by Sarah Piper
Darius watched me a long time, his expression neutral, his body eerily still. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, but I had no idea what he was thinking.
All I knew was that necromancy was highly illegal, punishable by death. Darius was required to report me, or he risked imprisonment as an accessory.
And fae prisons? No joke.
“We need to figure out what happened.” Darius glanced around the bar, quickly surveying his customers before returning his gaze to me. In a soft but reassuring voice, he said, “But I assure you, Gray. What transpired last night shall remain between us until and unless you deem otherwise. You have my word.”
“Your word.” Trying to bite back my sarcasm, I said, “And in exchange for the eternal silence of a vampire?”
“Hmm. To be determined.” That slow, unnerving smile spread across his face again. “Unless you’d like to come home with me tonight, settle our affairs the old-fashioned way.”
“A duel?”
Darius laughed, the sound as deep and warm as his golden-honey eyes. “Of a sort, Miss Desario.”
He stretched my last name into a sensuous whisper that slipped across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
I couldn't deny being curious about sex with a vampire—especially a powerful, commanding vampire like Darius. After all, they were strong, never ran out of breath, prided themselves on perfection, and most had had hundreds—even thousands—of years to hone their techniques.
But it was a rare vamp who invited you into his bed without strings attached.
Maybe even whips and handcuffs, too…
Simmer down, Gray. Simmer down.
As much as the fantasy heated up my insides, as I looked around at the other humans in the club, my veins filled with ice. Letting him take me like that… Leaving myself vulnerable and helpless, enslaved by the intoxicating pleasure of his every touch…
“Interesting,” he said playfully, and my gaze snapped to attention, my cheeks burning.
“What’s interesting?”
Darius leaned forward, his fingers brushing along my face, down to the pulse point on my throat. “Your heart rate has gone a bit erratic.”
“Because you’re making me nervous,” I whispered, but I didn’t flinch or pull away as he continued to stroke my skin. Truth was, I liked his touch. His smile. His soothing, seductive voice.
“I don’t think it’s nerves, love.” He traced a finger across my collarbone, and a full-bodied shiver rolled through me.
I closed my eyes and slipped into that fantasy again, Darius leading me into his wine-dark bedroom, blindfolding me with a silk tie…
Oh my God, what the hell is wrong with me?
I finally pulled back and opened my eyes, severing the connection before my thoughts got any crazier. Sophie was right—it’d been way too long since I’d had sex, and now my libido was getting all amped up at the first sign of a cute guy.
A really cute guy.
More like a really cute, really dangerous bloodsucker who knows your secrets, idiot.
Reaching for my water again, I sucked down the rest and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “Stop trying to blackmail your way into my bed.”
“Technically I’m trying to blackmail your way into my bed.” Laughing, Darius finally backed off. But like the momentary spark between us, his smile faded fast. “You will owe me a debt, then.”
I sat back in my chair, the reality of my situation weighing on me as I considered his offer. Accepting it meant three things.
One, I’d be spared an inquiry—and possibly charges and imprisonment and who knew what other psychological torments—from the Council.
Two, I’d be in his debt, and vampires never forgave their debts.
And three: I could no longer deny what I’d done.
Regret wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed. Whoever Bean was before she’d crossed my path, whoever she might’ve become, I’d doomed her to an eternity as a monster.
I set down my empty water glass and looked at the vampire behind the bar.
How is it that I walked in here a stranger, and now I’m making a blood promise?
No matter. Time was up, and I was ready.
Maybe I was thankful.
Maybe I was just looking for absolution.
I pushed up my sleeve and stretched my arm across the bar. “Do it.”
“So quickly?” His eyes sparkled with amusement and a hint of raw desire that went well beyond our earlier jokes. With the lightest touch, he caressed the pale skin of my inner arm.
But the bite never came.
“What are you waiting for?” I asked.
“Gray. As tempting as you are…” Darius shook his head, still caressing my skin. “This isn’t necessary. I already gave you my word.”
A blood oath without the bite to seal the deal? No way. Darius may have helped me tonight—and been surprisingly sweet in the process—but I still didn’t know him.
Whatever was going on with me, I needed to stay focused on figuring it out and shutting it down. Looking over my shoulder every five minutes wondering whether—or when—my new vampire friend would stab me in the back? That was a distraction I couldn’t afford.
The blood oath would ensure we both kept up our end of the bargain.
“Now it’s my turn to insist.” I thrust my arm closer to his mouth. “I’m serious, D. I’m not leaving until you do it.”
Darius let out a low chuckle. “D? Skipping the formalities now, are we?”
“Hey, we’re doing some serious bonding here tonight. Fighting off vampires, sharing a secret. The least you could do is let me give you a nickname.”
His lips quirked, rewarding me with another picture-perfect smile.
“Yes, little brawler.” He took my arm in both hands, drawing it close to his lips. Meeting my eyes across the bar, he said, “You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”
He pressed his lips to my wrist, firm and cool. I felt the velvet touch of his tongue, then a searing pain has his fangs broke the skin.
In an instant that pain turned to pure pleasure as Darius began to suck.
A warmth that had nothing to do with the whiskey I’d polished off spread up my arm, across my shoulders, and down my back, making me tingle all over.
I was mesmerized, unable to look away as Darius fed on my blood. It was a testament to his self-control that he stopped when he did. We both knew that if he had decided to drain me, there wasn't a damn thing I could've done about it. Hell, it had felt so good, I wouldn't have even tried to stop him.
“Exquisite.” Darius pulled back and met my gaze, his lips red with blood—my blood. For a moment he looked as delirious as I felt.
“You good?” I asked, breaking the spell.
Darius swiped his thumb across his mouth, then licked it, savoring every last drop. We were blood bound to each other now—a mutual promise, sealed with a bite. Greater vampires like Darius followed the old customs; if he reneged, his life would be forfeit.
And if I reneged, he had my consent—and the Council’s—to hunt me. To feed on me at will.
Again, images flooded my mind, raw and unbidden. My nude body, glistening and pale against his dark, silky sheets. My legs spread for him, trembling, desperate for the press of his cool, sensuous mouth on my thigh…
I grabbed the edge of the bar, forcing myself to take slow, even breaths until my heart rate returned to normal. The wounds on my wrist—two tiny, ruby-red puncture marks—had already begun to heal.
Vampires sure knew how to clean up their messes.
Apparently sated, Darius propped his elbows on the bar, resting his chin in his hands. “Counsel from a friend?”
I pushed my sleeve back down and shook off the last of my lingering fantasies, forcing out a laugh. "Is that what we are now? Friends?”
“Hey. You gave me a nickname. There’s no going back now.”
“Not to mention you’ve tasted me.”
&n
bsp; “Yes, there is that.” Eyes turning serious, Darius leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Get it under control, Miss Desario.”
I knew he didn't mean my dirty little thoughts. Darius was talking about something much darker, much more dangerous.
Sound advice. Advice I had every intention of following. But how could I control something I didn’t even understand?
Sophie thought the coven could protect us—strength in numbers. And maybe that was true. But even if I could trust them with this secret, how long would they be able to keep me safe? And how could I be sure I wouldn’t hurt them? Or Sophie? God, she was my closest friend. My sister, as far as I was concerned. If anything happened to her…
I shook my head to clear the morbid thoughts, then nodded for Darius to pour me another shot. Water wasn’t cutting it.
This time he left me the bottle.
I laughed sourly. “Is this going on my tab, too?”
“Put it on mine,” a deep, gravelly voice rumbled behind me.
I didn’t have to turn around to know who that voice belonged to, or to know that this time—unlike with the vampire—the hot pulse of desire between my thighs was as familiar and predictable as rain in the Bay.
As a witch, I could detect other supernaturals based on cues in my body. Vampires made me a little lightheaded—something to do with the threat my blood sensed. Encountering fae was like being in free fall—a swooping stomach, a strange giddiness in my chest. I had to see a shifter to pick them out—they moved with an instinctual, animalistic grace that was hard to miss if you knew what to watch for. Demons had a fiery scent—smoke and ash, matches, incense, sometimes a chemical kind of burning I could feel in the back of my throat, depending on the demon’s particular makeup.
The man standing behind me? My body responded to his presence in a way that had nothing to do with his mysterious demon fire.
A slow smile spread across my face. I’d missed him a lot more than I wanted to admit. "Welcome back, Ronan."
Nine
Gray
Ronan took the adjacent chair, enveloping me in his clove-and-campfire scent. I tried not to shiver as his shoulder brushed against mine.
Neither of us made a move to look at each other.
“Desario.” Cocking his head toward me, he said, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a blood-sucker dive like this?”
“Looking for my future ex-husband, obviously.”
“I brought stakes.” Ronan slid a protective arm over the back of my chair and leaned in, warm breath tickling my ear. “Say the word. I’ll save you the trouble of a messy divorce right now.”
I rolled my eyes and called over to Darius, who’d been watching us with the cool detachment I now realized he could turn on and off like a tap. “Bartender? This boy needs a drink before he hurts himself.”
Darius set a cocktail napkin and glass in front of Ronan and poured a shot from my bottle, nodding a brief acknowledgment. Something dark passed between them, but I knew better than to ask about it.
For reasons I couldn’t begin to understand, most vampires kept a safe distance from Ronan. Darius didn’t though. I wouldn’t call them friends—their relationship was antagonistic at best—but something in their shared past had bound them together, cementing their loyalty long before my time in the Bay.
Secrets? You bet. That was something we all had in common.
Ronan picked up his glass, turning toward me as he downed the drink. His knees brushed against my leg, and that warm, soft spot between my thighs throbbed again.
I felt my body heating up under his gaze and finally turned to face him.
Mistake.
I’d forgotten about the state of my face and neck.
“Before you freak out,” I said, “I’m totally fine.”
Ronan didn’t say a word. His hazel-green eyes turned completely black.
I slid my hand over his knee. “It looks a lot worse than it is.”
With a gentle touch that belied the rage in his eyes, he traced his thumb along my eyebrow, down my temple, and across my cheek, ghosting over the cuts from the asphalt. My heart jackhammered in my chest, but Ronan’s face was grim, his jaw tight.
I shrugged away from his touch and turned back to my bottle, pouring myself another drink. “Ran into some trouble on a delivery last night, that’s all.”
His gaze cut to Darius. “Bloodsucker?”
I shifted my hand from his knee to his arm, reclaiming his attention. His muscles were tight with anger, warm and rock solid beneath my touch. “That one was human,” I said. “And it's handled, so please chill.”
“That one?” Ronan picked up the bottle, poured himself a double. "Explain."
“Last delivery on my morning shift, I let some asshole get the drop on me.”
“And then you beat his ass? Tell me you beat his ass.”
My stomach bottomed out at the memory, filling my mouth with the taste of bile. The booze wasn't helping—wasn’t giving me that familiar comfortable numbness I’d come to depend on.
Or maybe I just hadn't had enough of it.
“Yep.” I poured the rest of the bottle into my glass and downed it before Ronan could talk me out of it.
Not working. I can still feel.
I nodded for Darius to bring me another bottle, but Ronan shook his head. Darius looked at me once more, then turned his back and replaced the new bottle on the shelf.
To me, Ronan said, “What’s going on, Gray? Seriously.”
“It’s happy hour. I’m… getting happy.” I tipped my glass back, then remembered it was empty, and slammed it onto the counter. “Working on it, anyway.”
“What you’re working on is a hangover.” He slid off the chair and fished out his wallet, tossing a few twenties onto the bar. For now, he seemed to forget about my bloody clothes. His eyes returned to their normal shade—like dark green leaves turning brown in the fall. “Let’s go.”
I shook my head, even as I was getting up to follow him. I wanted to go with Ronan, but I didn’t want to go home yet. Sophie had still been asleep when I’d left, and by now she'd be at Norah’s, pissed that I’d blown her off. I couldn't explain it, but the idea of going back to the empty house made me feel even more shitty than the idea of going back and getting into another argument with her.
“Ronan, wait.” My feet hit the floor harder than I’d planned. The room tilted. Ronan grabbed my shoulders, steadying me.
“Yeah, you’re definitely cut off." He flashed me a devastating grin outlined in a weeks’ worth of sexy new facial hair—the kind of grin that would get me in serious trouble if I wasn't careful. “Damn, Desario. I leave you alone for two days, and you turn into a lightweight.”
“Three days, and lightweight? I just drank a bottle of whiskey and I’m still standing.”
“Good to know you're keeping tabs on me, and I know exactly how much you drank. I paid for it."
"I'm not keeping tabs. And Darius wanted to buy me a drink."
“Yet he didn’t.” Ronan shrugged. “So who’s the better date? My money’s on me.”
“You—" I pushed against his chest. “—are a terrible date. You got me all liquored up, didn’t even feed me.”
Ronan jerked his head toward the booth behind us, where a long-haired vampire greedily sucked from the neck of his victim—a willing one, this time. “At least I didn’t feed on you.”
“That a warning?" I pulled back and met his eyes. The booze had obliterated my guard, and my dealings with Darius had left me riled up in more ways than one. Somewhere in the back of my mind, Good Gray—the voice of reason—shouted a warning, but Bad Gray bitchslapped her. Bad Gray was tired of watching every step, every move, every word, especially around Ronan.
Seven years ago, he’d found me on my first night in the Bay, a total mess. Calla had always warned me to steer clear of demons, but Ronan was different. Memories of my first month in the Bay were still a little fuzzy, but I knew that he took care of me. Pa
tched me up, fed me, and gave me a place to crash. I cooked and kept the place clean, and sometimes I kept him company during his long overnight shifts on the docks, loading and unloading boats for Waldrich. A few months in, the boss finally gave me a job of my own making deliveries. Not long after that, I’d met Sophie, and we’d found a place together, finally moving me off of Ronan’s pull-out couch.
Those first few years had been so easy between us; just like with Sophie, it’d felt as if Ronan and I had known each other forever.
But in the last several months, something had shifted.
Now, being with him was like playing a constant game of tug-of-war, our friendship solidly on one side, with something else—something hot and primal and infinitely more dangerous—on the other. It was clear both of us felt the pull, and we’d been doing our best to keep our feet planted firmly on the friendship side.
But on nights like tonight, when I’d had a few drinks and he was looking at me like all I’d have to do is say the word and he’d have me pinned to the wall, my legs wrapped around his hips, his mouth on my neck… damn. Bad Gray wanted to see just how hard she could tug that rope.
I slid my hands up over his shoulders, aching to slide my fingers into that mop of silky, light-brown hair. He kept it short on the sides, long on top, perfectly tousled and begging to be touched.
The heat between us crested to dangerous levels.
“What are you doing, Gray?” His voice was a low rumble in my ear, but he didn't pull away. He slid his hands down my back, over the curves of my waist, down to my hips. His fingers dug hard into my flesh, even as his thumb ghosted across the bare skin peeking out beneath the hem of my shirt.
“Nothing," I said innocently. “What are you doing, Ronan?”
God, I love the way he touches me.
Ronan let out a sigh. His lips were so close to my mouth I could taste the whiskey on his warm breath.
