Ellowyn Found: An MM Vampire Trilogy Omnibus Edition Books 1 - 3

by Kayleigh Sky

  How his gun got into his hand was a mystery to him.

  Prosper bent Isaac’s head back. Panic flared in the kid’s eyes, and Otto jabbed his gun into Prosper’s temple.

  Something thumped.

  Isaac. The kid dropped to the ground and scrambled backward. Prosper froze, only his gaze shifting sideways, looking at Otto.

  “You fuck,” Prosper whispered.

  The door flew open, footsteps thudding on the tiled floor outside. Otto’s ears rang, and an ache began behind his forehead, but his arm was steady.

  “This,” Prosper bit out in a hiss, “is career suicide.”

  “Or yours.”

  “I’m not moving,” Prosper said quietly.

  After a moment, or an hour, muffled sounds came from the doorway.

  Isaac again?

  “Stay back, please.”

  Anya.

  A strange nervousness raced through Otto’s veins, and he stepped back. Prosper glared but said nothing.

  “Please leave.” Anya stood inside the door with Isaac behind her. She pointed toward the garden. “You can go that way. Just follow the path. It’ll take you to the street.”

  With that, she turned and led Isaac away, closing the door behind them.

  Prosper lifted his lips, hooked fangs long and gleaming in his grin. “You are so screwed.”

  14

  Rooftop Dinner

  Shadows stole into the room, but Jessa didn’t switch on a light. He brushed a finger along the spines of his books, hovering over Samantha’s Surrender. He’d forgotten the image on the cover, but he had no doubt if he pulled it out, the hero would look like Otto. Never Wen.

  He moved.

  Doll Baby.

  Two guys.

  He was tempted but didn’t want to put himself in a position of longing for a hero who wasn’t anything like Wen.

  The Ticking Time Warp. A futuristic murder mystery. He took it off the shelf and set it on the edge of the tub.

  Here, a golden light suffused the space. Even the fixtures were gold. Whatever little girl had lived here had clearly been spoiled. Maybe she still was. Wherever she was. She was happy though, one of the survivors of the Upheaval, Jessa was sure.

  She had to be.

  Shucking his clothes, he got into the tub and sank into the hot water. A long sigh escaped his throat. The scent of flowers from his bath oil permeated the air. Soon he’d be sitting down to dinner with Wen. He wanted to make their date nice. Be nice.

  With a sigh, he picked up his book. Sonofabitch. The guy on the cover looked like Otto.

  One hand took on a life of its own and dropped beneath the surface of the silky, slightly oily water. Jessa bit his lip and slipped his fingertips from the base of his cock to the tip. It wasn’t right to do this though, because his brain kept skittering away from Wen. It was Otto in his instant fantasy. Otto, standing in front of a black futuristic car with palm trees and an emerald sky behind him. He wore a leather jacket over a white T-shirt and black slacks. A gun hung from his fingertips. Ticking Time Warp.

  Jessa was a ticking time bomb. He thought he might explode. He squeezed his dick. Picture Wen.

  He pictured Otto in his jeans and brown sports jacket standing beside the pool. His frown had appeared confused sometimes, though he’d probably never been looking at Jessa and wondering why he longed for somebody he had no right to. He’d been trying to solve a crime, wading through clues.

  Jessa dropped the book onto the rug beside the tub and lifted a knee, spreading his legs. His fingers tightened, his strokes long and slow, and his teeth worried his lip. His heat built in the warm water, spreading through him like lava.

  So good.

  But not… Otto’s fingers.

  Was it wrong to do this? To fantasize about somebody who didn’t know him? Who had a job to do? Who wasn’t Wen?

  His dick shrank.

  Shit.

  Sighing, he let his palm rest on his stomach. They’d never cross paths, no need to. He tried to imagine a need, a way for the investigation to circle back to him. Was there one? The only connection to him he knew about was Comity House. Maybe the murdered vamp had picked Wen’s center because it was closest to his hotel. Not because Wen sold blood. The thought of that made Jessa shudder. Comity House was reputable. Wen was above reproach. He deserved Jessa’s loyalty.

  Did Otto have another lead now? Was he on a stakeout?

  Jessa’s cock fattened again at the thought of Otto skulking around in a dangerous neighborhood.

  Weirdo.

  But the possibility excited him. He stroked faster and imagined sitting with Otto in his car in the middle of the night, watching some rundown house or an apartment building with a concierge downtown. Or a tent in a razed section of town with the orange glow of a candle seeping into the dark.

  Was the vampire cop with him?

  What would Jessa do in Otto’s place? Was he smart enough to put the pieces of evidence together like a puzzle?

  A big gray muddle yawned in front of him.

  Maybe mysteries were made of threads instead of puzzle pieces. Tangled, knotted threads he’d never pull apart.

  But it didn’t matter anyway. He wasn’t going to fall in love with Otto, and he wasn’t going to solve any murders. He had Wen.

  The shriveling of his cock sent a rush of despair through him, and a groan slipped from his lips.

  Stop it. Get a grip. Wen is good to you.

  Jessa was lucky.

  He grabbed the side of the tub, dragged himself out, and stood. After drying himself off, he braided his hair, got dressed, and set his book on his nightstand.

  He was fitting his earrings into his ears when Bettina appeared.

  “Stop fussing. Your swain is here.”

  Jessa wanted badly to go out to dinner. But ever since the murder he was stuck in the castle. Rune would loosen his leash, but not Wen. It’s not safe. Wait until they catch the murderer.

  What if they never did? What if it had nothing to do with drainers?

  “Do I look okay?”

  Bettina blew out a sigh, but her lips twitched with a smile. “You’d catch my eye.”

  But would he catch Wen’s? He wasn’t sure how visible to Wen he really was. Maybe looks didn’t matter, but Jessa was doing his best tonight. It was Wen he was marrying.

  He followed Bettina from his room and headed to the roof. The air here cut through his filmy shirt but closer to the dining table warmth from the heat lamps wafted over him.

  Having dinner on the roof was his idea. Wen stood staring into the distance but turned as Jessa approached. Bewilderment filled his eyes, but he kissed Jessa’s cheek and pulled a chair out for him. Jessa struggled to picture Otto doing that. He’d probably assume Jessa didn’t need help pulling out a chair.

  Stop thinking about Otto.

  He sat and smiled at Wen, whose bewilderment intensified for a moment.

  “You look lovely tonight, Jessa. I’m sorry you went to all this trouble for just us.”

  Jessa deflated. Well, it had almost been a compliment.

  “It was no trouble,” he murmured.

  Wen took the chair across from him, and as though on cue, Fritt appeared, pushing over a cart with their meal. There was silence as Fritt prepared the table and wheeled the cart away.

  “Looks delicious,” Wen commented, picking up his knife and fork.

  They ate for a few minutes while the lights strung around the rooftop terrace danced in the breeze. Wispy clouds drifted ghost-like across the sky. Jessa watched one, a shiver running through him. Was it watching him back?

  “Is something the matter?”

  He dropped his gaze back to Wen. “Just admiring everything. It’s romantic up here.”

  He took a swallow of his wine. He wanted to be romantic. Maybe, if he put his all into Wen, his heart would swell. Maybe it was a simple matter of willpower. He wouldn’t look at the cover on his book tonight. He’d only think of Wen.

  Taking a brea
th, he reached for Wen’s hand. Startled, Wen straightened, drawing away for a moment until he twisted his wrist and took Jessa’s hand in his.

  “This is romantic,” said Wen. “It was thoughtful of you to set it up. And the meal is fabulous. I don’t know of any place outside Celestine that beats Bettina’s cookery skills.”

  “Were there restaurants in Celestine?”

  “Naturally. Restaurants, shops, theaters. Celestine was a modern city.”

  Jessa had seen pictures, of course, but only of a few relics still standing in the wreckage of what had once been their world.

  “Do you miss it?”

  Wen squeezed his fingers and let go. “No. Condemning ourselves to the darkness was a ridiculous thing to do. We have every right to be here.”

  “We can’t go back though. We have no choice.”

  Wen smiled. “Are you saying we get along with humans because we have to?”

  “I don’t believe that. I think we get along because we’re not different. I’ve just never heard you agree with me.”

  Wen picked up his wine glass and took a swallow.

  “It’s not a matter of agreeing with you. I don’t know how it came about that we lived underground, nor do I care. I’m not convinced humans are like us, but I accept them. I’m not glad there’s been so much pain. Some of my friends believe in the prophecy theory of our rise. No harm in it, I guess. They believe in the treasure. Perhaps there is one. I don’t discount the possibility. I just believe in hard work more.”

  Jessa scoffed. “Rune says the treasure is a fairytale.”

  Prydwen’s smile stretched wide and genuine this time. “So were we. Now go on…” He pointed at Jessa’s plate with his fork. “Eat.”

  Jessa returned to his steak. It was drenched in mushrooms and a red wine sauce. Mushrooms layered his potatoes and dotted his peas and glazed carrots.

  “Do you need to feed again?” Prydwen asked a moment later.

  “I guess.”

  “You don’t drink enough. Isaac told me.”

  Jessa frowned. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “I wonder if that’s what the treasure is,” Wen mused. “Our freedom from humans.”

  “You are free. You have Synelix.”

  Wen sighed. “Yes. I was tired of the dark and tired of war. I’m happy with my life now and being able to provide for you.”

  “I could make my business into something profitable, Wen.”

  “Of course you could. Where did that come from?”

  Jessa shrugged, pulling his wine closer to him. “You all treat me like I’m glass.”

  “You were ill.”

  “A long time ago. Isaac’s whole family died.”

  “And we take care of Isaac. Which reminds me. You won’t be bothered by the human detective anymore.”

  For a frozen moment Jessa thought Wen knew all his deepest, darkest fantasies about Otto and the struggle to banish him from his thoughts. Not to mention, Wen’s voice had an ominous weight to it. Jessa’s heart pounded. Would he know if something bad had happened to Otto? Mine.

  He worked so hard not to listen to that voice. They weren’t fated. It wasn’t possible. He was bound to Wen.

  “Did… did something happen?”

  “Apparently there was some altercation involving Isaac.”

  “Is he—?”

  “Unharmed. No thanks to Detective Jones.” Wen stared into Jessa’s eyes. “You won’t have to endure either one of them again.”

  “Are they fired?”

  “I understand Detective Prosper is still employed. I might have to hire protection. I won’t have my employees mauled.”

  “Mauled? Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Jessa took his napkin off his lap and dropped it on the table, pushing back in his chair.

  Wen looked confused. “I am telling you about it.”

  “Would you have if it didn’t accidently come up?”

  “I don’t understand you. You went to all the trouble of setting up a romantic dinner and you wanted me to talk business?”

  “Isaac isn’t business. I have a right to know about him.”

  Wen pulled his mouth into a thin line. “What right do you have?”

  Jessa went cold. The gusts from the heat lamps hit his skin like blasts of dry ice. Terror of losing Isaac froze his belly. What if Wen wanted him to feed from someone else?

  He licked his stiff lips. “I feed from him. You know that’s a personal thing, Wen.”

  Wen’s jaw tightened. He poured more wine in his glass and nodded toward Jessa’s. Jessa pushed it over. “I don’t want to sound cold, Jessa, but it’s best to keep a careful distance with your chosen donor. That’s part of what the centers are for. I don’t think feeding needs to be an unpleasant experience, but, if you’re getting too close to Isaac…”

  “Wen. Something’s going on.”

  Wen set the wine bottle back in the tub. “What do you mean?”

  “I…” His life had been tolerable until the murder and Otto and… suddenly it wasn’t anymore. Suddenly, Otto jumped off every cover of his books and Jessa imagined himself in a real-life murder mystery. Suddenly, seeing Isaac in his tiny room at Comity House wasn’t enough. He wanted to go places with him and do fun things, though he hardly knew what fun things existed to do. “I was bedridden for seven years.”

  Wen frowned. “I’m confused.”

  So was Jessa. “I… I have a feeling about things. All the time I spent alone… I can’t explain it. I just know I didn’t pick the day I went to the co-op by accident.”

  Wen’s eyes rolled. “You sound like the prince and his no-coincidences theory.”

  “Why was Brillen Acalliona murdered? Did he know something?”

  “I have no idea. Money is the usual reason.”

  “Like a treasure?”

  Wen laughed, and it sounded genuine, not the polite chuckle he offered to others. “You do have too much time on your hands.”

  “It’s not a game.”

  “Well, it’s not an Adi ’el Lumi conspiracy either. Most things like this are fairly straightforward. As I said, money is the usual motive.”

  “I thought the Adi ’el Lumi was a myth.”

  “It is. Like teleportation. I’ve never seen an Ellowyn glamor anyone either. What’s gotten into you? I can’t change your circumstances, but if you want something to do, maybe it’s time for you to make a commitment.”

  The air that had been so cold a moment ago heated like a fire, and the lights tossed in the edges of his vision. Jessa’s filmy top clung to his sweaty skin. “That isn’t what I meant. At least not yet,” he added hastily. “Rune is almost never home, and I don’t want to leave Mal alone.”

  “The princess is quite capable. Really, Jessa…” Wen drained his wine in a single swallow. “I’d be pleased if you thought more of your commitment to me than to your family.”

  “I do think of our commitment.”

  Wen’s pain hurt him. Especially since Jessa’s fantasies were out of control. Longing for Otto was wrong. He sighed and pushed his hair off his forehead. His family wanted this marriage for him and the relief of knowing he had a supply of blood for the rest of his life. They’d given him everything, and he owed them the peace of mind of knowing he was cared for. Otto...? Otto was a hero on a book cover.

  “I will commit, Wen. Just… I just need a little more time.”

  Wen stood. “Fine, Jessa. As you wish.”

  “Wen—”

  “I’m going home. I have an early morning.” He bent and pressed his lips to Jessa’s head. “I am loyal and patient. Your well being is my first concern.”

  Why didn’t he say love? And why did the face that filled Jessa’s imagination still belong to a bitter-eyed cop?

  15

  Clandestine

  A lone beam of sun snuck in through the crack in Otto’s curtains and stole across the room until it found his face.

  “Bastard,” he muttered though he doubted th
e sun took much offense.

  His head pounded, and he stank of sweat.

  Getting up was probably a good idea, but coming up with a good reason to was another story. At least not this early—he had no job to go to and like hell was he talking to a shrink—but later…

  He cracked his eyes open.

  The sunbeam shifted, reaching for the wall behind him. Fuzzy gray cracks spread across the ceiling. When he was feeling particularly energetic he’d make a mental list of the items he’d need to repair the damage until the realization it was bound to crack again in the next earthquake sapped his interest. Now he was used to the filigree design and tracing it while he lay there contemplating his crap-ass existence oddly mesmerized him.

  Except for today.

  Today, he just felt like shit.

  With a groan, he rolled off the side of his bed and staggered up. After a cold shower, he made a pot of coffee and opened the cupboard over the fridge. Without thinking, he reached for the bottle there but froze before touching it. A tremor shook his fingers, and his mouth went dry. Why not one? A slosh in the cup to banish the pain behind his eyes? He swallowed, slammed the door, and took his cup onto his porch. Wispy clouds dimmed the sun, but it was still light, and the breeze was soft. Before sitting on the top step, he snatched the paper off the walkway and flipped it open. April 23.

  Jesus, what had he been doing for the past three days?

  Drinking.

  But where? His memory was a fuzzy gray hole in the dark. Not that it mattered. He had no fucking job anymore. No way to hunt Maisie’s murderer. Though guilt jabbed him at that thought because the truth was he hadn’t been hunting her murderer for years. He’d been pissing away his life in whatever bar struck his fancy at the time. And doing his job. But now he had no job. And he knew damn well Prosper would let the Acalliona case go cold as ice. Which was Otto’s doing.