Rourke (New Vampire Disorder Book 2)

by Marie Johnston

As a large male, he’d never turn down a chance to devour bacon and eggs, and twenty-four hour diners such as this one knew how to serve ’em. His stomach rumbled in anger, insisting it craved blood.

  He hadn’t fed since that night the demon enslaved him. His team would gladly offer up a vein, but then he’d have to explain why he wasn’t hitting up clubs for the last few weeks to find a willing and unwitting blood donor. And he couldn’t reciprocate. The demon bond might’ve tainted his blood; it’d give him away.

  Customers came and went from these kind of places. He could lure one of them to the dark edges of the parking lot and feed if he had to.

  He ducked under the entrance into the restaurant, his large frame brushing the sides of the door. The tray in the young server’s hand wobbled at his appearance. She was an attractive little thing, but that was the problem. She was tiny. Women with large frames and some meat on their bones were the only ones he hunted. They fulfilled his appetites more than one way.

  Flashing her a pleasant smile, he ordered.

  Bishop obsessively checked his messages until the food arrived ten minutes later. Still no response. He’d probably be bringing the Otto’s vehicle home with him to scrap when the sun set again. Not ideal, but with Grace in their custody, the family shouldn’t be reported missing anytime soon.

  He polished off the last of his meal and threw a fifty down when another customer entered. He quickly slumped back into the booth.

  If he were on the hunt for a woman tonight, she’d be it. Buxom blonde in a white wrap dress, she exuded Marilyn Monroe, only five inches taller. She glanced down both stretches on either side of the door, her expression distraught, and stumbled to the counter to sit across from him.

  Her back offered a fine view. Her lushly rounded ass perched on the stool. Her legs crossed and curled underneath.

  He frowned. Her body shook as if she were crying. Damn his soft heart.

  Stay out of it. Resolute, he stood just as she turned with a shuddering cry.

  Her watery gaze caught his eye. “Oh, sorry.”

  He needed to mind his own business, but felt caught, wishing to cheer her up. Then his body firmly reminded him it’d been weeks since his last woman and blood meal. He gestured for her to go ahead. “Ladies first.”

  “Oh.” She sniffled, hastily wiping her eyes. “I was heading to the bathroom. I didn’t mean to cut you off.”

  “It’s no problem, really.” He motioned for her to continue on to the bathroom.

  She kept talking instead, leaving him frozen in place. Being rude wasn’t in his nature. He was the vampire version of a teddy bear, unless he dealt with threats to helpless creatures. He forced himself to pay attention to what she was saying so he could extract himself from this situation.

  “I mean, I keep calling him and he doesn’t answer. When I try to meet him, he stands me up.” She grabbed a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m worth more than that, right?”

  “Of course,” he answered automatically. He flicked his eyes toward the door and back to her. “I’d better get going.”

  “Oh, yes. Here I am making a nuisance of myself. You’re probably thinking that guy is totally justified in ignoring me.”

  Bishop hesitated. He couldn’t leave her like this. “Perhaps he’s not worthy of you.”

  Her expression transformed until she beamed at him. “You’re sweet.” Tucking her hand into his elbow, she smiled sweetly. “Will you walk me out? I came in here to drown my sorrows in pancakes with whipped cream, but I have a better idea.”

  Her warmth seeped through his sleeve. Bishop gave himself a quick body scan, wondering how much dried blood was smeared over his clothes. His dark clothing concealed most of it, but a fine layer of dust from grave digging clung to his clothing. She didn’t seem to mind.

  They walked out together, but when he moved toward the sedan, her grip tightened.

  “Can you walk me to my vehicle? It’s still dark.” Her voice held an edge of unease.

  It was darkest before the dawn. “Where is it?”

  She pointed to edge of the parking lot where it bordered a brick building. She’d chosen the corner where even light from the streetlamps didn’t reach.

  What had he pondered earlier? Luring a blood meal to the darkest section of the lot?

  He couldn’t let the opportunity pass.

  Changing course, he accompanied her to the driver’s side of her Jeep. He’d seduce her until she dropped her guard, and then sink his teeth into her soft creamy flesh. One mind wipe later, he’d be on his way well before the first rays of the sun brightened the sky.

  She stalled at the driver’s door and swung to face him, peering shyly up at him through her lashes. “Thank you.”

  Her desire wafted to his nose, sweet like the whipped cream she mentioned earlier. He may get more than a blood meal.

  “My pleasure,” he rumbled.

  As he leaned down to capture her lips, she stood on her tiptoes and threw her arms around his neck. He fell into her, his arms wrapping around her waist. The salt of her tears seasoned her kiss. He lapped up the remnants of her sadness. Her body would sate his physical discomfort in several ways. The least he could do was leave her feeling good.

  The way her she nipped and licked at him, he’d be more than fine when they were done. He barely registered her opening the back door and shoving him around. Their kiss broke only as she pushed him down into the seat.

  “Lean back, big guy,” she purred.

  Oh, okay. She was going to take the lead. He could roll with that.

  He scooted back so she could climb over him and wrestle the door shut behind them. The dome light went out and they were concealed once more. His superior vision wasn’t affected. He could see everything, from her pink, passion tinted cheeks, to her ample cleavage spilling out of her dress.

  She clawed at his pants, and he dimly wondered if she’d noticed his grime covered outfit at all. If she had, it certainly didn’t slow her.

  His shaft came to life. By the time she freed it, he was hard and ready to go. Biting her bottom lip, she eyed it greedily.

  Bishop was pretty grateful his junkyard contact had stood him up. He’d scrap the car the next night.

  As her hand glided up his cock, he groaned. At the top, she squeezed and pumped.

  “Woman, it’s not your hand I want.” Hand jobs were nice and all, but it was easier to feed when she was in the throes of passion.

  Misinterpreting his words, she slithered back as far as possible and licked her lips. She dipped her head down. His hips jerked up as her mouth wrapped around his shaft.

  Hellfire. This isn’t what he meant, either, but a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

  He was a large man. Taller than most vampires and shifters, wider than any pro football player. The same went for his manhood. As her mouth stretched wide, she licked and sucked the tip. She wouldn’t fit too much more inside.

  Nope, wrong. The woman deep throated him like a pro.

  His head fell back against the door, his eyelids closed. Only to pop open because it’d be a shame to miss the erotic show she put on with her ass pressed against the window across from him. He marveled over women. Some almost conducted background checks before they allowed him to touch their bodies. Some, like the siren blowing him, jumped in without even an introduction.

  Her hot tongue slid over him as she increased suction. One release before she rode him wouldn’t hurt.

  As his balls tightened, she hummed.

  His orgasm built—only to be shut down. She released him with a pop and grinned wickedly. His release slinked back where it came from. She sucked him back into her mouth.

  The routine continued until he bellowed with physical pain when she teased his orgasm one last time.

  He was so fucking close, as soon as her breath blew over his cock, he’d blow.

  He was a large print book, she read him easily. Crawling up his body, she hovered over him.

  She wasn’t wea
ring underwear. How desperate was this chick?

  The brief concern of using a condom was stamped out when her liquid heat encompassed him. She slid slowly, moans of frustration escaping her.

  “I want to slam down on you, but this body can’t handle all of you so suddenly.”

  Desperate and talking in third person—Bishop tried not to care. She was crazy, but her blood would flow red. Except…a warning bell dinged. Hadn’t he experienced this before?

  Finally, she sunk down all the way, swiveling her hips to adjust. His mind was ripped back to her, to them. The way she’d played with him, he’d last two seconds before he exploded.

  A lazy grin spread across her face. “That’s more like it. You want it don’t you?”

  He nodded. She rose up and slammed back down. The breath whooshed out of him. Twice more and he was ready to come, but he wanted her to climax as he sunk his teeth in.

  His thumb found her nub. She freed her breasts, thumbing her nipples.

  Crazy and hot. Crazy hot.

  “Look me in the eyes, baby.” With his other hand, he cupped her chin to mesmerize her.

  She met his gaze squarely. “No, Bishop, you look.”

  He froze, but she rode him. His body ignored his mind to abort mission.

  “How do you know my name?” He tried to release her mound.

  She shook her head, an iron grip holding his hand in place at her sex. “You’ve been a naughty boy, ignoring me.”

  It was her. He’d been tricked—again.

  “What are you?” he snarled.

  Her walls tightened around him and his orgasm burst forth. Clenching his teeth, gritting his eyes shut, he couldn’t fight it. Pleasure poured through him, out doing the humiliation at being tricked by the demon bitch yet again.

  Her cries broke through his as she hit her own peak.

  Scrambling to recover, he cleared his lust-hazed thoughts to confront her.

  Her hand yanked a fistful of his hair, her face inches from his, her eyes completely black. “This is the way it’s going to play, Bishop. You. Are. Mine. You swore yourself to me. I’m generous. I’ll give you one week to gather up all the information your team knows, and you’ll meet me at the first place we had sex.” She released him and sat up, circling her pelvis, calling his shaft back to attention. “In return, I’ll serve all your needs.”

  “This body is not yours.” The young woman she possessed had no say in what the demon did to its host.

  The demoness shrugged. “She knew what she was agreeing to when she volunteered to host me.” She broke into a wicked grin. “I may have omitted a few details. I choose what you like, Bishop.”

  “I won’t do it,” he gritted between his teeth. Her body or not, he couldn’t seem to control his reaction. Another orgasm was knocking on his balls.

  She leaned over him and drew his face into her neck. “You will because I told you to. You said the oath. Now drink. I’m ready to come.”

  His fangs were bared and buried before his conscience could chime in.

  They both climaxed, his one of the hardest he’d ever experienced.

  His fangs disengaged and his muscles bunched, prepared to throw her off.

  Her cool fingers feathered over his forehead. “I don’t think so, big guy. I need you to sleep.”

  Heavy eyelids proved impossible to fight. What kind of power did the demoness possess? As he drifted off, he heard her say, “Wake in ten minutes, my goliath. I don’t want you burning that handsome face of yours in the sun.”

  ***

  Grace’s eyes fluttered open, she sat up with a gasp. Her gaze landed on Rourke, standing over her frowning. His arms were crossed over his cut chest, leaving washboard abs visible until they disappeared into the low-slung waistband of gray flannel sweats. Obsidian eyes glittered in the faint light emanating from his bedroom. She sucked in a breath. Only the idea that he slept with a nightlight contained the scream in her throat.

  Remnants of dual nightmares faded away. Images of her birth family and Rourke wandering through their remains to her human family spread in a bloody line before him.

  To wake up to the male looming over her…she gulped. She should be terrified. She should’ve yelled. Instead, his presence calmed her as it fired up all her fantasies. Warmth spread through her, moving further down.

  “What are you doing?” She croaked out the question in her attempt to disengage her mind from the hormones it spurred through body.

  “You were making noise.” His tone lacked inflection in the usual Rourke way.

  Flashes of her dead families continued to storm through her brain. She rubbed her temples and pinched the bridge of her nose to keep from crying. When she peered back up at him, she released a frustrated huff at his pained expression. “Are you afraid I’m going to cry again?”

  Wariness settled into his gaze. “It would be understandable.”

  How could she be afraid of a male whose distress stemmed from the expectation she might need his comfort?

  “No, Rourke. I’m not going to cry, again.” She gave herself a mental shake. No more breakdowns. She swung her legs down and hauled herself up. “It wouldn’t do any good anyway.”

  His eyes roamed her face, lifted to skim over her hair.

  She patted her wild mane. To sleep comfortably, she’d taken out her hair tie. “My curls go a little crazy when they’re not contained.”

  He kept eyeing her hair. Grace dug into her pants pocket for her tie. His hand snaked around her wrist, encasing it in an iron grip.

  “Don’t.” He was close enough she could make out the subtle difference between the black pupil and rich brown iris. “Your hair…it’s like strands of rich caramel dancing in firelight.”

  What sensual words. Her gaze locked onto his. She lost herself in the depths of wonder she saw there. How could her unbound, crazy hair undo this male?

  He leaned in, his slightly parted lips and hypnotic hooded gaze short-circuited her brain. She pressed up and their lips met. His gentle touch packed such magnitude it rocked the foundation of her being. Since she was old enough to form memories, she’d been afraid of this male. Now he touched her hair, gave her a chaste kiss, and she handed herself over to him?

  Before she could sort through her thoughts, the kiss deepened. His thumb caressed her wrist, setting every nerve ablaze. Tentatively, his tongue swiped out. She opened for him, accepting his offer to deepen contact. Their tongues swirled in mutual discovery. His rich taste like a strong coffee—she was immediately addicted.

  She rose on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his shoulders. He stiffened. Her body rebelled when she pulled back, but Rourke’s discomfort kicked in her nurturing instincts. As the kiss broke, his tongue scraped against one of her fangs. A drop of his blood touched her tongue and she moaned. Her hands dug into his shoulders; her blood hunger roared to life.

  Suddenly her feet swooped off the floor as he shoved her onto the couch.

  Her eyes flew open. “What the hell?”

  “Don’t touch me.” His snarl unveiled deadly fangs.

  Subtle vibrations wracked his body. Rage filled his features, red stained his cheeks—whether it was from anger or lust, she didn’t know. His body taut, he leaned over her, his pupils blown so wide she feared she’d see the fires of Hell in them. She shrank back into the cushions.

  “Never,” his voice shook with barely contained fury, “never take my blood.”

  He spun on his heel and stormed to his room, slamming the door.

  Grace exhaled a shaky breath and drew her legs up to her chest. That was a hell of reaction to an accident. Where did his rage stem from?

  The Rourke she’d gotten to know the last twenty hours had seemed at odds with her nightmare vampire. The Rourke who left the room fit him perfectly.

  What was she going to do? She had no idea if she was in the home of a killer.

  No doubt he was a killer, but was he the one who murdered her family? Was he the male from her dream?


  The whoosh of the bedroom door opening reached her ears. Out walked a fully dressed Rourke with his ink black hair slicked back off his face. A jaw-dropping, debonair male dressed in a quality sweater and gray slacks who knew how good he looked.

  “Get cleaned up. You have a meeting with Demetrius. He’ll be here in two minutes.”

  He stepped into the hallway without glancing back.

  “Wha—what the fuck?” she shouted at the closed door. “Asshole.”

  No reply. He called his boss rather than face her after an accidental exchange of one drop of his blood? Perhaps he was too cowardly to have been the killer after all.

  Chapter Four

  The dimly lit country club oozed refined class. Conversations murmured amongst the clientele resembled negotiations. Members of vampire prime families roamed from table to mahogany table, designer labels and custom garments hugged their lithe frames. Piano music topped off the upscale atmosphere.

  It was all about appearance, Rourke mused. Wearing his own charcoal cashmere sweater and black slacks with a crisp seam, he fit in with the crowd mulling about.

  He despised them all. Vampires who were born with money, prestige, secreting themselves into these private clubs where they could debauch among their own kind. Then gaze down upon all the lower-born vampires with derision and distain.

  No wonder they had a demon problem. Vampire arrogance thinking they could control something as powerful as the friggin’ underworld.

  Rourke nodded to acquaintances, some former sexual partners. Despite their come hither coy glances, he was only interested in one female in particular.

  And it wasn’t Grace-fucking-Otto.

  No one took his blood without permission. Not anymore. Not ever. Just the thought of her fang nicking him bombarded his mind with overwhelming lust for the lovely female that heightened the nauseating pit in his stomach. For a split second when it had happened, he’d wanted to groan in ecstasy. Until the soul-deep memories that plagued him made him want to retch instead.

  Hellfire, he’d thrown her. What if there hadn’t been a couch there? Her body hitting the wall would’ve sickened him worse than the blood exchange had.