Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

by Laura Kaye

  “Where you’re going is more important than your duty here?” His commander’s question trickled into his brain and battled with the mixed-up shit swirling in his mind. Markus pivoted slowly on his heels. Guerin’s dark eyes narrowed on him, waiting for his answer.

  And he gave him one.

  “Yes. It is.”

  Markus lowered his torso over the fuel tank and throttled down hard on the grip of his bike. The wind fought to tear him from his ride. The speedometer read one hundred ten miles per hour. Rain sprayed his visor, blurring the road at his wheel. Oncoming headlights formed starbursts of colored lights on his wet face shield.

  He didn’t give a flying fuck.

  Better off dead.

  They’d all be better off if he’d eat some serious-ass pavement and fry with the sunrise.

  He was a traitor.

  During the last hour since his realization that the auburn-haired girl was Emily, the seal on his duality of memories had cracked open. The images spilled into his conscious mind like some cancerous sludge regurgitated from hell. He remembered. Remembered it all.

  Such a sick SOB.

  He’d followed Kenric to Emily’s at sundown, completely covered in leather and a black-out helmet to combat the lingering rays of the sun. He’d waited all evening for them to part.

  Trailing Emily hadn’t been hard in her aged sedan. She’d been an easy target, alone late at night in an empty parking lot. One phone call was all it had taken to have the pair of DEADs lying in wait for her.

  He’d done some vile things. Images from his time spent at Marguerite’s lair flickered across his mind’s eye.

  Sick, depraved things.

  Flashes of him in various stages of sex and bloodlust gripped him. Multiple bodies, male and female, writhed against him on a floor littered with white furs.

  They had stroked, licked, sucked, and fucked. Him and everyone around him.

  Markus shook his head, trying to knock the degrading images from his mind. His rear tire slipped on the wet road, but he countered the effect with little effort, bringing it back under control.

  Wind and rain beat at the sleeves of his coat and ran down his back, finding their way under his shirt. Spider veins of ice formed at the edges of his field of vision, but he didn’t feel the cold. Strange.

  He really should be cold.

  Maybe it was because the last shred of what held him to his humanity had severed. Broken by the vampire his leader knew all too well: Marguerite.

  What she’d left behind he didn’t recognize. Markus worked his throat, trying hard to swallow the acidic taste of self-disgust threatening to choke him.

  A horn blared, jerking his attention back to the road. Throwing his body to the right, he willed his bike around and away from the blinding, fragmented prisms of color.

  Somehow, he avoided the head-on collision. The pissed-off sound of the horn blasted into his ear as it passed him. Breathing hard, he geared down and popped his visor.

  Too late.

  He leaned hard into the sharp turn of the road, but his rear tire lost its traction. The bike spun out from beneath him.

  The force of the crash sent him flying. Time slowed to a crawl, and the world went mute.

  Suddenly, the ground sped forward and slammed into him with a lung-exploding force.

  Sound returned at a full-volume blast.

  He tumbled down the embankment. Tree limbs and loose gravel chewed at the leather covering his arms and legs, ripping it apart and peeling back his exposed skin. A blow to his back brought his momentum to a halt. He lay on his side, sucking hard to feed the rush of adrenaline. The stench of burned rubber and gasoline filled the air and stung his nostrils.

  Markus lifted his eyelids and groaned at the unnatural arrangement of his right leg. Dammit! He was still alive and conscious. This had to be somebody’s idea of a sick fucking joke. Not one damn branch had pierced his heart or removed his head, taking him out of his messed-up life. Throwing his head back, he raged into the blackness.

  Inch by inch he dug his fingers into the soil and pulled himself along on his stomach. Every breath felt like muscle gliding over shards of glass. Damn! He must have blown every rib on his left side.

  Getting into a sitting position was a maneuver born in Hades. The metallic taste of blood flowed into his mouth as he brought his leg forward. The bottom half of his calf dangled at a grotesque angle. A jagged piece of bone protruded through what remained of the leg of his jeans.

  With the last vestige of strength left in his body, he reached for his wolf form. Fuck his clothes. No way in hell did he have the strength or desire to undress in his messed-up state.

  The crack of bones shifting into place, along with the sound of tearing fabric and popping threads, echoed through the trees. Markus howled from the morphing of wounded flesh and bone. A necessary marathon of endurance. With the shift came a swifter tide of healing.

  Black fur sprouted from his pores and spread across his extremities. He rocked up and onto four solid legs, whirled about, and leaped deeper into the unfamiliar woods, leaving the shredded remains of his life behind.

  In his head, he ran into the night with no general direction or purpose.

  Deep inside his gut, a different story unfurled. It knew exactly where his paws took him.

  Mud caked all four limbs when he exited the dense cover of trees onto the shoulder of a dark paved road. God only knew how long he’d run. His sides sawed in and out. He snorted and twitched his ears as clouds of vapor curled from both nostrils.

  Fur receded from his muzzle, and his limbs elongated. Uncurling his spine, he braced his stature on two legs. He rolled his newly re-formed shoulders and sucked in a deep, pain-free breath.

  The road sign to his left read HWY 505 SOUTH, below it, mile marker twenty-five. A single mile from Marguerite’s lair. What the fuck? Who are you kidding, asshole? You knew where you were heading the moment you walked out on the Enclave. He whipped around, one foot back into the underbrush, and phased.

  His feet settled on the hard-packed dirt of an empty driveway as a dingy white Victorian porch came into view. Taking the steps two at a time, he headed straight for the front door.

  He didn’t knock.

  Enrique could kiss his ass.

  With his mind clear for the first time in days, he had to face her. Face the reality of what he’d become.

  Markus sauntered naked into the candlelit foyer and straight for her receiving room. She might kill him for his arrogance—hell, he wished she would—but he seriously doubted she’d dare.

  He held the key to what she wanted most.

  He heard several sharp intakes of breath the moment he threw open the double doors. Before he could blink, Enrique appeared before him and wrapped his hand around his throat.

  “I don’t believe you’ve been announced, minion.” Enrique sneered with a shiny white display of fangs. “An ill-conceived move like this could have the unfortunate effect of death.”

  Markus pulled back his lip to unveil his own set of sharp teeth. “Something tells me, minion, that you won’t risk pissing off the mistress by killing her new play toy.”

  Enrique’s face twisted, and his eyes lit with seething anger. Enough rage, Markus knew, to be a formidable threat. Instead, Enrique shoved him into the room.

  “Well, if it isn’t my handsome Enclave warrior come to pay me a visit.” On her chaise, Marguerite rose from the lap of one of her half-naked male slaves. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Markus planted his feet at the base of her platform.

  Enrique’s fingers dug into his neck. “Kneel before your mistress.”

  “I’d rather stand.” Markus cocked him a sideways glance.

  Pressure landed on his shoulders, driving him to his knees. He swallowed back a grunt as his hands saved his face from eating the floor.

  “I’d rather you kneel.” The threat contained in Marguerite’s words was unmistakable.

  Guess he’d fucking knee
l. He eased his head up and rolled back onto his knees. In his periphery, Marguerite’s commander stood to his left, his arms crossed over his chest, weapons galore strapped to his body.

  “Much better, slave.”

  He’d pick his battles.

  “Did you come for your reward, minion? My commander tells me your mission was a successful one with Kenric’s newest, or shall I say former, bedmate.”

  Marguerite glided down the steps before him. Her silver gown parted at her thighs with each step, offering him glimpses of her bare pussy. Hot blood engorged his cock. Oh, she knew how to play the fucking game well. Pun definitely intended.

  A rumble vibrated in his chest.

  By sheer will alone, he pulled his gaze away from the show. Her lips curled into a slow smile. She could see his arousal, and he smelled hers.

  Her feet touched the wood floor, and she lifted her hand to her neck. Without hesitation, she dragged one hooked claw across her flesh. A swell of blood rose along the open trail.

  A ribbon of red flowed down her pale white skin and disappeared into her cleavage.

  The rich and heady scent of her blood short-circuited his brain. He groaned, his gut a wretched coil of hunger, of need.

  “Come, Markus. Come to me, and let me show you how delicious it can be when you make me happy.”

  Her words crawled inside his head and seeped into his veins. His cock jerked as the pressure within his balls shot to an aching overload and the whore took him to the brink of release. He coiled his fists at his side.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Dear God, he was so lost.

  He lunged and grabbed the blade sheathed at Enrique’s thigh. With both hands wrapped around the hilt, he drove the serrated end straight for his own heart.

  “No!” Her single word filled the cavernous space.

  Every muscle locked. Fuck! The blade ceased in its path, the biting edge of the tip burned in his flesh. Yet he lived. The bitch wouldn’t let him die.

  Deep inside, the remaining piece of his soul that belonged to the Enclave cried out. Forgive me, my fellow warriors.

  She’d won. He’d failed to take his life. There would be no going back.

  He couldn’t resist her. Drinking from her black well had fed the stain on his soul—renewed its vigor.

  She owned him.

  And God help him, but he wanted her.

  And in a way, it was a release. He didn’t have to fight any more. The choice had been made, and he wasn’t the one who had made it. He’d been spawned from the seed of evil, born and bred to become a killer. Even though he’d tried with the Enclave, for the last few decades, to become something more, as a bit of redemption for the crimes he’d committed while human, a part of him knew this was inevitable. Sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  Marguerite wrenched the knife from his chest. The jagged metal ripped at his flesh as she twisted the blade free. Cold sweat erupted from his pores.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

  He tumbled forward from the sudden loss of her mental hold. “It was better to take my life than reveal my failure to you, mistress. There is nothing to be rewarded for.”

  Enrique grabbed his hair, jolting the back of his head. Markus hissed from the stab of pain at his scalp.

  A chill swept his body, telling him Marguerite had come closer even before her face loomed over his. With another jerk, Enrique released him. His head dropped forward, wet strands of his hair clinging to his cheeks. He glued his stare to the floor. Waiting. Wanting.

  Icy fingers gripped his chin, bringing him to his feet. “What do you mean, minion, that there is nothing to be rewarded for?” Marguerite’s fangs lengthened, the tips glistening below her upper lip.

  “Kenric’s whore lives.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Every muscle in Emily’s body screamed for mercy. She curled into a fetal position. The horrific pains were back, growing more intense in her abdomen and spreading like burning tendrils down her arms and legs.

  The only thing that stayed her stomach and calmed the flames was Kenric’s blood. Dear God, she hated to admit it, but she craved the taste of him.

  The bed dipped behind her.

  “It’s time.” Kenric’s deep voice rolled over her as his hand smoothed her hair. She moaned. Even the movement of her hair felt like needles piercing her skull.

  After helping her to sit up, he presented his wrist. She winced at the condition of his flesh, mangled from the numerous bites he’d inflicted on himself. The frequency of her need for him left him little time to heal.

  “How long can you keep this up? This has to be hell for you.” She stared at the crimson stream dripping onto the towel beneath his arm. Hunger twisted in her stomach.

  “As long as I need to,” he whispered near her ear.

  Bringing his wrist to her mouth, she eased her tongue out and licked the trail of blood back to its source. He hissed and drew her closer to his warmth, her back to his side.

  She froze. “Am I hurting you?”

  “Not in the way you’re thinking.”

  “But I am hurting you.” She pushed his arm away. “There has to be another way. I can’t stand the thought of you in pain for me.”

  “No, there is no other way. And you’re misunderstanding me.” He encircled her with his arm, bringing his wrist back to her lips. She couldn’t resist. Gently, she placed her lips to his addictive offering. “It’s not the type of pain like you’re experiencing. To feed another, the act is very…sensual.”

  “Oh.” She released the seal around his vein, suddenly aware of the hard ridge pressed into her back. “This happens every time?”

  His stubble brushed her ear with his nod.

  “Oh, Kenric, I’m so sorry. In so many ways, this has been torture for you.” She owed him a debt she couldn’t begin to repay. Their last time together… She’d been a royal bitch. And what had he turned around and done? He had saved her life.

  “Feed, love.” He rocked his open wrist at her lips, stopping her protest. “Let’s get you through this night. Dawn is approaching, and I need you further along in the process before we sleep.”

  The taste of his blood filled her mouth. Thick, rich, and oh so good. She whimpered from the flavor and the feel of its magic working on her insides. Each swallow rained cool water on a raging inferno.

  A muffled grunt came from behind her, and Kenric stiffened.

  She lifted her chin. “Kenric, please. It wouldn’t bother me if you need to… You know.”

  “That’s not necessary. Focus on you.”

  “Come on, you’re not fooling me. You could shatter a brick with your…uh…the tension in your body. I might not be up to joining you, but it would make me happy to know you were enjoying this.” She lowered her head and gave his vein a long, deep pull.

  His breathing quickened, and seconds later, his arm left her waist. The sound of a zipper and shifting clothes sent her pulse escalating. Yes. That’s what she wanted.

  Within moments, he jerked in time with each sip to his vein. The fact that her feeding brought him to such a fevered state gave her a thrill. She swept her tongue out, enjoying the addition of the salty taste of his flesh mixed with the savory spice of his blood. His breath heated her neck, and the pace of his movements intensified.

  His body suddenly grew rigid, and a deep groan shuddered from him. She smiled against his wrist. Both of them satisfied.

  That was her last thought before her world faded to black.

  A cool cloth brushed her face, waking her to his brilliant blue eyes, hooded by the longest raven lashes she’d ever seen. Beautiful, but the lines around them worried her.

  “You need to rest,” she whispered. “How long have I been out?”

  “It’s a little over an hour after sundown, and I did rest. You slept much longer this time, but you’ve started to perspire again.” He wiped her brow. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “Don’t be. You’ve been so good t
o me.” She reached out and followed the hard line of his jaw with her fingertips. “Lie with me. Please.”

  “Sure.” He smiled. “But let me take care of this first.” He dropped the cloth into the bowl on the bedside table, then reached for something from the floor. “I went by your place and collected a few things I thought you might want.” Kenric sat the duffle bag beside her on the mattress, gathered the bowl, and headed toward the bathroom.

  Emily studied the large brown canvas satchel, her mind wondering what sort of items he would have thought to pack for a woman. She grinned. For a badass vampire, he could be such a considerate man. Emily pushed up against the headboard, then reached for the zipper and opened the bag. And her world shrank, narrowed down until the only thing remaining in focus was the framed photo sitting on top of her clothes.

  How had he known she needed this?

  Emily stared down at the frozen black and white moment in time of her mother, father, and an eight-year-old Emily Ross. The pictured captured one of her favorite memories: a sunny day she’d spent on the beach with her parents—before the alcohol had claimed her father and her family. She missed them, especially her mother. God, how she would love to talk to her one more time. But what would she say? “Hey, Mom. Guess what? I met a man who stopped my heart in more ways than one.” She couldn’t help but quirk a smile. For the first time, Emily was grateful they were already gone. This way she wouldn’t have to try and create excuses as to why she’d stopped aging, or worse, had to disappear from their life all together.

  The clank of glass against tile drew her attention to the man in the other room. Kenric stood over the sink, rinsing the bowl. She couldn’t believe he’d thought to fill a satchel of memories from her human years and bring them to her. How could she have ever believed being with Kenric would have been a prison sentence? When she was with him, he filled in all the hollow places inside without crowding her spirit.

  Emily turned her gaze back to the photo in her clutches, and it suddenly dawned on her—she hadn’t truly lost anything by becoming a vampire. Instead, she’d gained so much more. She’d been holding on to the past with such a fierce grip that she couldn’t reach out and grab hold of her future.