Blood Legacy: Adult Urban Fantasy (The V V Inn Book 5)

by C. J. Ellisson

  “Never fear. I have prepared myself for this eventuality,” I whisper, the edge of my hunger slipping from my grasp, swelling to fill my mind with the only thing that matters—blood.

  “What does that mean?” Jon’s breath tickles my ear as his delightful werewolf pheromones leak out, not sexual this time, but still tempting me to linger and breathe in his scent, to wrap myself in it and cuddle closer. The hunger surges to the surface with a vengeance, perhaps buoyed by the emotional needs churning within me.

  My fangs lengthen and descend, driving home my need for sustenance more than anything else. Without looking in a mirror, I know my eyes have turned black, the heightened state in which a vampire fights, fucks, and feeds.

  “I—” Before I can voice my need, Jon lifts his wrist to my mouth, unself-conscious that his arm lies pressed between me and Rafe.

  “Take what you need,” he whispers in my ear. “We’re here for you, Dria.”

  I stare into my husband’s loving gaze as I sink my teeth into Jon’s supple flesh. Rich, powerful werewolf blood fills my mouth, a hint of chocolate undertones to tantalize me further. I swallow and moan against his skin, drawing in another deep pull.

  I continue for several minutes, taking far more from him than I normally do. But he never flinches. Never voices a single complaint as I draw his life force into my body.

  Rafe runs a palm over my cheek, his thumb caressing tiny circles over my jaw. “That’s enough, Dria. You don’t want to leave him weak. If you need more, I’m here.”

  I draw away, every corner of my dark soul aching to take more, to drink until he’s writhing behind me in ecstasy, reaching his ultimate release as I feed to my heart’s content. But I resist. He’s not a pawn to use that way. He’s my friend and I love him. One light lick seals the small wounds I made, and a shudder races through Jon.

  His vibrant blood courses through my veins, filling my limbs with strength and my mind with power. But the craving in me is not satiated. My fangs do not retract.

  I look to my husband and smile, a devious sexy grin. His breath hitches in his throat. “More,” I say, running a hand down his chest, tweaking one hardened nipple through his shirt. “I need more.”

  Rafe holds me at arm’s length, looking over my shoulder at the man plastered to my back. “Uh… Jon?” he says. A low growl issues from my throat as I stare intently at the thick artery under the skin on my husband’s neck. “This may get… intense.” My hands become curled, grasping fingers, reaching for him, but he still manages to choke out a last warning. “And uh, naked.”

  “Oh!” Jon pulls back, taking his warmth with him and leaving my back cold. “Yeah, right. How about I go cook dinner?”

  He beats a hasty retreat from the basement, his ears reddening in his flight as he ascends the stairs, shutting the hidden door behind him.

  In a flash, I pin my husband to the bed, tearing his shirt down the middle. I latch onto his nipple, sucking it into my mouth, scraping the tip with one fang. My hands don’t waste time either, pulling open his pants and thrusting his zipper down.

  “Slow down, honey,” Rafe says, a glint of humor in his voice. “There’s no rush. I’m here for you.”

  “Lift your hips,” I command, not caring about slowing down.

  He complies and I yank off his pants, revealing his rock hard length. I jerk the short nightgown over my head, glad he didn’t dress me in panties when he put me to bed.

  “I need—” I grab his cock and straddle him, unable to finish my sentence, my desperation making me shake. I aim his arousal at my opening and jam down with my hips, seating him fully in one forceful plunge.

  Rafe grunts, his hands clasping my hips in a death grip. “Jesus!” He thrusts upward, lowering to the bed to drive up again, somehow knowing exactly how I need him at the moment.

  The werewolf blood heats me throughout, flushing my skin, and driving me crazy with sexual desire. I toss my long hair over one shoulder and lean down, using one hand to tilt his neck to the side. Without warning, I bite into his throat, drawing a yell of pain and pleasure from him.

  To his credit, he doesn’t miss a stroke, slamming inside me as I drink greedily from his flesh, eager for every drop. “More, Dria! More!” he shouts thrusting wildly and without rhythm.

  I oblige, drawing deeply as my climax sneaks up on me. Shudders and spasms of pleasure wrack my body as I ride him like the hounds of hell were chasing me, and he was the steed to deliver me from their clutches. My body slows as my orgasm recedes, my hips moving slower and with more finesse.

  Much to my delight, Rafe hasn’t peaked yet, his cock still ramrod stiff inside me.

  I seal his wounds with my tongue, and rise up to meet his eyes.

  “We’re not through yet, darling.” He sits up, with himself still seated inside me, and shifts his legs, turning us so I’m lying under him, my back on the mattress. “And I know you can take more.”

  Unsure if he means sex or blood, I smile, drawing my knees up and opening my thighs.

  “Oh, that’s it,” he groans with delight, pushing forward. “Open that sweet pussy for me.”

  With my body compressed, thighs on either side of my rib cage, his nipples lie inches from my mouth. I curl my torso upward, latching my hands onto his back, under his arms, drawing myself close enough to kiss his stiff peaks, to suckle his tender flesh into my mouth.

  “Bite me there, Dria.” Sweat drips from his forehead, landing on my face. “Dammit, bite me now!”

  Eager to taste him again, I comply, sliding the sharp points into the soft skin around his delicate nipples, sucking the aroused tips as the first hint of blood rushes forth.

  “Oh God, yes!” he cries, bucking against me, slamming his hardness into me with enough force to drive me up the bed. As I suck and lick his nipple, one hand tweaking and pinching the other in a matching rhythm, his eyes find mine, a wildness in his I don’t normally see.

  “Goddamn it, Dria. You scared me.” He pants over me, his voice ragged and filled with emotion. “I thought,” his cock thrusts deep, “for a minute there,” he draws back out, his arms shaking with the effort to keep going, “that you were hurt.” He plunges forward, tears in his eyes. “I can’t lose you.”

  I lick the cuts on his chest closed and reach for his face, pressing my mouth over his, showing him what he means to me with my body and soul.

  You won’t, my love, I say in his mind, my own tears sliding down my cheeks. Not if I have anything to say about it.

  “More,” he whispers against my lips, emotion clouding his voice. “Take more.” He lays his chest against mine, angling his neck toward my mouth.

  Passion swirls in my core, a driving heat stoked hotter with every thrust of my husband’s hips. I kiss the tender flesh along his throat, unsure if I should indulge.

  “I—” his voice cracks and he shakes his head. Rafe’s mental voice fills my head, strong and sure when his physical one failed him. I want to fill you, liebling. With my very essence. Take my blood and my pleasure, at once.

  Understanding fills me as I circle my hips, eager to find completion with him. His tenderness and affection tightens my throat, a lump of gratitude and love weighing there.

  I sink my teeth into his neck as my second orgasm races upon me. His blood fills my mouth and swirls down my throat as I suck with all my might. The moment my sheath contracts around his length, he stills. Warmth shoots inside me as his hips slowly twitch, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

  “Take it, Dria,” he gasps, collapsing on me as his peak begins to subside, and my convulsions milk his flesh. All I have to give—it’s yours.

  I draw one last pull from his throat, hearing him gasp and feeling him thrust, squeezing out the last bit of enjoyment as his cock twitches once more within me.

  We lie there for a long while, content in the position, no matter how awkward it might be. When our breathing returns to normal, we slide from our embrace to lie side by side on the bed.

&nbs
p; I run a palm up and down his forearm. “I’m sorry. Sorry you were scared. Sorry I did that to you.”

  He rolls onto his side, drawing his arm over me to pull me closer. “It wasn’t your fault. I’m fine now that I have you in my arms.”

  In a few more minutes, reality seeps into my awareness. I hear Jon above us, in the kitchen, cooking like he said he would. Life is normal. Or as normal as it can be for us.

  I pat my husband’s arm and pull away, the loss of his warmth like a smack on the ass—startling and invigorating, convincing me of the need to dress quickly. “We have a lot to discuss. We need to get upstairs to Jon.”

  He sighs, drawing me back down, forcing me to his chest. “I know. I just want to pretend for a little while longer that everything is okay. That we’re home, in our own bed, and none of this week has happened.”

  I wrap my arms around him, eager to give him the momentary peace he seeks.

  We venture upstairs, my lover’s hand on the small of my back, Rafe refusing to let go of me for even a second.

  Jon looks up from a book as we enter, relief on his face when he sees me. “It’s about damn time. I was worried she might have drained you, old man.”

  Rafe attempts a smile, the expression not quite reaching his tortured eyes. “Never you fear. The day I need another man’s assistance—”

  Jon waves him away from finishing his thought. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. That’s the day you’re dead.”

  “Although,” I cheerily add, “With the amount of times we’ve gone through the mate bond ritual, I doubt even then you’d truly die. More like you’d turn.”

  “Really?” Jon asks, curiosity lighting his voice. “Why would you go through the ritual more than once?”

  Rafe’s amusement is genuine this time, laugh lines crinkle around his gorgeous bright blue eyes. “Because sometimes you want to.” He reaches toward me, drawing me close for another rib-splitting hug. “Especially when you’ve got the right partner.”

  Jon clears his throat. “Speaking of partners—we need to discuss the two creepy ones that messed with Viv’s head. What do they know? And cue the horror movie music—how are we going to stop their evil plan?”

  Rafe releases me and leads me to a seat, then scoots another chair closer to mine before sitting. His hand rests absently on my thigh as he scans the counter top. “Do you want a coffee, hon? Can I get you a bag of blood? We’ve got several pouches in the fridge.”

  I rub my hand over his reassuringly. “I’m fine, darling. Relax. The two of you met all my needs, and then some.”

  My husband nods and stands, preparing a steaming mug of coffee for himself before returning to his seat, and once again slipping his free hand into my lap.

  “How about,” I say, looking from one incredible man to the other, “I start at the beginning—my beginning that is. I don’t mean all the way back to the nitty-gritty of my turning, mind you, that’s too long of a tale, and one I gladly don’t recall all of, but back to when I realized I’d turned my first manipulator vampire.

  “I knew then I had sentenced the man to death. If he had turned out like the others—without the trait—he would have been safe. Free to live amongst our kind with no fear of retribution. But that wasn’t to be the case.

  “I’d already been in hiding for over thirty years, and since I staged my death with the rest of my seethe, the Tribunal had no idea I even existed. I realized I’d have to set him up like I did when I disappeared—with a whole new identity, and a story of who changed him and when. The lie would have to be linked to his true age, just in case a sensitive, like Joanna, stumbled upon him and could ferret out an elaborate ruse by sensing his true age.”

  “What was his name?” Jon asks.

  “You see, that’s the beauty of my plan. I don’t remember.”

  “What? You can recall the basics, but not the details?”

  I nod, eager to finally share what I’d done with both of them. “When I discovered I could choose to forget some of the horrible things done to me when I was captured as a human, I realized I could choose to forget other important things, too. Like whom I turned. And when.”

  Jon says, “I’m not so sure I understand. How is this supposed to help us find your turns? If you can’t remember them then we’re shit out of luck.”

  Rafe squeezes my thigh in understanding. “Well done, liebling. You may have saved all their lives. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder.”

  “Jon,” I say, focusing all my attention on the confused young man. “Think. You know what I did. You saw proof of it yourself. Even read one on your own.”

  He gasps, sitting straighter in his chair. “The journals! You wrote everything down before you willed yourself to remember the past differently.” He bolts up, pushing back from the table to pace. “Holy fucking hell. Those slim leather books. They hold the key to everything.” He makes it to the living room and turns back, his pace clipped. “You knew. You knew that someday, someone would come looking for your turns, to use them against you—or to control someone else.”

  He jumps, pumping his fist to the ceiling in a celebratory punch of righteousness. “This is huge! If we can get to them before anyone else, we can stop Rolando and Persephone.”

  The recent goodwill slides from my face, leaving me empty inside. “Yes, we can. Assuming I don’t have to kill them myself.”

  Jon freezes, horror coloring his expression. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know deep down, I would never have let them live if I doubted their path, if I ever thought they’d abuse their powers.” Tension has my shoulders creeping up to my ears. “But it’s been a long time. People change. Power changes them more.”

  “Nonsense!” Jon shouts, racing for the stairs. “I refuse to believe the worst. Let’s get packed and get home. Hot damn!” His voice drifting away as he journeys to his room. “We have a chance and that’s more than we had a few hours ago.”

  Rafe takes another swig of his coffee, lowering it to the table with a smile. “You constantly surprise me, Dria. Such foresight. Outstanding.” A thought occurs to him and his brow furrows. “But if you remembered this much, enough to recall the journals, and what you did, how can we be sure Persephone didn’t find what you’re hiding?”

  “Because she never would have known to look for my deception. Depending on the time spent in my head, she would have been looking very quickly, skimming hundreds of years of details to find the relevant information.

  “How long did she possess my mind?”

  “Minutes, truth be told, though it felt like hours watching you scream in pain.” He’s silent for a moment, perhaps reliving the recent event whether he wants to or not. “What about that list they had? Could any of your manipulator turns be on it?”

  “I don’t remember seeing a list. I can’t be sure. Did you get a look at it?”

  He shakes his head. “No, sorry.”

  “My journals should reveal who I reported to the Tribunal and who I didn’t. It’s a start. At least we can be sure they don’t have all the names or even the right ones. Tracking the viable turns we do know of will be our only option in hoping to stop their plan.”

  “But won’t those people be safe already? We can leave them alone.”

  “I don’t want to risk it—and like I feared, they might be corrupted by the power. Persephone can easily track through Tribunal records where I lived and when. Large gaps of residing somewhere without reporting any turns could be a red flag for them, and prompt them to investigate any and all seethes reporting from the area.”

  “That should slow them down a bit.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  I hold his hand on my leg and think of my past. All I’ve lost and gained with living in the present. Sadness trickles through me, I’m not sure from where. “I won’t read them,” I say, my voice so quiet it’s a mere brush of air in the room. “I cannot live through the pain again.” I glance up at the man I love more than life itself. “Wil
l you do it for me?”

  My husband pulls me close again, like he can’t get enough of me, the fear still gripping him from the sleep that went on too long. “Anything. I will do anything for you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His lips settle against mine. Yes. I’m sure.

  After we’re packed and waiting for the plane and pilots to get ready, I receive a text from Justin asking if we found Rolando and reminding me I owe him payment for his services.

  The jet won’t be able to take off for a few hours, so we drive to Justin’s to tie up loose ends. It takes some time, but we explain the events as best we can, letting him know his magic is still valid, and it was a spell that turned his blood to dust and called forth the invunche and hombre gato—leaving out the parts about my being a manipulator and the deadly duo mind-raping me.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, apprehension in his voice. “I haven’t tried a damn thing since the tracking spell.” The young man shakes his head. “I didn’t want to risk it.”

  I lift a shoulder. “As sure as we can be. We’ll know for certain when you attempt a spell with your blood.”

  “Okay, okay.” He runs a hand through his longish black hair, at least today it looks clean. “I’ll try something after I master the meditating and aura cleansing Bart told me about. I’m not taking any more risks with being sloppy.” His eyes dart nervously toward the sink. “I’ve done that for way too long. This was the wake-up call I needed.”

  Justin stands and goes to the counter near the sink. He hands me a glass flat-bottomed vial—similar to what we store the shots of my blood in at the resort—a much better selection for storing a valuable liquid than the porous clay pot the witch used.

  With an eye on the clock, I reach for the knife on the table. In one smooth slice I open my wrist, angling the wound over the vial. Once it’s filled, I stopper the top and watch the cut heal.

  “Thank you for helping us, Justin. I’m well aware you didn’t have to.” I slide the payment across the table to him. “You surprised me with your fortitude and dedication. Can I call upon you in the future if I have need of your services?”