Bond of Darkness

by Diane Whiteside

  Good Lord, he’d meant every word. Lovely, just lovely.

  Her stomach promptly devoted itself to creating flip-flops and Gordian knots. Undercover work was always dangerous, but there was usually some opportunity to protect oneself. She fought to breathe steadily, reminding herself she’d be heavily protected.

  “Steve.” He wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing it warmly. “You’re part of our team now. We’ve worked together successfully for a long time and tonight should go well.”

  She stuck her chin out and parked her nerves in her pocket. “Damn straight it will.” She gripped his fingers, her skin still a little chilly.

  “Listen up, boys.” Ethan’s voice strengthened after he released her. “Remember, Peter has loaned us one of his Houston vampiros for tonight’s dry run, who’s fairly unfamiliar with the Dallas and San Antonio compañías. He will walk through the hotel’s café, checking to see if Steve has an escort. If he doesn’t spot anyone, our setup works.”

  “How good are his senses?” Alvarez asked, his dark eyes calculating.

  “He’s approximately the same age as most of Devol’s bandolerismo.” Ethan shrugged.

  “Any of Devol’s vampiros around? The River Walk is still the biggest tourist draw in Texas,” Rough Bear pointed out. “At least after dark.”

  “Unlikely, after last week’s dustup. They know we’re watching it.”

  Alvarez nodded slowly. Steve was grateful for the reassuringly awkward presence of her family’s Colt, deep inside her jeans’ waistband.

  “Any other questions?”

  Men shook their heads, their expressions blatantly confident.

  Steve stepped in. “Do you believe in group huddles before an op?”

  “Of course.” Rough Bear and Alvarez came forward first, quickly joined by the others. Everyone linked hands, pressing close together until they were joined at shoulders and hips as well, their heads bowed.

  She leaned against them, savoring their closeness and drawing strength from it.

  Rough Bear began to chant in his own language. The others hummed, thumping the beat with their feet. Although she didn’t understand the exact words, somehow she knew he asked for blessings upon all of them during the coming hunt. She could almost feel her own Indian ancestors humming in approval.

  Strength and calm flowed into her, plus coolness and confidence in the men around her.

  After all these decades, this would be the first time a member of her family would fight for Texas justice, beside other law enforcement officers—with all of them under the Great Spirit’s protection. She’d needed to step into the vampiros’ darkness to reunite with her roots.

  She was still smiling quietly when the last man slipped out to take up his position.

  She sauntered out, head high, every inch the rich bitch suffering from insomnia, and headed for the café on the River Walk. Time to go down, have a couple of nonalcoholic drinks, eye the local scenery, and come back. No big deal, right? This was only a dry run. Even if they did attract a bad guy, they’d succeed in taking him out.

  Except for Ethan a few paces behind her and her abiding hunger to haul his ass into her bed.

  By the time she took her seat in the café, she’d convinced herself high heels were the only footgear for showcasing a girl’s legs and ass. Maybe she’d try it again sometime, when she had a hot date. The few men still around certainly thought so, ogling her as if they’d never seen a female walking alone.

  The café was full of leather and wrought iron chairs, gathered around wrought iron tables set with homemade tiles. Palms sprouted in every available corner and screened the café from the River Walk’s sidewalk, giving the patrons a private view of the river.

  She settled into her chair and ordered a club soda and lime. An abrupt wave of her hand permitted the waiter to bring a menu and she pretended to study the list of hors d’oeuvres.

  Alvarez was reading a playbill at the nightclub next door to the hotel. Ethan and Rough Bear were nowhere in sight, but instinct, more confident than her eyes, told her the pattern was complete with them there.

  “Thanks.” She signed for the overpriced example of fizzy water and fruit and pushed the menu aside. “Chicken quesadilla, please.”

  Thank God this was going on somebody else’s expense account. She couldn’t imagine explaining triple the usual cost to Posada.

  Now if that Houston vampiro would just show up soon, they could call this a day.

  A man sat down at the table next to hers. He was Caucasian, with regular features, probably five foot ten and a slender build, wearing a corporate polo shirt. She’d seen men just like him a thousand times before in Austin, Dallas, and San Antonio. His head was bent, his eyes intently focused on the café’s long list of specialty margaritas.

  She glanced over at him, wondering if he was too close and she needed to move. But tables were always packed tightly together in tourist traps.

  She sniffed and started counting all those overgrown bits of garden, screened by palm fronds. The after-hours sweep for drunks must be time-consuming around here, if they had to comb all of the landscaping.

  Time-consuming. Maybe she could check her smart phone to see if Ethan or any of his men had left her a message.

  She stretched her hand toward her purse—but nothing happened. She couldn’t even waggle her fingers.

  She tried again, gritting her teeth.

  Nothing, although her fingers ached until they burned. Ethan?

  Her heart slammed against her chest, then lurched into a panicked gallop.

  She needed her gun. Get her gun.

  She pictured it, every detail, including the serial number and the long, never explained scratch on its butt from World War I. Bend her arm at the elbow and slide it around, then down her back . . .

  Her fingertips touched her chair and stopped. No, she needed to go farther!

  Weight slammed into her brain like a sonic boom. Her eyes widened.

  Heat flashed across her chest and throat but a glacier imprisoned her muscles in a wall of ice. A vise began to slowly move up her throat.

  For the first time in her life, she could do nothing at all.

  “Steve?” The beloved voice was in her ears.

  Oh dear God, Ethan. Please come.

  She demanded her mouth to open—but her lips remained stubbornly closed. Knives stabbed every muscle, like the pins to a marionette’s strings. Although she fought every inch, the knives forced her to look at the closest bit of garden.

  Shit, it was just big enough for two people to lie down inside.

  Something—someone?—silently spoke to her somehow. Stand up.

  No! she retorted. Never. Dear God, how was this conversation possible?

  The man sitting next to her chuckled very softly.

  Was this what had happened to those poor girls?

  She started to rise, sweat pouring down her face.

  Something thudded into the man next to her and the weight disappeared from her mind and muscles.

  Steve scrambled desperately away, knocking over her chair. When she had her back to the wall and her Colt in her hand, she dared to look back.

  That corporate polo shirt was settling into the man’s chair, a few pinches of dust atop its chest and shoulders. What the hell? Where had he gone?

  Somebody was screaming but it didn’t seem to be her. At least, she was very cold and her throat didn’t hurt.

  “He’s dead, Steve. He’s dead.” Ethan wrapped his arm around her, completely disregarding her gun, and pulled her hard against him. Rough Bear and Alvarez raced in behind him to pour soothing words over the café’s uproar.

  “Are you okay?” Ethan gently brushed her hair back from her face.

  “I couldn’t move.” She stared up at him, tremors starting somewhere deep inside and building until they shook every bone and muscle. “It felt as if he could read my mind—and was laughing!”

  Ethan flinched, his face turning gray.

  �
��Oh crap, he could.” She shoved her Colt back into her waistband, her hand vibrating like a cement mixer. An instant later, she buried her face against him and clung like a Victorian maiden.

  Ethan handed Steve another cup of sweet coffee before sitting back down on the sofa beside her. Her apartment contained only a few pieces of furniture, all of them cheap. But the big sofa was comfortable enough, if they sat close together.

  God damn Devol and his bandolerismo! Hell, when he’d seen her terrified face and realized she couldn’t speak, his own veins had run cold. If anything happened to her, he’d personally destroy Devol and the hell with waiting for orders from Don Rafael.

  Mercifully, everything had turned out well enough—but only because he needed to see her face every few minutes, regardless of what his plan said. If she’d been his hija, he’d have known sooner what was going on. But he couldn’t give her El Abrazo, even if nobody except Don Rafael had a chance of pulling her through La Lujuria.

  The café’s occupants had noticed nothing except a woman drawing a gun—and a pile of clothing’s sudden arrival. That was quickly smoothed over by claiming Steve had thought she’d seen her worthless ex-husband walk past.

  Apologies over, Ethan had quickly taken her away, murmuring agreement with her insistence that she could take care of herself. Of course, she could—after she recovered from her shock. Poor darling. She’d only nodded when Emilio had offered to ride her Harley back to Austin, a very forward request at any other time.

  He’d left Luis’s men to destroy all video surveillance, of course. The siniscal’s men knew where all records were kept, as befitted good householders.

  At least they knew the basic plan worked. Steve hadn’t slept with Ethan for more than a month so she didn’t have even the faintest trace of vampiro scent left. Pity; it might have kept those brutes away from her. They were obviously preying only upon women in a blatant challenge to Don Rafael’s protectiveness toward the gentler sex. Normally, even bandolerismo would feed upon both men and women, reflecting vampiros’ usual bisexuality.

  “If I have any more of this, I’ll stay up all night, spinning like a top.” She sipped at the hot coffee, her eyelids slightly translucent.

  His mouth tightened at her fragility. “Looking very lovely.”

  “Flatterer.”

  Not really.

  “You had quite a shock. The coffee will help.” Oh hell, that sounded like something his mother would have said.

  She sniffed in disbelief and gently blew over the milky brew’s surface. It stirred, shimmering under the light.

  Once she’d have teased him that way. Intimately.

  He shifted, looking for a more comfortable position.

  She wiggled, snuggling her hips and the curve of her breasts closer to him.

  He froze but gritted out a smile.

  “I’ve never failed like that before, Ethan,” she muttered.

  “Failed?” He rapidly scanned through the night’s events. “What are you talking about?”

  “I couldn’t stop him. He wasn’t ten feet away from me. But I couldn’t shoot, shove. I couldn’t even scream like a high school girl,” she finished on a whisper. “I was useless.”

  “Dammit, Steve!” He grabbed the cup out of her hand and slammed it down on the table, sloshing coffee across the cheap wood. The hell with that.

  “Uh, Ethan, what—”

  He snatched her onto his lap, forcing her to look him in the eye.

  “Stop that. D’you hear me? Don’t blame yourself. No prosaica can stop a vampiro from taking control of her mind. You had no choice.”

  He shook her by the shoulders.

  “But surely I could have done more.” Her eyes were enormous.

  “Every sense is enhanced when we become vampiros, including the psychic ones. We’re all telepaths, at least in comparison to prosaicas like yourself. It gives us the ability to dictate what you think or do.”

  She frowned, thoughts starting to run again behind those whisky eyes before they went dull again. “But he walked through my mind and I feel used. Dirty.”

  “You are not dirty. You are incredible. No other prosaica could have managed to move at all, let alone touch her chair, after a vampiro took control of her.” His heart was pounding, his voice turning husky. “You’re strong, very strong—and special.”

  “Strong? Do you really think so?” She ran her finger lightly down his cheek, her calluses catching on his stubble and sending lightning strikes deep into his heart and lungs.

  “I know it, darling.” He kissed the palm of her hand.

  She gasped—and he captured her mouth, offering her his warmth, lips to lips, breath to breath. She sighed and opened, accepting him.

  It was the gentlest of kisses, like feathers taking to the wind, their fingers twining together. He cupped her face, protecting her, giving her the most comfort and security possible in the embrace. Ignoring the aching beat of his blood, like molten lava under his skin wherever she touched.

  “Ethan,” she murmured, and moved closer, sliding her fingers into his hair.

  He kissed her again, deepening the contact, allowing more of his passion, his absolute confidence in her to show.

  She pressed herself against him, still trembling, but willing at least. Damn the bandolerismo!

  He nuzzled her, feathering kisses over her face—the straight nose, the passionate mouth, stubborn jaw, high cheekbones, winged eyebrows, broad forehead. So perfect, so beautiful, so nearly gone forever.

  He caressed her hair, threading his fingers through its fine silk and gently kneading her exquisitely sensitive scalp underneath.

  She purred with pleasure, rubbing her head against his hands like a cat. His lady, his darling.

  And so little time to enjoy her. Ever.

  He licked her throat, lightly flicking his tongue against the hidden pulse points.

  She chuckled and arched her head back, utterly relaxed.

  He nuzzled and kissed his way up and over her jaw until he found her mouth again. This time, she kissed him back eagerly, warmly.

  He rumbled approval, stroking the small of her back underneath her clothes. Lovely, lovely Stephanie Amanda.

  She arched closer, rubbing her breasts against him. Sheets of fire rolled across his skin and spilled into his flesh. His pulse kicked hard and began to run faster through his veins. “Oh God, yes, Stephanie.”

  “Mrmph,” she agreed, and gasped into his mouth when he ran his thumbs up her back, underneath her tunic. She arched even closer, blatantly willing.

  His cock swelled against his trousers, straining the white linen. Denim would have allowed far more discretion, dammit.

  He rose, sweeping her into his arms. A sofa, no matter how big, wasn’t the place to continue this.

  And damn, but she looked good a moment later stretched across her bed. It jutted into the room like a throne, covered in silky layers of yellow and gold cotton. A chair and a single dresser were the only furniture. A magnificent dream catcher hung protectively over her bed, its eagle feathers and netting glinting as it slowly turned in a slight draft. But everything he wanted was contained in Stephanie.

  She blinked up at him and licked her lips, smiling with a bit of her old sassiness.

  “Ah, Stephanie.” He started to grin, his heart relaxing a bit. That was his girl.

  “Steve,” she corrected. She ran her eyes over him and blushed when she reached his crotch.

  His smile darkened to something primal and masculine. His woman.

  He dropped down beside her on the bed and kissed her again, sliding his leg between hers. She moaned, tossing against him.

  He teased her tunic upward and unclasped her bra, catching his breath at her beauty. Her rosy nipples were already tightly furled with hunger, calling to him for fulfillment. They needed his mouth, teeth, lips. Or maybe he should explore her breasts first with his hands . . .

  He went a little insane and tried to do everything, make up for all the lost days a
nd weeks he’d lived without her. Relearn the taste of her velvet flesh, the salt of her skin, the arcs of her sweet areolas deep within his mouth . . . The driving pulse in his own veins when he lost himself in loving her.

  She sobbed his name over and over, begging him for more, demanding completion.

  His hands shook when he tugged those damn high heels off and threw them across the room. His hands were shaking when he unzipped her jeans, so badly it took him two tries to get them off.

  But her scent was a wonderful perfume—rich and musky, uniquely hers. He shuddered, inhaling it, before he dropped to his knees and kissed the inside of her thigh. His cock was the definition of madness, the center of every driving, mindless, hungry pulse in his body.

  He tasted her, swirling his tongue along the delicate trickles of cream. He found his way higher to the source, to her sweet folds, her plump clit now standing proudly erect. He nuzzled and sniffed, his heart thudding like an artillery barrage in his chest.

  “Ethan. Ohgawd, Ethan, please.” Her hips lifted toward his hungry mouth.

  He hummed approval and she jolted, her hands pulling him closer. “Oh, Ethan.”

  He rumbled his insistence on his own timing, his own choices. But his zipper was biting into his cock like iron rails and her legs were frantically clasped around him.

  He pulled away, reluctant to leave her for even an instant, and yanked off his damn shirt and trousers. She gasped, just a little, but she was licking her lips at the sight of him.

  “Stephanie.” He took her into his arms and she flung herself at him, immediately wrapping her arms and legs around him. “Stephanie.”

  She was so hot for him and they were so accustomed to each other that they joined easily. He scissored their legs and rolled onto his side, making sure she felt every detail of both their bodies, their pleasure, their breathing.

  He rocked against her slowly, using his hand on her back to control their pace. She orgasmed, her delight spiraling through both of them.

  Yes, and yes, and yes.

  He shifted her, rubbing her clit against his leg, gritting his teeth against his own desperation. Waves were pounding through his spine, building in his balls.