by Jessica Lee
She narrowed her eyes and closed in on him with that dangerous forefinger raised, and dug it into his chest. “Listen up, Dracula, I don’t need you coming into my life and telling me what you’ve decided without a second thought about what I want. You can just take your driver and your decisions and shove them where the sun don’t shine.” She stabbed her finger into his chest with each word for emphasis. “Oh, excuse me. I guess that euphemism is lost on you, Mr. Vampire.”
Well…shit. Guess the direct, don’t-leave-it-up-to-discussion approach was a bad idea. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humor.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with here. You need to listen to me. My compound is the only place where I know you will be safe.”
Her body shook as if she didn’t know whether to slap him or run.
“I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself. I’ve fought for too long and way too hard for my freedom. I’m not moving in with you and letting you control my life. No way.”
She whipped around and practically ran down the hall.
“Emily!” he called to her in her mind, using his powers of projection. “Don’t go like this.”
She came to a halt a few feet away, grabbing her head with both hands.
Glancing back, she braced one hand against the wall. “Leave me alone, Kenric,” she cried out. “I’m not going with you.” Tears glistened in her eyes before she shook her head and hurried down the hall—and away from him.
…
Emily slumped into a task chair at the nurses’ station. Her chest hurt. It was as if someone had wrapped a vise grip around her heart, attempting to squeeze the very life out of her. How in the world did she let it get this far?
For sure, the man was crazy. Who the hell did he think he was, telling her he’d decided where she would live? She’d had her fill of dominating men, and she didn’t need Kenric St. James joining her list of bad mistakes.
“Emily, where have you been?” Shawna’s voice yanked her back to the present.
“I’m sorry. That phone call was an emergency. I didn’t mean for it take so long.” Emily grabbed her lime green stethoscope she’d left on the desk earlier and rose, meeting her friend coming into the station.
“I’m just glad you’re back. We have a trauma coming in five. An MVA. I need you to help prepare the trauma room.”
“Sure. I’m on it.” Thank God for the diversion. A trauma would keep her busy the rest of the night and her mind off one dark and sexy, overbearing man. She had to get him out of her head, because he could not be a permanent fixture in her life.
Emily grabbed an armload of supplies and started prepping the room. At the counter, she pulled the essential lab materials together for all the blood work she anticipated they’d need.
She moved a box of four-by-four gauzes to the side, placing the various vacuum collection tubes in a metal holder, when she spotted a vial of blood lying on its side against the wall. Picking it up, she read the name and date scribbled in her own handwriting: John Doe ER 11/13/13.
Holy crap!
How in the world had this gotten overlooked? It must have rolled to the back of the counter and gotten covered up during all the chaos the other night. Reflex had her aiming the vial straight for the biohazard container on the wall, but she stopped before letting it drop. An ugly thought loomed in her mind. She palmed the cool tube in her hand.
She could never do that.
Could she?
The moment he’d opened his eyes, Kenric had taken what he needed from her without a second thought. In a flash, he’d barged into her life, commanded her, and then confined her. Now he wanted to do it all over again. Take control of her every move. So what if she took from him a little of what she needed? She could hold the reins for once. Emily glanced down at the simple sleek vial. So much power contained within a benign tube of blood.
The nasty taste of bile surged to the back of her throat. Never in her life had she deliberately betrayed another soul. The thought sickened her. So many of her problems would vanish if she could find the right buyer for the evidence this would provide. She’d vowed not to reveal their secret. Her gut twisted. This would be playing dirty. She paced the room.
But how many times did she have to be the victim before she learned to seize an opportunity that presented itself, for herself? The lien on her home paid. Jeff out of her life. Peace of mind from the debt bloodhounds. . .
She groaned, slipping the tube into her scrub pocket. The blood was near forty-eight hours old, but with the preservative present in the tube, it was still viable.
They spoke of extermination if their existence became public. Yet Kenric and the Enclave had plenty of money at their disposal. With enough of the right people hired and in place, the Enclave surely had enough power to make it all go away at some point.
Emily chewed her bottom lip. With his money, he’d be okay.
He would never forgive her. But he’d survive.
The question was, would she ever forgive herself?
Chapter Fourteen
Gearing down his motorcycle, Markus rolled to a stop in front of the weatherworn, aged Victorian mansion. With the kickstand in place, he slung his leg over his bike and dismounted.
He rubbed a palm against his midsection. His gut ached. With each step toward the front door, the misery eating away at his insides became more urgent.
The pain. This place. It drew him like a tether to a ball.
Markus lifted the rusted metal door hammer and rapped twice. The porch groaned under the weight of his shifting feet. He glanced back down the isolated, dirt driveway. It was all familiar somehow.
But when? And why the hell had he been here before?
The massive door with its peeling paint opened, creaking loudly. Candlelight glowed from within. A large, dark-skinned man dressed in only a pair of black leathers filled the door frame.
“Welcome, warrior,” he beckoned in a thick Spanish accent. “Our mistress has been waiting for your return and report.” He backed away from the opening and, with a swing of his head, indicated Marcus should enter.
He took a step and a stabbing pain, much worse than before, tore through his abdomen. Markus let out a loud hiss and doubled over. “What the fuck!” he managed to mutter when the pain decided to give him some air, but not before he broke out in a cold sweat.
A hard and icy hand grabbed his arm and dragged him over the threshold. “Our mistress has just what you need.”
The need to quench the fire in his gut dueled with his turbulent impulse to get the hell out. But still, he followed the stranger, his feet moving like leaden weights beneath him.
The musky odor of mothballs and decay assaulted his senses, but even through the murkiness that was his brain, he knew the other scent riding the air all too well. The stranger before him was a vampire, and from the smell of things, he wasn’t the only one.
Why did I come here?
“You know why,” a voice in his head murmured.
“No. No, I don’t,” he mumbled. Bile scorched a path inside his chest. He swallowed, forcing the acid back into his stomach.
The large, leather-clad vampire came to a halt before a set of heavy wooden double doors. They protested as he pushed them open. Markus squinted from the onslaught of the hundreds of candles that set the cavernous room ablaze.
Compelled to see and understand what drove him to this place, he forced his gaze to lift.
A woman with long, flowing black hair lay draped across a red chaise elevated on a dais. She turned her head as he entered the room, inserted a slim finger into a red vessel, then lifted it out and licked the dark thick coating from her flesh. He didn’t miss the satisfied gleam as she sealed the container and passed the item to a male at her side, before rising. Marguerite? He’d never actually seen her face, only Kenric’s recount of her description. But what other female held this much power?
She called to him. Not with her voice, but within his head.
The
slide of her voice inside his mind—his chest seized. He gasped for air.
“Breathe, my warrior. Come.” She reached out and summoned him with her hand.
Air filled his lungs once again. Not sure why, but he responded and crossed the great room. At the base of her dais, he dropped to his knees.
Not because he wanted to. He had no choice.
His hands fell to the floor, and his gaze followed. Beads of sweat riddled his forearms, making his palms slick against the smooth planked floor.
The air stirred as she neared. An erotic scent of musk, sex, and blood filled his nostrils. It shot straight to his groin, filling his cock to a painful rigidity. He growled, neurons firing in remembrance.
“Marguerite.” He tilted his head back and bared his fangs.
“Yes, warrior. Welcome home.”
His gaze homed in on her wrist and the crimson drops falling from the open wound. Another slice of agony twisted his insides. He hissed a curse, dropping his head.
“When do you plan on sharing? Or is my suffering your entertainment for tonight, Marguerite?” A sudden wrench at his hair yanked his head back.
“That’s mistress to you, minion,” she spat. “And I’d be careful with that mouth of yours if you plan to taste me ever again.” She released his head with a jerk.
“Yes, mistress,” Markus forced out.
She stepped before him and lowered her wrist to his mouth. Grasping her forearm with both hands, he brought it to his lips. He slipped his tongue out and licked once at the puncture. He glanced up from under his eyelids. Her pupils grew large, leaving only a thin ring of green surrounding the black.
Fuck. His cock jerked. Yeah…fuck.
Markus groaned and sank his fangs in.
She cried out. Hungrily, he drank the hot, thick, intoxicating liquid. It soothed the knives in his gut and electrified his veins. Yes! God, how had he ever survived without her taste?
Without warning, she pulled his head back and tugged her arm free.
“No!” he bellowed. “Not yet.” He fell forward. His heart galloped in his chest, muscles spasming in his arms and legs, begging for action.
So alive.
How and why did Kenric ever resist her? To hell with protecting the human race. Every fiber of his being wanted to fuck her.
“Pick yourself up, minion.”
Her voice, a command to his limbs, jerked him to his knees.
“There will be more where that came from. But first, you must give me your report.”
Green and ruby silks shimmered around her as she draped herself on her chaise. Her gaze, the color of a lush tropical forest, held him transfixed.
“Now, minion, were you convincing at your homecoming?” She gave him a smug grin.
“Yes, mistress. No one questioned the story of my disappearance.”
“Excellent.” Marguerite leaned forward with an excited gleam in her expression. “Tell me what you have learned about Kenric’s new woman.”
“Her name is Emily. She works as a nurse at Elizabeth Bay Memorial, where Kenric ended up a few nights ago after being injured. Arran and Kenric are meeting with her tonight. She’s helping him dispose of the evidence that remains of his ER visit.”
Marguerite leaped to her feet and waved a silencing hand. “Enough of that babbling garbage. I want to know if he cares for her. Is he protective?”
Markus tilted his head and met her glare. Rings of red swirled like fire around her green irises. A startling effect.
“Yes, mistress. He placed her under his personal protection and the Enclave’s.”
A shriek ricocheted off the hollow chamber walls. Marguerite whirled, pulling at her hair. She descended the steps in a blur of color.
Markus jumped to his feet and backed away, but not fast enough. Her hand gripped his throat, bringing his retreat to a suffocating end.
“You will kill her for me, slave.”
Markus shuddered, the pressure in his skull climbing to a screaming peak. How the hell was he supposed to do something so heinous and traitorous? The force of her compulsion, combined with the unrelenting hand at his throat, pushed him near the brink of implosion. Shit, shit, shit.
“Kenric’s destiny was sealed the night I made him. He is mine.” Her grip loosened. “This temporary fascination of his will not ruin my plans.”
Markus stumbled back. He drew in a coughing, ragged breath. The crawling warmth of blood returned to his face and head along with the incessant push of her will inside his mind.
“You will see this done for me.”
“Yes, mistress,” Markus croaked out. “Consider it done.” And he knew without a doubt he would. For her. A nagging itch inside his chest said acting on her order to kill the female should bother him. Betraying Kenric—the Enclave—shouldn’t it prove harder to bear? Markus searched inside, reluctantly seeking what had once been his blemished and serrated moral compass. But instead of finding a treacherous knife carving out his gut, a block of ice sat in its place. Hard, cold, and unmoving. Perfect.
A moment in Marguerite’s darkness was all it had taken to freeze his soul, and like a vortex of evil, she’d sucked him into her frigid hell. The potent elixir of her blood and sex, mixed with the intensity of her resolve, had reanimated the monster he’d fought so hard to keep buried in his past. It seemed no matter how many years or miles one placed between themselves and their sins, somehow they find you.
Kharma truly was a bitch.
A slow, satisfied smile that promised great rewards bloomed on her face. His cock twitched, painfully filling the confines of his jeans.
Oh, yes. But he would enjoy his reward.
Chapter Fifteen
“Oh God, make it shut up!” Emily lifted her head up from the pillow, groping on her nightstand for the cell phone that wouldn’t stop its incessant ringing. “Hello.” She didn’t attempt to hide her less-than-enthusiastic tone.
“Emily? I was about to come over there. I’ve been calling for almost an hour. Are you okay?”
“Shawna?” She rubbed her eyes and tried to bring the clock into focus. Five in the evening. Good. The sleeping pill she’d taken had done its trick. She’d slept nine hours straight without any dreams about Kenric.
“Yeah, it’s me. I was worried about you. After your break last night, you barely spoke to anyone, and you left without a word. Did I do something to make you angry?”
“No. No, it has nothing to do with you.”
“It was that phone call, wasn’t it? You said there was an emergency. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. You know what they say, this too shall pass,” Emily said, massaging her chest where a dull ache throbbed beneath her breastbone.
“It’s a man, isn’t it? Only one thing would have a woman like this: a man.”
“No. God, no. It’s not a man.” Emily bit her lip and slung her legs over the side of the bed. It really wasn’t. She wasn’t lying. He certainly had all the right body parts. However, technically, he wasn’t a human male.
“I think someone doth protest too much.”
She could almost see Shawna’s ear-to-ear grin and her eyebrows dancing on her forehead in excitement.
“Let it go, Shawna. There’s no man.”
“All right, all right. Call me when you’re ready to talk. And when you’re ready for me to meet him. Can’t wait. Bye, now.”
“Shawna… Arghh!” That woman defined tenacious.
After brushing her teeth and a quick shower, she felt more awake. The hot water had done nothing for the dull pain in her chest, though. It had started right after her blowup at Kenric and hadn’t left her alone since, except for the few hours she’d managed to sleep. Damn…she missed him. It had been less than twenty-four hours, but the sting of his absence went soul-deep. And as much as it chapped her rear to acknowledge the fact, she’d liked having him around. His presence filled a room even in the silence. Although that attribute could be overwhelming at times, Emily had quickly grown to take comfort in i
ts intensity. He drew her like oxygen to a flame. But it was that same heat, the inferno brewing just beneath the surface, that scared the hell out of her, because she didn’t want to get burned.
Dressed in her favorite blue jeans and a loose T-shirt, she headed toward the kitchen, when a sudden pounding on the front door froze her in her tracks. She ran to her bedroom, grabbed the baseball bat she kept beside her bed, and crept in the direction of the living room.
Kenric’s premonition of danger looped like a scratched record in her head. Her pulse thumped wildly in her ears.
Another pound on the door vibrated through her. She swallowed hard and raised the bat to her shoulder. Tightening her grip, she stopped five feet from the door and yelled, “Who is it?”
“It’s Kenric.” His deep voice rumbled from the other side.
Dropping the bat at her side, she mumbled a curse before turning the dead bolt and yanking the door open. “What the hell are you pounding for? I live in a condo, not the White House. A simple knock would’ve been fine.”
“Just making sure you answered the door. We have to talk.” Kenric stood with both gloved hands bracing the door frame. The collar of his leather jacket stood straight up around his neckline and black sunglasses covered his eyes. The sun had barely sunk below the horizon, leaving bright pink and red fingers of color streaking the sky and glowing across her doorstep. He rubbed the dark shadow of stubble on his chin. “You gonna let me in, or do I get to simmer on your front porch?”
She swung the door wide, not concealing the annoyance on her face. He eased across her threshold, all hard muscles in blue jeans and leather.
“You’ve got five minutes.” Emily pivoted in his direction as Kenric slipped his sunglasses into his pocket. White rings, matching the outline of his shades, circled his eyes, revealing a red flush to the remainder of his face.
“Dear Lord! Are you burned?” She rushed forward and placed a palm to his cheek. He flinched from her touch. “Your face is on fire. You weren’t kidding when you said you were simmering on my porch. Just how early did you come out?”
