Come Hell or High Water

by Michele Bardsley

  It was stupid.

  It was impulsive.

  It was true.

  I wanted Connor. Not like I had wanted others. Those boys had elicited only slivers of desire; their crude fumbling mocked real yearning. My feelings for Connor were complex, confusing. I wanted to protect him, and have wild sex with him, and make breakfast with him, and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

  “Let me undress you,” I murmured. I could give him tenderness, show him affection. Whatever lies we might later tell ourselves, I wanted what was unfolding now to be the truth. Our truth.

  He lay down on the bed and I tugged off his boots and socks. My fingers wandered around his feet; I tickled his ankles.

  “Lass,” he said, choked with laughter.

  I grinned.

  He released the buttons on his jeans. I leaned over and helped him pull off the denims.

  “Boxers?” I said. I studied the material. “Red devils? Really?”

  “It was these or Scooby Doo,” he said, straight-faced, and it was my turn to laugh.

  I was hesitant to draw down his underwear. I wanted to see what those little red devils hid, but all the same, I suddenly felt shy and unsure.

  Connor took off his shirt. Then he sat up, drew me onto his lap, and kissed me.

  He kissed me until I felt as though my muscles were gonna slide off my bones. That oh-my-God-what-am-I-doing panic melted under the hot assault of his mouth.

  “Sweet,” murmured Connor as he dragged his lips down my throat. “You taste so sweet.”

  I attacked his mouth, desperate to lose myself in physical need. Because I would not listen to the ghost beat of my heart, the tiny voice whispering, This is shiny like new love, and then, No, no, no. Not now. Not him. Not this.

  “Connor,” I said. “I can’t… you know. Not all the way.”

  “That silly binding curse? Ach. That has no effect on the Ghillie Dhu.”

  I stared at him, shocked. “What? The Consortium told us – “

  “You believe everything they say?” he asked. “You think the Consortium doesn’t have its secrets?”

  His words were tinged with bitterness. Doubt started to chill my ardor. What did I really know about Connor? Why had he come to Broken Heart? And why did he so obviously despise the Consortium?

  “Someone would’ve figured out the binding spells didn’t work on you guys.”

  “Who’s to say they didn’t?” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now. Not many of us around. Besides, the Ghillie Dhu sexual exemption is the least of the Consortium’s problems.”

  “Connor…”

  “I’ve worried you.” He smiled, his eyes edged in sorrow, always sorrow. “It’s all right, m’aingeal. Do you want me to go?”

  I got the odd impression he was hoping I would say yes, even though evidence to the contrary was lancing the sweet spot between my thighs. My body was screaming with oh-my-God-it’s-been-four-years-please-don’t-ruin-this lust, while my mind whispered, Caution, caution, caution. It made no sense for Connor to lie to me. After all, he’d be stuck with me as his mate for the next century. He didn’t want insta-marriage any more than I did.

  “Stay,” I said.

  Connor cupped my breasts, his thumbs sweeping across my nipples. Electric sensations pulsed. Lightning on flesh. Passion buried into muscle, wormed into bone. I felt overtaken by it, possessed.

  He licked around my areola with short, hot strokes until he finally pulled the peak into his mouth and sucked. Hard.

  I grabbed his shoulders, digging my nails into his flesh as he split his attention between my breasts.

  He tormented me until I wrenched free of his wicked mouth and pushed him down.

  I quaked.

  Need was a living creature, hungry, greedy, unfulfilled.

  I tugged his boxers, and he helped me wiggle them off.

  Whoa. I stared at his cock. Hel-lo, would that thing even fit?

  “I’ll fill you up,” he promised. “I’ll make you come.”

  Embarrassment swept over me, and he chuckled as he cupped my burning face, kissing me as he twitched his cock on purpose. That was the most impressive muscle I’d seen yet. And Connor, beautiful Connor, had a lot of muscles.

  I pulled away, my mouth swollen, my body throbbing in frenetic rhythm. Yet I took my time looking at him. He was gorgeous. I trailed my fingers over his ridged stomach. There was a long, white scar on the left side of his rib cage. I traced it. “What’s this?”

  “Old scar. Bad memory.”

  His flesh wore other scars, the badges of a warrior. I was romanticizing because the truth was probably less thrilling. I couldn’t help but touch them all. After my fingers paid homage, I leaned down and kissed every old wound.

  I felt his belly tense under my lips. The knowledge that I affected him the way he did me was powerful. I continued my exploration, tempering my own urges to conquer and to take. I somehow knew he’d had little enough of kindness.

  Connor watched me through hooded eyes. Amber desire glinted in his gaze, and I felt his patience slipping. He wanted me in such a desperate way I was stunned.

  I walked my fingers up to his pectorals.

  I traced the quarter-sized brown circles and flicked his tiny nipples until they hardened.

  I touched him everywhere, memorizing his contours, worshiping every imperfection. I knelt between his legs, and as I swept my hands down to his cock, he sucked in a sharp breath. I cupped his balls.

  Wow. He was big.

  I kissed his cock, my hair falling in a curtain. Connor fisted his hands, his breath erratic, his body tight, wound like a spring, ready to let go, to fly.

  His penis was warm, silky, and oh-baby hard. As the length slid between my lips, pleasure trembled in my belly.

  His taste filled my mouth, made my whole body burn. I moaned; the sound vibrated on his cock, made him gasp.

  He grabbed my shoulders and dragged me over his body.

  He was much stronger than I was, and I wasn’t afraid. I was emboldened.

  His cock nestled against me, pressing hotly against my clit.

  “You’re so wet.” His hands were filled with my breasts. His thumbs flicked the peaks. They hardened, aching. He rose up and suckled the sensitive nubs. Pleasure rocked every nerve ending.

  I moved over his cock, slick and swollen. My core welled with that unique bliss. I reached for it, moving in tandem with Connor’s rapid heartbeat. I didn’t want relief from the ache, from the need. I wanted more of it. I wanted more of him.

  “Phoebe,” he murmured. “Kiss me.”

  He captured my lips, plunged his tongue inside, and mimicked our bodies’ motions. He attacked my mouth, sucking my tongue, biting my lips.

  Our mouths mated, and I held on to him because I felt myself falling away into lust so great, I realized it would never be satisfied. I would always want him like this, and it scared me. I’d never felt like merging with someone else, as though I would always be incomplete because I had known this – I had known him.

  He kneaded my breasts and pulled on my nipples. Lightning struck at my core, and the shock of it was wondrous.

  He was heat; he was need; he was mine.

  So I took him.

  Passion was fangs tearing, claws ripping away the tenderness I’d fostered. The ancient beat of drums, the rise of primal music in my breast, in my heart, in the very center of my being.

  “Bite me,” he said. “Please.”

  I sank my fangs into his neck, drinking the nectar of his blood. I was already in overload, but the pleasure of tasting him, of taking him, was too much.

  Connor cried out, his fingers digging into my hips as he came, his thick cock shoving deeply, pulsing hard as his seed filled me.

  I went over the edge.

  Into the music we’d created.

  ———

  I awoke the next night with the bedcovers pulled up to my chin. I drew back the quilt; the musk of our lovemaking still scented the sheets.
<
br />   I had a taste in my mouth, too. Something metallic. It wasn’t bad, almost like I’d accidentally bitten the wrapper along with a dark chocolate candy bar.

  Okay, time to brush my fangs.

  The room was pitch-black, thanks to the lack of windows and the über-sunlight-protection paint that coated the whole room. Any extremely bright light could fry a vampire, so extra precautions were necessary. I didn’t expect sunlight to seep through regular walls, but the Consortium – appointed protectors of all Broken Heart Turn-bloods – insisted on it.

  I flipped on the bedside lamp. Its glow didn’t do much to diminish the darkness. It was after nine p.m. Seems weird, right? All the kids – well, all the townfolks – were on a nocturnal schedule. The only people moseying around town during the day were the town’s security teams and the occasional zombie. I’d slept much later than I usually did. Sleeping in with a four-year-old was not an option, for one thing. Shoot. It was past ten o’clock in Florida. I bet Danny had spent the whole day at Disney World and was already tucked into bed. All the same, I picked up my cell phone from the nightstand and dialed Jackson. He said that Danny had been conked out for a while. The rest of our conversation was short, and I promised to call by eight the next evening. I was disappointed that I hadn’t woken in time to connect with my son, but I was glad he was having a good time. I’d never be able to take him to Disney World; it made me glad Danny had a human father, one who could give him all the things I couldn’t. Being a demon-hunting vampire wasn’t exactly conducive to parenthood.

  Thanks to my undead senses, as foggy as they often were upon awaking, I smelled cooking bacon. Due to an accidental fairy wish, we resident bloodsuckers could eat human food, but only as long as we stayed inside the borders of Broken Heart. And, ooh-wee, I still loved me some fried pig.

  I heard the scrape of a pan across the electric burner. Then water gushed. Rinsing the cookware, too? My Ghillie Dhu was a keeper.

  I scurried out of bed and went into the master bathroom. I scrubbed my teeth, and then I took a quick shower. After throwing on a T-shirt and some shorts, I brushed my hair and considered my complexion. I’d died at nineteen, even though by human years I’d be almost twenty-four. Something about vampirism made skin bright and beautiful. The pregnancy stretch marks on my belly and hips had disappeared. My eyes were brown, my features on the narrow side. I had high cheekbones, a thin swoop of a nose, and a mouth with too much pout.

  I pulled my hair into a ponytail and decided makeup would be a waste of time.

  I couldn’t wait for a cup of coffee, which didn’t do much for me other than taste really good. It’s icky to admit, but that first warm gulp of blood was way better than an extra shot of espresso.

  I stopped in the living room, my toes wiggling into the threadbare carpet, and listened to the domestic sounds coming from the kitchen. I felt a little giddy. Lucky me, I’d found the only being in existence not affected by the vampires’ hundred-year marriage curse.

  I walked to the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. I looked over the top and watched him plate up breakfast. Fluffy pancakes, crisp bacon, scrambled eggs, and orange juice awaited us. My gaze traveled along his backside. He wore only his black jeans. He was fi-ine. I got an attack of lust all over again.

  “Like what you see, lass?” Amusement ghosted his tone as he turned to look at me.

  “Hell to the yeah,” I said as I entered the kitchen.

  “Where’s your locket?”

  I automatically reached for the gold heart, surprised to find it missing. “It must’ve come off. The clasp is twitchy. I’ll go – “

  I paused, getting a distinct whiff of rotten eggs. What the –

  Sulfur.

  The base of my spine tingled, which was the equivalent of my spidey senses indicating trouble. Specifically: demon trouble.

  “Shit.” I stared at Connor, and his eyes went wide.

  “I thought I had more time,” he said. “Damn it!”

  The plate of food in his hand crashed to the floor and he reached for me. I shook my head, and his hand dropped.

  The house was protected from demons; Momma’s hoodoo and my own protection spells had made sure of that. Or so I thought.

  In crackles of black energy, three men appeared in a semicircle around us, all wielding weapons and grim expressions.

  I whirled to stand in front of Connor, fists cocked. I had no doubt he could protect himself, but I was the one with demon-ass-kicking skills. Connor stood behind me, tension radiating off him. I knew he was just waiting for the fight to begin. I didn’t have my knives or my Glock, but I had trained with the best warriors in Broken Heart. Between those skills and my magic, I could vanquish these three assholes.

  The man to the left of me was a couple inches shorter than his companions, who were both well over six feet, given that they were as tall as Connor. He wore his red hair shorn on the sides and long on top, which was pulled back and braided. Snake tattoos slithered up his neck. He dressed like a Hell’s Angel, all black leather and badass. He looked me over, sneering.

  The blond in front of me held scimitars. With his light hair and narrow features, he looked like the warrior elf Legolas – or rather the character played by Orlando Bloom in the film. He wore tight black pants with an odd blue vest that tied at the waist. His eyes were light blue, the color of a glacier, and just as cold. Sheesh. He looked like he’d fallen out of a fantasy novel.

  The last dude, the one on the left, was huge – as tall and wide as a freaking oak tree. He was dressed in a worn black concert T-shirt that touted the KISS 1983 “Lick It Up” tour, a pair of faded jeans, and black cowboy boots. His face was built like a boxer’s: flat and square, with a nose that looked as if it had been broken a few times. He had eyes the color of dark chocolate and wore his black hair short and spiky. He held two gleaming silver SIG Sauer P226 pistols, both pointed at the floor. I had no doubt he could aim and fire in nanoseconds, especially being supernatural.

  As we all assessed one another, the room felt as though it were getting smaller and smaller. I didn’t speak and I didn’t press closer to Connor, either. We both needed room if we were going to bring on some whoop-ass.

  “Well, well, well. What have we got here, boys?” The redhead spoke in a guttural English accent. “Looks fresh as a peach, she does. Too bad she’s Connor’s whore.”

  I hit him first.

  Chapter 3

  The second my fist connected with that mouthy bastard’s face, I realized he wasn’t a demon.

  He was a vampire.

  “Bloody hell,” he roared as his head snapped back. If he’d been human, that blow would’ve felled him. He pointed his left forefinger, and a long beam of red light unfurled from his sharp, black talon. The light-whip snapped as he raised his arm, and I knew he was gonna try to slice me in half.

  Connor grabbed my shoulder and hauled me backward. Even though I was certain the English dude was a vampire, the stink of sulfur permeated the room. Surely that meant the other two were demons? Why the hell had a vampire taken up with Pit dwellers?

  “Berith! Hold!” yelled the blond.

  Berith’s whip instantly disappeared. His expression was seven kinds of pissed off; I could’ve cooked eggs with the fury boiling in his gaze.

  Blondie pointed to me. “Can you not see her aura, mon frère?”

  So, the Legolas wannabe was French. I couldn’t get a bead on him, but he didn’t seem like a demon, either. That left the really big dude. Awesome.

  I wasn’t sure what was happening now. None of them seemed to want to fight, though they were prepared for it. They were examining me as though they’d never seen a girl before. Maybe I should’ve put on a bra. Oops.

  Connor moved so that he was by my side. I glanced at him, but his gaze was locked onto Blondie. Frustration emanated from Connor, and, if I wasn’t too far off the mark, panic, too. Realization hit me hard: He knew them.

  “My name is Nicor. And you? You are with the Family Durga
, oui?” he asked pleasantly. He nodded toward Connor. “You have slept with him.”

  “You know what, Dr. Phil? I’m not in the mood to answer questions about my personal life. So I’m giving you two seconds for you and your demon buddy over there to take a freaking hike.”

  Nicor’s eyebrows flew upward, his gaze slanting toward Big Dude. “You are mistak – “

  I gathered my magic, slathered it with some brimstone, and tossed the fireball at Nicor. The orb hit him full in the chest and flung him backward. He slammed into the small table wedged into the tiny nook. Breakfast items went flying, including the syrup, which burst open (fireballs are hot, you know) and splattered him.

  Bonus.

  “Phoebe!” I heard the shock in Connor’s voice, but he didn’t hesitate. He punched Berith in the face, and the redhead yelled as he hit back. At least he didn’t unleash the crazy whip again.

  I created another fireball and launched it at Big Dude. He went through the kitchen wall, debris flying, and slid across the foyer. He managed to hold on to the guns, though, and he raised them toward me.

  “No, Pith!” yelled Nicor as he picked himself up. Syrup dripped from his flaxen locks. Ha.

  Pith grimaced as he sheathed his guns, shaking drywall out of his spiky hair as he climbed to his feet.

  Nicor stomped toward me, his fists clenched and his face a mask of fury. Smoke rose from his fancy vest, which hung in tatters. His pale stomach was red and blistered. Black blood dripped down his left cheek. Terrific. My suspicions were confirmed; he was Family Durga, too. No other vampire Family fared as well with demonfire. Part of being able to wrangle demons was the ability to draw upon the same magic as demons. I know. Powers derived from hell seem kinda… creepy. I didn’t get to choose my Family, but hey, I had to take the cards fate dealt.

  “You should not have done that!” he yelled.

  “You started it.” I gathered my magic again. I formed another fireball and shot it at Nicor.

  He caught it as if it were a freaking beach ball lobbed across the pool, and poof, it disappeared.