Semi-Human (Harper Hall Investigations Book 2)

by Jordan, Isabel

  He was totally stressed out, so she’d let his sarcasm slide. This time. “While all that is true, that’s not the real reason I’m pretty confident I won’t be dying anytime soon. See, you and Romeo and even Mischa—who is the smartest person I’ve ever known—all failed to remember one little thing about me.”

  Riddick didn’t say anything, but tipped his palms up in a what-the-hell gesture.

  She smacked him in the stomach with the back of her hand. “I’m psychic, dumbass! I saw us getting married, remember? We were happy. I’m going to be alive at least long enough for us to get married and be happy about it. And I’m not planning to get married until this thing is settled. Are you?”

  His dumbfounded expression was almost worth the drama of the entire night. Almost.

  After a few minutes of silence during which they did nothing more than stare each other down and breathe heavy, Riddick finally muttered, “Shit. I am a dumbass.”

  “Yep. And even if it weren’t for my vision, you and I are the best team I’ve ever seen, Noah Riddick. We’re going to figure this out and fix it. I have complete faith in us, even if you don’t.”

  He still looked skeptical. “But even so, we can’t just sit around and assume everything will be OK based on your vision and your faith in us,” he argued.

  She nodded. “I agree. Which is why I asked Mischa to track down an ex-Sentry biochemist she used to work with. She’s going to try to convince him to synthesize an antidote for me.”

  “That’s a good idea,” he said, grudgingly.

  “I have those every now and then.”

  He was coming around. Slower than she cared for, but definitely getting back to rational. “I still think we should go along with Romeo’s plan until we know whether or not Mischa can get the antidote. We can’t assume—based on your vision—that I’m not meant to fight. Maybe that’s how to save you.”

  She hated it, but he was right. There was no way to tell if it would be Mischa or Riddick who would eventually get the antidote. Or hell, maybe she’d get it for herself. Regardless, they needed to cover all of their bases. “OK. You’ll need my help to get into the Arena, according to Romeo.”

  His displeasure was evident, but thank Jesus, he didn’t argue again. “I’m sorry,” he grumbled.

  She raised a brow. “Really? For what? For going off half-cocked? For being short with me and trying to shut me out of your life? Or for not having any faith in my ability to get myself out of this mess?”

  Still no smile. “All of that,” he said. Then he asked, “How often have your visions been wrong?”

  She held his steady gaze as she said, “Never.”

  Which was no lie. In her experience, her visions of the future were set in stone. There’d been times, years ago, when she’d tried to change the course of events leading up to her visions, with the hope that she could keep them from happening. It had never worked. In the end, every road taken led right back to her original vision.

  And with that one word, the sleepless nights and stress seemed to finally catch up to him, because he fell to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Resting his forehead on her belly, he whispered, “I don’t know how to do this.”

  She slid a hand around the back of his neck and one into his hair. “Do what?”

  “Deal with all of these…emotions. The constant fear that something’s going to happen that I can’t control. That I’m going to lose you. That I could lose control and hurt you.” He lifted his head and the sheer desperation she read in his eyes almost brought her to her knees with him. “You need to leave me. When this is over, when you’re safe, you need to get as far away from me as you can. No matter what you saw in your vision, you can’t marry me.”

  Panic clawed its way up her throat. “What are you talking about? You don’t want to marry me anymore?”

  His hands tightened reflexively on her waist. “I want to marry you more than I want air,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But you deserve better than this-—than me. I’m a train wreck, Harper. You need to get away from me before I ruin your life. And God help me, I’m too selfish and too fucking weak to be the one to leave. It has to be you. You’re the strong one.”

  His words hit her physically. Just the thought of leaving him…

  Tears quickly filled her eyes and spilled over her lashes, down her cheeks. She brushed them away impatiently. “No. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together. You know, maybe some of the techniques Hunter taught me to control my visions can help you control whatever kind of rage it is you hold in all the time. Like Bruce Banner learning to control the Hulk, you know?”

  He opened his mouth to say something else, but she laid two fingers over his lips and shushed him. “And if you leave me, I swear to God, I will skip-trace your sorry ass and drag you back home with me, do you understand?”

  He looked torn between relief and frustration. “We’re so fucked up,” he eventually said with a sigh.

  “Totally. Which is why we’re so perfect for each other. No one else could tolerate us.”

  He snorted. “That’s certainly true of me, but you could have anyone you wanted.”

  Another fugitive tear slid down her cheek. “I have exactly who I want right here.”

  He brushed her tear away with his thumb. “Don’t cry, Sunshine. I can’t take that.”

  “Then tell me you’re with me. Promise me we’ll figure this out together. That you won’t pull away from me again.”

  He wanted to argue. She could tell. He probably thought, in his own misguided alpha male way, that he’d be protecting her by pushing her away. But in the face of her tears, he seemed unable to deny her. “I promise,” he whispered.

  She bent down and dropped a quick, gentle kiss on his mouth. “I love you, Noah.”

  He stared up at her, jaw clenched tight as if he was holding himself back. “Say it again,” he demanded.

  “I love you, Noah.”

  She kissed him again and still, he held himself rigid.

  “Why aren’t you kissing me back?” she asked against his mouth.

  “I’m still too on edge. I can’t stop at just a kiss, and I don’t think I can be gentle right now.”

  Harper sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and caught it between her teeth for a moment, then pulled back fractionally. “Who says I want you to be gentle?”

  And with that, his control snapped and his arms tightened around her. He came up off the floor, taking her with him. Before she knew what was happening, he’d planted her on the sink. She moaned as his mouth captured hers again, desperately, hungrily, his tongue tangling with her.

  She could feel his need, his shattered self-control, his desperation. It was overwhelming, all-consuming, and at the moment, it was exactly what she needed from him. She needed him to lose control, to completely and utterly surrender to what he wanted, all thoughts of what he should do and how he should act obliterated.

  His hands were shaking as he grabbed her nightshirt and ripped it down the middle, not even bothering with the buttons. She didn’t care. Not when Riddick was looking at her as if he’d die if she turned him away now.

  Harper wished she had the strength to rip his shirt off, too, but thankfully, he seemed to understand that she didn’t, because he pulled back and impatiently tugged the offending material over his head, tossing it into the corner of the room before kissing her again.

  Without warning, he pulled her off the sink, forcing her to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist to keep from toppling to the floor. He moved them to the shower, his mouth never losing contact with hers, and turned the water to hot before setting her on her feet.

  With ruthless efficiency, he pulled back and finished stripping both of them of what little clothing they still wore, and tugged her under the spray with him.

  She tried to grab his head and drag it down for another kiss, but Riddick had other ideas. His hands spanned her waist and he lifted h
er. He leaned into her, pinning her to the shower wall with his weight.

  When she moved to touch his chest, he pressed both her hands to the wall above her head and held them with one hand. And with his free hand, he explored.

  He ran his fingers down her temple, over her cheekbones, across her lips. She moaned when he traced a water droplet down over her tightly pebbled nipple. That same water droplet slid down between her legs. His eyes lifted to hers, dark and almost as crazed and needy as she felt.

  “Now,” she whispered. “Don’t make me wait any more.”

  His answering kiss was vaguely apologetic as he completely ignored her demand, lowered her to her feet, and dropped to his knees in front of her. She gasped as he grabbed her leg and threw it over his shoulder.

  Her hips bucked at the first touch of his tongue. It was too much. The pleasure so intense it was almost painful. And when she was sure she couldn’t take it anymore, he slipped a finger inside her, then another and…oh, God.

  She came with embarrassing speed, tremors wracking her, knees buckling, sharp cries echoing almost deafeningly through the tiled shower.

  But before her breathing could even return to normal, he had her in his arms, up against the wall again. He looped an arm under her butt to hold her in place.

  With one shift of his hips, he slid up and into her, capturing and swallowing the choked moan that fell from her lips. The slick, hard glide of flesh against flesh drove her wild, and she rocked her hips forward as he thrust into her, again and again.

  Then, he hit a spot deep inside her that stole her breath for a moment. “Oh, God,” she moaned, burying her face against his throat, nipping at his skin as he continued to move in her. “I’m going to come again.”

  One stroke, two, three…and she was lost. The world around them splintered apart, fading into nothing but hazy, bone-liquefying pleasure as yet another orgasm shook her to her core.

  Riddick followed her over the edge a moment later. She felt his hands—one on her butt and one on her breast—tightening helplessly as he throbbed and pulsed inside her.

  She had no idea how long they stayed like that. Water slicing over their skin in rivulets, clinging to each other, panting, trying to catch their breath.

  She was still OD-ing on bliss when he pulled away from her to help her wash her hair and body. She returned the favor, deliberately lingering over some of her favorite parts of his body.

  When they were done, in addition to being very, very clean, she was also bone-tired, barely able to keep her eyes open as Riddick toweled her dry, carried her to bed, and tucked her in between the cool sheets.

  He climbed into bed beside her and pulled her against him. Harper snuggled closer and asked, “Do you think you can sleep now?”

  He let out a deep breath and tightened his hold on her. “I’ll try.”

  Just as she was drifting off, she heard him whisper into her hair, “I won’t lose you. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

  “I’ll take care of you, too.”

  “I love you,” he said, so softly she almost missed it.

  She smiled. “I know.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It took an inordinate amount of cajoling, but eventually, Riddick let Harper bring Romeo in off the terrace. With a little more time, she hoped she’d even be able to convince him to uncuff the poor bastard and let him eat something. But she’d take any progress she could get at this moment.

  Baby steps and all.

  Unlike Riddick, she just didn’t see the point in continuing to abuse Romeo. They were all in this thing together now. They needed each other. And while she certainly wasn’t expecting them to hug it out anytime soon, it was time they start acting like a team.

  The future looked grim for all of them if they couldn’t at least tolerate each other in short bursts.

  Riddick shoved Romeo—none too gently—into a chair at the tiny lacquered table in their kitchenette. Harper took a seat and slid him a cup of coffee, ignoring the dirty look she earned from Riddick for showing Romeo even that small kindness.

  “So, do you have a plan, or are we winging it?” she asked Romeo.

  He looked insulted. He must not remember all the times they’d winged it in the past. Sometimes with great results. Other times…not so much.

  “Of course I have a plan,” he scoffed. “It’s like this: The boss, Archer, is at a vamp club called Blood Moon every Friday night. He has a standing private booth in the VIP section.”

  Harper raised an incredulous brow. “You want us to walk up and introduce ourselves? That’s the laziest plan I’ve ever heard.”

  He frowned at her. “That’s not the plan, smartass. Besides, you’d never be able to walk up to his booth. He’ll have no fewer than five guards at all times—all huge, all armed to the teeth.”

  “Human?” Riddick asked, restlessly spinning his hunting knife around in his hand.

  “You wish,” Romeo answered. “Vampires. Each over fifty years old.”

  Harper repressed a sigh. Of course. A vampire’s strength grew exponentially each year after his death and rebirth. After fifty, they were a real pain in the ass to fight. Muscling their way past the guards to get to Archer would be...problematic. And most likely messy. “Get to the plan, Romeo. I’m getting bored.”

  “You’ll need to make a scene big enough to entice him into extending you an invitation to his booth.”

  He had a twinkle in his eye when he said “scene” that made her very, very nervous. “And what, pray tell, would your friend Archer find enticing?”

  “He’s always had a fondness for pretty couples.” His gaze shifted between them and he smiled, a bit too smugly for Harper’s liking. “You two should fit the bill nicely.”

  That struck her mute for a moment. When she recovered, she asked, in the snarkiest of snarky tones, “Your plan is that we get an invite to his booth by making him want a three-way with us?”

  “Yep. Archer likes to watch men who are…let’s just say less than gentlemanly to their women during sex, and he usually pays handsomely for the privilege.”

  In other words, Archer got off on watching men hurt women during rough sex. Great.

  Riddick stopped spinning his knife and slammed the blade into the table, narrowly missing Romeo’s bound hands. “No way. She’s not getting near this sick fuck. I’ll take my chances with the guards.”

  Romeo eased his hands under the table discreetly and snorted. “Balls before brains, huh, pretty boy? Can’t say I’m surprised.” He shook his head. “You’re good, but you’re not that good. You’d be dead before you got within ten feet of Archer.”

  Riddick smiled, but there were far too many teeth showing for it to be anything but a warning. “Underestimating me would be a mistake.”

  Romeo leaned forward and flashed a maniacal grin of his own. “Same goes. Not many people get invited to his table, but I did.”

  Harper’s lip curled up involuntarily. “You didn’t…?”

  He immediately shook off the question she couldn’t bring herself to even voice out loud. “No, of course not. I’m a Southern boy, Harpy. You know my mama would tan my hide if I ever treated a woman poorly.”

  She raised a brow at him, remembering how he jammed that hypodermic needle full of poison into her neck. Not exactly the act of a sweet Southern gentleman.

  He had the decency to look contrite. “Present company excluded,” he mumbled.

  Harper rolled her eyes. “So we convince Archer that he’d like to see Riddick hurt me during sex—and let me be the first to say ewww, what kind of disgusting little turd would get off on something like that?—and then what?”

  “Then you appeal to the only thing he follows more than his dick.”

  She was almost afraid to ask. “And what’s that?”

  He smiled and took a sip of his coffee. “His bank account.”

  Harper made a mental note that just as Romeo had said, looking good and walking past the line like you owned the place often
did convince a bouncer to let you right in ahead of everyone else. Who knew?

  Blood Moon was nothing like The Lair, which was the vamp-owned club back home in Whispering Hope. The Lair had a swank, modern lounge feel to it. But the décor at Blood Moon was straight-up gothic, with black and red velvet booths, ornate lacquered tables, and hundreds of chandeliers sporting tapered candles.

  The place had such an expensive, antique vibe that Harper felt like she’d stepped into a Victorian brothel.

  The only thing modern about the place was the driving techno music that pounded out of the speakers. Harper glanced at the dance floor, which was full of expensively dressed, model-esque men and women gyrating on the dance floor. She was glad she’d splurged on a new dress. Whether or not Harper was super-confident, the bouncers would’ve laughed in her face if she’d tried to get in wearing her usual clubbing outfit of tight jeans and a tank top.

  The dress she’d chosen was simple, but impactful. The black silk flowed over her body in that elegant way that only silk can manage, stopping at mid-thigh. It was clingy and showing enough cleavage to be sexy, but not so much that it screamed desperate.

  Riddick had gone with a much simpler look for their night out, opting to wear a simple pair of dark-wash jeans, black t-shirt, and black leather shit-kicker boots. He looked like, well, he looked every woman’s wet dream, as usual. Something told Harper he could’ve shown up in his sweat pants and the bouncer still would’ve let him in.

  Glancing at the bar, Harper noticed that drinks flowed freely, as did blood on tap, which was just another difference between Blood Moon and The Lair.

  There were actual vampires at Blood Moon, not just pathetic wannabes.

  Bartenders, wait staff, bouncers…they were all vampires. Hell, Harper would bet that even the restroom attendants were vampires.

  Not that there weren’t also a few pathetic wannabes, she thought, eyeing a kid in a black satin cape and enough white face paint to choke a mime. He offered a drink to a girl dressed up like Selene in the Underworld movies. Selene was unimpressed by the kid’s overture.