by Michele Hauf
“That is some amazing rationality.” He spread his mouth wide to give her a corny vampire snarl. “Not even a little scared?”
“No fear.”
“Right, only falling and apparently serial killers and clowns. I’ll protect you from the serial killers, but the clowns—eh—they freak me out, too.”
“Guess we’ll never go on a date to the circus.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Mmm...” She gripped his thick cock, which was hard as a fighting baton and no less a weapon when she considered how having it inside her utterly devastated her need to stay strong and not surrender. “I’m not afraid of this.”
“I should hope not.”
“It’s big and hungry. I like it when you shove it inside me and pump your hips fast. Let me show you how much I love this guy.”
She slid down to her knees before him and pressed his hardness aside her cheek, looking up at him with a sweet smile.
The vampire shivered. “Lark, you know how to make a man happy to be alive.”
Taking him into her mouth, she quickly brought him to orgasm, and then he sank onto his knees and pulled her to him. Beneath the rain, the vampire and the hunter cast all their fears aside because they knew that as long as they were together, nothing could harm them more than the damage they had already incurred.
* * *
“You didn’t find LaRoque?” Rook beat a fist against the desktop.
Gunnar Svedson did not flinch. That he’d been given this assignment because the Order’s best had failed had been an incredible coup. After a pitiful month of no kills, he needed to prove himself. And he would.
“He’ll come out tonight, I’m sure of it. I will not fail where the female knight did.”
Rook eyed him out the corner of his eye. The man had a way of looking at him that made Gunnar wonder if he could see things even he wasn’t aware of about himself. “You don’t like women much, do you, Gunnar?”
He wasn’t sure what Rook implied, but he wasn’t willing to provide too much information about the way he viewed the world. Women were meant to cook and clean, not slay. Never again would he make the mistake of trusting one enough to call his wife. He’d heard the rumors among the knights about his former relationship. He couldn’t deny them.
“I will show you who is the best,” he said. “I’ve got Pavel keeping an eye on Lark, as you requested. She’ll slip up.”
“Slip up? You suspect her of...?” Rook left the question hanging.
“I have to wonder why the Order’s best wasn’t able to kill one miserable vampire who is supposed to be crazy and certainly should not be able to hold his own against a skilled fighter.”
“She’s not involved with LaRoque,” Rook offered as if he knew it for certain. Yet the man looked aside, the muscle in his jaw pulsing tensely.
Never thought about that one until now, eh? Gunnar thought.
Well, he never missed an angle, and until this one had been proven wrong, he was going to stay on the female hunter’s ass. In fact, he was headed to her place right now. She would speak to him, whether or not she liked it, and he would get the truth from her, by fist or by blade.
* * *
“I like this,” Domingos said as he weighed the brass knuckles with the blade in his palm, then slipped them over his fingers. “I have to get something like this.”
“They’re actually made from silver, not brass. Excellent werewolf deterrent. You can have it. A gift to my lover.”
His eyes twinkled. Lark giggled. “And here I thought men preferred ties or sporting equipment.”
“I’ve always sucked at sports.” He pulled up his leather pants and threaded his arms through his shirt.
The knock at the front door hastened Lark as she pulled up her pants and tugged on her shirt. She shoved Domingos’s goggles into his hands as he was dressing, and pushed him toward the back door.
“Leave! Get out of here, quick!”
“You have no idea who is at the door. It could be a neighbor—”
“I don’t know my neighbors and I don’t have any friends.” She didn’t blanch at his pouting “that’s so sad” look. “It could be Rook returned, or even that bastard Pavel who’s been tailing me. If you care about us, then go!”
With a decisive nod, Domingos opened the back door. Evening had fallen and he didn’t need the goggles, which he strung around his neck. He grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her in for a quick but searing kiss. Lark slid a leg up his, holding him to her even as she wanted to push him away. His dangerous allure pushed her to risk everything.
And if not everything, then what was life worth?
“Don’t go to the roof,” she said. “I don’t want to risk a chase. Get out of here while you have a chance.”
She shoved him outside and closed the door.
The knock came again, pounding this time. Lark rushed to it, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she did. Removing all evidence of the vampire. Never could she erase him from her soul. They’d revealed all to each other and had accepted without judgment.
“He is my freedom,” she whispered with sudden clarity.
But she didn’t have time to linger on the revelation. When Lark opened the door, she saw the hand sweep forward with a dark cloth that landed on her face. She gasped in a strong chemical scent. Her brain dizzied and her eyelids fluttered.
* * *
Domingos tracked over the roof of Lark’s apartment building from the back to the street side. She should know better that he would not take the streets home. She should also know better that he wouldn’t leave until he could be assured things were well with his girl.
Something didn’t feel right. As he’d sensed her heartbeat while lying on top of the chapel, he sensed it now. It pounded too rapidly.
Scampering across the roof to the street side of the building, he crouched at the edge. A werewolf in human form emerged from the lobby of the building, carrying an unconscious hunter over one shoulder.
The wolf’s mangy scent curdled his gut. “Levallois,” he growled.
Leaping, Domingos landed on the ground solidly on both bare feet. Without pause, he swung his fist, clutched about the bladed silver knuckles Lark had given him, and put it deep into the werewolf’s neck. Hot blood sprayed his face.
The wolf dropped Lark onto the sidewalk and grasped his bleeding throat.
Domingos figured the limo they stood next to had been waiting to drive off with the wolf and his captive. He opened the back door, spied Principal Caufield’s horrified face, and shoved the dying wolf into the backseat.
“Next time I’m coming for you,” he said, and slammed the door. He didn’t need to attack Caufield. He’d just delivered the pack principal a nice juicy bit of horror.
Picking up Lark, Domingos ran down the street and made a running leap to land on a one-story rooftop. Behind him the echo of a werewolf’s howl punctuated the moon he ran toward. The silver had entered the wounded wolf’s bloodstream and had quickly rushed through, resulting in an exploded moon-dog. That was going to be hell to get out of the interior, not to mention all those little crannies like air vents and speakers.
Drawing Lark up to his chest, he scented the strange chemical odor on her breath. They’d chloroformed her.
Why would the wolves go after a hunter? They’d hired her. Had they intention to punish her for a job gone bad? That wasn’t their place; it should fall to the Order of the Stake to discipline their own.
Whatever was going on, one thing was clear: she wasn’t safe in the city. The wolves would not drop her scent until they were satisfied she’d been punished properly.
Sensing he was being followed, Domingos jumped to another rooftop and sought a dark neighborhood to lose the tail in.
Chapter 15
Gunnar stood before the principal’s office desk, within the ancient confines of the eighteenth-century mansion the pack had relocated to after the idiot LaRoque’s crazy escape had taken out a well-fortified co
mpound. That the vampire was still running free boiled Gunnar’s blood.
Or course, it had occurred because someone had trusted a woman enough to hand her the job. He respected Rook as far as running the Order and training the knights went, but now? The Order required some serious restructuring.
Gunnar had charged into the pack house after learning that Caufield had attempted to kidnap the female knight, and had failed. Supposedly he’d lost a perfectly good Mercedes in the process when one of his wolves had died within. Sometimes wolves could be so stupid.
“Why did you do that?” Gunnar asked now, after he’d refused the whiskey the principal had offered. “I was going to speak to her, see what information I could wring out of her. Now it’s too late. She’ll be suspicious of anyone and everyone.”
“We want that hunter out of the picture,” Caufield snapped.
“Then you must have a reason to believe she’s a danger to the pack.”
“A feeble woman? Not at all.” The leader tilted back a finger of whiskey. “Just don’t like to leave loose threads.”
Gunnar looked down his nose at the pack leader. The man was half a foot shorter than him, but he knew he was no match to him should he shift and unleash his talons and beastly strength. Yet he’d dealt with Remy for too long and knew he could talk to the man in this manner and not fear retaliation. They each offered something the other wanted.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t come straight to me when you wanted LaRoque dead.” Gunnar paced to the window and, not turning his back on the principal, lifted his chin. “Had you left the task to me, it would have been taken care of immediately, and more discreetly.”
“Yes, and how then to explain that one? I needed the Order to take out the vampire, so I used a contact of my own instead of going through Rook? Don’t be foolish, Gunnar. I had to make the request through official channels, then sit back and hope it was you they assigned to the task. Most unfortunate they put an idiot woman on the job. I can’t believe your organization actually admits women.”
“She is an anomaly. And now that she’s proven her lacking worth, I expect King will have her banished.”
“Yes, the King. That enigma who pulls the strings yet remains an anonymous force behind the Order.” Caufield crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. “Have you ever met the fellow?”
“When I was knighted.”
Caufield chuckled. “Knighted. Ha! You know only legitimate royalty can bestow knighthood.”
“How do you know he’s not?”
The wolf took that one into consideration. Gunnar believed the rumors that King was a king, or had ruled somewhere at some time. There were many countries still ruled by a monarchy. But he’d never buy into the insipid rumors his leader was a vampire. How ironic would that be?
No, he trusted King and Rook implicitly. Though that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own side business going. An Order knight was not rich by any means, and while the Order’s salary provided a bit more than the average working stiff’s, Gunnar preferred a grander lifestyle. Thus, his partnership with pack Levallois.
“You may be right,” Gunnar conceded. “The woman needs to be taken out. But she may have information that will lead me to LaRoque, so keep your men away from her and let me do my job.”
“Fine. But if one more of my pack dies at that madman’s hands, I will hold you accountable. And you won’t walk out of my sight alive next time I see you.”
“Fair enough.” Gunnar saluted the man, and strode out of the office, cursing the idiot wolf’s superiority.
He’d show him who would do the walking soon enough.
* * *
A brilliant flash of lightning woke Lark from the forced state of unconsciousness. Sitting up, she realized she wasn’t in her own bed.
“Domingos,” she murmured as she ran a hand over the rumpled black sheets. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, save for the thin crack that had emitted the lightning flash.
Her brain buzzed and an awful chemical taste lingered in her throat. She couldn’t recall much after sending Domingos from her bedroom, other than opening the door and not liking who she’d seen.
Glancing to the clock by the bed, she sighed when seeing the flashing LED lights. The electricity must have gone out. That explained the intermittent flashes of lightning through a crack in the draperies. The black sky made it impossible to tell what time of day it was, or how long she’d been out. It had been early evening when she and Domingos had gotten out of the shower and had decided to get dressed after a day of making love in all places, positions and speeds.
“Chloroform,” she guessed, assessing the icky chemical aftertaste in her mouth. “But who did this to me?”
She couldn’t be sure. The image of the man who’d stood in her doorway was fuzzy at best, but she knew she’d never seen him before. She was thankful Domingos had brought her to safety. He must have been watching from the roof. Her own private guardian gargoyle. Thank God, the man had not listened to her pleads to leave. She loved him for that strange stalkerish tendency.
“Do you?” she whispered in the quiet darkness.
Love was a word she had thought would never again come easily to her tongue. She had thought it only in reference to the act of Domingos rescuing her. She wasn’t so swept up in the fantasy of falling into the arms of a bloodsucker that she couldn’t be rational.
Not that love was ever rational. A girl did all kinds of crazy things when she thought she was in love. Like saying yes to secure a family for her and her unborn child.
Standing and checking around the room for a sleeping vampire before parting the drapes, Lark pulled aside the damask curtains and inspected the heavy downpour through the water-streaked window. She loved the rain. It smelled fresh and in this tight, compact city, it was very welcome.
But what was that out back in the little courtyard overgrown with honeysuckle vines? Flashes of lightning flickered on a form. Domingos stood outside, shirtless, his arms spread out to the sides and his head tilted back as if worshipping the rain. Or rather, he looked a god who had summoned the rain.
“Perhaps he did,” she mused, thinking if anything were going to soothe the vampire’s tormented skin, it would be rain. He’d once used standing out in the rain as a pitiful excuse to be granted invitation into the Order safe house.
“Such a schemer,” she muttered, but would not hold it against him.
Already barefoot, she opened the glass patio door. Above, the roof overhang protected her from getting too wet, though mist of rain tickled her skin and she couldn’t argue against the cold sensation that chased away the last tendrils of brain fog. Without calling out, she waited for him to notice her presence because to walk up behind him seemed intrusive. He was lost in a ritual that must touch his soul.
This was the soul-deep he’d asked her to give him, and it was easy enough to simply stand there and give it to him. Her admiration and trust. A quiet reverence. Something she’d never imagined doing while training to slay his breed. Now her anger and vengeance seemed best directed toward the werewolves.
What in the hell was the Order doing involving themselves with werewolves?
As well, she needed answers to why and who had tried to kidnap her. The only way to do that was to go into Order headquarters and start asking questions. That wouldn’t jibe with her shaky status right now. Dare she call Rook and ask him? If she let on about the attempted kidnapping he’d wonder what reasons anyone could have to take her, and she wasn’t ready to spill those bloody beans yet.
Domingos turned and smiled widely, gesturing her to join him under the downpour. Tentative at first, Lark made a dash across the small patch of grass, bare feet squishing through the lush lawn, and he received her in a surprisingly warm, yet wet hug that reminded her of their shower antics earlier. His kiss tasted like sky and summer. Raindrops splattered their noses and plinked Lark’s lashes until she laughed.
“You like the rain?” she asked.
“It soothes me,” he said. “Feels good on my back.”
“Maybe it has healing powers?”
“I like to think so. I’ve been told faery magic could heal me.”
“Really? Then why don’t you try it?”
“The downside of such a cure is that faery dust is addictive.”
Indeed, faery dust to a vampire was like meth to a mortal: instant addiction, and not a pleasant habit to take on. “You don’t want that.”
“Never. I’ve enough to deal with without adding addiction to the list.” He brushed aside the hair that clung to her cheek. “You feeling okay? That damned wolf dropped you on the ground. I didn’t see any bruises on you.”
He’d inspected her for bruises? To imagine her lover looking over her body while she was passed out wasn’t so much worrying as tantalizing, and Lark’s body instinctually pressed along his, seeking his heat.
What was more worrying? “It was a wolf? You’re sure?”
“One of the Levallois pack. Principal Caufield was parked at the curb, waiting to whisk you away.”
“Hell. I don’t understand that one. Thank you for saving me.” She kissed him again. “Why are the wolves after me? I mean, there’s a new hunter on the job—and a very good one at that.”
“I have no idea why the moon-dogs think they’ve a right to mete punishment upon you, if indeed, a new hunter is on the job. What I do know is you’re not safe at your home anymore.”
“I get that. But I’m going to have to return for some stuff. Weapons and—”
“Stakes?”
“They work well against wolves to fend them off while I can get the silver bullets loaded in my pistol. And I would like to retrieve my violin. It’s about the only thing I worry about getting damaged if another gang of crazed wolves breaks in.”
“You’re not going home. I’ll go there for the violin, and if you really think you need your stakes.”
“You don’t think I can protect myself?”
“Not against wolves that have a vendetta against you. Have you ever fought wolves? Trained to fight them?”
