by C. T. Adams
Home and Tom sounded exactly perfect right now, which should really scare me—but didn’t. It was exactly what I wanted and needed. “Okay.”
The bus pulled up, and the various passengers started climbing on. I stood up and moved into line. “I gotta go. The bus is here.”
“All right. I’ll see you when you get here. I … I love you, Katie.”
I stopped, in shock, my finger hovering over the cut-off button. He’d only said that to me once before—when Amanda Shea, Dylan’s former wife, had tried to kill me. Of course, she was insane, and had done something … strange to herself with Thrall eggs that had turned her into something not quite human, yet not a vampire either. But I’ve convinced myself over the past few months that he’d said it sincerely, despite being completely freaked out by her walking away from a three-story fall onto concrete, and me bleeding on the floor.
“Um … you, too.” I closed the phone with shaking fingers and slid it into my left pocket, then started digging in my right pocket for change. Luckily, I had enough. Originally Mike was going to drive me home, so I hadn’t thought I’d need it. But the drivers don’t carry change, and I wasn’t about to pay five dollars for a bus ride.
I dropped the change through the slot and stumbled to the back of the bus. I’d have to call Mike, either tonight when I got home or tomorrow to let him know that it wasn’t really him I was angry with. Although, frankly, he’s a smart man and knows me well. He’d probably already figured it out. Still, I owed him an apology. Damn it.
I slid into an open seat and stared out the window at the passing streetlights. My emotional turmoil was affecting my shielding. The buzz of the hive was growing stronger in the back of my head. Most of the vamps in this hemisphere were up and moving, ready to go on the prowl in search of a meal. I concentrated on controlling my breathing in preparation for reinforcing my shields.
Before I could finish, though, the queens’ consciousness slammed into me. They were angry, impatient with me, and more than a little bit worried. They wanted the eggs back now, and they weren’t happy that I wasn’t devoting my entire attention to the assignment. I felt a headache beginning to build behind my left eye, and knew that they were causing it.
Fuck you. If you don’t like the way I do things, find someone else to do your dirty work. I’m in the middle of a court case and I have a life to take care of. I’ll do what I said, but on my terms and on my schedule.
The pressure behind my eyeball let up, and the buzz of the hive stopped for a full three count. When they spoke, the words were chosen with care. Even in my head, it was a sing-song collection of voices—all saying the same thing, in the same rhythm, but with various tones and accents.
When your brother was taken, what would you have done to get him back safely? If you had hired someone, and they didn’t give their best …
I fought not to growl, or telegraph my mental conversation to anyone on the bus. But you didn’t just hire me. You threatened me. Under the circumstances, are you surprised that I’m not exactly chomping at the bit? I don’t like being bullied. I never have. If I’d had a chance in hell of surviving I would’ve taken the challenge then and there.
Another long silence. I felt a single entity pull itself separate from the hive.
I believe we owe you an apology, Not Prey, whether or not you would be willing to accept it. But we did not, and I do not, believe that you would have assisted us otherwise. Were we wrong?
I didn’t even have to think about that one. I knew the answer. No.
I felt her wry amusement, completely separate from the anger of the hive. I hadn’t known that any of the queens could pull away from the hive to think or act as an individual. I’d thought Monica an aberration.
Monica was insane. In that, at least, she was an aberration. But the most powerful of the queens can, if they wish, pull themselves from the hive. But I digress.
Not Prey, we need you to find and retrieve our young, and time is of the essence. I will consult with the others as to what payment we could make for this service that you would accept as adequate.
She was gone. My head was suddenly echoingly silent; my thoughts my own. I stared out the bus windows, trying to make heads or tails of the fact that the Thrall queens actually seemed to be acting … reasonable. That was just so wrong.
6
The mouth-watering scents of garlic bread and Italian food wafted to me as the freight elevator rose toward my apartment. My stomach was growling audibly before the car had come to a stop. The gates opened to reveal an apartment lit by dozens of white candles.
I looked around, taking it all in as Tom stepped forward.
My eyes widened, and my breath caught in my throat. He looked utterly amazing. He wore perfectly tailored black dress slacks, and a black collarless shirt in raw silk. The matte black of the fabric was the perfect frame for the warm tanned skin of his throat and chest.
He smiled at my reaction, flashing deep dimples, the skin at the corners of his chocolate brown eyes crinkling a little.
“Glad you like it.” He took both my hands in his and pulled me into the apartment until we were next to the kitchen island. Letting go of my left hand, he reached over and plucked a wine glass from the counter and handed it over to me.
“Wow.” I took a sip. It wasn’t the cheap stuff I occasionally buy. This stuff actually tasted good. “I feel seriously under-dressed.”
“You always look beautiful, Katie.” Tom reached up to cup my face in his hand before laying a gentle kiss on my lips. Soft, warm, it tasted just a little of red wine.
I shivered, as my body reacted to his touch, my pulse racing at the thought of what I wanted to do with him.
“Dinner first,” he teased, pulling back a step and letting go of my hand. “Don’t want to waste perfectly good take-out.”
I laughed. Tom doesn’t cook. He considers it a failing of his. I don’t. If I need something cooked, I can do it myself. When I don’t, there’s always take-out, and the man does know all the best take-out joints in Denver.
His grin warmed me to my toes. “Good to see you can still laugh. I was worried about you.” It felt good to hear him say that; to know that he really had worried, that there was someone in my life who cared enough to want to share not only the good times, but the tough ones as well.
I nodded. “Rough day.”
“Tell me over dinner,” he suggested. “Then after dinner I’ll see what I can do to make you forget all about it.” He winked, and I laughed again.
The timer on the oven dinged, and Tom walked over to turn it off. He started gathering dishes and silverware from the various cupboards as I watched.
“So, which do you want first, the bad news; the really bad news, or the completely horrible, unbelievably rotten news?” I forced myself to keep the tone light. He was trying so very hard to cheer me up. Hell, I wanted him to cheer me up. Then I wanted wild, passionate sex, and to curl up against him and sleep in blessed silence for the night.
“Gee, honey,” he teased, “you make them all sound wonderful. You pick.” He picked up a wine glass that matched mine and raised it in a mock toast.
I gave a snort of laughter. I started with the problems with Bryan, because they were the ones that hurt the most. It didn’t take long to tell, but before I’d finished my throat was tight and there were tears in my eyes again, damn it. My hand was shaking enough that I was afraid I would spill what was left of the wine, so I set the glass onto the smooth, tile surface of the counter.
Tom set his glass beside mine and pulled me into a hug. “It’ll be all right. We’ll think of something.” He buried his face in my hair—and sneezed. I gave a shaky laugh and pulled back a couple of steps. “I take it I didn’t get all the rotten meat scent out.”
“Not quite,” he admitted. “Somehow I don’t see eau de chemical as your signature cologne. But it doesn’t smell a thing like rotten meat to a werewolf nose.” He grabbed an oven mitt from a hook on the wall and walked over to the
oven.
“Thank God for that.” I took another drink. The wine and the company began working their magic, helping me back away from the despair that was threatening to overwhelm me every time I thought about Bryan. Some hard decisions needed to be made, but not right this minute.
“I can’t believe the demonstrators did that! Are you going to press assault charges?” Tom pulled the pan from the oven and set it on top of the stove, then reached in to retrieve a foil-wrapped loaf of bread. That, he placed on the counter. Closing the oven door with his hip he started rummaging in the utensil drawer for a spatula and bread knife.
“I decided against it. They want publicity. If I prosecute, there’ll be another trial, and another chance for them to raise hell.”
“Makes sense, I suppose. But I hate to see them getting away with it.”
“Oh, they won’t get away with it; at least not completely. I’m betting they’ll be facing charges of disturbing the peace and disobeying a police officer at least, and maybe inciting a riot on top of that.”
“Good!” The word and his expression were fierce. He unwrapped the garlic bread and began slicing it with vigor. He slid a couple of pieces on each plate before serving the lasagna. “Can you get the glasses and silverware? I figured we’d eat in the living room.”
“Good plan.”
It wasn’t until we were halfway into the living room that I realized I hadn’t seen Blank since I’d been home. Since candles and the cat hadn’t proven to be the best mix a couple of weeks ago, I had to ask. “Where’s the cat?”
“In the upstairs bathroom, stoned out of his mind on catnip.”
It made me smile. “You really did think of everything.”
“We aim to please, ma’am.” He winked at me.
I sighed. It was so nice to just relax and let someone else cut the bread and serve the lasagna. All I had to do was numbly fill my empty stomach. I told him about Henri’s death, and the dream where I’d watched another man get killed.
He’d closed his eyes because, even though he hadn’t met Henri, he’d heard me talk about him so often of late, it felt like losing a distant family member … a favorite uncle or grandfather. “I’m so sorry, Katie. I know how much he’d come to mean to you.”
“I saw his wife in my mind … or thought I did. She asked me to hunt down his killer.”
“I’m sorry, Kate. I was drifting. What did you say?”
“His wife, or someone, asked me to track down his killer. But with everything else going on—”
“Sweetie, you’ve already got such a full plate, I can’t imagine how you’d have time to find out anything about his death in … where did he live? Haiti?”
I nodded and proceeded to stuff a hunk of bread in my mouth so I wouldn’t say anything else stupid.
We finished the meal mostly in silence, even though I wanted to ask about the pack meeting. But the fact that he hadn’t volunteered anything wasn’t a good sign.
Finally, when we’d eaten all we could manage, he led me gently, as one by one he blew out each of the candles in the kitchen, then the living room. Slowly he put out each light up the stairs until the only light remaining came from a pillar candle that rested on the wall of my loft bedroom. Its soft glow cast flickering shadows over the bedroom. I turned to face him, enjoying the play of light and shadow over the perfect planes of his face. There was an intensity to his gaze—not just lust, although it was certainly there. But it was so much more.
Seeing that expression on his face made my knees weak. All the playfulness was just … gone, washed away in a wave of emotion and need.
He kissed me then, slowly and gently. The feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of his hands sliding beneath my top, took my breath away.
I gasped, my mouth opening wider as his tongue danced with mine. He unfastened my bra and pulled it and my tee-shirt from my body, throwing them onto the floor. I stood naked from the waist up, my body aching with the need for his touch. His stare devoured my body, his eyes dark and hungry. He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of me. Hooking his right hand through my belt, he pulled me close, until his breath burned hot against the skin of my chest. His mouth closed over my left breast, tongue and teeth teasing the nipple as his left hand worked the same magic on my right. I cried out, my body arching, my head thrown back in reaction to a pleasure that walked the fine edge of pain.
Even as his mouth teased and pulled, his hands were busy, unbuckling my belt, unzipping my jeans.
He pulled my pants and underwear down in a single rough gesture that made me stagger. I put my hands on his shoulders to steady myself, or I would’ve fallen. My knees didn’t seem capable of holding me, not when he was trailing hot kisses down the front of my body, ever closer to where I wanted, needed, his touch.
He rose to his feet in a single, fluid movement, and I wanted to scream with frustration. Before I could make a sound, his mouth was on mine. He took one of my thighs in each hand, lifting me from the floor, raising me to the height of his waist before running my body slowly along his until I felt every long inch of him even through the thick cloth of his trousers.
I whimpered into his mouth, my body writhing with the need to have him inside me.
He carried me easily the few steps to the bed and lay me gently on my back. Once again he went to his knees, this time moving my legs over his shoulders. Slowly, gently, he kissed and licked his way from my knees upward, as I squirmed and bucked, my hands clutching at the comforter.
By the time his mouth had reached me, I was already on the edge of an orgasm. The first lick sent waves of pleasure through me. Then he began working in earnest, licking and sucking in a fierce rhythm until I screamed his name, my body spasming again and again.
Breathless and weak on the bed, my eyes closed, I continued to shudder in reaction to the intensity of the orgasm. I heard the sound of a zipper, the soft plop of clothing falling to the floor, but I was too drained to even open my eyes.
The bed shifted, and I felt a warm hand sliding along my thigh as he lay on the bed beside me. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. I’m not nearly finished with you yet.” There was a huskiness in his voice that belied the playful words. He kissed me. A gentle brush of lips. I opened my eyes to stare into his from inches away.
I let my eyes move down the length of his body. I knew he could see the naked need in my face. I didn’t care. I traced my index finger down the finely muscled expanse of his chest, over those washboard abs, until my hand reached its goal. It was my turn to tease him. With a feather light touch I traced my finger around the wide, swollen head, then ever so slowly the length of his shaft, down between his balls. His eyes closed and he let out a low groan. With one deft movement he rolled on top of me, his hips pressing against mine, while his arms held him propped up above me.
“Are you ready?”
I nodded, the movement of his body on mine sending new thrills through my stomach. “Oh yes.”
He smiled at me and then lowered his face next to mine to nuzzle my neck. His hands slowly traced the curve of my waist as he whispered, “Tell me what you want, Kate. Soft or hard … slow or fast.”
I honestly didn’t care and was quickly losing rational thought. But then he pressed down against me again with force; urgently, and my body decided for me. The spasm inside me nearly hurt—and it felt good. I gasped out the word. “Hard. And … fast.”
His lips on my neck pulled back into a smile and then my eyes flew open wide when his mouth opened and his teeth bit down into my shoulder. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breath as his fingers dug into my legs, pulling them wider open with a force that surprised me.
He was inside me before I could take a second breath and my muscles contracted around him hard enough to make him hiss and chuckle lustfully.
He pulled out, nearly completely, and then slammed into me again. A cry escaped me and white lights erupted in my vision. I dug fingernails into his back as a second orgasm swept through me. Time slowed to crystalline in
tensity as he took me like I wanted him to. Rising to his elbows, his mouth moved from nipple to nipple—biting, licking, sucking—while he ground himself into me over and over. The slapping sounds of flesh on flesh and the musky scent of him made me even hotter; I needed more of him. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, pushing when he pulled and rising up to meet every thrust. Before I realized what I was doing, I’d bitten into his neck and was raking nails down his back while he rode me hard and fast. The noises I was making in the back of my throat weren’t quite words. They were guttural, animalistic and, apparently, he liked them.
“God, what you do to me, woman!” he growled and then threw his head back with a fierce cry. He swelled, pushing even deeper inside and liquid heat flowed into me, so hot I could actually feel each burst. But even then, he wasn’t done. He kept pumping just as hard, groaning with each thrust—fully enjoying what must be an incredible climax. It was almost a full minute later before he collapsed on top of me, panting, sweating, and utterly spent.
I woke to the sound of Blank scratching at the bathroom door. Tom was snoring heavily. A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand showed that it was 2:30 in the morning. I slid from beneath his arm, moving carefully so as not to wake him, and padded naked over to open the door.
The cat scooted out, warm fur brushing against my ankles as he rushed over to the litter box.
I was wide awake. If I climbed back in bed I’d just wind up disturbing Tom’s sleep, too. It would be an inconsiderate thing to do. Besides, the quiet time in the middle of the night is often when I do my very best thinking.
I tiptoed over to the dresser, sliding the drawer open as quietly as I could. I grabbed at random. I just needed something to keep me warm while I was downstairs. I didn’t need to be a fashion plate. Clothes in hand, I ducked into the bathroom, closed the door, and started to dress. The sweatshirt was one of the oldest and most beat-up I own. Black, with a small gold tiger on the chest: the Our Lady of Perpetual Hope High School mascot. I’d earned it by lettering in gymnastics and volleyball. The sweatpants were gray, and splattered with Navajo White paint from the building renovations. Finally, I slid my feet into a pair of thick white tube socks, turned off the bathroom light, and headed downstairs in the dark.
