“We’re sitting here arguing about who’s more to blame.” She chuckled. “We can’t be in too much trouble if we’re doing that, right?”
Dev hesitated, then snorted. “I suppose not.”
She stood up and crossed the space between their two chairs, lowering into a kneel in front of him. She set her hand on his knee. “Now we’re starting over.”
“Ah.” His lips twisted. “Nice to have that clarified.”
“You and I…we’ve always known how to have a good time together, so let’s do that. What do you say we hop in the shower, suds each other up, and show each other what we like?”
He searched her face for a long moment.
“Doesn’t that sound like fun?” she asked.
“Yeah, but…are you sure?”
She squeezed his knee. “Never more.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Luvera hugged the Lalique crystal swan bowl against her breasts and looked around her apartment, trying to decide where to put it. On the standing bookshelf next to the Swarovski crystal swan figurine Alex had given her yesterday? Or on the coffee table beside the ceramic vase with a hand-painted swan on it which he’d given her the day before? She sighed a soft breath. In the ten days since the Tribunal had ended, Alex had been coming by every day to give her a present and ask her out. So far his gifts had all been swan themed.
Swans mated for life, he’d told her with one of his charmingly goofy Alex smiles.
No hidden subtext there, right?
Luvera bit her lips together. He was so danged chipper about her rejections, too, that was one of the worst parts. No long face. No attempt at a guilt trip.
“Okay,” he’d say, still smiling. “I’ll be back tomorrow to ask you again.”
Why she didn’t tell him not to bother, she didn’t know, except for the obvious part that she loved seeing him. Which was unfair of her. She could never be with Alex, no matter how much she yearned to say yes to him. She’d made her bed by blood-claiming another man with that Blood Ride. It didn’t matter that she’d bound herself through a cultural stricture rather than a physical one, she still had to lie in her consequences. Forever. Alone.
Tears climbed up the back of her throat. Stars, not again. She wept so easily these days. But then, she’d been on one heck of an emotional rollercoaster ride for quite some time, struggling through the long recovery from the aftereffects of that Blood Ride with Shon, discovering the Nichita family’s dirty secrets, being smack in the middle of the life-altering event of moving into her own place—her mother had kicked her out of the house the day after the Tribunal, though kindly—and all of that topped off with Alex’s heartbreaking pursuit.
Thank goodness for Jennilith. Her new roommate had been an incredible support during—
Someone knocked on the door.
Crud. She wasn’t in the mood for visitors. Setting the crystal bowl on the coffee table, she wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms as she crossed her living room. She opened the door, and a surprised breath escaped her. “Shon.”
His black eyes were turbulent, and his body looked spring-loaded inside his black T-shirt and jeans, all rigid muscle poised to strike.
Oh, boy. She tightened her hand around the doorknob. Dealing with Shon in a bad mood definitely wasn’t on her wish list of things to do right now. “What do you want, Shon? This isn’t a good time.”
“Apparently no time is good for you, Luvera.” He shoved passed her into her apartment, jerked the door out of her hand, and slammed it shut. “I’ve had my dick on ice for over two weeks now, waiting for you to come by and finish what we started.”
A knot of shame curdled in her stomach. “Shon, no. We can’t…mess around anymore.”
“That’s awfully damned selfish of you, don’t you think?” His shoulders hunched up beneath his tight T-shirt, somehow making him look more threatening than usual, which was quite a feat by Shon standards. “You got your fun. I want mine.”
“No, you don’t, I’m telling you. Blood Rides are awful.”
His upper lip tugged upward. “It didn’t seem so awful when you were wriggling against my face.”
“For heaven’s sake!” She felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair. “Could you please not talk about it like that, and I meant afterwards. Ingesting the blood of someone who’s not your mate is like poisoning yourself. You’ll feel miserable for weeks, I swear.”
“Your concern is touching. But I think I’ll worry about taking the hit later and get my jollies now.” Grabbing her by the arm, he hauled her, stumbling, to the couch and shoved her down onto it. He planted himself right in front of her, his crotch at eye level.
Her belly clenched and hot prickles ran the length of her spine. “Shon, stop this.” She tried to get to her feet.
He pushed her back down, retaining a hold on one of her wrists. A knife appeared in his hand, and with a quick slash, he cut across her inner forearm.
She gasped as blood welled in a thin line across her skin, bright red drops dribbling down her fair flesh. The rich, molasses-thick scent of it filled the air, and a tremor raced through her upper jaw. She yanked at her wrist. “I said, stop. I don’t want to do this.”
Shon stared down on her with merciless eyes. “Did you or did you not come when I ate out your pussy?”
Mortification flushed her cheeks. “Would you quit being so disgusting!”
“Is it or is it not fair that I receive the same consideration?”
“I—” The rest of the sentence died on her tongue. She didn’t have the strength to feint and parry around Shon’s manipulations anymore. Emotionally, she’d already been run over by a truck. Maybe two. She had no idea what the rules of an illegal Blood Ride were. On some twisted level, it probably was fair to give him a turn, she…just couldn’t do it, not after learning she was the product of an act her mother hadn’t wanted. Not after realizing how badly she’d messed up her life by being a doormat. If she’d had an ounce more bravery, maybe she wouldn’t have hidden her true feelings for Alex behind a guise of friendship and instead, encouraged him to ask her out before she’d irrevocably wrecked everything with that Blood Ride.
“Perhaps it is fair, Shon,” she granted him. “But I’m sorry, I just can’t. It messes me up too much being with someone who”—I don’t love—“who’s not my mate. You, too, I think.” Truth was, she’d never seen him like this. This was more than just his usual heartless manipulation. This was outright belligerence.
“Nice speech.” He sneered. “Now suck my dick.” With his free hand, he wrested his pants open.
She didn’t wait to see what he’d exposed. She shot off the couch and slammed her hands into his chest, shoving him backward. “That’s enough!”
He staggered back two paces, caught his footing, then leapt at her.
She kicked out at him, aiming high for his testicles. A mistake.
Shon hooked her heel with his palm and jerked upward.
She flipped off her feet and crashed onto her back.
Shon jumped on top of her.
Her fangs shot angrily into her mouth. “No!” She lashed out with a clawed hand. Her nails caught his cheek, raking scratches across his flesh.
He growled. “I’m this close to punching you in the face, Luvera.” His upper lip peeled back from fully extruded fangs, long, white razors gleaming murderously in the lamplight. “You’ve already blood-claimed me. Why are you fighting finishing it?”
She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and straight-armed him off her body. “And be obliged to you for feedings for the rest of my life?” she grated. “I’d rather die, you demonic piece of trash!”
“Brings a man tear to my eye, really it does.” Locking her body between his hard thighs, he seized the arm he’d sliced, his fingers like metal pincers around her wrist, and latched his mouth onto the cut, sucking greedily at her blood.
She screamed when a fang indented her skin. The idiot was going to bite her! She head-butted him in the nose
, hearing the solid thump of bone on bone. Her eyes crossed and mini meteors streaked across her vision.
She heard Shon grunt and felt him wobble.
She thrust her arm out to the side and her fingers found the leg of the standing bookshelf with the Swarovski swan on it. She wrenched hard, bringing it crashing down on top of them.
It knocked Shon sideways.
She kicked the rest of the way free and scrambled to her feet, running for the door. Panic locked off her throat when she heard Shon right behind her. He’d catch her before she made it outside! Her gaze zeroed in on the alarm button on the wall to the left of the doorjamb. Leaping through the air, she slapped her palm against the button just as Shon caught her by the arm and jolted her backward.
His fingers gripping her shoulders to the bone, Shon glared at the flashing yellow light: the community’s 911 system. At this very moment an emergency signal was being sent to the computer command center in the mansion. From there, the warriors on duty would be notified of trouble in her apartment.
“Dammit!” Shon threw her to the floor and fumbled to fasten his pants.
She thrust to her feet again, tore open the door, and dove into the hallway, flinging herself so hard from her apartment that she crashed into the opposite wall. With a cry, she collapsed.
“Luvera!”
It was Dev! Her brother was heading down the corridor, his steely eyes leveled on her. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“He’s trying to force me!” she yelled. “P-please help.”
Jacken was coming down from the other end of the hallway, his brows low, one hand gripped around the hilt of a knife in his crisscrossed holster set.
“Who?” Dev demanded, rage firing in his eyes. “Nilan? Viorel?”
Shon materialized in her apartment doorway, his chin down, his eyes black laminate.
“Shon!” Dev called out. “Thank God.” He sidled forward another step. “Who’s in there with her, man?”
Jacken understood first. He froze in place, his chin jerking as an expression of pain crossed his face.
Dev hesitated a step as his gaze narrowed in on the scratch marks on Shon’s face. “Why, you little fuck!” He hurtled down the hallway and snatched up Shon by the front of the shirt, hauling him forward into a brutal punch. With a bloodcurdling roar, Dev drove Shon to the floor and hit him, again and again and again.
Sobbing, Luvera scuttled away as Shon’s blood sprayed across her pants.
“Nichita!” Jacken hauled Dev off Shon. “Enough!”
Dev struggled to get back at the beating, the gleam in his silver eyes serrated to pure wrath.
Shon sprawled motionless on the carpet, half-conscious and bleeding. He’d never raised a single hand to defend himself.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
One week later: Topside, 7:32 a.m.
Marissa checked into her room at the Sheraton Hotel on Harbor Island Drive near the San Diego airport, and promptly threw up.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, planting a hand on the rim of the toilet seat and pushing herself to her feet. What was wrong with her? Was she having a weird withdrawal reaction from being away from Dev? She still didn’t know all of the ins and outs of being a Vârcolac mate, but maybe on some level it was just as difficult for her to be apart from Dev, as it was for him, even though she wasn’t biologically bonded to him. Because, really, she’d only been gone from the community for a couple of hours, and she already missed him. A lot.
In her defense, she was still a newlywed, and being married to Dev was great…not just regular great, but Tony the Tiger greeeeeeat. She and her new husband had made it past that rocky start with flying colors. Their mojo was really going when it came to making love…snuggling together, cooking together, going out to the movies or dinner—everything! And the thought of spending three nights away from him made her want to barf again.
And if she was feeling this bad off, how was he doing? Just a little over two weeks after the initial bond wasn’t all that long to expect a male Vârcolac to be fully Feng Shui about his female. Dev’s cells were completely through The Change, yes, but for a while his protective instincts would be prickly about being away from her. And it’d been a very bristly Dev who’d stood blocking her way to the elevator leading down to Ţărână’s garage. He’d looked about as moveable as a cement building with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest and his brows set in a stern ridge.
“Dev, we’ve talked about this,” she’d said, trying for patience. “I’ve been planning to attend this chef seminar ever since I moved to Ţărână. You know that, and the Council agreed.”
Dev’s scowl deepened. “That was before all this shit went down with my sister. I can’t go topside with you now, Marissa. Luvera’s going to court tonight, and I need to be here for her. I’ve spent too much of my life not supporting her, and…” A tightness flashed through his jaw. “I think she tried to ask for my help one night at Garwald’s, but I didn’t listen to her. I’m not going to leave her in the lurch again.”
“I know, and that’s so great. I one hundred percent back you up on that, honey. But this seminar is really important to me.” She touched his arm. “You know you’d just hole up in the hotel room during the day, anyway.”
“But at least I’d be there in case something happened,” he insisted testily.
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
He ha’d. “The Om Rău know about you, Riss.”
She’d handled the news that there existed a demon race called Om Rău—some living up top, others underground—who also considered Dragon women like herself to be a hot commodity, with her usual moment of huh? followed pretty quickly by, crap, really? “I’m out of danger now that we’re mated.” One of the side benefits of being “marked” by her Vârcolac husband was that she could bear only his children, her “selective fertility” removing her from hot commodity status.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Dev countered with a narrowing of his eyes.
Yes, well…there seemed to be some vague question over whether or not the unique Om Rău-Fey heritage of the topside enemy could overcome a Vârcolac marking. But the bad guy in charge, Raymond Parthen, seemed intent on proving the accuracy of this breeding glitch with Toni alone. So…
“I don’t want to cower in a corner over something that no one’s sure about, Dev. I’ve already promised never to leave the hotel.” No way did she want to be reunited with Murk or, worse, Videon, either. “Try to remember that I lived topside for years on my own, okay?” She smiled and patted his bearded cheek.
So here she was, at a seminar she’d fought like the dickens to get to, and all she wanted was to go home.
She glanced at her watch, and, yikes. She needed to get her butt moving. She quickly brushed her teeth, threw on her apron, and rushed down to the hotel lobby. Checking in punctually at eight o’clock, she found an itinerary for the day’s classes and pasted a nametag on the breast of her apron. With time left over, she mingled with her colleagues at the morning coffee mixer. She saw friends Charlize and Lara, and waved. She knew about a quarter of the chefs here, but those two women were the only ones she considered friends. Thank you Dragon heritage for keeping everyone at a long arm’s length for all my years. Life among regular humans basically sucked. The thought prompted another wave of homesickness for Ţărână and Dev, her emotions jiggling her stomach in not a good way. She pressed a hand to her belly. How nice was it that she was going to be around food all day? If they cooked anything with fish or seafood, she’d definitely vomit again.
A soft, tinkling bell announced the beginning of the first session. She glanced at her itinerary and glumly moved with the rest of the crowd, her feet weighted with lead. What. Is. My. Problem? This seminar was prestigious, not just for anyone. She dang well needed to treat this like the privilege it was, not a chore.
Making her way to her assigned cook station, she introduced herself to her partner. They chatted for a bit about the teacher, legendary Fre
nch chef Pomeroy Lefèbvre, but were interrupted by the arrival of the director of the seminar, a short, thin man in a bright red apron.
“Well, my gaydar’s going off,” her partner murmured in her ear. “How about yours?”
Marissa smiled vaguely. “I’m not crazy about his expression.” She fiddled with a wooden spoon. That was a bad news is coming face, if she’d ever seen one.
The director drew himself up. “Ladies and gentleman, I regret to inform you—”
“I knew it,” Marissa hissed.
“—that Monsieur Lefèbvre has been detained in Paris.”
A round of discontented murmurings circled the room.
“Peachy,” her partner sniped.
“Please.” The director held up a palm. “I assure you that we’ve found a superb substitute. The woman chose to replace him is a protégé of Monsieur Lefèbvre’s, having graduated from the prestigious Johnson and Wales University before studying a year in Paris.”
Marissa tightened her fist around her spoon, an uneasy suspicion slithering up her spine. Johnson and Wales University? It couldn’t be…
“Today’s expert chef is the granddaughter of the celebrated French vintner, Angelique Cuvier and—”
Marissa drew a painful breath.
“—has recently turned the critics on their ears with her innovative cuisine at San Diego’s newest French restaurant, Le Bistrot Angoulême.”
Marissa seized the counter of her cook station, feeling her face drain of color. Bile and horror inched up her throat.
“My fellow chefs, I give you”—the director gestured grandly toward a door at the front of the class—“Natalie Bonaventure.”
Marissa clutched her cell phone in unsteady hands, barely able to punch the number for a community transport into the keypad, her rapid breathing pushing her dangerously close to hyperventilating. Thank God no one else was in front of the hotel right now to bear witness to her steady decline into a fricking breakdown.
The phone rang seven times, then cut off. No answer again. Where the hell are you, Candace? The Traveler was supposed to have a long list of pickups and deliveries today, enough to keep her busy from the early morning hours into late this afternoon. The woman should still be topside!
The Community Series, Books 1-3 Page 61
