Uriah's Heart
Page 7
Tariq’s eyes snapped open. Instantly, he knew two things. His Heart’s Blood was gone and someone was in his quarters. He leapt to his feet and landed in a crouch, snarling, “Where is she?”
His second in command, Enrique, faced him warily. “Who, the woman you were with last night? She was already gone when I arrived.”
“Not simply a woman, she’s my Heart’s Blood, and that’s impossible. The door was locked. There’s no way she could have escaped.” Eyes narrowed in warning, his fangs dropped into place as his muscles tensed, ready to attack.
“I’m telling you she wasn’t here. I only arrived a few seconds ago. We became concerned when you didn’t show for the staff meeting.” Enrique stood, head lowered, arms dangling loosely at his sides, but Tariq had no doubt that if he should attack, his Second was ready for him.
“She’s human. She couldn’t have just left.” It came out a low growl.
Enrique scented the air and frowned. “Are you sure she’s human?”
No, he wasn’t. He hadn’t been paying attention last night. The only thing Tariq knew for sure is she was the most important woman in the world to him—the very beat of his heart. However, she had managed to brush off his compulsion as easily as swatting a fly. Eyes narrowed in thought, he straightened into a more relaxed stance. “No, I’m not sure. I was too caught up in her scent and emotions to notice, but now that I think about it, there was something different about her.”
Enrique ran an experienced gaze over Tariq’s body, head slightly tilted to the left. “From the look of those claw marks, I’m thinking shifter.”
Tariq considered briefly and then shook his head, rejecting the thought. “Shifters don’t have the ability to teleport. That’s the only way she could have gotten out of here without setting off any alarms. But in case I’m wrong, check with security to see if anyone saw her leave.” Turning, he headed for his bedroom, knowing Enrique would ensure his order was carried out.
In the bathroom’s mirror, he saw his body was a mass of claw and bite marks. The tooth marks looked too jagged and sharp to be human, more like an animal’s. He noticed a few puncture wounds as well, the kind fangs left. Whatever his blood mate was she definitely wasn’t human, and she’d been a virgin. The blood smeared on his penis and thighs testified to her innocence.
He showered and threw on a pair of jeans, arousal flowing heavy through his veins. The venom still rode his system hard. He needed her like she would need him. Craved her, like the very air he breathed. His cock was a steel pole in his pants.
As soon as he entered the living room, Enrique reported, “There’s no record of anyone matching the description of the woman you were with leaving. Can’t you track her? I’m assuming from the condition of the room you gave her the Kiss of Life.”
Tariq looked around and noticed the wreckage for the first time. Lamps were broken, tables over turned, pictures fallen from the wall. The trail never reached the bedroom. He wished like hell he could remember what happened. “Get someone in here to clean this up, will you?”
He sighed and scrubbed his face. It was hard to think, hard to function when all his body wanted to do was sink into his blood mate’s warm, wet sheath. Bits and pieces of the night before came to him and his cock pulsed. The taste of her blood in his mouth. The feel of her skin beneath his hands. The way she took him, all of him, over and over, deep into her silky heat. How tight and wet she was, as though made just for him. His fangs throbbed with the need to lock into her again.
“TARIQ!”
Annoyed, he snapped, “What!”
“Man, you got it bad.” Enrique shook his head. “Aren’t you going to track her?”
Shit, how could he have forgotten? The venom. It also allowed him to locate her. He grinned wickedly. Two seconds after he found her, he’d have her right back under him where she belonged. “Yeah, thanks. Hold off on the cleanup detail. I don’t want to be disturbed for any reason.”
Grinning, his second nodded. “I’ll go make sure everything’s ready for tonight. You handle your biz.” Enrique punched in the code and left by the elevator.
As soon as he was gone, Tariq went into the bedroom and prepared it for his lover. This time they’d do it right and hopefully make it onto the bed. Once everything was as romantic and welcoming as he could make it, he sat down to focus. Ten minutes later, he let out a roar that was heard all the way down to the lowest levels.
His Heart’s Blood was gone. He couldn’t locate her anywhere.
Jorlan leashed his cat before it could pounce on the bounty spread before him. It snarled and fought, wanting to mount the she-cat displayed so temptingly. It could smell her burgeoning heat. Jorlan restrained it but couldn’t resist getting another taste of her cream. He was, after all, a male breeder in his prime.
However, this one wasn’t for him. She was special, and taken, whether she admitted it or not. While his little cousin may not know who’d claimed her, he did. He recognized the scent. Tariq Bastien, owner of The Gladiator and leader of the local vampyr clutch. After learning about Reyna’s unique heritage, he’d made it his business to know everything about vampyrs there was to know.
He took one last look at the swollen, glistening slit in front of him before raking his claws down her left flank and sprinting for the door. The chase would take her mind off the arousal between her legs and give her time to get used to being in her altered form. If it also had the added benefit of temporarily keeping Tariq from finding his woman, well, a cat had to have some fun.
He pawed open the door and raced down the hallway to the atrium with Reyna on his heels. At his roar, other Felini in shifted form came pouring out of doorways, running with them. Reyna made quick work of fighting off some of the males who thought they were strong enough to mount her. Once they saw she couldn’t be convinced, they turned their attention to climbing trees and racing along the branches, launching from limb to limb. When they tired of acrobatics, they swam in the pool and sunbathed on the rocks.
Exhausted from playing, Reyna collapsed onto her side and slept, her pride gathered possessively around her. Jorlan took one last look to make sure she was safe, shifted, and went to make a phone call.
Once in his room, he pulled out a briefcase he kept locked in a closet safe. Inside was a disposable pay as you go cellphone. All the rooms were sound-proofed but as an added precaution, he went into his bathroom and closed the door, adding an extra layer of protection against being overheard.
Punching in a number so familiar he could do it blindfolded, he waiting for voicemail to pick up and left a simple message, “Call me.” Then he settled down to wait.
Five minutes later, his phone rang. As soon as he answered, a voice demanded, “What’s happening?”
“She had her first shift.” They never used names. Even with all the protective measures they’d taken, it didn’t hurt to be careful.
“When?” The voice on the other end was tense, abrupt.
“Not long ago. She’s sleeping.”
“What triggered it?”
This is where it got touchy. “It’s as you figured. She needed more stimulation than what our males can provide.”
Complete and utter silence.
“There’s more. She’s been marked by one of them.” No need to say who “them” were.
“Do the others know?” The response was immediate, panicked.
“No, just me. The scent and the scar faded when she shifted.”
A long shaky sigh greeted the news. “We always knew this was a possibility. If one has claimed her, why is she there? Their possessiveness rivals our males.”
“Because she ran,” he muttered disgustedly. At her shocked exclamation, he added sourly, “You’ve given her little reason to welcome a union with one.”
“I had my reasons,” she said tersely.
“I know,” he reluctantly acknowledged, “but whatever your reason, she’s the one sufferi
ng for it.”
“The innocent always suffer for the actions of others,” she said bitterly. Then she sighed again, as though the weight of the whole world were on her shoulders. “I know you don’t agree with my methods but please know my only purpose is to protect her.”
“I know.” He did, no matter that they didn’t always see eye-to-eye on how best to accomplish their mutual goal.
“Call your senior males together. I wish there was someone there to properly prepare her, but no matter. You know what to do.”
He frowned. “Is this really necessary? She’s already shifted and experiencing her first heat. You know how the last one affected her. It took her years to recover.”
“You must!” Her fearful cry hurt his sensitive hearing. “It’s expected she take her proper place. As long as she remains in our world, she must follow our rules. It’s for her protection.”
They both knew their species, with their isolation and racial purity policies, were dying out as a breed. They needed new blood, but their prejudices against other races wouldn’t allow them to reach out. “I’ll do it,” he said, unable to help the bite in his voice.
“I know you don’t agree, but I promise this will only serve to make her stronger. Please see to it without delay. We can’t afford for news of her transition to get back before proper measures have been taken. You know there are still those in power who would take pleasure in destroying her.” It was a stark reminder of the dangers still facing his charge.
“And what of the male?” he asked, wishing none of this were necessary.
There was a beat of silence. “Help him with her, but not too much. If he was strong enough to claim her, then he must prove he’s strong enough to keep her. Both their lives may depend upon it.” She disconnected without saying goodbye.
Jorlan’s chin dropped to his chest as his arm fell, allowing the phone to dangle between his spread legs. Taking a few seconds to collect himself, he rubbed his face with his free hand and sighed. Sometimes he wondered if he were doing the right thing. It seemed so disloyal to Reyna.
In addition, he hated all the secrecy. It felt more like he was conspiring against Reyna rather than protecting her. She should know the full truth of the circumstances of her birth, not the lies she’d been told. She deserved the opportunity to explore both sides of her heritage.
He flexed his shoulders and rolled his head on his neck, loosening tight muscles. Best get it finished. In this instance, his queen was right. Time was of the essence. The sooner Reyna was with her vampyr, the safer she’d be.
Jorlan lifted the phone and dialed another number.
“Club Gladiator.”
“Give your Master a message. The one he searches for can be found at Illuminator Incorporated.”
“Who is this?” a harsh male voice asked.
“Who I am is not important. Relay the message.” He hung up.
One task completed. Time for the next.
Enrique winced as another thud sounded from two levels above. At the rate Tariq was going, the whole penthouse would have to be refurbished. A deep pall hung over the club. The brethren went about their duties casting wary glances at one another. None had ever seen their Master go off the deep end like this, even the oldest among them who’d known him for centuries.
“Master Enrique.”
Enrique almost jumped but quickly suppressed the instinctive reaction. Mind elsewhere, he hadn’t noticed the fledgling’s approach. “Yes, Barrak. What is it?”
“A male called with a message for the Master. He wouldn’t identify himself,” he quickly added, forestalling Enrique’s next question.
“Tariq’s…busy,” he stated wryly as another series of thuds and thumps sounded. “What’d they say?”
“The one he seeks can be found at Illuminator Incorporated.” In the fledgling’s eyes was a curiosity he knew not to express. One such as he wasn’t privileged to know their Master’s business.
Enrique felt his gaze sharpen, along with his interest. “A male, you say? And he didn’t leave his name? Did you trace the call?”
He could see the answer in Barrak’s gloomy expression. “We tried and failed.”
“This male, he called Tariq by name?”
Barrak was already shaking his head. “He said, ‘tell your Master.’”
Curioser and curioser. While the general populace was aware of their existence, not many knew of the inner rankings of their society. “I’ll handle it from here. Dismissed.”
Enrique almost smiled at the expression of intense relief that crossed Barrak’s face with the knowledge he wasn’t expected to personally deliver the message. He couldn’t blame Barrak. Enrique wasn’t exactly looking forward to what could amount to a suicide mission, but someone had to beard the lion in his den. As second in command, the dubious honor fell on him.
He went to the private elevator, punched in his personal code and held his palm to the reader, gaining access to the penthouse. When the doors opened, he stood there for a moment, completely stunned. The furniture was annihilated. Wood tables and chairs reduced to splinters. Lamps, nothing but dust and fragments. Metal, what there was of it, twisted and warped beyond all recognition. Fabric ripped and shredded. Enrique spotted a lone spring, which at one time must have been part of the makeup of the leather couch, no longer in existence.
“Leave.” The deep, feral voice came from his left.
Schooling his features and emotions to impassiveness, Enrique stated, “We have a lead on your Heart’s Blood.”
Quicker than a blink, Tariq had him against the wall, dangling by the clawed hand at his throat. “Where. Is. She?”
“Illuminator…Incorporated,” he choked out.
Enrique waited with bated breath until a flicker of sanity appeared in Tariq’s eyes. To approach a Master in the midst of a blood rage was to put one’s life in jeopardy and when that Master was also a prince, pure suicide. Slowly the claws disengaged from his throat. Tariq allowed his body to lower until Enrique once more stood on his own two feet. He didn’t make the mistake of thinking the danger was past.
“Tell me.”
“An anonymous call came into the club. Male. ‘Tell your Master the one he seeks can be found at Illuminator Incorporated.’ He didn’t stay on the line long enough for the trace to work.”
He watched as the red slowly bled from Tariq’s eyes until he resembled his normal, calculating self. “Get someone on it. I want to know where the call originated.”
“Already working on it,” he assured.
He breathed easier as Tariq removed his hand from his throat and flicked a glance around the room. “And get a crew in here to clean this mess.”
“Yes, Master.” He spoke to Tariq’s rapidly retreating back.
Grateful he’d live to see another sunset, he went to carry out the Master’s orders.
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Across the Aisle 1: TRENT
Xyla Turner
Bernadette
The point of becoming an escort was to pay for my law degree. Period.
One more year and a hefty tuition bill had me rethinking my no sex rule with clients. One exception to this rule with one client that changed my entire life.
He was rude, opinionated, prejudiced and downright ignorant. For him to have an affinity for a certain type of woman, he surely didn’t know how to talk to them. He knew how to have them screaming his name.
Outside of this, my one wish was that he would STFU. We had five nights only, and I was counting down to the hour until I wasn’t. Five turned into fifty. Hookups turned into sleepovers. A client turned into a significant other. But how? Why? For goodness sakes, he was a damned Republican!
Trent
Period. The criteria for my escorts were black women. Period.
Note: This book is a bit different than a normal Xyla Turner book. It is IR, BWWM, and HEA, but it's a bit darker and really sexy. If you're not easily offended, then this is for you.
Chapter One
My crack-head mother was right. If I wasn’t the dog, I was getting dogged and this almost six-figure price tag for one damn year of school was the very definition of getting dogged. The woman might have had a debilitating addiction, but she’d learned more than any boot camp could teach you about life and people. If she imparted anything to me besides getting involved with trash and making bad decisions, it was about how to read people. This made me exceptional at my job.
Most of my clients selected me, because nothing seemed forced, fake and it was truly genuine. I was a learner of people, thanks to mama. I could read them easily and the thing that got them off. Half of people’s issues weren’t even of a sexual nature. It was usually about power or the regaining of it because at some point, they had lost it, or it was stripped from them. In essence, I was a listening ear for high-powered men who paid a whole lot of money for me to talk or perform for them.
That was it.
One of my very first clients paid me to talk, then he would always masturbate while I watched. This was different, but if I could see inside his shrink’s file, I would bet this was done to him at some point, which made it a little sad. He was still playing it out in his fifties and on top of that, paying good money for it to be done with me. It was so cliché, and prior to getting my first tuition bill during the beginning of my law school career, I would have rolled my eyes, too.
However, it’s easy for people to point fingers when they have never been in my shoes. Sex for me was not personal. Oddly enough, it never was after Tommy took it from me when I was fourteen. Since that time, I had consensual sex, but it was not really an act I was inspired to do. I might get horny, once in a while, but that’s what a dildo was for and my membership to the club, Steel, in Philadelphia.