Primal Heat

by Susan Sizemore

  “You better not stop.”

  His hungry growl sent a needy shiver through her. His voice was enough to make her melt. “But—”

  This sort of thing happens at family gatherings all the time.

  “What happens?”

  People disappear to make love. It’s a way to celebrate the bonding.

  “That’s nice.” It occurred to Phillipa that there was something odd about this conversation. “Did you just say something inside my head?”

  Not that you’ll recall. Relax, sweetness. Make love to me.

  “All right.” It was all she wanted to do anyway.

  As a carousel version of “Ode to Joy” woke Phillipa, she thought, I belong with this man. When she came a further awake, she realized that the noise was a cell phone ringing, and that she was lying naked in a dark hotel room with Matt Bridger. She couldn’t think of anywhere better to be, and snuggled closer to him while Beethoven kept playing.

  Eventually Matt rolled over and picked the phone up from the nightstand. “Mike, if you’re drunk, you’re a dead lobo.”

  Whatever the answer was, it made Matt sit up. His muscles bunched with tension. “Where and when? Right. I’m not alone.”

  Deciding to let him ride out this emergency in privacy, Phillipa slid out of bed and crossed the dark room to the bathroom. There she took her time using the facilities and drinking a glass of water.

  Even as she stepped back into the bedroom, she was aware of the emptiness. The musky tang of sex was still in the air, but even before she turned on a light and saw the rumpled, empty bed, she knew he was gone.

  Chapter Two

  Three years later

  I f there was one thing Phillipa didn’t like about hotel bathrooms, it was that the shower was always directly across from the mirror. Even with the glass all steamed up, she could see herself when she stepped out. She knew that, at least on the outside, she had a perfectly good body. The scar on her arm didn’t bother her.

  But she didn’t like seeing the splotchy line of fading and fresh bruises across the flat expanse of her stomach. She made herself look, because one couldn’t be a coward about these things. She made herself think about how pretty the small black and gold sun symbol she’d recently had inked onto her stomach was. It was the one area where she never stuck the needle.

  Deciding she was being maudlin, she grabbed a towel and dried off quickly. Her sister was waiting, and it had been months since they’d seen each other. She dressed in shorts and a tank top, then went into the bedroom.

  Of course the first thing Jo did was ask, “How’s your arm? Does it hurt?”

  I should have worn sleeves. “I hardly notice it.” Phillipa touched the scar and gave a faint laugh. “Getting shot’s what saved my life, you know.” It was true, even if she did resent it, even though she knew that was stupid. She sat on the bed, since Jo had the room’s one chair. She glanced out the wide window that looked out on the Las Vegas strip. The Bellagio’s huge fountain danced in the distance. “The view’s gorgeous from up here. Even in the daylight.”

  “You know you could have stayed at our place,” Jo answered.

  “Uh-uh.” Phillipa counted off on her fingers. “You have a new baby, a mother-in-law, and a grandmother-in-law staying at your place. I’m not going near that mix.”

  “I see your point.” Jo grinned.

  “And didn’t you bring young Brandon Matthias Cage here with you?” Is Matt short for Matthias? And why am I thinking about him? Because I’m in a hotel room in Vegas? She waved an admonitory finger at her younger sister. “Where’s my nephew?”

  “He’s safe at home, surrounded by overprotective Cage women. And I am getting a little antsy about it.”

  “Says the equally overprotective new mother.”

  “I’m new at this mom thing. I like it,” Jo added.

  “Which means you want to get home soon so you can get back to it. You didn’t have to meet me here.”

  “I was told I needed a break, and there’s no way Marc was going to let me help with the party. Besides, I wanted a chance to talk to you alone.”

  “Having a husband that’s a better cook than you must be great,” Phillipa said.

  “I love it. I fly planes, he caters parties; it works for us. Not that I plan to fly much until Brandon’s older.”

  “You’re giving up piloting? Does Dad know about this?”

  Jo laughed. “He’s a granddad now, which makes him all for my staying on the ground with his infant grandson. Which leaves an opening at Elliot Charter—at least, a temporary one.”

  Phillipa got the hint. “Sorry, I’m a cop.”

  “You can fly a plane.”

  “I don’t have the rating to do it professionally, and I might not qualify. Besides, I like what I do.”

  “But—”

  “Vegas hotels are always looking for good security people. I thought I’d look into it while I’m here.” She was still officially on the force even if she wasn’t on active duty. She didn’t know if she’d ever get back on the streets. “I have to think about my future, even if all I want is to get back what I had.”

  Damn! She’d vowed not to whine about anything!

  Jo, of course, ran with it. “How are you feeling?”

  The look of concern on her sister’s face bruised Phillipa.

  “I’m fine.”

  It was an easier answer than explaining about how there were good days and bad days, and how sometimes she was nauseated, and sometimes her vision was blurry, and she was always cold, and she wanted everything to go back to normal—but she was stuck with a life that was regulated, constricted, and she didn’t know who she was anymore.

  “You’re not,” Jo answered. “I’m an empath, remember?”

  Jo did have this gift for reading peoples’ emotions. Phillipa had a variation of it herself, though not as strong. She trusted her instincts when it came to telling the good guys from the bad guys. The ability to read people had saved her ass on the street a few times.

  “I don’t feel fine,” she admitted to her sister. “I feel—complicated. But healthier,” she added, trying to project sincerity.

  Her cell phone rang before Jo could press for more details. By the time she was finished with a short conversation, Jo was using her own cell.

  “Party crisis?” Phillipa asked when Jo was done.

  “Yep. Marc’s mom is frantic, but he says it’s under control.”

  “It?”

  “Something about meringue swans breaking and flowers that were delivered to the restaurant instead of the house. As long as the baby is fine, I don’t care.”

  “Is the baby fine?”

  “I’m still here, aren’t I? Who were you talking to?”

  “Little sisters shouldn’t be so nosy.”

  “It sounded like it had to do with your love life.”

  “You should definitely stop being nosy. But since I invited him to your party, I’ll let you get away with it this time,” Phillipa teased.

  “Him?”

  “A friend. An LVPD detective.”

  “A hunky friend?” Jo prodded.

  Phillipa nodded.

  “I look forward to meeting him.”

  “He called to tell me he can’t make it tonight. He says there’s been a rash of robberies that has everybody pulling extra shifts.”

  “Oh, yeah, I heard about it on the news. Banks and some of the smaller casinos have been hit.” Jo stood up. “Listen, I know we said we were going to do lunch, but—”

  “But the antsy new mom wants to go home to her kid.”

  Jo gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah.”

  Phillipa waved toward the door. “Then you should go.”

  “You could come with.”

  Phillipa shook her head. “I’ll coo and fuss over him tonight. You go home, and I’ll finish unpacking and making phone calls and stuff.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Go.”

  “You’ll be
all right by yourself?”

  “Go mother Brandon, not me. Go,” Phillipa repeated.

  Jo left after a quick hug and kiss.

  Phillipa sighed with relief. It wasn’t that she couldn’t have made it through an afternoon and evening of socializing, but now she didn’t have to. Now she could take a nap.

  “You’re late.”

  “You’re lucky I came at all,” Michele answered the vampire. “And I don’t appreciate being searched. I don’t carry weapons to public places.”

  “Weapons that harm humans, you mean,” the vampire said. “But my man outside did relieve you of a pair of silver bracelets. Those could be used as weapons against my kind. I think I have a right to a certain amount of paranoia when negotiating with a Purist.”

  Michele shrugged.

  When the vampire gestured toward a chair, Michele hesitated a moment before taking a seat. “It’s more contempt than paranoia on my part,” she explained.

  “But neither of us wants to appear conspicuous out here”—the vampire cast a significant look around the room packed with crowded tables—“among all these innocent civilians.”

  Michele Darabont did not want to be in the same room with a vampire, let alone sitting across a restaurant table from one, but one did what one had to for the Cause. She took a seat.

  “Was that a threat?” she asked.

  “Oh, please. Let’s cut the melodrama crap, shall we?”

  “You started it.” God, she sounded like a fool!

  “And you are thinking that this petulance is no way for an experienced hunter to behave. It was a long drive from San Diego to Las Vegas, you’re tired, and you think I’m supercilious. No, I’m not reading your mind; I can read your expression well enough. Let’s start over, shall we? Can I call you Michele?”

  “No.”

  “No introductions, then. Let’s think of each other as the Purist and the monster.”

  “I’m not a Purist. No Purist would have a face-to-face with one of your kind. I have worked with your sort before.”

  Which was why several of her friends who were members of the Purist cult had persuaded her to represent them at this meeting, after the vampire’s message mysteriously arrived. The Purist agenda was to kill the ancient enemy before asking questions, but they were intrigued enough by this proposal to want to explore the possibilities, even if they wouldn’t do it themselves.

  “I don’t blame you for not liking to work with my sort.” A waiter approached, and the vampire waited until he’d left with Michele’s order for iced tea before going on. “I, on the other hand, am neutral about your sort. I’ve never killed a human, and my blood sources are all volunteers. This is the twenty-first century. It’s better to share the world than to make war on each other.”

  Michele did not agree with this live-and-let-live philosophy, but most vampire hunters did. All but the Purists. While she hadn’t quite stepped over the line that divided the hunter camps, she’d always been close to it. She’d recently discovered that her niece Eden had betrayed the hunter’s beliefs, which was causing Michele to edge closer to the extremists’ views.

  “Why do you want to help the Purists?” she asked.

  The vampire laughed. “I am a purist.”

  The waiter arrived with her tea, so all Michele could do was stare incredulously at the beautiful creature across the table until he was gone. Then she said, “I don’t understand.”

  “I believe in the purity of my own kind, just as you believe in the purity of yours. I want to help my own species. While I do believe in most of the covenants of the hunter and vampire truce, there is one function you humans once performed that helped keep the vampire race from becoming tainted and weak.

  “There are those among us who wish a return to that ancient practice. We are as much a minority among vampires as the Purists are among the human hunters. In this one thing we are in agreement. In this one thing, we can join forces.”

  “You’re talking about the Abominations.”

  The vampire looked disgusted. “There are those who prefer terms like niece, nephew, grandson, and so on, but I am not one who believes that the offspring of our mating with humans should be considered family. Thanks to centuries of being hunted by your kind, our pure population is low enough that our people are forced to mate with yours.”

  “It’s our fault that your damn Primes seduce girls away to—”

  The vampire held up a hand to cut her off. “Oh, please. I know all about how your niece ran off with one of our boys. You have my sympathy, and every reason to be indignant, but Eden went with Laurent of her own free will. It happens. Live with it. I have to live with similar situations in my own family.

  “What should not happen is reproduction between your kind and mine. Hunters used to be very good at culling the mules born into the Clans and Families, and the Tribes were wise enough to take care of the problem on their own. These days we are all too civilized, too domesticated to take the necessary measures. The breeding has to stop.” The vampire turned a dark, compelling stare on her. “Don’t you agree?”

  Michele could not look away. The world slowed down, and reality shifted. She’d been trained to resist vampire tricks, but all she could do was say, “What do you want me to do?”

  Chapter Three

  S howtime,” Phillipa murmured as the elevator came to a stop.

  She’d had a nap, used the hotel fitness center, and done some shopping before heading for Jo’s condo for the prechristening party. She felt refreshed, and even if she wasn’t in the mood for a party, she was looking forward to spending some time with her brand-new nephew. Assuming she could get past the Cage relatives to do it.

  They’re good people, she told herself. Loving and loyal—and loud. Very East Coast, very urban and in-your-face. Very—whatever their ethnicity is.

  Phillipa hesitated when the copper-plated doors of the elevator slid open. Maybe she’d just been focused on herself too much lately, too much inside her own head. Or maybe she hesitated because the last time she’d been at a party with the Cages, she’d made a fool of herself.

  That was different. He won’t be here.

  She stepped into the hallway and walked with firm steps toward her sister’s door.

  Jo and Marcus were not full-time residents of Las Vegas; they lived in New York a good part of the year and kept a condo in a Vegas high-rise for the rest of the year. Phillipa thought of her hulking brother-in-law as more of a Marine DI type than a celebrity chef and restaurateur, but he loved cooking.

  The door opened before she could ring the bell, and Marcus Cage filled the doorway. “You’re going to love what I made for you,” he announced in his deep, growly voice, and swept her into a hug and into the condo. “You’ve lost weight,” he said once he let her go.

  “I got shot.”

  “You’re all muscle, though,” He ran his hands up her arms and down her waist. “Skinny, but choice. Kind of like Josephine when I met her. But ticklish,” he added when she squirmed under his touch. He held her out at arm’s length. “How are you feeling?”

  “I get asked that a lot. Where’s my nephew?”

  “Come with me.”

  He led her into a huge living room where a wide expanse of windows overlooked the brightly lit city below. The view of Las Vegas at night was dizzying, so Phillipa concentrated on the dozen people gathered on couches and chairs in the center of the room. The men all stood when she entered, a very old-world and polite thing to do. The women always looked like they were waiting to have their hands kissed. Phillipa hadn’t been around the in-laws enough to get used to it, but Jo seemed comfortable with their ways.

  Better her than me. Phillipa told herself it was her imagination that she received a couple of sharp looks for her thought.

  Jo was seated on the central couch, holding Brandon on her lap. Phillipa smiled with pleasure at the sight of the baby, and with pride when she noticed that her nephew was wrapped in the white baby blanket that she’d k
nitted for him.

  “Mom called,” Jo said as Phillipa approached. “Guess whose flight was delayed? She’ll be staying in Newark tonight, so she and Dad will be in tomorrow. Dad’s been making the usual disparaging comments about her flying commercial, and she has pointed out that she’s aware of the irony of the situation.”

  “This leaves you with a heavy burden of responsibility,” Marc said, putting his arm around Phillipa’s shoulders. “Since your brothers’ reserve units were called up.”

  Her brothers were military police pilots, as she was—had been—military police. And her National Guard unit was on active duty, as well. She hated the reminder of one more part of her life she was missing.

  “And what would that responsibility be?” she asked.

  “Representing the entire Elliot family at this party, of course. That means you’ll have to eat for all of them.”

  “I’m on a very strict diet,” she reminded her brother-in-law. “You’ll have to live with leftovers.”

  She sat down next to her sister and held her arms out. “Give me the kid.”

  The doorbell rang, and Marc went to answer it. Phillipa had the impression of the Cage women tensing when Jo handed the baby to her. All those dark-eyed women watched her like hawks as she settled the small, warm bundle in her lap.

  “He is, of course, gorgeous and perfect, in the way of his kind,” she said.

  “What do you mean, his kind?” his paternal grandmother asked.

  Phillipa laughed, hoping to dispel the odd tension. “He’s gorgeous and perfect in the way all newborns seem to their mothers and other relatives.”

  Grandma Cage relaxed and smiled. “Ah. Yes.”

  Peering closer at the tiny perfection of Brandon Cage’s features, Phillipa said, “Jo, do you know that he already has a tooth? Babies don’t come with teeth, do they?”

  “He came that way,” Jo answered.

  “It’s natural—for our kind,” a great-aunt spoke up.

  “Octavia,” Grandma Cage said warningly.

  “Marc tells me that early dental development runs in the Cage family,” Jo said. “It’s a genetic thing.”