Bloodhunter

by Laken Cane

  There wasn’t a spot on my body that wasn’t screaming to be touched. “Clayton…”

  Still, he didn’t move. “Say it.”

  I slid my hand over his flat abdomen and cupped his thick erection. “I want you.”

  “Why?” he whispered, but fiercely.

  I realized he thought I either pitied him or was offering him sex in exchange for saving Angus’s life.

  “Because you make me hot,” I said, squeezing him through his pants. “Because my body wants your body. Because you are so dangerous and sexy and hard, and because I want to be the first and only person who gives you everything you’ve been denied since she brought you back. I want to be the one who makes you feel good. I want that bond with you. I want you, Clayton.”

  Part of me was terrified that Miriam would suddenly appear and announce she’d found a way to reclaim him, even though he’d been possessed, and would rip him out of my arms.

  And right then, I wasn’t thinking of Angus lying at death’s door, his hand poised to knock. Shameful as it was, lust battered at my brain and my body, and I cared only about satisfying my need. And Clayton’s.

  God, I did want him. So much. I grabbed his hand and dragged it to my body, then guided it between my legs. “I need you,” I said, breathless and weak beneath the onslaught of desire.

  Finally, Clayton lost his control.

  He and Seth Damon flung me to the floor and followed me down with a growl that heated my blood even as it scared the hell out of me.

  I was about to taste two supernaturals so full of lust they were terrifying and dangerous and almost feral in their desperation. And one of them was so extremely vulnerable and wounded and mine.

  I’d never been so excited in my life.

  Chapter Forty

  It had been so long for Clayton that he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t take time to explore my body or whisper into my ear or see what I’d taste like. He couldn’t let me take time to touch him or kiss him or do everything he’d been deprived of since he’d returned from the grave.

  Not the first time.

  The first time, he yanked my jeans to my knees, shoved me onto to my side and lay behind me, pumping into me so hard I thought I might break. His hunger was as extreme as a starving vampire’s need for blood. He plunged into me, filling me up, holding onto me with a bruising grip, groaning as he climaxed.

  He came so hard and violently I felt him release inside me. All he wanted, at that moment, was that release.

  But the second time…

  He lay on his back, his heart thundering beneath my ear as I rested my cheek on his chest. He was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and he stared at the ceiling, his limbs loose and heavy as he swam through the aftereffects of his release.

  “Trinity,” he whispered, finally, hoarsely.

  I kissed his chest, my hand on his ribs, unable not to touch him. “Do you have more?” Desire screamed through me, wrapped around me, battered me.

  He sat up, his energy climbing with his lust, and kicked off his shoes. He didn’t take his stare off me as he undressed, and with each new part of his body he revealed, I became a little more impatient. A little hotter.

  I fell deeper into Clayton.

  When his clothes lay on the floor, he reached for me. He buried his fingers in my hair and shuddered, his forehead against mine, then he tilted his head and took my lips with his.

  It had been forever since he’d had the freedom to kiss a woman, or make love to a woman, or even touch a woman, but he wasn’t hesitant. He might have forgotten what it was like, but he hadn’t forgotten how to do it.

  His kiss went from warm and deep and languid to intense and almost frantic, and with that kiss, the heat between us began to grow into overwhelming need. He slid his tongue into my mouth and tasted me before he drew back to look at me.

  He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, struggling to control himself.

  His stare was no longer blank. It was filled with a man’s heat. It was full of wonder and appreciation, darkness and mystery, love, even, but behind all that was the fear and the knowledge that it wouldn’t last. That his freedom wasn’t real. I could see it as clearly as I could see his hunger.

  I wanted to make him forget everything but his desire. I wanted him to have nothing in those eyes but that moment, that moment in my arms.

  And I was wearing too many clothes. When I reached for my shirt he stopped me.

  “I’ll do that.” He stood, lifting me with him, and paused to kiss the corner of my lips, to gently bite the edge of my chin, and to brush his lips over my throat before he began to undress me.

  I released a shuddery breath and forced myself to stay still as he dropped my shirt to the floor and stared down at me. He slid a thumb over the scars on my chest, then cupped my breast, his hot, rough palms scraping the nipple with an almost agonizing gentleness.

  Chills shook my body and goosebumps arose on my skin. I was both hot and cold. I grew heavy and wet between my thighs even as my mouth became dry, and my chest tightened as my legs grew weak and shaky.

  And he was just getting started.

  An image of Angus floated into my mind, not the image of him injured and in a jail cell, but the image of him shoving his huge hardness against me, followed immediately by the memory of Shane thrusting into me, of Miriam caressing my arm, and then of Amias holding my legs open as he shoved his mouth against my wetness, sucking and licking with an intensity that was so vivid I cried out.

  We were all linked, at that moment. We were all there.

  The demon inside Clayton was no longer powerful enough to suck the life force from me or take me to a place of despair, but he was a sex demon, and he was strong enough to force-feed me images and memories that filled me with overwhelming lust.

  Clayton fed that lust with his torturous care and slowness and lips and tongue and fingers and need, and when I finally stood naked and trembling before him, I was consumed by him. There was nothing else.

  I put my hands on his shoulders for balance as he urged my legs apart and slid his fingers between them. He closed his eyes as he probed, sliding his fingers through the wetness, rubbing the softly swelling flesh, then slipping a finger inside me.

  “Oh, God,” I cried, and he opened his eyes to watch me, something dark and fierce and proud in his hot stare.

  “I missed the feel of a woman,” he murmured. “I missed the scent. The taste.”

  He shuddered and closed his eyes for a second, then withdrew his fingers and leaned his forehead against mine. “The demon doesn’t want to go slowly. He doesn’t want do anything but fuck you.”

  I tightened my grip on his arms. “Then we will take our time. And the demon can go fuck himself.”

  That surprised a hoarse laugh from him and unable to resist, I pressed my lips against his smiling ones, then whispered his name into the warmth of his mouth.

  Then I stepped back, and when he reached for me, I shook my head. “Let me look at you.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides and stood still for me, but his body vibrated with hunger and need and impatience.

  He stared over my head, and when I got a chance to look at his body, really look at it, first, I wanted to cry, and then, I wanted only to make him forget. Like that would have been possible.

  I’d known he’d been tortured. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d known Miriam had hurt him. But his body…

  His body.

  “It wasn’t all Miriam.” He spoke gently into my devastated silence. “I lived a rough life. And it no longer matters. Only this matters.” He took my hand to his cock, folded my fingers around it, and squeezed. “Have your feels, Trinity, but hurry. Because I want to be inside you.”

  I looked away from his scars, scars that were on top of scars, and I nodded. His pain was from the past, and he no longer lived in the past. There was only this moment, and…

  “You’re perfect,” I told him, hoping my eyes were as clear and sincere as my hea
rt.

  Because he was.

  His body was lean and smooth, but for the scars, and scars didn’t make a person imperfect. They only told a story.

  “I wish I’d known you,” I said fiercely. “I wish you’d been mine.”

  Because I would have saved him.

  I wanted to cry for him.

  His hot stare nearly set my hair on fire. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to him. “Stop it. I’m not a broken man. I’m just a man. I need something more than your pity and your horror.”

  “Then take it, Clayton. Take what you need.”

  He groaned, then yanked me against his body, and his grip was tight as he carried me to the sofa. He dropped me to it and followed me down, his passion feeding mine.

  I caught glimpses of the demon in his eyes, and I felt his influence in Clayton’s touches. I heard him in Clayton’s moans, and I knew Clayton wasn’t the only one enjoying his freedom. The demon was no longer sick—at least not physically.

  And the demon liked sex.

  A lot.

  I lay naked and sprawled on the couch before both of them, and both of them slid their fingers into me and rubbed me and kissed me and ran their tongues over my breasts.

  But eventually, there was only Clayton. He was the only one I cared about, the only one I saw. Let the demon have his fun. As long as he couldn’t mess with my mind, I really didn’t care what he saw or what he did.

  To me, there was only Clayton.

  And when I climbed on top of Clayton and took him into my mouth, I wasn’t sucking the demon.

  Clayton lost control and grew rough and hard and almost mindless in his hunger, and that was okay. My passion was a match for his. My need was as big. My lust was as strong.

  Over and over and over, until finally, our bodies could do no more. In the end, we found ourselves on the floor, and we lay spent and replete and sticky and hot, and he kept his arms wrapped around me as though he would never let me go.

  But Angus was dying.

  Clayton’s arms tightened as he felt me stiffen and knew what was coming, knew our time was at an end, and he rose up over me to give me one last, long, tender kiss.

  When he pulled away and stared down at me, regretful but resigned, I saw something in his eyes that made me cry out in terror. I saw the absence of something.

  The demon was gone.

  Chapter Forty-One

  I sat in the middle of the filthy floor, stunned. “What have we done? Where did…how did he go?” I beat suddenly at my chest, unable to breathe, as I feared for a second that the incubus had climbed somehow into me.

  But no. He couldn’t have. I would have felt him. I would have known.

  “I don’t know.” Clayton began to get dressed, slowly, methodically. Passionlessly.

  “But how? Did he go home?” I looked up at him, half disbelieving, though I didn’t doubt he felt the demon’s absence. “He went home and Angus will die.”

  He reached down and plucked me from the floor, then wrapped his arms around me as I stood silent and horrified. He said nothing, because there was nothing to say.

  But then, he tightened his arms for one brief second, so tightly it hurt, and a dark force descended upon him. I felt it.

  It was the feeling of absolute darkness. Of bleakness. Of despair.

  And I remembered that feeling. I’d lived it.

  I put my hands to my mouth, as though the invisible incubus might take my breath. “He’s back! The demon is back?”

  Clayton’s face was blank, his voice emotionless. “Not that demon.”

  And I saw it in his eyes—eyes that no longer contained the spark they’d held a mere five minutes earlier.

  “No,” I whispered. “Oh, no, Clayton.”

  “We have a connection,” he said, blankly polite. “Miriam and I. She knew the moment the incubus was gone.”

  “And her hold is once again established,” I realized.

  I think he would have broken down right then, if he could have. Instead, he set me aside and strode toward the door. Before he pulled it open, I thought I heard him sigh. “What you’ve given me will stay with me forever, Trinity. I will lose myself in those memories when life gets…” He shrugged, then turned to look at me. “Too difficult.”

  “Clayton.” My heart broke for him. Clayton was once again a slave to Miriam and her darkness, and Angus was dying. It was more than I could handle.

  “I could have tried to end my life while the incubus was inside me,” he said. “I didn’t. This is not your fault. Neither is Angus.”

  “Doesn’t matter if it’s my fault or not. It’s unbearable. All of it.”

  He gave me—and my bare body—one last, lingering look, then turned away once more. “She calls, and I must answer.”

  His pain from delaying was extreme.

  I wouldn’t have known except for the flinching around his eyes and the way he held his body, stiff and careful, as though he might shatter if he moved too quickly. Clayton could hide anything, even the agony of disobedience. Didn’t mean he didn’t feel it, though, and my heart broke a little more.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  Miriam would be ecstatic.

  Then Clayton opened the door.

  And the world outside sprang to a nightmarish life.

  Infecteds flung themselves at us, shrieking their pain and rage and devastating hunger.

  Clayton slammed the door shut, then bent forward, his jaw clenched and sweat beading on his face. “Fuck,” he ground out.

  He couldn’t resist for long. The vampires would tear him to shreds, but his will did not belong to him. It belonged to Miriam, and she would force him to go to her, no matter what.

  I ran to the window, yanked down the dusty curtains, and stared with horror. I hadn’t even been aware night had fallen. And outside the cabin vampires had gathered, waiting.

  There weren’t a few vampires or even a few dozen. There appeared to be hundreds. Hundreds of mad, ravenous vampires.

  They surrounded the cabin. They surrounded us.

  Not even Silverlight could get us through a crowd like that. I ran to the backdoor, yanked it open, then managed to slam it shut a millisecond before vampires began throwing themselves against it.

  Vampires couldn’t enter a house without an invitation. But those were infecteds, and I really had no idea what they could or could not do.

  I wasn’t taking any chances.

  But even as I turned back to Clayton, I realized the futility of our situation. He huddled against the wall, his hands curled into fists, the cords of his neck standing in sharp relief.

  “I have to go. Trinity. I have to go.”

  Miriam had said he couldn’t die. If the vampires got hold of him, I was pretty sure they’d prove her wrong. Very, very wrong.

  I raced to my scattered clothes and dug my cell phone out of my jacket pocket. I put it on speaker, then hurried to get dressed as it rang.

  Miriam answered. “Trinity, where are you? We’ve been trying to call you.”

  “Miriam,” I yelled, yanking on my boots, “stop summoning Clayton. We’re surrounded by infecteds and if he leaves this cabin, he’s fucking dead.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re in the cabin in the woods.” I ran to Clayton. “Where we caught the incubus.”

  “You and Clayton,” she said, deadly calm. “You’re together.”

  Miriam was pissed.

  I wrapped my arms around Clayton, but that only seemed to make him worse. He groaned and shoved himself away from me, and as though his feet were trapped in tar, he struggled to reach the door.

  And he struggled not to reach the door.

  “Miriam,” I begged. “Please, stop.”

  “I can’t. It just is, Trinity, and I can’t turn it off.”

  “Then he’s dead,” I whispered.

  But she was already gone.

  I grabbed my cell and dropped it into my pocket, then took a deep breath and drew Silverligh
t from her sheath. There was nothing to do but help Clayton fight his way back to his mistress. I wasn’t letting him go out there alone.

  He reached the door with his gun in one hand and a blade in the other. “Stay inside,” he ordered, his voice thick with pain.

  “Not tonight, buddy.” I grabbed the doorknob and flung open the door. “Stay behind me. I’ll get you through or die trying.”

  My heart lifted, even with the bleakness of the situation. I was about to fight, to kill, and that excited me nearly as much as the forbidden fruit of Clayton’s beautiful body.

  I would fight and forget, and maybe I’d die, but I’d take half of those sick ugly bastards with me.

  Silverlight screamed to life in an explosion of light, and almost before she took my arm, she began killing.

  The infecteds screamed and fell beneath her fury, but there were so many of them, and I was distracted by Clayton. Good thing Silverlight didn’t need me to guide her. Good thing Amias had given her to me.

  I had a feeling I wouldn’t have lasted long past my “activation” without her. I might hate Amias, but it was obvious that the life he’d once tried to take was now precious to him.

  And I was sure he had some very good reasons for that.

  Clayton and I were surrounded by a mass of reeking, hungry vampires—not just hungry, but full of the special rage the infection gave them—and they had little care for anything other than killing and eating us.

  The fact that I was a hunter—that I was a bloodhunter—had attracted them and was whipping them into a frenzy. And though normal vampires might want to kill me, not even they would risk getting infected just to get to me.

  Or so I believed, until I saw Amias cutting through the deranged infecteds like a deadly machine. He held no weapon, but his hands were weapons. His nails, his fists, his speed, and his strength were weapons.

  He couldn’t kill the infecteds, no more than Clayton could kill them, but when they lay on the ground and struggled to repair themselves, they were the same as dead to me.

  And then, I realized something shocking, something amazing, and something so logical that I knew it’d lingered on the edges of my mind, even though I hadn’t grasped it. Silverlight’s silver light was killing any vampire it touched.