The Red Veil Diaries (Volumes 1-4)

by Marianne Morea

  Jaw tight, she stared at him. “I don’t need or want your pity.”

  “I don’t pity you, Abby. I’m just trying to understand you.”

  She climbed off the bed and pulled her skirt down, smoothing the front and sides before running a hand over her mussed hair.

  “There’s nothing to understand, and there’s certainly no need for any conversation other than what’s necessary to accomplish the task assigned us.” She drew in a steadying breath and frowned at the visceral taste of him lingering at the back of her throat.

  “That’s cold. You can’t ignore what just happened,” he countered.

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, naked and resting on his elbow. “Are you that hard up you need to make more of this than it is?” She dabbed a finger to the corner of her mouth. “We weathered a little hate sex. So what. Sometimes you need to let the steam out of the pot before it blows.”

  Her eyes betrayed her again, though, drifting to his still swollen member and she caught his smirk.

  “Lose the smug look, wolf-boy. You made me come. Big deal. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.”

  “We can always go for a new record. Olympic level orgasms.” He nudged her with his foot. “I’m game if you are.”

  His suggestion made her clit throb, and anger spiked at her body’s unconscious response. “Touch me again and instead of sucking your cock for fun, I’ll use it as a straw and drain you dry.”

  Without another word she turned and swung the door wide, leaving him there. He called after her, but she ignored him, stalking past Finn at the bottom of the stairs, disregarding him as well.

  “Uhm, should I—” Finn began, but one look from Abigail and he shut up.

  Yanking the front door open, she stepped out onto the tall steps and sucked in a breath. The wolf’s scent enveloped her, making her senses swim. It was all she could do not to turn on her high heels and ride him until he begged her to stay forever.

  She sniffed. “If you want a dog, Abigail, get one from the shelter.”

  She was lying to herself and she knew it. Dash Collier was in her blood and there was nothing she could do about it. The question was would she want to?

  8

  The Red Veil was in full swing. The clock read well past two a.m., yet people were everywhere, making Dash grateful for the quiet corner reserved for him in the VIP lounge.

  “Wait. Are you telling me you and Bette are officially an item?” he asked, eyeing Gehrig over his beer.

  His brother shrugged, stealing a glance at his new girlfriend, a huge grin spreading at her unexpected blush. “She gets that high color from me.” He gestured to her rosy glow. “Literally, man. From me.” He grabbed his crotch and gave it a squeeze.

  “Ugh. Do you have to be so crude?” Dash made a face.

  Bette giggled. “Dash is right babe, but then again I fancy your raunchy side.”

  Gehrig growled, moving Bette’s hand to his crotch as well.

  Dash rolled his eyes. “Okay, shock junkies. Dial it down on the touchy feely. Mission accomplished. At least now I know to take cover when the shit hits the fan tomorrow night.”

  Bette slipped her hand from between Gehrig’s legs to lace her fingers with his. “Why be negative, Dash? Gehrig and I both want to give this a chance. We’re no different from any other couple, despite the odds.”

  Dash put his drink on the square napkin. “What about the taboo? Sébastien is coming back tomorrow to check on the progress we’ve made on his stored blood—” He frowned, not finishing his thought.

  Gehrig took a deep sip from his beer. “If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t,” he countered. “I’m here to help with whatever you and Abigail have left to finish. Bette and I both are. We told you that yesterday.”

  “It’s not that.” Dash shook his head.

  “What then? If you’re concerned about the shit storm coming from Sean and Sébastien—” he spared a glance for Bette. “We’re prepared for that, too.”

  Dash exhaled. “It’s not that, either.” The older wolf rubbed a palm over his face. “Abigail and I will see the job through. You’re my brother, and I’ve got your back no matter what road your love life takes. It’s your choice who you hook up with.”

  His voice trailed off as he spotted Abigail on the other side of the dance floor walking toward her back office.

  She paused for a moment, her eyes finding his through the mob of moving bodies.

  Meeting the weight of her gaze, Dash moved to get up, but Bette put a staying hand on his arm.

  “What is going on?” Gehrig asked, looking from his brother to his girlfriend for an explanation.

  Dash didn’t reply, but Bette shifted her gaze from Dash to Abigail’s retreating figure and back again.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one with pink cheeks tonight.” Bette gave Dash a half a smirk.

  “You can tell that from here?” Dash glanced across the dance floor and back again, doubtful.

  Bette offered a small laugh, tapping on the corner of one eye. “Vampiric sight.”

  Gehrig’s mouth dropped open when he realized what she meant. “Ha! After all your preachy bullshit you went and melted the ice queen.” Grin on his face, he lifted his hand for a high-five. “Dog!”

  Exhaling again, Dash shook his head before picking up his beer. “Please, I’ve been called that enough over the past few days, not to mention a few other choice names. And I didn’t melt anyone. We sort of froze each other out, if you want to know the truth.” He frowned. “Parts of me still have freezer burn.”

  “Ouch.” Bette laughed. “Though, believe it or not, Abby’s not the bitch everyone thinks she is.”

  She waited, hoping Dash would take the clickbait and comment, but when he didn’t, she sighed. “In case you’re too pigheaded to figure it out on your own, Abigail is all hard candy coating, but only to protect the sweet mush on the inside. It’s all a front, Dash.”

  His eyes met Bette’s nod. “I know.”

  She put down her drink and slid over to take his hand. Surprised at how uncommonly warm her fingers were, he didn’t flinch.

  “Abigail expects the worst from everyone, especially those who are different from us,” she continued. “Every other race has disappointed her. Human, Fae, and especially Were. As for our own kind, we’re notorious for arrogance and superiority, so Abigail hides herself in a cloak of dominance.

  “She uses our natural conceit to keep lovers at bay and then discards them before there’s time for feelings to develop. Sometimes even before they’re done between her legs.”

  “Nice.” Gehrig chuckled, earning a slap on the arm from her

  “It’s not funny, babe.” She frowned. “Abigail’s nickname is Rough Rider, and not because she likes aggressive sex. It’s because she flays the skin from anyone who tries to get too close.”

  “Is this just an observation or are you giving me fair warning to back off?” Dash asked.

  Bette shook her head. “Abigail took pity on me when I had my heart broken by my sire. She witnessed what happened, and taught me to be hard for my own self-preservation, but I never took my pain and disappointment to the lengths she has. Abby’s made hate an art form, yet—”

  “Yet what?” Dash prompted at her hesitation.

  She looked at him. “These past few days with you—this is the closest I’ve seen her to cracking in almost one hundred years.”

  Gehrig exhaled hard. “Dude, maybe we better finish this job without Abigail. I know I jerked your chain about taking chances, but psychotic vampires are not the kind of playmates I had in mind.”

  He flashed Bette a quick smile. “I don’t mean you, love, but your friend Abigail is a train wreck waiting to happen and I don’t want my brother in any more danger than we bargained for.”

  Bette covered Gehrig’s hand. “I understand, but Dash is under Sébastien’s protection, like you. He has nothing to worry about.”

  Dash raked a hand throug
h his hair, and puffed out a rough breath. “I appreciate the insights, Bette, but you’re not telling me anything about Abigail I didn’t already suspect. Problem is, I can’t get her out of my mind. It’s like she’s infected my blood worse than any virus. I need to know what happened to make her so hard, but she’d rather slit my throat than talk.”

  “You could always ask Sébastien. He would know.” Bette offered. “He’s her maker. It all started with him.”

  Dash snorted. “Now that speaks volumes.” His smirk sobered and he looked at Bette, shaking his head. “Abby is going to tell me herself, even if it means I have to drag it out of her.”

  Bette’s customary easy humor faded. “Dash, please don’t take this the wrong way, but if this is just curiosity, then I’m asking as a friend—leave Abby alone. There’s nothing to be gained if you’re only aim is satisfying your own morbid fascination.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not curiosity, Bette. What I’m feeling goes way deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before. I can’t explain it.”

  Bette exhaled, patting Dash’s thigh. “Lots of layers to peel, then.” She shifted her gaze toward the doors leading to the back offices and the private entrance to Les Sanctuaire.

  “Dude.” Gehrig eyed his brother, shaking his head. “If you’re headed where I think you’re headed, better take a big blade.”

  A small grin tugged at Bette’s lips as she slid in beside Gehrig again. “From what Abigail said, he already has one of those.” Chuckling, she walked her fingers toward Gehrig’s crotch again. “Like older brother, like younger brother.”

  With a growl, Gehrig swept her up to straddle his lap. “You know it, baby.”

  Shaking his head, Dash drained his beer and then dropped a ten dollar tip on the table for the waitress, leaving them to their public display of affection.

  As he walked through the crowd toward the back offices, his mind replayed the events of the past two days. Abigail cried in his arms and it wasn’t just from the intensity of the sex.

  Or was it?

  He shook his head.

  It went deeper than that. He knew it in his gut.

  Her words said one thing all along, but her actions said otherwise. From her aloof, almost dismissive tone, to the way her eyes burned when she looked at him.

  Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since she stormed out of the bedroom at the shadow house, and he couldn’t shake the feeling there was a reason behind why Abigail had grabbed hold of his body and mind. It wasn’t her blood or the lure of the taboo. It was more than that and for some reason it felt old. He nodded to himself. Something unfinished.

  The bouncer posted in front of the private entrance barely nodded when he held the door open, and when the youngblood offered directions to Abigail’s office with a knowing smirk, Dash didn’t say a word.

  He didn’t care, just kept his wits about him, considering where he was and who else of the undead might be in residence tonight.

  Abigail’s office door was ajar. He pushed it open to find another youngblood sprawled naked on her couch.

  The beefy vampire cracked one eye open at the intrusion and yawned. “She’s not here.”

  “Any idea where I might find her?” Dash asked, trying to keep his face impassive.

  The bloodsucker tucked one arm under his head giving Dash a one over. “You the new wolf?”

  Dash nodded and the vampire answered with a grin. “So you’re the one who got Frosty the Snow Bitch so hot and bothered. Man, I don’t know what you did, but she was torqued and ready tonight. Her pussy was already soaked when she pulled me in here. It was good. Fast, but Mmmm, delicious.” He licked his lips, fondling his balls.

  Dash pivoted on his heel to leave.

  “Don’t waste your time, man. I mean it,” the youngblood called after him, leaning up on one elbow as the wolf stopped, but didn’t turn.

  “Take my advice, one dude to another. She’s not made for your kind, wolf. Hell, she’s barely made for our kind. If she wants you, just fuck her for the hell of it and be grateful she doesn’t kill you in the process.”

  “Where. Is. She?” Dash ground out.

  “Probably feeding” the vampire said through a yawn. “After the way she rode me, she definitely needs refueling. Her rooms are upstairs toward the back, but you’re not allowed above club level. You’ll never make it past the guard.”

  Dash glanced over his shoulder at the languid bloodsucker. “Watch me.”

  

  Dash walked down the corridor, careful not to call too much attention to himself. Not that it mattered. The vampires could smell him a mile away.

  Abigail’s suite was the one at the end of the hall to the left, according to the less than enthusiastic guard at the lair’s entrance.

  Dash had Sébastien to thank for his get-out-of-jail-free card or the sentinel would have made him a free lunch. Still, it was no picnic convincing the undead Neanderthal to check the log for approved guests while dodging a set of razor sharp fangs.

  Abigail and four other elder vampires shared the building’s middle floor, while Sébastien had the entire penthouse to himself, with a separate staircase leading to council chambers and the infamous backrooms of the club.

  Dash heard the stories about those quarters and what went on behind closed doors, and based on the little he witnessed, there was no doubt in his mind about the depraved pleasures housed in those back rooms.

  Mild curiosity would kill more than just the cat when it came to sticking ones dick where it wasn’t welcome.

  Besides, admission was strictly vampire, and even then only by invitation. He had no intention of switching teams, however curious he might be. Losing his place in the sun for a fuck session on a bed of sharpened nails was a deal breaker however hot and tasty the vampiric lure.

  He stopped in front of what he hoped was the right door, and knocked.

  “Abigail?”

  No answer.

  He made a face. Wasn’t it like a woman to give the silent treatment where it wasn’t warranted? He knew she could smell him as clearly as he smelled her. She was playing tit for tat, but he had good reason for not answering when she first knocked on the guestroom door at the shadow house. An adrenaline soaked Were was not one for rational conversation.

  He sighed. Then again, perhaps a starving, sexually frustrated vampire wasn’t either.

  “I know you’re in there, Abigail. I can smell you through the door. Talk to me!”

  Nothing.

  Dash inhaled again and the taste on his tongue was the same as what permeated her office. Sweat, blood and saliva. A confusing wash of anger and jealousy flooded his veins and heat skittered across his skin.

  “Abigail!”

  Still nothing.

  “You’re going to have to face me sooner or later.” He pounded on the door, shouting, his voice echoing purposefully for everyone to hear. It was a dirty trick and he knew it. “You’re afraid, Abby. You know it and I know it.”

  The door yanked open and Abigail stood in the threshold, her eyes blazing. “Why can’t you leave me alone? What makes you think I’d have anything to say after you shout my business to everyone in the building?”

  He blinked at her, taken aback. The usually elegant vampire was a mess. Her hair was a tangled nest and her mouth and throat were smeared with blood. Her once delicate silk shirt was torn down the center exposing bare breasts. It hung in long shreds to the top lace of her thigh-high stockings, but he knew she was otherwise naked underneath.

  Stunned for a moment, he shook off his surprise, concentrating instead on what made him barge in on her in the first place.

  A moan from inside the apartment pulled his attention from Abigail’s disheveled appearance.

  Behind her a young man lolled against a black leather chair, his eyes glazed in a satiated daze. His skin was ashen, and his throat, chest and arms dripped with blood from where she fed, yet he seemed almost blissful.

  Dash pushed past her. “What the h
ell, Abby? He smells half dead!” The question didn’t need an answer and the young man cried out in protest when Dash pulled him to his feet. “Can’t you see he needs help or he’ll die?”

  “Well, well. What have we here?” Another vamp-in-residence asked from the still open doorway. “I thought I sniffed something fresh and delicious.”

  With a giggle, the youth wormed his arm from Dash’s grip and stumbled toward the waiting vampire, the bloodsucker’s undead eyes already dilating with thirst.

  “For God’s sake, he needs help.” Dash took a step toward the door. “Abigail took too much from him.”

  “I would worry more about who is going to help you, wolf.” The vampire looked past Dash to Abigail. “I’ll return him when I’m done, sweetie. It looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

  A vase sailed past, missing Dash by a fraction of an inch. Ceramic blue shattered against the wall, but the wolf didn’t flinch.

  “Are you done? Because we really need to talk.” Dash asked, toeing broken glass to the side with his foot.

  “I have nothing to say to you.” She turned on her heel and headed toward the bathroom.

  “Walking away isn’t going to solve anything, Abby, and you know it.”

  She switched on the tap to wash her face, ignoring him as he moved to the bathroom doorway.

  “You’re being a baby and for someone as old as you that’s pretty embarrassing.” With a smirk, he crossed his arms and leaned on the door jamb.

  Glancing at Dash’s reflection in the mirror, Abby grabbed a towel and dried her face. “At least I don’t age seven-to-one in dog years, Fido.”

  “Woof.” He grinned, letting his eyes take in every inch of her. Bette was right. Abigail’s color was plump and pink, with an air of human health and vitality.

  “Abby, c’mon. The silent treatment is for weak women with nothing to say.” He tried again. “—and you are never at a loss for words.”

  She shrugged out of her ruined blouse, wiping what was left of the blood from her neck and collarbone before turning to lean her lower back against the porcelain vanity, naked except for her sheer black stockings.