Carson's Night

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “I’m Natalia. Tally.”

  “You’re Peter’s daughter, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

  She bit her lip, battling not to break down right here and now. Then she nodded.

  “We have to get him home,” he told her. “That means I’m going to have to treat his body in ways that are going to look like I don’t respect him, just for a while, okay? It’s the only way we’ll avoid getting arrested.”

  She nodded again. “I’ve been around Nick and Damian for too long. I know how it works.” She glanced at her father and away. “We’ll need something to cover him up.” She looked up at Connors. “You have a first name, Connors?”

  “Carson.” He was staring at her. “Sherwood trained you, but not your father?”

  “That’s a hell of an assumption.”

  “I’m in the sort of business that works on intuitive assumptions. I’ve been working with your father for nearly a year but I’ve never met you. Not even once. So he keeps—kept—you and his business carefully separated. Yet you know the business really well and you’ve been trained in it. You know Sherwood and his lover very well indeed. Ergo, Sherwood trained you. Why Sherwood and not your father?”

  “None of your business, Connors.”

  He caught her arm in his hand. His hand was big and warm, unlike Nick’s, which was always cool and slender. She looked down at it, then up at his face. He wasn’t angry, or impatient. He just looked at her.

  “Don’t fight me off, Tally,” he said softly. “Don’t be scared of me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are,” he said flatly. “I know you felt it, back inside.” He curled his hand around her neck, under her hair. “I imagine you’ve had hundreds of men tell you how beautiful you are, but you’ve never felt about them the way you reacted to me just now.”

  “Oh god, please,” she moaned. She couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was plucking the thoughts from her mind and speaking them aloud and it terrified her.

  “Say it, Tally,” he breathed.

  “I don’t want to want you,” she said, and this time the tears did fall.

  He didn’t just wipe them. He kissed them away.

  “Let me get you somewhere safe. Then I’ll show you that wanting me is good.”

  And so he did. They reached Nick’s three-story mid-town apartment by nine a.m., bringing her father’s body up in the service elevator, bent over and huddled inside a lined U.S. Postal Service bag. Then finally, they reached the apartment.

  Nick greeted them at the door and he looked even more haggard than before.

  “What happened?” Tally asked sharply.

  “Damian,” Nick said simply.

  She pushed past him into the apartment’s main room, her heart in her throat, looking for Damian. He was lying on the big leather couch in the main room and was horribly still. A blanket was pulled up to his chin.

  She reached for the blanket, but Nick grabbed her wrist. “No, it’s like seeing us naked,” he said.

  “I’ve seen you both naked, plenty of times.”

  “This is far more intimate,” Nick said awkwardly. He’s been…torn up.”

  She could feel more tears pooling in her eyes. “Will he heal?”

  Nick pushed his hand through his hair, one of his mannerisms for when he was stressed. “Yes, with time.”

  “How much time?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. We…they…no one has ever studied these things.” He looked down at Damian miserably and Tally impulsively threw her arms around him. Nicholas, she knew, came from somewhere in England in the feudal times, and this was not what a proper Englishman did even when he was unhappy, but Nick surprised her by hugging her back, his arms holding her hard and long.

  When he let her go, he held her head for a moment and kissed her cheek. His lips brushed her cheekbone as he murmured by her ear. “Connors wants you. I’ve never sensed longing with such power before. Let yourself want him back, Tally. I know you do.”

  She jerked in surprise and pulled back to look Nick in the eye. “Is nothing sacred with you, Nick?” she said in a normal voice.

  He smiled a little. “No.” He pushed her hair off her face. “You forget with whom you’re speaking.” Abruptly his accent was stiff and far more pronounced than usual.

  “Snob,” she teased, stepping away from him.

  He grimaced and swallowed. “Worried,” he corrected, with a glance at Damian.

  “He’s a tough old Spartan. He’ll pull through.” She whacked him on the shoulder. “Can you put my father in the little bedroom upstairs?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. I’m going to use the guest suite up there, too, and I’m going to raid your wardrobe and use your Bloomingdales account, okay?”

  Nick nodded again, his gaze on Damien.

  She hurried to the stairs, trying hard not to look at Carson Connors standing in stiffly in the corner of the room. But she could almost feel his gaze on her back. No, not her back. Her ass. And her legs. And her waist. It was like a mental caress.

  Her breath was faster before she even left the room.

  Connors wants you.

  She grabbed the newel post at the bottom of the grand staircase and held it, recovering her breath. Yes, she wanted Carson Connors but why, oh why did he have to be human?

  Chapter Two

  “What did you murmur to her just then?” Carson demanded, moving around the couch.

  Sherwood looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Ah, you noticed.”

  “I don’t have vampire hearing, but for a human I hear better than most. You told her something, probably about me.”

  “A good assumption, as you are the only one in the room we couldn’t speak freely in front of.” Sherwood strung his fingers together and let them hang between his knees. He looked relaxed and comfortable on the low chair.

  Carson didn’t let that fool him. He kept his guard up and the couch between them. “We’re not going to go back and destroy the gargoyles while they’re in their stone sleep?”

  Sherwood shook his head. “It would seem like a natural move, especially as we know where they’re nesting—a rare advantage with gargoyles. But there’s a powerful demon out there guarding them. Azazel. He’s hunting me because he knows I will kill him the moment I can re-gather my resources. All I have is Tally, who is untried.” Sherwood’s gaze flickered to the still form on the couch, and back up to Carson. “No offence.”

  “The gargoyles will abandon the nest tonight. You know that.”

  “You’re not the only one with experience hunting gargoyles, Connors. We’ll find them again—when we’re stronger.”

  “So we hide instead?”

  “We regroup,” Sherwood amended. “This apartment has been specifically warded against Azazel. He cannot enter without invitation.”

  “You’re a witch, too?”

  “I have friends.”

  “And money. Those sorts of wards don’t come cheap.”

  “No, they don’t,” Sherwood agreed. He sat unmoving, staring at Carson.

  “We regroup until when?”

  “I would prefer that Damian be on his feet again. He is a good right hand to have in a fight.”

  “He’s a hunter?”

  “A Spartan,” Sherwood amended.

  Carson considered that. The Spartans were considered one of the most effective foot soldiers in history. Sherwood wasn’t indulging his personal whims by delaying long enough for Damian to recover. With a short sword and a long knife, Damian would be a deadly fighting force. If they could find a way to give him a shield as well, very little would stop him. Only being caught unguarded and weaponless by a handful of gargoyles had slowed him down tonight. Carson had a feeling neither vampire would be caught flatfooted again.

  Gargoyles were the only creatures whose bites were toxic to vampires and until tonight demon hunters had crossed them off their list as extinct. The only reason he and Peter had been hunting them had been pure cha
nce: they had heard a police report of a murder victim with bite marks that had sounded suspiciously like what a gargoyle would do to a victim.

  Was that why they had sought out the weird sculptor, Moss Alex Meinhardt?

  Carson frowned to himself. The memory wasn’t there. It was part of the blank hole in his head.

  “You frown, Carson,” Sherwood said. “What displeases you now?”

  “My lack of memory about tonight’s events,” Carson said honestly. “I wish I knew what happened.”

  “As do we all.” Sherwood shrugged. “We will find out.”

  Carson grimaced. “In the meantime, you could tell me what you told Tally.”

  The vampire smiled. “Persistent, aren’t you?” The smile faded. “I told her you wanted her and that she should consider letting a liaison happen.”

  Carson could feel his jaw descending and caught it up. “What, you’re her pimp now?”

  “Damian and I have been almost surrogate parents for her since she was born. Her mother died when Tally was very young, and her father spent most of his time on the road—you know the lifestyle of hunting as well as anyone. Love advice is often part of a parent’s role.”

  “When I need help seducing a woman—“

  Sherwood stood up and abruptly was right there next to him. So much for keeping the couch between them. Carson could feel his heart creek with the suddenness of it. He realized that if Sherwood wanted to kill him, he could do it whenever he chose to. There was no way Carson could stop him. Not in this apartment, anyway. Not without preparations, not without sneaking up on Sherwood with every defense in place. Not without using every underhanded, back-stabbing method known to man. No wonder vampires had thrived despite centuries of hunting and persecution.

  Sherwood tilted his head a little. “Now you understand,” he said softly, as if he had been following Carson’s thoughts. “Never forget whose side we are on.”

  “Hers,” Carson replied.

  “Exactly.” Sherwood smiled. “Your role in Peter Grey’s death has yet to be established. I don’t believe you are guilty of wrong-doing, but I don’t believe your hands are without blood, either. If we learn the blood is of the wrong color, Connors, I will not be the first to cut them off. You know who will be, don’t you?”

  His heart was thundering. “Tally.”

  “I’m tempted to warn you not to let her beauty blind you, but if you are playing for the wrong side I’d rather see the look of stunned surprise on your face when she hacks out your heart with a rusty knife inside thirty seconds and barely raises her own pulse while she does it.”

  There was a feral expression of genuine enjoyment on Sherwood’s face. Carson was fervently glad that he was on the right team. Then he considered the gaping hole in his memory and shivered.

  “Is there a shower I can use?” he asked and wasn’t surprised to find his voice was hoarse.

  * * * * *

  After her shower, Tally made her way into the kitchen, hoping against hope that Nicholas might have some real food she could eat while Bloomingdale’s delivered the new clothes she had ordered and billed to Nick’s account. She looked inside the mostly empty fridge and sighed, then looked inside the freezer with more optimism. There were some frozen waffles that were probably there from the last time she had stayed over, and she headed for the pantry to see if there was some syrup, pushing up the over-long sleeves of Nick’s dressing gown. The copper and gold satin and brocade garment was so English and so proper that even in her own mind she couldn’t call it a bathrobe, and she felt vaguely guilty that it dragged on the ground because she wasn’t as tall as Nick.

  She found real maple syrup and grimaced to herself. It was close enough. She was too hungry to give Nick grief over not keeping his kitchen stocked to human standards when he never used it himself.

  “Think you could make enough for two?”

  She stifled her gasp, whirling.

  Carson Connors stood at the other end of the kitchen. He wore jeans and nothing else, and had clearly come in search of food after stepping out of the shower. His hair and skin were damp, and his shoulders gleamed dimly in the soft overhead light.

  “You move silently enough, I’ll give you that,” Tally said, putting the syrup on the counter next to the waffles.

  “Bare feet,” he said simply, moving toward her. His eyes looked black in this light. He hadn’t shaved—Nick and Damian did not need to, so there would be no shaving equipment in any of the bathrooms here. She liked the stubble on Carson, though. It made him look human. Different.

  She realized she was standing stock still in the middle of the floor as he approached her and made herself move back behind the counter. “There’s only frozen waffles,” she said.

  “Don’t care,” he said. “I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours.”

  “We could order in something. Or do both, if you’re hungry enough.”

  He stopped by her shoulder. “I’m hungry enough for all three.”

  She could smell him. Hot male. Spicy. Clean. Her breasts swelled beneath the gown, the nipples hardened. Her pussy throbbed. Her mouth grew dry.

  There was no need to ask what the third option was. She swiveled her head to look at him. He was watching her steadily, but when her gaze dropped to the base of his throat she saw the pulse there was beating fast and hard. She looked up at his face, into his eyes again, trying to spot what was driving the runaway beat there, but nothing showed.

  “You’re playing with me,” she told him. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “So Sherwood tried to warn me.” The corner of his mouth lifted and he reached out and pushed at the over wide neck of the gown. It dropped off her shoulder, exposing it, and most of the upper slope of her breast. It also trapped her arm against her side. He stroked her flesh, making her shiver. “I think Sherwood and I have different ideas about what ‘danger’ means.” His fingers were sending delicious fiery threads through her body, straight to her clitoris. Her pussy clenched, squeezing out juices. She was ferociously aware of her nakedness beneath the gown and that Carson merely had to tug on the satin sash and the gown would slither to the floor around her feet.

  She bit back a moan. She wanted desperately for him to do just that. She wanted him to take her in the most primitive, crude and roughest way. She ached for it. Her breath quickened.

  Carson pulled at the neck of the gown again, bringing it lower, exposing more of her shoulder and her breast. For a moment he stood and simply studied her. His jeans, she realized, were peaked at the front, bulging with his erect cock.

  He stepped closer to her, and cupped her face in his hands. “I have wanted to do this since I first saw you.” He touched his lips to hers and her breath rushed out of her. His tongue swept over her lips, gently.

  Then he kissed her, and she knew then that she had never been kissed before. Not properly. Not like this. It felt like Carson was pouring himself into the kiss. Hot energy raked through her, made her nerves fizz and her body come alive like a hot coal. As his tongue thrust into her mouth, sweeping deeper and deeper, she clung to him and drew him to her, encouraging him with wordless sounds and murmurs.

  She seemed to sink deeper into the kiss the longer it continued, until she was unsure of where she ended and Carson began.

  Finally, he broke the kiss, his chest heaving. “No woman has ever kissed me like that,” he said, panting. His eyes were very black.

  “I could say the same thing about you, Carson.” Her lips were swollen.

  He touched her lips with the tip of his forefinger, and the gesture was endearing. “I need to skip to dessert,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Now.” He picked her up around the waist and she found her legs were automatically curling around his waist, her arms around his neck. “Which way?” he demanded.

  She thought of protesting, but it would have been a token one. She wanted him. Why not let herself have him, as Nick suggested? She was safe inside a warded household, Nick was nearby, and her f
ather had trusted this man, too.

  Tally pointed. “Hurry,” she added.

  He strode from the kitchen and following her murmured instructions, up the stairs to the guest suite, to the big bedroom with the elegant king-sized four poster bed. She suspected it was a replica of a more refined time in Nick’s past, for she always felt like she had stepped back in history when she used the suite. Now she was glad of the big bed and the self-contained rooms.

  Carson put her on the bed and strode back to the door and shut it with evident satisfaction. “Now,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

  Her pulse jumped.

  “Now,” she echoed.

  “Except I won’t have you in his robe. Take it off.” He remained at the door, his arms crossed.

  She slipped to the end of the bed and stood up. Her heart was racing again as she pulled at the sash and felt it slither undone. That was all it took. The gown was so large on her, the neck slid off her shoulders and puddled about her ankles in a sea of satin and brocade. She remained still, except for the rise and fall of her breasts as her lungs worked quickly and her heart slammed in her chest.

  Her nipples were hard, excited peaks.

  Carson came toward her, moving slowly like a prowling animal, and she thought she might expire if he did not speed up. Her breath hitched and caught in her throat and he smiled at the sound.

  “Ah…you’ve been trained in the art of hunting, but you have a thing or two left to learn in the bedroom, my sweet.” He stepped behind her and pulled her hair back over her shoulder and that was worse, having him behind her. Her heart accelerated. She didn’t know what he might do next when she couldn’t see him.

  His hot lips pressed against her shoulder, making her gasp. She began to tremble. “Come around where I can see you,” she complained.

  “Oh no, I don’t think so,” he said, with a soft laugh. “Then you might relax. Are you taking birth control pills, Tally?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there is no need for…”