He ran a thumb over hers, skin whispering against skin.
“Last night,” he said, “Jonah was able to use this body to fight well.”
He was on the edge of ushering his host to dominance. She could tell.
Costin added, “He fought bravely. Thoroughly. Perhaps I would be able to do the same, even if I cannot unleash my full powers outside of this body as I used to.”
“I know you would do well out there, Costin. And the team would be there to back you up. Plus the Friends ... None of us would ever let you fail.”
It was pure truth. She herself would do anything. Just look at what she’d done back in L.A., making him into this creature only so she could save him....
In a bid to forget, she rubbed her free hand against her neck, priming herself for the bite, even though her skin there and over her arms was still tender from the healing cuts.
He watched her, a shattered longing in his gaze, and she could see that his moments with her were ticking down, beat by beat.
Get him fed, she thought. Before Jonah comes ...
“I only wonder,” he said, “what would happen if I should come to stand before a fellow brother and—”
She stopped her priming, taking his face in her hands.
“We don’t know how you’re going to match up to a blood brother. You can’t do what you used to do, Costin, but we have to find out what’s in store at some point.”
As her hands fell away from him, he caught one, raised it to his chest, where she felt his heart beating.
When Jonah had lost his soul in the exchange, it had left this body still functioning but with heightened senses and powers. These vampires couldn’t procreate except via a blood exchange, so that made them seem even less human sometimes.
But Dawn had started to believe that being an Underground-related vampire was more about mutating into a form beyond humanity—they were spiritually dead rather than physically. Breisi even had the idea that the presence of the dragon’s blood, carried generation through generation, was an altering agent when it was introduced into a human body that had lost its own blood and soul after a draining bite. The death of a maker only opened that body to the soul again, allowing the spirit to consume the body, changing it back to its pure state.
But ... theories.
Who could say for sure, except for the devil or even something like The Whisper himself?
Dawn spread her fingers over the tattoo of Costin’s heart, and she could’ve sworn that it jumped, either out of barely checked fear about whether Costin would ever reclaim his soul, or at her touch.
Probably the fear, she thought. Or maybe just lust.
That was all.
“Every one of us has something at stake, don’t we?” she said. “You more than the team. But ...” She’d wanted to ask him about this for some time, and she knew Jonah would hold back on appearing because he’d enjoy the confrontation between her and Costin.
“But what?” Costin’s voice soothed her, gave her a sense that he was inside as well as out, softly abrading her, making her bleed both ways.
“But,” she added, “you’ve never really told me why you haven’t used the same team twice. You always said it was because of secrecy.”
A tight smile whisked over his lips. He knew where she was headed.
“Natalia said something the other day,” Dawn continued, emboldened, “about former teams going insane because of what they have to face on this job, and maybe you retire them before insanity happens. Except you didn’t have that option with us because you don’t know what to expect from yourself now. You need seasoned backup.” She’d tightened her fingers over his chest, almost like she was subconsciously trying to dig out of him more than he ever gave. “Is that true?”
“Yes.” Zero hesitation. Zero baiting or secrets.
But just as she was getting happy about that, he added, “And no.”
She told herself not to be frustrated, to just work through this. “I don’t understand.”
He twined his fingers through hers, providing a barrier between her and his heart. “Yes, I have retired teams before they slipped into a state that I would never want them to be in. And I have been watching to see how you and Kiko have been holding up under this extended tour. He is not doing as well as you, Dawn.”
Something within her—the dark spot—stirred, and she knew it was probably the only reason she hadn’t gone over the mental edge by now.
Because she was too much a part of what lurked around a corner at midnight.
With a descending curtain of realization, she thought, I’m never going back to the way I was before. This is home. This is it.
She should’ve been stunned, but she wasn’t. There was only ...
Acceptance.
And now that it was fully revealed, her load lightened a bit. This was what she was. This was where she was going from now on.
Costin tightened his fingers in hers. “Understand that I would do most anything to have different hunters in place. I have told you before that there is danger for a team in knowing too much about what dwells under the ground. With experience, members begin to believe that they know better than I how to handle matters.”
“If you’re referring to me, I’m ‘key,’ ” she said. “I should know a thing or two.”
“I have also told you that you are like no other, and this is what drew me to you. So yes. You would be correct. As key’ you would have to know more.”
He bent forward to rest his forehead against hers, his flesh cool where hers was hot.
“Yet, tell me,” he said. “If I had not required such help from you ... If I had not turned into this creature ... this vampire ... and you did not feel so responsible for it, would you have wanted to leave the team by now?”
If she’d allowed him inside her head lately, he would’ve already known. But these issues had reared up too recently, the truths defining themselves maybe because she’d had the time to think on her own while being so blocked off from him.
And the thing was ... she didn’t know if she had an answer.
If they’d defeated the Hollywood Underground unscathed, would she have wanted to leave Costin to pursue life as she’d known it before? Would it have even been possible with her being “key”?
Or would she have stayed with him out of love or ...
God, she wasn’t sure what was between them besides a force field of guilt.
As if to disprove that—because couldn’t she love?—Dawn nestled against him, her face to his neck.
His cool, hardly human neck.
Like a trail of sultry, mixed-color smoke, he curled his way into her consciousness, and she allowed him in, relieved that he was finally there.
What will come of you once I am saved? he asked.
She held to him tighter. Don’t know, so don’t ask.
He tried again, coming deeper into her, saturating her until she needed to grasp his shirt to stay standing.
He thought, Back in L.A., you were open to Matt Lonigan.
She blocked him, hating that putting up a shield was such an automatic response. But she did answer.
That’s before I found out who he really was—Benedikte, a guy only pretending to appreciate me for myself. But he really wanted Eva. He was trying to make me into my mother.
Hurt spilled from Dawn into Costin, and he held her closer. It was the first time she’d allowed herself to even think about what Matt had done to her, much less to tell Costin about it.
She went on. I was ready to let down my guard with him for the first time ever, with any man. And I started to ... but look what happened.
We happened, Costin thought, and his words felt like glimmers of hope cutting through her.
But then there was something else—a gathering wave of gray pushing at her and grabbing her at the same time.
Jonah.
She pulled out of Costin, feeling as if she’d been stripped, exposed, even though Jonah knew everything Costin did
.
“Dawn—” Costin sounded like a man who’d lost even more than his soul, but she knew his anguish was only temporary. His soul meant a hell of a lot more than she ever would.
She offered her neck to him, feverish, urgent.
“Feed, Costin,” she said. “Before he gets here.”
Was it jealousy that spurred him? It looked like it as his gaze took on a possessive air and he cupped the side of her neck with a palm.
She shrugged her shirt off both shoulders, ignoring her healing cuts, the material slumping at her elbows and revealing the tight, black sports bra she’d worn for her errand at Queenshill.
He slipped a finger under a strap, and his touch brought primitive heat to her skin, melting her above and below it as the tips of her breasts went hard.
Impatience thudded at her, and she leaned her head back even more while angling closer to him.
“Now,” she said in a strangled whisper.
His eyes went vampy, silver and wild, his fangs emerging as he grabbed her waist and roughly sat her on the sink counter, knocking over a vase.
It crashed to the floor, also breaking apart the lily it’d held.
As Costin yanked up her skirt, bunching it around her waist, Dawn felt the marble, cool and sleek, on the back of her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around him, her shoes digging against his rear.
He lowered his mouth to her breast, nuzzling against it with his lips and a snag of fang. She flinched as it scraped her, her hips arching forward against the rise of his erection.
“Hurry, Costin.”
Just at the feel of his cock between her legs, where she ached and pulsed, she was crazed. Wanting the pierce of his fangs in a vein, needing to feel the pleasure and pain of her blood being sucked out until she crashed down from the high it would bring.
He used his tongue to circle her nipple, tracing her, bringing her to a silent scream. Even through the cotton of her bra, she felt the wetness of his mouth, but she wanted more.
Something rougher, meaner.
Something that would fill.
She shucked the straps of her bra down her arms, going only far enough to bare her breasts. She was pinned by her straps, but the slick feel of his tongue on her peaked nipple made up for any sense of entrapment.
Then he tongued her nipple all the way into his mouth, a fang on each side of her as he flicked the nub.
She slipped her hand between her legs, just to ease the sharp agony of her clit. Rubbing, pressing, massaging, she tried to make it go away, but it didn’t do any good.
“Costin,” she said.
And he understood, skimming his hands under her ass and lifting her as he bent and brought his mouth to the heat between her legs.
There, there ...
He tore at her panties with his fangs and, oddly, she laughed, the sound ragged and just as off balance as everything else in this messed-up world.
But she forgot to think about that when he licked his way up her slit, careful not to nick her, although the thought of his fangs so close, so dangerous, did a lot more carnal damage than he probably meant to.
She was really wet now, pulling at his hair as he used the tip of his tongue to paint her to a building bliss. Her legs fell open even wider, unable to get enough, wishing he’d ...
She went ahead and said it, almost screaming it at the level of a whisper.
“Do it, Costin.”
He stopped, his breath coming in pants against her. She felt his thoughts prodding at her skull to get in, but she was so immersed in a world of black ecstasy—the inside of a bubble that was straining to burst—that she mentally pushed away, even while she physically urged him closer.
“Costin—”
She shifted her hips toward his mouth.
“No,” he said, his voice all but recognizable in its escalating starvation, although she was sure it was still Costin, not Jonah.
Or was it ... ?
No, it was Costin.
“Do it for me,” she said.
She could feel the weight of him giving in to her, mostly because he was probably craving the taste of the most tender flesh, too.
As if testing, he grazed over the swollen inside of one of her lips, and she hissed in a breath.
Hurt.
Good.
Deserved.
She panted for more, maneuvering so she could look him in the face, plead with him if she had to, in order to get what she wanted.
But Costin was staring up at her with those silver eyes, and they seemed to be swirling with as much speed as her mind.
Her mixed-up, fucked-up mind.
When he slowly rose, his eyes a solid silver hue now, Dawn could sense the change in his posture.
The more casual assurance of Jonah.
He tugged her skirt down over her hips, then took her by the lapels of her blouse, pulling her forward until she was flush against him, her open legs bringing her against his cock.
Then, in one of those moves that Dawn could never understand, Jonah eased away, and her body cried out.
She fought to silence it, because she wasn’t going to give anything to him. Not to Jonah, goddamn it.
But she was in sheer agony, splitting from the middle outward.
She didn’t know what was going on with her own body, how she couldn’t just shut it down with Jonah here. Then again, before joining the team, she’d screwed her way through a lot of nights, taking what she could and trying to feel good about it. Sex had been a competition with her beautiful, wonderful, superstar mom, who’d been presumed dead until Dawn found out otherwise.
But now, what the hell was she doing?
Jonah spoke in his amused American accent—except he didn’t seem all that amused right now.
Just famished.
“I’ll guess that you’re done flirting with sure trouble,” he said.
Want, she thought, the need for fulfillment cracking through her, making her hate him and what his body did to her, whether it was Jonah at the helm or Costin.
Yet she knew what the inevitable outcome would be. They both did.
“Just get it over with,” she ground out, turning her face away from him.
Even as she said it, she craved it—the bite.
And Jonah obliged her, lowering his mouth to her neck, where the pop of his fangs into her skin made her press her legs against his sides.
Made her mind into a red blank as he sucked and sated himself, finally soothing her to a numb purgatory.
TEN
DRINK TIME WITH EVA, I
EVA lingered in a hallway, near a stretch of walls that boasted a line of Friends portraits.
Although one of the spirits had been watching her during the team’s meeting, the Friend had left now that there wasn’t much for Eva to eavesdrop on and, as she watched, her invisible bodyguard became visible in a nearby portrait, which featured an idyllic prairie.
Her wheaten curls came into focus, her blue eyes, her face, her chemise flapping in a still wind that couldn’t be felt outside the painting.
Ultimately, the Friend closed her eyes, at rest. Within the paint’s textures, she would prepare herself for when she was needed, just like all these other spirits who lined the hallway.
Eva started walking, trailing her fingertips below the portraits, just under the frames.
She knew Dawn was on the next floor with Costin, alone with him, feeding him, and Eva fended off the maternal instincts that shouted for her to go up there, knock on the door, and tell her daughter to keep it open while her boyfriend was over.
But Eva had forfeited the years when that would’ve been acceptable. She’d abandoned Dawn and Frank.
On the way past a portrait of an Egyptian Friend, she touched its wooden frame. At least, since Hollywood, Eva and her daughter’s relationship had gotten better, but she knew she’d never really be Dawn’s mom, just a “mother.” One who‘d, for all intents and purposes, been absent and then suddenly, shockingly reappeared.
&nbs
p; Hi, I’m here. Love me.
Yet she didn’t expect any more than an attempt at reconciliation from Dawn now, and she was lucky to get even that. Eva owned what she had done—selling her soul to the Hollywood Underground and faking her own murder so that she would rise again as a plastic-surgery-enhanced “other” superstar.
She deserved all those unsure glances she caught Dawn sneaking at her. Actually, she even deserved Frank choosing Breisi’s affections over hers, although Eva would sell the soul Dawn had won back for her by the Master’s death if Frank would just give her one more try.
Near the end of the hallway, she stopped, her pulse jiggering at the sight of a half-open door.
Ironic, she thought. All she’d ever wanted was her family. She’d become a vampire because she’d believed her Hollywood handlers when they’d told her that going Underground would be the best thing for her loved ones’ futures, her stratospheric legacy ensuring they’d never lack for money. At least, she’d thought that’s why she’d wanted to go Underground—not because of the never-ending adulation of the fans and society.
Eva contained a shiver of self-awareness, then reset herself.
No, no. She really had gone Underground for Dawn and Frank. That’s right. But while she’d been staging a return to life Above, Frank and even Dawn had started to create their own versions of families.
Dawn, Frank, Breisi, Kiko ... They’d developed into a tight-knit unit, and all Eva could do was watch from the fringes.
She’d tried to become a part of them by volunteering to donate blood for the bags that Frank drank from, parceling them out so they’d last. She owed him at least that much for making him a vampire in the first place, but most of the time she only felt like more of a burden, someone to be watched over.
And she’d earned the spot she was in.
From inside the room down the hall, she heard his voice saying good night to someone—Breisi—and Eva knew that the spirit had gone to bed in her own portrait, now that the team was getting its bearings.
Eva hesitated, telling herself to leave, to go back to the guest room Limpet and Associates had given her, just until it was safe to return to her own nearby flat.
The Path of Razors Page 11
