Two Hot

by Riley Ashford

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  Two Hot

  Riley Ashford

  Slayer Damon Phillips is dying of cancer. He figures if he's going to kick the bucket, then he's gonna do something really stupid: Seduce gorgeous vampire Belle DeLuc.

  Belle has no problem spending a passionate night with Damon, even if he's notorious for staking bloodsuckers. He excites her in a way no other man has for two centuries, and she wants him to stick around. Forever.

  When Belle offers to give her new lover immortal life, she doesn't realize she's played right into Damon's devious hands. But the slayer is having second thoughts. Should he abandon his mission and save the vampire... or unleash the deadly secret that will kill them both?

  Chapter One

  Retract your fangs, girl. Belle DeLuc sipped her merlot as she checked out the yummy man sitting at a table directly in her line of vision.

  The darkness of the club couldn't hide the pulse beating under his firm, smooth skin. The loud music couldn't drown out the strong thrum of his heart. The stench of cigarettes and cheap perfume couldn't mask the scent of his blood.

  Hmm. How lovely it would be to puncture his neck, imbibe the warm fluid. Her gaze flicked to his face. He had green eyes, blond hair expensively cut, slight crook in his nose, kissable lips. He was dressed in a nice suit... well, a nice suit for an accountant.

  His gaze pierced hers.

  The heat in those dark-as-sin eyes nearly melted her. As he got up from the table, his stare never wavering, she dipped into his mind to assess his carnal thoughts. She hoped they involved sweaty bodies, twisted sheets, and her. But she found...

  Nothing.

  Belle pushed harder against the unexpected mental block and gasped when he pushed back. Stop trying. You don't want to see what's in my head.

  She gaped at him, unable to answer his mind contact or to utter a word when he stood in front of her and grasped her shoulder. Never had she found a human with such strong psychic abilities.

  "Hello, my beautiful vampire," he whispered. She tried to move out of his grip, to discard the wisps of lust clinging to her, but he laughed off her attempts. "I won't let you escape this time."

  This time? She looked closely at him, but didn't recognize his face. "Who are you?"

  "My name is Damon Phillips. And you are Belle DeLuc." He grabbed her hand, twirled her away from the bar, and led her to the dance floor. With one yank, she could rip his arm from his shoulder, but curiosity outweighed her desire to do so. A slow song played; Damon placed his arms around her waist and smoothly navigated her through the crowd.

  They swayed together. The warmth of his hands filtered through her thin dress and he exerted just enough pressure to suggest possession. His gaze held hers and burned with emotions that seemed oddly both arousal and fury.

  Damon moved her closer and closer to the edge of the dance floor. The back door was only a few feet away. Curious about his motives, she allowed him to whisk her out of the building. A warm breeze teased her upswept hair; already the barely tamed curls were loosing from their pinned prison. In the night sky, the pearlescent moon hung round and full, surrounded by diamond stars.

  "Never figured I'd find the undead partying in Key West." He grasped her upper arm and led her toward the stone path that meandered to the beach. "Aren't you supposed to be in New Orleans?"

  Belle laughed. "I don't go near New Orleans."

  "Bullshit. It's June. All vampires go there to pay homage to your bitch queen."

  Belle didn't. Paying homage, as the human so eloquently put it, meant bringing a victim to Queen Isolde for her torturing pleasure. The vampire court was a relic of a world that no longer existed. Those fools reveled in the barbaric -- and the bloodier, the better. Many vampires like Belle had eschewed the old ways, but that didn't mean they outright disrespected Queen Isolde, either. Her memory was long and her wrath often involved dismemberment.

  He walked faster and Belle let him drag her along. Where did he think he was taking her? And what did he think he was going to do once they arrived? Her body trilled in excitement. She might not hunt anymore, but she still felt the urges. Two hundred years was a long time to forego the death dance.

  The path ended abruptly. Belle's heels sank into the sand, popping free as Damon yanked her forward.

  She pulled out of his grip. "Where are we going?"

  "Somewhere dark and quiet... so I can be alone with you."

  "If you weren't gritting your teeth so hard that would almost sound sexy." She sighed, crossing her arms. "You're a vampire hunter."

  Damon nodded.

  "Why aren't you in New Orleans?" she asked. "Usually the hunters descend there right now because the pickings are so good."

  He stared at her, his lips pressed together. Out on the beach, his suit and those shiny black shoes seemed out of place. Belle wanted to rip off those staid clothes and see what yummy surprise was hidden under them. He was a boxer man, she was sure.

  "Come on." She left her high heels and walked barefoot toward the ocean. Gentle waves kissed the shore. Their foamed edges looked like lace edging on black chiffon.

  Belle sat down, uncaring about how her flirty gold dress might fare against the beach grit, and stretched out her legs. Once again, the breeze toyed with the strands of her hair. It was an unremarkable shade of brown, a rather un-sexy color for a vampire.

  Damon sat next to her, his gaze on the undulating dark water.

  "When I was human, I lived on a small farm in France with my family," said Belle. "That was nearly two hundred and fifty years ago."

  "You don't look a day over eighteen."

  "Ah. So you know how old I was when I was changed." Belle wondered how much more he knew about her. "It gets easy to justify murder when your main source of food is people. I was only forty-seven in vampire years when I decided to never hunt humans again."

  "You almost sound sincere."

  Belle glanced at him and saw him staring at her hungrily. What are you thinking, mon amour? Too bad his psychic shield was so good. "We cannot live without blood," she said. "But we can live without the hunt. When you can look a human in the eyes and see his terror, hear him beg for his life, and still rip out his throat, then you are a monster."

  "Your queen says that vampires are the lions of the human world. Lions don't worry about the feelings of zebras when they kill them."

  "She is not my queen," said Belle. "Animals live by their instincts. They do what they have been genetically programmed to do. Vampires don't have that excuse." Belle drew up her legs and wiggled her toes into the sand. "Many vampires live successfully, without hunting or killing, in the world of humans."

  "Like you?"

  "Of course."

  She felt the heat of his gaze, but she waited a long moment before turning to meet it. The lust flickering in those dazzling green eyes caused her pussy to clench. Oh, you are so yummy. She licked her lips, held his stare for another heartbeat, and then turned away.

  "What are you waiting for?" he demanded raggedly. "I know you want to sink your fangs into my neck." His breathing was uneven. Her ears picked up the increased beat of his heart. She might not be able to read his thoughts, but she could practically feel his fear, his excitement.

  "I've already had dinner, thanks. The blood bank served a terrific AB entree with a lovely O for dessert."

  "Great. I get the one vampire who still has a soul." He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He re-directed his gaze
toward the ocean. "I found you in Chicago last month."

  The bombshell was dropped casually, with the intention of rattling her.

  "You were the one tracking me?" she asked pleasantly. Outwardly she showed no signs of distress, but inwardly, she cursed her complacency. Because she rarely fed directly from humans and never killed them, she was almost always off the radar of hunters. How had this one found her? And why?

  His mind was blank, as immovable as a mountain. If she wanted answers, she would have to ask direct questions. Damn it.

  Ignoring his verbal bait, Belle allowed herself the luxury of thinking, of waiting. She had accumulated enough wealth to do anything she pleased. She often visited Chicago because she enjoyed the city so much. Apparently, she was not as random about her movements as she'd thought. She'd sensed someone watching her, following her, but never managed to figure out his identity. Now, she knew why. Damon was a powerful psychic.

  "I've been off my game," he said suddenly.

  Once again, Belle found herself off-balance. She'd expected him to interrogate her, but instead his tone was confessional.

  "Tired, unfocused, weak. But I still managed to follow you home. It was easy to sneak into your nest. Your wolf is a mental pushover."

  "You entranced Rolf?" Her guardian was huge, vicious and fiercely loyal. And yet, Damon had managed to control him. Belle's stomach squeezed in dread. "You could've staked me."

  "I stood over you with that spike hovering about your heart and... I couldn't do it. You were lying there -- naked and perfect and vulnerable. I wanted to kiss you, not kill you." He curled up a fist and slammed it into the sand. "I'm a hunter! Growing a conscience about slaying the undead is the last thing I needed."

  She heard the defeat in his tone and guessed at its cause. "Something is wrong with you?"

  "Yeah. I went to a doctor and he did a bunch of tests. Cancer." The word fell bitterly from his lips.

  "Ah. You believe that a vampire hunter murdered by his own prey offers you a noble end. That's why you tracked me here."

  "No," he said, his eyes blazing with pure lust. "I want to fuck you. If that means my death... well, I'm already dying."

  Shocked, Belle stared him. She certainly wasn't opposed to having hot, sweaty sex with him, but she wasn't in the habit of murdering her lovers. God! Had it never occurred to the darling idiot that she could save him? "Two bites and you could be mine forever."

  "Just yours?"

  She smiled and let her fangs descend. "The first bite is on the neck. I drink from you and a chemical is released into your system that makes you... happy. Humane vampires stop there when they feed. The wound heals, the victim feels like they've had a couple of margaritas, and that's it."

  "When you feed, you also leave your mark."

  She inclined her head. "That is true. A marked human is not supposed to be harmed or to be fed on by another vampire. We are very territorial."

  "I know." He watched her, his eyes snapping with heat, with need. "And the second bite?"

  Her body tingled with anticipation as she dipped her hand between his legs. "The second bite is on the inner thigh. I drain you to the point of death, and then release another chemical that essentially poisons you."

  "Then I'm changed?"

  "I know it's so Anne Rice, but you have to drink directly from me to complete the process. In your death throes, I'll open the vein on my wrist and you suck as much blood into your system as possible. Then you'll pass out. I'll take you to my nest and watch over you. The transition takes two days, sometimes three, and if you wake up, you'll be a vampire."

  "If?"

  "Not everyone is strong enough," she admitted. "And with cancer ravaging that fine, fine form... I can't make any guarantees." She climbed onto his lap and pushed him onto his back. "What do you care? You are going to die no matter what."

  He slid his hands up her thighs, under the silky hem of the dress, and cupped her hips. His thumbs hooked under the thin lace of her thong. He looked so resentful, and yet intrigued. Did he really want her so much that he was willing to forego his own principles to have her?

  She had conquered him without even trying.

  It was so odd.

  Ah. Belle was not in the habit of denying herself. Hunter or not, there was something primal about Damon that made her crave him almost as much as she sometimes craved the hunt. Vampires were not humans. They weren't as concerned with morality. When you lived forever, the lines of conscience were blurred. And that was why she'd worked so hard to create her own boundaries, her own rules.

  Damon had the choice never given to her.

  Her sire, Pierre, wanted her, body and soul, forever. So he killed her family and changed her. He taught her how to be a vampire, including how to hunt. He was very skilled, and very dangerous. He didn't care if he took the life of a human child or slated his thirst on old women. He told her that the longer a vampire lived, the weaker his connection to humanity. Queen Isolde was one of the oldest; she thought humans were errant animals cavorting in her garden of delights.

  Perhaps Pierre had allowed his kinder emotions to fade, but he'd held on to lust and greed as though they were shiny gems. He took what he wanted because he had the power to do so. For forty-seven years, she'd lived as his slave and his protege. Unwilling, but learning her lessons all the same.

  Belle hadn't regretted, not even for a second, the moment she plunged the oak stake into his black heart. He turned to ash before her eyes. That was the same day she swore she would never hunt again. Pierre had been a liar. Vampires didn't lose their humanity. They chucked it away, gladly.

  "Belle?"

  She blinked down at Damon and saw the questioning look in his eyes. "Lost in old memories," she said. "What do you regret, Damon?"

  It was an impulsive question. She looked away, suddenly feeling vulnerable. What had possessed her to give away even a sliver of her control?

  "I regret that you're still wearing your clothes." He delved between her thighs, one calloused thumb stroking her clit through the wet lace. "And that I'm still wearing mine, too."

  She laughed, running her hands along his chest, her fingertips coasting along the edge of his buttoned shirt. She grabbed the collar and pulled. The buttons popped off and the cotton material fell away to reveal a well-defined chest with a light furring of blondish hair.

  "I'd do the same," said Damon drolly, "except I wouldn't get the same results."

  Belle grinned. "Once you are vampire, you will be able to rip off my clothes with two fingers." Her smile widened. "Or if you are very good, with only one."

  His gaze went dark, but she still recognized the guilt flashing in those green orbs. Her fingers, already sifting through the springy curls arrowing down his stomach, paused.

  "If you do not wish to do this," she said softly, "then I will walk away. You can live to your natural end without becoming what you hate."

  "I don't hate you," he said roughly. He lifted up, grabbed her, and rolled her onto her back in one smooth motion. He covered her, pressing his hard cock between the vee of her thighs. "Does that feel like I don't want to be with you?"

  "You don't want to want me," she said, cupping his face and searching his gaze. "You feel this craving, this terrible hunger, and you do not want to deny yourself. You are tired, are you not? Of wanting so much? But I tell you, Damon, that you can resist me. Resist that urge to have what will surely end your self-respect."

  "Your French is showing," he said. Then he blew out a breath. "That's how you feel, isn't it? About the hunt. You really don't kill humans. Why do you resist, Belle?"

  "Because I choose my humanity. I may not have wanted this life, but it is still mine, and I have choices. Just as you do, Damon."

  His mask slipped then, and she saw the pain and the doubt and the wonder. Even his psychic shields wavered, and she heard one thought: She's not like the rest.

  "Mon amour," she whispered, and brought her lips to his.

  She meant the kiss t
o be gentle, but Damon wouldn't accept the kindness. He plundered her mouth, his tongue thrusting, his lips relentless. He shoved her dress up and worked off her panties.

  He unzipped his pants, and wiggled them down just enough to free his cock. "Bite me," he said. "Bite me while I fuck you."

  "I will," she promised, "but not yet." She flipped him easily, and he grunted as his backside hit the sand. Her gaze traveled his half-clothed form. He was quite handsome, and very toned. When he changed, he would stay just as he was now, young and beautiful and muscled.

  She let her fingers dance along his bared skin. His pants had caught above the knees, and yes, he wore boxers. They were blue silk. Very nice.

  She sat on his thighs and leaned down to suck the mushroomed head of his thick cock. He sucked in a sharp breath as he slipped his hands into her hair and pulled out the pins still clinging to the loosening strands. "Belle, don't." I don't deserve this.

  "I want to," she said, wondering at the angst in his wayward thought. He was such a strange mix of emotions, but what did she expect of a dying man?

  She sucked his cock into her mouth, tracing the bulging veins with the tip of her tongue. She cupped his balls, squeezing gently, and savored his shaft with long licks. She tormented him until she felt him tense, his stomach muscles quivering, his shaft so sensitized that it pulsed at the slightest touch.

  She kissed her way up his chest, lingering on the rope of every muscle. She sucked on his nipples, biting the tiny nubs, smiling when he gasped. Only when he was quaking beneath her, his eyes glazed with need, did she lower her wet, swollen pussy onto his cock.

  She squeezed his thick length within her, which filled her so well. She tossed off her dress and leaned forward to offer him her breasts. He cupped them, tweaking one aching peak as he sucked the other into his mouth. She began to move, rubbing her cunt against him as she increased the pace, building her orgasm.

  "Bite me," he said. "Please."

  "As if I would forget," she gasped. Her breasts tingled from his touch, and she wanted more of him. More of this. She lay flush against him, her body still straining for its pleasure. Damon grasped her ass, and stroked into her, taking over the rhythm.