Rourke (New Vampire Disorder Book 2)

by Marie Johnston

  Demetrius had been right. He should’ve changed, but he couldn’t explain the need to get to Grace’s side. He’d been away from her long enough. Manka’s scent hung on him and he detested it. Detested himself. Not for doing his job, but that he’d further upset Grace after what she’d been through.

  When he caught Grace sobbing in the bedroom, the urge to embrace her had won over.

  Until she had declared he reeked.

  He should’ve changed. Hellfire. Was that guilt? Another emotion wormed its way under his armor.

  How the fuck could she have formed a memory of him, one of that horrible nature?

  “I could’ve driven my own car.” Grace’s fingers tapped on the passenger door, her pink lips pursed.

  “Demetrius gave me the address.”

  “You have a control issue, you know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Grace ceased the tapping only to use her fingers to check off statements. “You can’t stand touching. You prefer women tied up so you can unlock them. I’m guessing so you can also fuck them with as little contact as possible.” She raised an eyebrow in question.

  He clenched his jaw and nodded. He owed her somewhat of an explanation, so he allowed her to continue dismantling his habits.

  “You own hardly any possessions. What you do own isn’t designed for comfort.” Except his bed. “And your color base is black.”

  He gave one slow nod to confirm her observations.

  “What happened?”

  Compassion radiated from her. If it had been anyone else, he’d have handed the keys over and flashed across town. With Grace, his level of worthlessness stayed low.

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. All he’d told Demetrius after they bonded over their bar brawl was that his family was inferior degenerates who had destroyed themselves with their greed.

  Demetrius assumed Rourke came from a prime family. It was possible he didn’t care. He was a male who measured people by actions, one of the reasons he was the closest thing to a brother Rourke would ever claim. Because his own brother deserved a long walk in the sunlight.

  Grace stared out the window. He’d remained silent so long, she’d given up. It worked for him. If she pressed any longer, he had the disturbing sensation he’d spill every morbid detail.

  Then she’d know he was just as ugly as the vampire of her nightmares.

  “Here it is.” He parked next to the black Denali belonging to the Guardians.

  A tall, lanky shifter named Chayton met him outside. His shifter’s golden eyes were grim. “Another one called in similar to last night. An anonymous tip I’m starting to think is from the killer.”

  Rourke’s gaze roamed the place. Grace stood close to his side. He resisted stepping in front of her. She needed no protecting from the male. It was for Chayton’s own protection because if he didn’t stop his flagrant appraisal of her body, Rourke was going to play he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not with his limbs.

  Chayton’s nostrils flared, catching a whiff of Rourke’s possessive instincts. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk, and he aimed his disgustingly handsome face toward Grace and extended his hand.

  “Chayton. And you are?”

  She dropped her fingertips into his clasp for a quick shake before yanking them away. Smart girl.

  “Grace.”

  “The name suits you.”

  She blinked, taken aback. A pink blush stained her cheeks. Did Chayton embarrass her? Rourke would rip his tongue out and stomp on it. Wait, she wasn’t offended. She liked the compliment. They weren’t his strong suit and he often had no reason to give them. Not until Grace.

  Smugness filled Chayton’s expression. He was a fire starter, that one. If Rourke had sensed any true intentions behind the male’s flirty words, he’d be dog meat by now.

  “Give us the report, Guardian.”

  “She going in with us?” Chayton asked, inferring Rourke had gone mad.

  “Yes, she is,” Grace answered, throwing some attitude at Chayton.

  Rourke may have gloated a little. “You heard the lady. Lead the way.”

  Chayton spun and entered the house. Death and blood assaulted Rourke. Grace covered her nose and mouth until she got used to it. Unfortunately, one did get used to it.

  The Guardian pointed out bodies, listing evidence, similar to the night before. “The male and female vampire who own the house were murdered in their beds. The male died right away via beheading, but it appears the female was initially injured and fought back. Her body is at the bottom of the stairs. Her head is at the top.”

  Grace shook her head in disgust.

  “We called you as soon as we walked in and smelled the sulfur taint. I scented more than one attacker,” Chayton continued. “I also detected a third family member whose body we’ve been unable to locate.” His expression turned grim. “A child. We found his room. Nothing seemed out of place.”

  Rourke’s gut clenched at the news. He raised his nose, drawing in a deep breath, filing every detail away. “Same killers.”

  “I suspect so as well. Unless you need me, a domestic was called in and I love beating some abuser ass.”

  Rourke’s opinion of Chayton climbed a few notches.

  After the shifter left, Rourke walked the rooms slowly. Her gaze on his back burned a metaphoric hole in between his shoulder blades.

  “What is it?”

  “Is it déjà vu if it happens a third time?”

  His head jerked up. Of course, what he was doing matched her nightmares of him. Perhaps, she shouldn’t have come.

  “Only—” She held her hand up. “No, don’t move. Yeah, stand just like that.” Her head tilted and turned, inspecting him. “The clothing’s different obviously, although you—he—wore dark garments then, too.” She continued to study him. He’d remain a stature for eternity if that’s what she needed.

  Hellfire. Was he going to grow ovaries, too? This emotional rollercoaster around her and drive to please her…it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. He’d went through hell to become a cold, unfeeling prick.

  She squatted down and narrowed her focus back on him.

  Ah, she’s trying to view the same angle as when she was a toddler.

  “Something’s different. I thought that last night, too. Something about my nightmare guy was crueler, harsher. You walk through here and your face is introspective. You’re soaking in smells, observations, cataloguing everything. He was…he relished the violence.”

  “But you saw me.”

  “Yeah.” She rose, uncurling her enthralling body wrapped a sweatshirt and jeans. “You don’t have a twin running around do you.”

  Her tone was joking, but her words filled him with long-held rage.

  It couldn’t be.

  “Rourke?”

  That bastard. It made too perfect of sense. Grace couldn’t have fabricated a dream of him when she’d only met him last night. But she could have encountered one who resembled him.

  “Rourke? What’d I say? Seriously, do you have twin?”

  He worked his jaw. He never spoke of his brother. If he didn’t talk about him or utter his name, he didn’t exist.

  He and his people were behind this, just like they were behind every horrible thing that’d ever happened to him. Only now they’d targeted someone he…what? Cared about? He didn’t know Grace well enough to claim that. Was invested in? That was it. His duty was to help her seek justice, only he’d be the one doling it out.

  “Rourke?”

  He blinked back into focus and renewed his investigation. “I need to search for evidence.”

  “What’s going through that tortured mind of yours?”

  He brushed off her question. Until he had proof, he wasn’t telling anyone his suspicions. And when he did have proof, well…coming clean to Grace he was fucking responsible for her family’s death didn’t hit the top of his must do list.

  He should’ve killed his brother when he had the chance.

 
; “Dammit, Rourke. What is it?”

  He schooled his features to his standard calm. “Nothing, Grace. I was processing all the clues. We’re wasting night.”

  The fight faded from her as she let it go. He watched in amazement as the spark lit right back up. “Oh, God. There’s a missing kid.”

  Rourke could only guess what his brother planned to do with a kid. “Go to the child’s room, find out as much information as you can while I look into the murders.”

  Grace gingerly stepped around the gore and hit the stairs running. He lost precious seconds watching her curves bound up the stairs.

  Back to work.

  The house was small, well cared for, but rundown suggesting money was tight and had been for a while. Definitely not a prime family, but then snatching one of their children would be more difficult.

  The child. If Rourke’s brother had a hand in the abduction, his intention may be to sell the kid as a blood slave. Rourke clenched and unclenched his fists. Is that what he’d planned to do with Grace when he hunted her as a toddler?

  Or, since the stench of brimstone hung in the air, had he advanced to more complicated deals? Selling kids to bond to demons the way Calli had been unwittingly forced to do?

  How many children had they missed over the years?

  But Grace’s human family had no small children.

  None of this made sense. He and Grace were tied to both of her family’s murders, but not to this one. Demons were linked to all three. Rourke’s brother was a possible suspect in the killings twenty-three years ago, and someone tried to frame Rourke for last night’s murder.

  Or send him a message.

  One that said, I’m not done with you yet, boy. Words his father had said all those years ago when—Rourke couldn’t remember the details. Just those words before he was sold.

  He crouched down to inspect the mom’s body. Deep gouges marred her flesh. Her head had been brutally severed. On impulse, he turned her body over. There on her back, drawn in her blood was a jagged “R.”

  As if he’d turned into a murderer and was stupid enough to sign his name. All serial killers had their tell, but it wasn’t random clues pointing to one person. To him.

  Rourke climbed the stairs. As he neared the parents’ bedroom, a sense of foreboding crept into his gut. Entering the bedroom, he exhaled slowly and surveyed the scene. It matched what Chayton had described. The coward had taken the father by surprise, beheading him before he even woke. But it’d been enough to rouse the mom who fought wildly and lost.

  A closed door at the edge of the room taunted him. Chayton may not have inspected it if he hadn’t sensed anything inside. Rourke crept over, one foot in front of the other. He couldn’t stop if he tried. Something waited for him behind the door.

  He swung it open and waited. At first he picked up nothing. It was an empty bathroom. Flaring his nostrils, he smelled the dad’s blood. Where it had faded toward the door, he was hit with a powerful shot as he stepped inside.

  Scrawled in blood across the mirror was only one word.

  Ozias.

  It transfixed him, that one word. A confirmation of his suspicions. His past coming back to claim him. He sensed Grace approaching, but couldn’t tear his gaze off those five letters.

  “Ozias. What’s that mean?” she asked, coming to a stop next to him. Side by side, their reflections stared back at them from the mirror.

  “It’s my name.”

  ***

  With dawn approaching, Grace couldn’t waste time. She pulled a pale Rourke from the bathroom, down the stairs and out the door. Then she flashed them back to the car. As they drove to headquarters, she filled him in on the kid, a boy, not much older than she’d been. His name was Ari and she’d grabbed a few of his things: a teddy bear, a blanket, some clothes, and two cardboard books.

  When Rourke had interacted, it was only to give her directions and gesture to the garage. She pulled in and killed the engine. Both Demetrius and the other male she’d met, Bishop, waited for them when they arrived.

  “What’d you find?” Demetrius asked as Rourke.

  “They’re not framing me. They’re sending me a message.”

  “Who?” Bishop asked.

  “My brother, and whoever he’s working for.”

  Grace and the other two males stared at Rourke. So she wasn’t the only one surprised.

  “I thought any family of yours were dead.” Demetrius spoke what must’ve been on Bishop’s mind because he nodded in shock.

  “My mother and father are. I left them to perish for their own decisions. My brother disappeared, and I wasn’t going to go looking for him. He was just as selfishly entitled as our parents.” Rourke sank back against the car. “I should’ve ended him, too. Should’ve expected he’d make others suffer for his gain.”

  Grace stepped closer, in case he needed the support. He obviously did, but would he accept it?

  “Why?” Bishop lifted a hand to lay on Rourke’s shoulder, but pulled back. “We assumed you hated them, but why?”

  A deep red filled Rourke’s coffee brown eyes. When he spoke, his voice was hard, his words clipped. “They sold me as a blood slave.”

  Sheltered from their world, she could only guess what the term meant. Slavery would explain his reaction to her fang scraping him. His past was the foundation upon which Rourke had built his internal protections.

  “Shiiit,” Demetrius breathed. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Rourke slashed his hand through the air. “It’s my baggage. It should not affect you. Any of you. When I escaped, I killed the men who used me. It’s over. Done.”

  Selling a child was atrocious. Diabolical. Heartless. The children Grace tutored were the definition of innocence. How could anyone extinguish the natural brightness of a child?

  “Why did they do that to you?” Bishop’s appalled tone expressed what they all felt.

  Rourke sneered. “Claimed it was all I was good for anymore.”

  “Anymore?” Bishop questioned.

  Rourke shrugged. “My life was just as shit at home as it was when I was captive.” He inclined his head toward Grace. “I believe it’s my brother she remembers. I remember a boy with lanky black hair who thought the world owed him everything. If he cleaned himself up, I’m sure we’d resemble each other.”

  He couldn’t have told her at the house? Her heart broke for the brutalized boy he’d been, but as a man, he was frustrating as hell.

  “We find your brother, we find answers.” Demetrius considered Rourke. “You good?”

  “Not until we find my brother and save the kid.”

  The trepidation for the boy was written across his features as clearly as his name had been scrawled across the mirror.

  Which brought up another question: Why hadn’t he told them about the blood messages?

  “Finding the child is paramount,” Demetrius agreed. “It’s morning. The kidnappers are as stuck as we are. We’ll resume in the evening.” He pinned Rourke with a hard look. “You’ll keep me updated on everything, Rourke. Take Grace, and I want Bishop working with you.”

  Rourke briefly tensed next to her as if insulted by the insinuation he needed assistance. Bishop’s mouth pulled tight. They worked well together the previous night, Grace wondered what had changed.

  Demetrius’ gaze danced back and forth between the two, also sensing something off. “Keep them in line Grace.” He handed her a card key. “Your room is ready. Rourke will show you the way. Your belongings are already inside.” He strode out of the garage bay, Bishop on his heels.

  Fatigue caught up with her. If Rourke hadn’t been put through the emotional ringer in the last hour, she’d pepper him with questions. Not that he’d answer. After some rest, he’d probably reinforce his internal walls and it’d be impossible to pry any information from him.

  “I’ll show you to your room.” He didn’t sound defeated, but like he’d lost round one.

  She shoved her car keys into her pocket
and trailed him. Her familiarity with the building didn’t extend to this portion. He stopped in front of a door nowhere near his apartment. She was tempted to grab her stuff and request to go back to his place. But there was no reason for her to stay with him. The attraction may be a one-sided deal.

  Their kiss seemed to be ages ago between two different people. Before they were embroiled in a scheme where the players and their motives were unknown.

  She held the card key against the reader and pushed the door open. Rourke’s distracted gaze rested on the floor. He made no move to leave.

  Delicious scents teased her. “Smells like they loaded me up with dinner. Why don’t you come in and eat?”

  “I should eat.” His tone was flat, like he was just stating a fact.

  “Yes, you should.”

  Ushering him into the room, she followed him inside. Her duffle and computer bag were settled inside by the door. Food and a shower sounded heavenly. She busied herself digging into the covered dishes Betty had left behind. From the herb-laced scents filling the suite, Betty was one hell of a cook.

  Two leather chairs sat across from a television in the small sitting area outside the bedroom. He chose one to sit in. Grace prepared a plate of ribbon steak and seasoned potatoes for them both. Although the tiny kitchenette had a table with two chairs, she carried their food out and handed him his plate.

  She set hers down and went in search of something to drink. Betty was on top of that as well. Water, soda, beer, and two bottles of wine stocked the shelves and counters.

  A vice squeezed around her chest and she fought to breathe. She’d met Betty once; she met these vampires less than two days ago. Yet, they cared for her, welcomed her in, and accepted her as part of the investigation crew.

  “What’s wrong?” More life lifted Rourke’s voice than she’d heard all night.

  She almost answered with nothing, but there’d been enough nondisclosure for the night. “I’m just incredibly grateful to have a place to stay right now, and it’s more than I could’ve asked for.”

  “Demetrius is like that.”

  With two wine glasses and an open bottle of red, she strode over so they could dig in. “How’d you meet him?” She didn’t expect an answer.