He’d killed them. Blood. There was blood on the floor and . . .
“Go!”
She ran, her stomach heaving, her mind screaming.
She looked over her shoulder. He had his back to her with his gun aimed at the stairwell they’d just vacated. The door opened, and the gun went off again.
Don’t look. Keep going. Just keep moving your feet.
Almost there.
“Stop,” Chocolate Eyes shouted.
But it was too late. She rounded the corner into the foyer and slammed into a rock-solid chest. Arms locked around her, and her heart sank as her eyes met the cold unrelenting stare of Ben.
No, her mind screamed. No. She was so close. Too close. Not now! Her grip tightened on the cold hard handle of the knife. She closed her eyes and raised her arm. Go for the jugular, he’d said.
Ben grabbed her wrist and chuckled. “I don’t think so.” He twisted her arm until the knife clattered to the floor.
“Let her go, Neanderthal,” Chocolate Eyes said, gun pointed at them.
Ben raised his brows and gave a half grin as if he enjoyed every second of this. And he did. He was sick inside that massive bullhead of his. He obeyed no one except Anton. He’d rape, kill, torture, anything Anton asked of him, and he’d enjoy doing it.
Ben turned her around so her back was up against his chest, placed his gun to her temple and cocked it.
“You won’t kill her,” Chocolate Eyes said. “Her husband will have your balls in a vise if you do. So I’d advise letting her go before I kill her myself. No sweat off my back.” Chocolate Eyes readjusted his aim and pointed at her head. “I live. She dies.”
Oh God.
****
“Just one taste, my sweetness. That is all I ask. A drop to ease my suffering.”
Delara rolled her eyes, laughing. “Your self-control is that of an ant at a picnic. One taste and you’ll be back for more, and I’ll become a dried-up piece of beef jerky.” One taste and she’d be breaking a law of her kind—thou shall not willingly allow a vamp to drink thy blood. Vice versa was a bigger no-no. Balen knew that firsthand. Actually, sleeping with the enemy was no better, Delara thought.
“Mmmm, I like beef jerky,” Liam said as he slid his hand down her inner thigh and back up again. “And I like you.”
He liked that she was a Senses and against the rules. Blood—her nickname for Liam—might be on a sort of truce with the Senses, but he was a vamp and could never be trusted.
“A lot,” he continued, while his fingers trailed to the V he just minutes ago had sunk into with mad furious passion. Shit, she needed to get up and out before he coerced her into staying another five hours in bed. “Stay the night,” he said, lowering his lips to her neck, his velvet tongue sweeping across her heated skin.
So not happening. Staying the night spelled, in big bold letters, Relationship. She caught his hand in a vise-like grip. “Can’t. Have CWOs to hunt. Short-staffed tonight and it’ll be noticed if I don’t report in.” The Center World Others were being pests lately, and the newspapers were filled with missing persons and gravesites robbed of bodies . . . go figure.
“To Waleron?” He raised his thin dark brows as he leaned over and met her eyes. And what magnetic eyes—brilliant charcoal gray that curved downwards in the outer corners, like a sad puppy dog in a window. Deceptive, she thought. And irresistible when accompanied with the smooth delectable skin of his face. “Manipulator of the century,” Liam drawled.
Maybe Waleron was, but coming from a vamp’s mouth it pissed her off. “God, Blood, way to ruin good sex.” She threw back the sheet and coldness sank into her bones. “And turn up the heat next time I come over.”
He grabbed her hand before she could vault out of bed. Strength impeded her from going anywhere, a benefit of the vamps. Rough handling she was accustomed to, but it didn’t mean she took to it well. “Hands off, Blood.”
The corner of his lips curved upwards, and the flash of battle flared in his eyes. Crap, he was itching for a fight, and she didn’t have time for his bull. “He has you wrapped around his little finger. A whisper of a word from him and you come running. I beg you to come to me more often, and you fluff me off like a pesky fly.”
“He’s our Taldeburu, Blood. Don’t put pressure on what’s between us. Sex. No strings. That’s all I will ever give. You knew this in the beginning.”
“But I didn’t know how much I’d like you,” he said, and with a sharp tug pulled her beneath him and trapped her with his arms on either side of her head, his weight on her midsection.
She sighed. She liked him too . . . in a round-about-sort-of way. Sexy. Hot. Dangerous. Bonus was she didn’t need condoms, as vamps didn’t carry diseases or impregnate, something she didn’t need happening ever again. And, well . . . he was against the rules. “Jedrik will be wondering why I never checked in.”
“Since when do you check in with anyone? And Jedrik’s a pansy.”
“Sharpshooter with an arrow and has a hate-on for vamps."
“He also went out of the city tonight,” Liam said with a smile.
Shit, he knew everything that went on in this city, and it pissed her off. His contacts stretched further than the Senses’. “Got me,” Delara said.
“Not yet, my sweetness. Perhaps one day I will.”
Yeah, right. That would be the same day she and Waleron tied the knot.
Time to get him off and her out the door. It wasn’t a chore; he was great in bed and looked after her needs more than his own. She raised her arm and hooked the back of his neck, dragging him downward. “You drive me crazy.” Well, he did with his body, and yeah he had the charisma—sexy, alluring and charming all rolled into one big package. Problem was she always hated herself after she left his place, hated that she did this to ease another kind of suffering.
“Do I?” he drawled as he kept his lips inches from her own.
“Hmmm.” She attempted to pull him closer, but he resisted. Typical play for him. Games were his forte. She reached between them and found the heated length, curling her fingers around the hardness. “And I need you right now.” She raised her hips and placed him inside her.
He threw his head back and groaned a low animalistic sound. “Sweetness. Christ,” he moaned.
Delara smiled at the control she had over him. She pulled his head down and took his lips for her own.
****
Kilter’s guess was that the Neanderthal wouldn’t kill her. She was too precious to her husband. Still, watching her being held in the bastard’s grip was sending his wrath into overdrive, which meant acting irrational regardless of the risk.
Her frightened eyes widened at something behind him. Shit, he’d lost his concentration and wasn’t paying attention to what his senses were telling him. Woman behind with the smell of cold metal in her hand. Risk or not, he had to act fast.
He leapt forward, slamming his full weight into Ben and Rayne just as the sound of a gun exploded.
Kilter felt the recognizable searing pain in the back of his shoulder. Christ, he didn’t need this shit.
The slight body beneath him shifted, and he thanked God he hadn’t broken every bone in her body landing on top of her as he did. The waif of a girl was like a pick-up-stick, but bone instead of wood.
Kilter pushed Rayne aside and then plowed his fist into the guy’s throat. He heard the sharp gasp of pain and took the opportunity to fire his gun at whoever had put the lead in his shoulder.
A female’s voice erupted from around the corner of the corridor and he scented that it wasn’t the same woman who’d shot him. “Let her go, and I will consider letting you live.”
Kilter wanted to laugh at the preposterous notion. “Like hell,” he said, and to make his point clear he shot off a round in her direction.
The air shifted and he immediately knew what the woman was—a Lilac. He tried to raise the Scar on his lower back, but being shot deterred him from using it. It was a kind of self-preservation, consi
dering his Scar took an abundance of energy from his body.
A fuckin’ Lilac. They needed to vacate ASAP, or they’d be trapped in her nasty webs and be praying for death.
He kicked out at Ben’s arm as the Neanderthal raised his gun. It went flying across the corridor and hit the wall. He rolled to the side, grabbed the back of Rayne’s sweatshirt and hauled her to her feet.
“A blast about now would come in handy,” Kilter said to Quill using telepathy.
“Location?” Quill asked.
“Ground floor. Foyer doors. We are five feet away, so don’t blow us up for fuck sake.”
“Righty oh,” Quill replied.
Within seconds, a loud blast sounded, throwing Ben off balance and giving Kilter the opportunity he needed. He changed his aim from the she-bastard, who had disappeared at the end of the corridor, and hit the baldheaded Neanderthal in the chest. He went crashing into the opposite wall. Wouldn’t kill him instantly, but he deserved a slow agonizing death. Besides, this place was laced with Quill’s explosives.
The foyer doors suddenly exploded, metal frame and glass shattering in all directions. Nice timing, Quill, he thought.
“Go. Door. Now,” Kilter shouted as another blast shook the ground. He pushed her ahead of him as he turned to cover their backs. His ability was recuperating from all the code boxes he’d tampered with, so he shot off three rounds in the direction of the stairwell, but the Lilac was nowhere in sight.
Time to go.
He dove for the door and burst out into the daylight.
His feet skidded to a halt.
Mr. Pompous-ass husband stood with his hands in a chokehold around Rayne’s neck. Her lips quivered and were turning blue as she struggled for breath. Give me a break. Her eyes bulged, and her feet dangled inches off the ground. Slim fingers tore at Anton’s vicious death hold, but her husband ignored the scratches.
It was the trickle of blood slipping from the corner of her mouth that sent his fury into final overdrive. White-hot flashes ignited as he struggled to contain the instinct to leap on her husband. He felt Quill’s voice inside him trying to soothe the rage, but he ignored him as he went into destructive mode.
There was one choice.
In a single flash, he reached in his boot for his backup knife and threw it without a second thought. It hit its mark, directly in the upper arm that was holding Rayne’s throat, inches away from her ear. Pompous-butt screamed in pain at the same time as waif-girl sucked in gasps of air and fell to her knees.
“Quill, get your butt over here and get this chick out of this hellhole,” Kilter said.
“You won’t get away with this,” Anton shouted, holding his arm. “She will come after—”
He ran at Anton, jumping over Rayne and then pounding his fist into Anton’s face. He smiled hearing the crack of bone as it made contact with his nose. A human was no match for him, even one as muscular as Pompous Ass Piranha King. Hand to hand, a Senses was ten times stronger.
He homed in on any movement around them, but oddly, it was quiet except for Quill’s explosions going off. He shoved his fist repeatedly into Piranha’s face. Blood splattered his chest and knuckles. A blind rage tore through his insides at the image of Rayne dangling, eyes wide with horror, lips trembling. What the hell had she been living through here? What had her husband done to her? He wanted to destroy the bastard and tear him limb from limb.
“Kilter, out now!” Quill grabbed his arm and pulled him off the wheezing husband. “We have two minutes before this place turns into an erupting volcano.”
Kilter roared at the interruption. He wanted to finish him off. The sick bastard deserved to die by his hand for what he did to the girl.
“Kilter, let’s go. If he’s not already dead, he will be.” Quill slammed his hand into his back, pushing him away from the huddled body on the ground.
Kilter growled low and deadly and took a step towards the motionless form when he heard the soft shuffling of feet behind him. He turned his wild eyes on the girl who was ready to dash from him at any second. She met his crazed murderous eyes and began to back away. It took him four strides to seize her arm and jolt her to a dead stop.
“Kilter,” Quill warned.
He ignored the objection and grabbed her hand, placing the knife in it. “Finish him.”
Her eyes shifted to her husband lying in a pool of blood. “I . . . I can’t.”
“He deserves to die,” Kilter said.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He gave a curt nod and took the knife, walked over to her husband and in one swoop swept it across his throat.
“You want to be on a BBQ? Let’s get out of here, man,” Quill said.
Kilter locked his arm around her waist, and they hauled ass to the wall.
Chapter 2
Jedrik flipped his lid the moment she walked through the door. That was a mild description of how he reacted. Infuriated Rhino was better.
When she left Liam’s it had been sunrise, and she’d expected Jedrik to be either in bed sleeping or in the bed of his new flavor of the week.
“This is flippin’ bull crap, Delar. Are you shittin’ me? Liam? I can smell the bastard all over you. Goddamn stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Okay, it compares to hooking up with hothead Edan—frig woman, what are you doing? Liam? Liam?”
“Okay, you’ve said that,” Delara muttered as she leaned up against the wall in the foyer. If she walked away, he’d have the entire house awake and hearing about her latest sexual encounter.
Jedrik paced the Persian runner, head low, blond curls bouncing with each furious step. “A vamp? A bloody vamp?” Jedrik repeated himself whenever he got angry. Maybe because it was so unusual he ever did lose it that he needed to double it up on the rare occasions. “Waleron hears of—”
“He won’t,” Delara interrupted. Now that would be the kicker to her already screwed-up extracurricular activities. Her peanut-butter-and-jam man finding out she slept with a vamp would be a nightmare come true. No, worse than that—a natural disaster sucking her up in its winds and spitting her out into the smelliest swamp water. Maybe in Louisiana somewhere. She wanted to laugh. Pez—aka Waleron—wouldn’t rescue her either; rather, he’d make damn certain she remained in the swamp suffering for the rest of her days.
So yeah, him finding out would be detrimental to her health. Then why was she here? She didn’t live at Keir’s anymore, and everyone was asleep at five in the morning. Her excuse to use the gym was pathetic. Why had she come to Keir’s? Because in some masochistic way she wanted Jedrik to find out. She needed him to yell and scream, tell her how stupid she was being.
“He found out about Edan,” Jedrik pointed out like the best friend he is. “And what is this bull-crap with you lately? You take off for two years, no email, no text, no nothing and then reappear as a Wraith’s sex toy. Now you switch gears, and you’re a vamp’s sex toy.”
Delara straightened at the insult. “Don’t go there, Arrow.”
“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have gone there period.” Happy-or-go-home Jedrik had gone looped. “Liam. What’s with you? Yeah, don’t friggin’ tell me. Waleron. This has something to do with him. Right? Am I right?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer as he continued, “You’re still heart wrecked over him and are using these guys to ease your pain somehow.” She tensed at how close he was to the truth. “Is it working for you? Well, I sure as frig hope it has worked its way out your ass because I’m not going to stand by and lose you again. If I have to, I’ll chop off Liam’s head myself.”
Delara swore beneath her breath. Okay, she pushed it this time. Hooking up with a Wraith was taboo, frowned upon, yeah even against the rules, but the Senses and Wraiths were on the same side. Sex partner Blood might have a truce with the Senses, but he was still the enemy. Simple. Nothing more to say.
“I’ll cool it,” she said, avoiding his eyes as he stepped in front of her.
“Say it again,” Jedrik demanded. “And bloody well
look at me, Sassy.”
Well, at least he was back to using her nickname. “I’ll cool it.”
“Too broad.”
“Christ, Arrow.” But he knew her too well. “Fine. I’ll stop having intercourse with—”
Jedrik grabbed her arm and propelled her with one fluid motion towards the kitchen. “Pez alert. Shit, Sassy. He will smell Liam in the foyer and have this house in an uproar within seconds. Get the frig out of here. Go home.” He tilted his head slightly, looking her up and down, noticing she wasn’t wearing gym clothes. “Sass, why are you really here?” His grip tightened on her arm, and his face went beet red. “You knew. You knew Pez was coming here, and you wanted him to find out.”
Actually, she hadn’t known, but there was always a risk she’d run into Pez here. “That’s bull. Why would—”
“Because you want him to destroy you. Frig, Delara. Why? Why can’t you just let him go?”
She had. She had that night two years ago when he stood beside Trinity, knowing full well that he was going to screw her brains out all week.
“I can’t look at you right now. Frig, just leave before I change my mind and don’t cover for you.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her through to the kitchen and yanked open the back door. The cool spring breeze swept through the room, causing the curtains on the windows to dance. “You’re better off cutting again than doing what you’re doing.”
Delara’s mouth dropped open. Jedrik never mentioned her previous habit. Never. Fury enveloped her. Yeah, she had a temper that went AWOL on occasion, and that comment did it. “Fine. Tell him. I don’t give a cow’s shit anymore. He’ll put me in Rest and I can relive my worst nightmares over and over again. At least then I wouldn’t have to walk around with a goddamn grapnel in my heart.”
“Frig, Sassy. I didn’t mean it.” He glanced over his shoulder and they both saw the swirling mist. “You better go.”
Delara hesitated for seconds, watching the familiar white mist, then turned and ran.
STEP (The Senses) Page 2
