The Purest of the Breed (The Community Book 2)

by Tracy Tappan

  Waterson’s eyes were wide, exploding emeralds.

  “Get your hands off me!” Dev seethed between fangs and teeth, “before I—”

  “My, my, look at this,” came a female voice from over by the door. “This makes my day, truly it does.”

  Dev’s pulse jumped in his throat. He recognized the voice. It wasn’t the nurse, it was…it was… Oh, Jesus God, his men had come to his rescue. They’d called in Kimberly.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “I mean, this is just a juicy, big-money lawsuit handed to me on a silver platter. Really, Detective, how generous of you.”

  Dev began to tremble all over, near-crippling relief and now a devastating blood-need collapsing his nerves. He clamped his molars together to keep his teeth from audibly chattering, his fangs sticking his bottom lip. Thank every star in the sky. Ass-kicker Kimberly was here.

  Waterson snapped his hands off Dev’s hospital gown and turned toward the door, his eyes narrowed to blades.

  Sedge’s wife met the detective look for look. “I’m Kimberly Stănescu, Mr. Nichita’s attorney. Am I correct in understanding,” her voice chilled another degree as she redirected a hard look to Dev’s cuffed wrist, “that my client is being detained?”

  “Your client committed a crime.”

  “What crime?” Kimberly demanded.

  “He shot me,” Dev accused, gratified to see Waterson’s jaw clench.

  “Breaking and entering for one,” the detective responded.

  “I didn’t break,” Dev protested. “I just entered. Trying to help…”

  “And carrying an unregistered M4 rifle,” Waterson cut back in, his voice honed steel.

  Kimberly held out a piece of paper. “Mr. Nichita’s weapon is registered to him.”

  Waterson barely glanced at the paper. “Is it? A military issue weapon. Well, that’s interesting. Perhaps you’d care to share who your client is, Counselor, and what organization he works for.”

  Kimberly stuffed the paper back into her briefcase. “I’m under no obligation to disclose that information.”

  “Ah.” Waterson’s expression turned droll. “So the plot thickens.”

  Kimberly gave Waterson a gimlet stare. “I don’t have time for games, Detective. Either charge my client with a crime or release him, but don’t—”

  “Thing is, Ms. Stănescu, I’m sort of a little stickler about things like proof. So you’re going to have to give me something before I can just kick this man to the curb.”

  “I don’t have to give you anything, Detective Waterson. Mr. Nichita hasn’t committed a crime.”

  “No? Vigilantism is illegal.”

  “Then charge him with that,” Kimberly shot back, biting off each word. “And we’ll see you in court.”

  Waterson’s own glare turned brittle. “Mr. Nichita is believed to be withholding information about men wanted for the serial abduction of women. That’s obstruction of—”

  “Can you prove that?”

  Dev would’ve smiled if he’d had the energy. Speaking of that little thing called proof…

  Waterson’s eyebrows veed into a threatening scowl. Oh, if Sedge were here to see that. Bad, bad, bad.

  Kimberly glanced at the wall clock. “I have another meeting in an hour.” More to the point, sunrise was closing in fast on her Vârcolac client. “I’d like a decision. And while you’re making it, please note that if we end up in court, I’ll be adding the police brutality I witnessed here today to the docket.”

  A muscle bunched and hollowed in Waterson’s cheek, but after only the barest hesitation, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a small key. Crossing to the bedrail, he unlocked the handcuff from Dev’s wrist.

  Dev released the last of the air in his lungs. A year’s supply of flowers and candy for Sedge’s awesome wife. Kimberly had won. Lowering the bedrail, Dev scooted carefully to the edge of the mattress and sat with his legs dangling while he tried to get his bearings. His head was attempting to un-corkscrew from his neck and his body and hair were soaked with sweat.

  Stepping back, Waterson shoved his handcuff key away. “You do know that your client was recently shot, right, Counselor? If you’d care to notice, he looks like absolute shit.”

  “Likewise I’m sure,” Dev returned glibly. Even though it was true.

  “Mr. Nichita will gladly sign a form saying he’s leaving AMA.” Kimberly claimed Dev’s pants from off the chair and handed them to him, murmuring, “Blood-need?”

  Dev nodded and screwed his eyes shut. Bright spots pinwheeled across the screen of his lids.

  “Do you need a wheelchair?” Kimberly asked quietly.

  In front of Waterson? He’d rather head over to proctology for an impromptu rectal exam. “Is the van right out front?”

  “Yes.”

  He could make it that far, then…somehow. With superhuman effort, he hoisted himself to his feet, Kimberly helping to steady him with a hand under his arm. He fumbled his black fatigues on and shuffle-stepped into his boots. Dragging off his torn hospital gown, he searched for his shirt.

  “Here.” Kimberly handed him a scrubs top. “I think your shirt and coat were ruined by blood.”

  He clamped his teeth as he pulled on the scrubs, his shoulder protesting the whole way, then aimed for the door. One foot in front of the other, Dev, just keep it moving…

  It was time to go home.

  * * *

  “Enjoy your freedom,” John threw out as a parting jab. “Something tells me it’ll be short-lived.” He hadn’t expected the big man to stop, but he did.

  The lawyer lady tugged on him with a, “Let’s go,” but Nichita turned around and took a step back toward John.

  The man stood weaving over him, his face taut with the effort of just remaining upright. For a guy who clearly spent most of his waking hours in a gym, Nichita looked perilously close to doing a girl-faint. “Leave this case alone, Waterson. I’m telling you right now, you’re in way over your head.”

  “Seriously? Okay. Whew, I’ll just go have a beer, then.”

  Nichita shook his head slowly. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with, cop. Consider this a friendly word of warning.”

  Anger pulsed through John’s jaw. “You and I aren’t friends.”

  “No, we’re not. You shot me.” Nichita gave him a hard-edged smile. “I won’t be forgetting that any time soon.” He turned around and clomped out.

  John watched the tall man shoulder his way past the doorjamb, that fierce lady lawyer at his side. Fury moved to throb at John’s temples and burn through his chest. He hated being outmaneuvered, hated it even more when somebody found a vulnerable spot in his soft underbelly to jab. What Nichita had said about Tonĩ Parthen…

  “Hey, John? Excuse me.”

  John schooled his face into a calm expression as he turned and focused on the man who’d just entered the room. “Yeah, Eddie. Sorry.” It was Dr. Edward Sevilli, the hematologist who’d been examining the medical records for this case. “What’s up?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” Eddie held up a file, closing the door behind him.

  John gave his brows a quick lift. In a private conversation?

  “Your blood work came back with—”

  “My blood work?”

  “Well, yes. The hospital ran some routine tests on you as a part of treating you for your bullet wound.” Eddie held out the file to him. The name John Waterson was printed on it. “A strange element popped up in your blood work, too, John.”

  John froze in the act of reaching for the file. “What?” He dropped his hand, his heart faltering a beat. “How…? I mean, is it the same element as Nichita’s and the other one?”

  “No, not exactly, but…it’s still nothing identifiable as strictly human, John. Um…” Eddie paused to adjust his perfectly knotted tie. “I don’t mean to pry, but…are you unwell?”

  Ice washed through John’s belly. This was exactly why he hated doctors. A guy went to one,
and ended up leaving sicker than when he got there. Just like his father. “Me? Nope, Eddie.” He automatically slid his hands into his jeans pockets. “Fit as a fiddle.”

  * * *

  Community of Ţărână, 9:32 p.m.

  Dev bolted upright in bed, gulping for air, his nostrils flared wide as trumpets around the scent of—

  “It’s okay, Dev.” Marissa’s hand landed on his forearm. “It’s only—”

  His ass nearly took flight off the bed.

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She was sitting on the edge of his mattress, a couple of little creases hanging out between her eyebrows. “You were sleeping so soundly, and I’ve been quiet as a mouse. I don’t know how I woke you.”

  Maybe because you smell like all the king’s horses and all the king’s men coming to put me back together again. He cemented his lips shut as his fangs plunged deeply into his mouth. How in the hell was he still this damned hungry? He had a very clear recollection of his donor, Ruxandra, coming to his bedroom and forcing her wrist on him, and…oh, wait, yeah, he’d heaved it. Such was the joy of being a Vârcolac male wholly wrapped up in another woman.

  Tonĩ had pumped him full of high-dose vitamins via an IV to try and keep his blood-need at a low torture until he could manage to feed. He’d passed out, anyway, and now here he was, still Humpty Dumpty needing to be put back together again, and the woman who could do that was the king’s horses and men…because she couldn’t do it. Not until she’d stamped her I-know-you’re-a-vampire card. Oh, and agreed to hook up with him forever and ever.

  He was precariously close to not caring about any of that. Marissa was sitting so near, and…in her pajamas, which meant she’d washed off her scent-cutting mud for the night. His frontal lobe felt like it was bulging against his skull, her scent was so deep inside his head. He could totally picture himself pulling a Nosferatu on her, rearing above her with a hiss, driving his fangs into her throat, sucking down her sweet, powerful blood in deep, greedy gulps.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. There were so many things wrong with that scenario, he couldn’t even begin to count them. Turning himself into the community snitch, forcing a bond on an unsuspecting human, possibly taking Marissa too roughly in his crazed need…okay, he was counting. Which was probably a good thing. He needed to get his shit in a sock before he really did do something he’d regret.

  “Wh—” He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?” You should go had been what he’d planned to say, find a way to warn her that weak of will, ravenous, and desperate made a volatile cocktail in him. He sent his tongue in a slow slide across his lips. And heading toward a stupid one.

  “I heard you were shot.” Marissa rubbed her hand along his forearm, her touch sending a shiver from the tips of his fangs all the way up into the bones of his temples. “What was I supposed to do after that? Go have drinks with the girls at Garwald’s?”

  He blinked a couple of times. He wasn’t…sure…what was going on here. Was she worried about him? They’d known each other for two days.

  Marissa lowered her eyes, her long lashes grazing the soft curve of her cheek. “Remember the night you saved me, Dev, how you said you’d always come back?” Her fingertip made a circular pattern on his arm, then—she pinched him.

  He jumped. “Jesus!”

  Her eyes shot back up to his face. “Getting shot comes awfully close to breaking that promise, buster.”

  He swallowed hard and, ridiculously, heat stung the backs of his eyes. This night had just been so screwed up; losing Kendra Mawbry and getting shot, Gábor almost stumbling into the crossfire, too, then Dev landing in a regular human hospital and being threatened with dissection. But lying here now, feeling utterly wiped out and still reeling with aftershocks, he felt like he’d never been very far away from okay. He had a whole community of people watching out for him. Kimberly had come to the hospital, and his team had gotten him home. Tonĩ and Doc Jess had clucked over him like a couple of mother hens, making sure he wasn’t going to die. And now here was Marissa, looking at him with those dainty creases between her brows. Because she was worried about him. Dev swallowed again, his Adam’s apple rasping against the inside of his parched throat. For the first time ever in his life, a woman who wasn’t a platonic friend or family member cared about him. A woman he’d met all of two days ago, but who could make a screwed-up night feel a whole lot less screwed by just being here with him and touching his arm.

  “No need to get violent, sweetheart. I just got winged,” he lied. “And I did come back, didn’t I?” He tossed a crooked smile at her, careful not to show fangs that were still being annoying.

  The creases melted from her brow. “Nevertheless…” He could tell she was still trying to sound huffy, but was losing momentum with that. “I’m not letting you out of my sight for a while.”

  He stirred. That was both an “uh, oh” and a “cool.”

  “I went to the library and checked out a couple of DVDs for us to watch together.” She held them up. “I have Notting Hill and Love Actually.”

  He squinted at the titles. “I think it’s probably very bad that I’ve never heard of those.”

  “They’re Hugh Grant movies.”

  “Chick flicks?”

  “Totally.”

  He groaned.

  “Oh, I think you’ll like these.” She slanted a sassy smile at him. “We get to make out during the boring parts. And, for you, that’s probably going to be often.”

  The hair on his nape prickled. From anticipation or alarm? Who the fuck could tell. It was probably a little of both. Because kissing her definitely sat at the top of his list of Things I Want To Do But Shouldn’t. The shouldn’t part? Based on a blood-need that would no doubt give his control the middle finger the moment his lips met hers, and the potential for groin-pain…yeah, that was the alarm side of things.

  “Although,” she added, “in this case, I might have to retract that offer.” Her mouth turned down at the corners a little. “You don’t exactly look like you were just winged.”

  “Nah, I’m okay. I just need some meds.” As in, blood. He grabbed his cell phone off his nightstand and texted Ruxandra. He’d pretend his blood donor was a nurse, then hole up with her in the bathroom long enough to choke down blood that would no doubt taste like rotting ass with Marissa so close by. But choke it down he would. His chances of getting Marissa to leave were slim—not with her stubborn side banging heads against his weak resolve—and he was under no illusions about what watching a movie with her would entail: cuddling together in his oversized armchair, her against his side, his arm around her, her head resting on his shoulder. The smell of her hair in his face. The only way he could come close to handling that was to get his fangs to quit acting like a couple of oil pumpjacks wanting to drill deep.

  “Once a nurse gets here,” he told her, “I’ll be down for a movie.”

  “Great.” She hopped off his bead. “I’ll just pop in one of these DVDs.” He watched her head toward his entertainment center, his eyes pinned on her shapely ass. Her pajama pants were clingy, and…he didn’t see a panty line in sight. Commando?

  He bit back a moan, his breath stalling in his chest. His hunger stretched, an insistent fucking beast, lust knotting along the muscles in his legs and lower back.

  “Love Actually first.” Marissa crouched down in front of his DVD player.

  “I’ll, um…I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take a rain check on the making out part.” Probably best not to overestimate the level of ‘handle it’ satisfaction he was going to get out of Ruxandra.

  Marissa turned on her heels and looked at him, her expression soft. “That’s okay,” she said with an understanding smile.

  He felt himself blush. He probably sounded like a complete virgin with that. Which…yeah… “But I am claiming that kiss, and I know just the place we can go for me to redeem my rain check.” He smiled, as big as he could manage with his lips pressed together.

  The
re, that added some testosterone back into his game. Damn straight.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “I don’t think you’re ready for this, Dev. You were shot just two days ago.” Marissa turned from the twenty-foot-tall rock wall and looked at him. “I doubt rock climbing is among your prescribed recovery exercises.” Butterflies chased moths ’round and ’round in her stomach. Honesty is the best policy time: she was the one who wasn’t ready for this. Not today, not tomorrow. Not when pigs competed for an Olympic ice dancing Gold in Hell.

  “I’m fine, Riss,” Dev assured her. “No worries.”

  He did look fine. Amazingly. The mischievous sparkle was back in his eyes, the color in his cheeks was good, and his broad shoulders stretched the limits of his T-shirt with robust health. Guess he actually had only been winged.

  Dev crouched down to retie his boot. “What I want to show you at the top is worth the climb, and look—” As he straightened, he pointed up the face of the cave wall. “There are hand holds and steps the whole way. It’ll be a cinch.” He urged her forward.

  “Wait!” She stumbled back to her original position. “Aren’t we going to use that rope and pulley system?” The contraption was hanging to the side of the so-called hand holds and steps.

  He tsked and looked at her from beneath his brows. “That’s for amateurs.”

  “I’m an amateur!” she shot back, her voice rising. Actually, um…that’d been a full-on shout.

  His chin came up slowly, and then his eyebrows arched onto his forehead.

  She hid a grimace. Well, great. Screaming meant she owed him an explanation. “All right, look. I usually don’t tell men this a week into dating them—because the news sends them running away like I’m some genetic abnormality, which I’m not—but I had scoliosis when I was a kid.”

  He stepped back, his eyes leveled on her. Listening.

  “That’s curvature of the spine, just to clarify. I was diagnosed when I was six. My mom limited my activity, but it still grew worse. By eight I was in a back brace. As you can probably imagine, I was the town circus act, which was such a lovely way to grow up. And at school—ha! No need to expound on that. I wore the brace till I was ten, at which point I had surgery to fuse a couple of my vertebrae. I didn’t do much of anything in the years I wore the brace, and even after I no longer needed it, I was still always careful. Then…when I was fourteen, something happened and…I was determined not to be afraid anymore. I tried different activities, then harder ones, more and more, even though my mom somewhat freaked out. I joined a biking club, went on a white water rafting trip, even played soccer for a season. I never did gymnastics or tennis or things that required too much twisting of my back, though. Because I knew my limitations, Dev, and I worked within them. That’s how I was able to be brave about my new adventures. I pushed myself, but never too far.” Well, this had been more of a speech than she’d initially planned. She pointed a finger upward. “Climbing a twenty-foot-tall wall of rock is too much.” She paused. “I’m sorry.”