move. It takes a couple of minutes to set.”

  He nodded.

  She ignored the heat she saw banked in his black eyes and rose to explore the tent. The space wasn’t big, about fifteen feet across, but there were hides and rags tossed around that indicated at least eight people slept in here. Chaos wondered which of the bodies had called this place home.

  Raphael lay on the center mound facing the entry flap. Even in repose, he was watchful. “Get some rest while you can,” he said, patting the empty spot beside him.

  “I can sleep over here,” she said, ignoring the heat rising inside the tent.

  “Suit yourself.” Raphael grinned, then rested one arm over his eyes.

  Chaos waited for a moment. When she was sure he wasn’t peeking, she took the time to really look him over. She hadn’t been able to do so before because he was always watching her. Now she looked her fill.

  He had a lean body, made for swift movement and stealth. He’d walked up on her so many times without her hearing him that she was convinced Raphael somehow floated. His fingers were long, pale, and tapered. She knew firsthand that he could do wicked things with those hands. He’d brought her pleasure unlike any she’d ever experienced with just the brush of his thumb.

  Even now she could feel his hands caressing her flesh, seeking out the hidden places in her body, exploring moist openings. She allowed her gaze to venture down his long, hard length.

  Chaos paused at the bulge protruding at the juncture of his thighs. Raphael may have a lean body, but he was a big man. She’d nearly fainted at his size, convinced there was no way he’d ever fit inside her. But fit he did . . . repeatedly.
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  The bulge seemed to grow before her eyes. Her gaze swept to his face, where a smile danced over his sensual mouth. Even resting, Raphael toyed with her like he knew her every thought, her every fantasy. Maybe he did. Maybe that bite delivered more than orgasmic release. Maybe something entered her blood, even as he feasted.

  Her nipples hardened under her shirt and Chaos nearly groaned aloud. Her body ached—and not from the long hike they’d made. She wasn’t going to let her hormones get the best of her. She punched her pack before settling against it. It was going to be a long day.

  Raphael kept still, although it pained him to do so. He could feel Catherine’s curious gaze, studying him. He wanted her to look. Liked that she’d spent so much time doing so. His cock ached and he wanted nothing more than to strip those dirty clothes off her and give her a tongue bath, starting at her toes and working his way up.

  He could smell her need. It permeated the tent, making the hot air even more stifling. He thought about reaching out to take her, but he’d done that enough. It was her turn to do the taking. She needed to be the one in control, even if it was an illusion. That would be the only way they’d ever move past him detaining her against her will.

  Raphael waited, but still she didn’t move. What was taking Catherine so long? The ache in his groin had intensified to out-and-out pain. Damn it, at this rate he’d have blue balls before she ever got the nerve to act. He peeked out from under his arm, opening his eyes just wide enough to see. She was propped against her backpack, arms crossed over her chest . . . sleeping?

  Raphael sat up abruptly. What the hell? He looked at her again. Catherine’s eyes were closed and her mouth had fallen open. Her knees were bent to keep her upright. She had to be toying with him. Surely she hadn’t gone from lust to sleep that fast. He leaned closer, expecting her to yell “gotcha!” Catherine snuffled, then she let out a loud snore.

  Raphael fell back onto the rags. So much for a romantic afternoon rolling on furs.