Bite My Fire: A Biting Love story.

by Mary Hughes

  “My kind is powerful, Elena, but very few in number compared to humans. And still vulnerable. To sunlight. To bazookas.” He smiled.

  “But rich.”

  He rose and sat next to me. “Even so, we must stay secret, for as long as we can. Though it’s getting harder.”

  “Why? Is someone going to give away your secrets?”

  “Not intentionally. But some of us are getting incautious. And there are so many more of us, now.”

  “More rogues?”

  “Yes. But also more vampires, period.”

  “But still only a handful compared to billions of humans,” I murmured. “We humans can help, you know. I can help.”

  He drew a sharp breath. “I thought we had this conversation. I don’t want you policing vampires on your own, Elena. It’s not safe.”

  “Not alone.”

  “Detective Ruffles isn’t enough—”

  “Not Dirk, you. I can patrol with you, as your backup. As your partner.”

  “You and me?” He blinked. “I don’t know, Elena. I haven’t worked with a partner in, well, decades. Generations.”

  I touched him gently. “I’m not Ruthven, Bo. I won’t betray you.”

  “No.” He put his hand over mine. “You’re not anything like Ruthven.”

  “That lameass. I’ll be a much better partner.” I grabbed him around the neck, planted a big kiss on his lips. “Prettier too.”

  “Much prettier.” Bo laughed.

  “Besides, if there are any humans around, I can deal with them.”

  “I suppose it would help to have someone to get the humans out of harm’s way. But partner…I don’t know.”

  I could see he wasn’t going to accept it easily. “I could at least make sure people don’t see you chopping heads. And I could solve crimes like the Case of the Punctured Prick—without revealing the v-population exists.”

  “The Elena Strongwell Vampire Detection Agency?”

  The name, “Elena Strongwell”, made me shiver. Bo was such a strong, darkly erotic male. And I was marrying him. “Sure, after I get in a few more years with the department.”

  “I could use the help,” he said reluctantly. “But not a partner.”

  “Bo, hate to break it to you but I’m already doing the job.”

  “What?”

  “Partners have an equal stake. Equal responsibility.” I caressed his cheek softly. “I went after the murderer. Solved the case. When it comes to justice, I’m your equal.”

  Bo stared at me as if I’d nailed him with a rock. “You’re already my partner. Huh.” Then, slowly, he smiled. He took me in his arms, rolled me under him on the bed. Thrust into me. “Elena, you’re beautiful, you’re brilliant—and you’re damned sneaky. My wonderful fighter for justice. Partner. And sexy as hell.”

  Fighting for justice. Sounded like my calling. Like our calling.

  As I raised my hips to meet Bo’s, I amended that. Not our calling. But who we were.

  –—

  I raised the weapon, pointed it at the headpin of the gang. “You,” I said in my toughest cop voice. “You’re going down.”

  “If you don’t gutter it again,” Alice said.

  “A little quiet, here,” I said. “This isn’t easy.”

  “Because your fiancé keeps goosing you,” Nixie said helpfully.

  “He isn’t goo…whoops!” The hot pinch to my behind made the ball squirt from my hand. It thudded onto the boards and rolled promptly into the gutter.

  “Damn,” Alice said. “Next time I get the shrimp and the Viking on my team instead of Bombs-away and Preggers.”

  “Hey,” said Gretchen. “I heard that.”

  As I sat, my cell rang. I pulled it, noted the ID with resignation. The mayor’s office. “Hold for the mayor,” Heidi barked.

  A click. “Elena, meine Freundin, congratulations on your arresting of the killer! The Schrimpf case is solved. The tourism is saved. I am so happy.”

  “Thanks, Mayor.”

  “The Mayors of Urban Centers United Society no longer tease me. I am so very happy. Heidi is also happy, which is making me so very, very happy. I can tell she is also happy because she is using her softest whi—”

  “Good, good. I’m glad you’re happy and Heidi’s happy and the whi—I mean, everyone’s happy. Glad to be of service.”

  “Ja, well I put in the good word with the Chief of Police for you. But surprise! He is already promoting you. So alles ist gut, ja?”

  “Yeah, everything’s good. Bye, Mayor.” Chuckling, I shut the phone.

  Gretchen leaned over. “You know, Elena, I said you changed, and I was right. You have changed, a lot.”

  I remembered when she said that. When she was angry. When our bonds of sisterhood had cracked. “Yeah?”

  “For the first time, I think you’re happy.”

  “Oh.” Just like that, the crack was gone. I watched Bo gliding up to the line. Perfect form, perfect grace. He slid into the release like a pro. And all that perfect male was mine. “Yes. I think you’re right. I am so very, very happy.”

  Just as Bo’s ball cracked into the headpin, his hip started tweedling. While the rest of us watched the ten pins at the end of the lane practically explode, Bo turned and pulled his phone. “Strongwell. Yes, Thor. Of course. I’ll be right—” He looked at me and smiled. “We’ll be right there.”

  I stood. “Sorry, everyone. The neighborhood watch just called. Bo and I have to go.”

  We got into our street shoes, and I picked up Bob and my new backup knife from a rental locker. The knife I slid into my jeans, into a secret holster Bo had sewn inside, just like he had for his patrol blade. “Where are we headed?”

  “Northwest. Two rogues were sighted near the Meiers Corners work camp.”

  “Is one of them Vlad?”

  Bo’s eyes got faraway, as if checking an internal map. “No, he’s still inside.”

  We hit the street. “Maybe they’re trying to break Vlad out.”

  “Hope so.” Bo grinned. “I’d like a good fight.”

  When we passed the AllRighty-AllNighty, I said, “The night we met, I was called in on a robbery and the strangest thing happened. There was a wind…and it tied Scout knots.”

  Bo smiled. “Even then I couldn’t resist running my hands through your hair, Detective.”

  “Oh.” I blushed. “Are we near those rogues, yet?”

  “Around the corner.” Bo smiled. “Ready—partner?”

  I grinned back, wide as a mile. Partner. That felt so damn right. “Oh, yeah. Let’s go.”

  About the Author

  Mary Hughes is a computer consultant, professional musician and writer. At various points in her life she has taught Taekwondo, worked in the insurance industry, and studied religion. She is intensely interested in the origins of the universe. She has a wonderful husband (though happily-ever-after takes a lot of hard work) and two great kids. But she thinks that with all the advances in modern medicine, childbirth should be a lot less messy.

  To learn more about Mary Hughes, please visit www.maryhughesbooks.com/.

  Look for these titles by Mary Hughes

  Now Available:

  Biting Nixie

  Coming Soon:

  Biting Me Softly

  Nitro? Meet glycerin…

  Biting Nixie

  © 2009 Mary Hughes

  Biting Love, Book 2

  Punk musician Nixie Schmeling is a hundred pounds of Attitude who spells authority a-n-c-h-o-r and thinks buying insurance is just one more step toward death. So she really feels played when she’s “volunteered” to run the town’s first annual fundraising festival. Especially when she finds out it’s to pay for a heavy-hitting, suit-wearing lawyer—who’s six-feet-plus of black-haired, blue-eyed sex on a stick.

  Attorney Julian Emerson learned centuries ago that the only way to contain his dangerous nature is to stay buttoned up. He’s come from Boston to defend the town from a shady group of suits…and an
even shadier gang of vampires. But his biggest problem is Nixie, who shreds his self-control.

  Nixie doesn’t get why the faphead shyster doesn’t understand her. Julian wishes Nixie would speak a known language…like Sanskrit. Even if they manage to foil the bloodthirsty gang, what future is there for a tiny punk rocker and a blue-blooded skyscraper?

  And that’s before Nixie finds out Julian’s a vampire…

  Warning: Contains more eye-popping sex, ear-popping language and gut-popping laughs than can possibly be good for you. And vampires. Not sippy-neck wimps, but burning beacons of raw sexuality—this means passionate blood-heating, violent bloodletting, and fangy bloodsucking. Oh, and cheese balls. Those things are just scary.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Biting Nixie:

  “We might as well go, Nixie. Since the bands can’t audition tonight.”

  “Yeah, but when? I need to audition the bands like yesterday. The festival’s less than two weeks away!”

  “You’ll find a time, I’m sure.” Julian dragged me out the door of the Kosmopolitisch. The moonlight etched his flared nostrils and sharp eyes.

  “What,” I said as he dragged me down the street.

  His eyes were so intense they must have pierced every shadow. When he answered, he sounded distracted. “What, what?”

  “You’re doing your Elmer Fudd imitation. Do you think the lights-out wasn’t because Cary didn’t pay his electric bills?”

  His eyes closed briefly, as if in pain. “Do you ever speak a known language? Sanskrit, perhaps?”

  “Look, it’s a simple enough question—”

  I was interrupted by another streetlamp blowing a bulb. The sharp pop made me jump. “What is it with these cheap-ass lights? Or did Meiers Corners forget to pay its electric bill, too?”

  Julian’s fingers tightened on my elbow. “Don’t blame the city.” The hunter face was back in spades. His eyes were bright violet and he was working his jaw like he tasted something nasty. “Apparently some people don’t know a warning when they hear it.”

  Four figures swirled out of the dark. Three long coats and a suit.

  Julian inclined his head toward them. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice dark and thorny.

  If I thought by his calm nod he was being all friendly, that dangerous tone would have clued me otherwise. That, and the fact that he was grinding my elbow into powder with his tight grip.

  “Emerson.” The lead suit greeted him cautiously.

  “Did you deliver my message to your bosses already?” Julian was the epitome of cool. He could have been at a Victorian tea party, asking “one lump or two”.

  The suit shrugged. “We phoned it in.”

  “It doesn’t have the same impact if they didn’t see my…little gift.”

  “We took a picture.” One of the leathercoats held up a cell phone.

  At least Julian wasn’t so digitally challenged that he didn’t recognize a camera phone. “Ah. And their response?”

  The suit shrugged again. “You die.”

  “So you waited until I was alone.”

  “Hey,” I objected.

  “Yes.” The suit smiled. And his canines were really long.

  I leaned closer to Julian. “Four of them, two of us,” I said under my breath. “We’ll have a better chance with a plan. You take the toothy Lupin, I’ll take the left coat.” But as I started to move, something tugged my head forward, and the lights went out.

  I was suddenly blind. Couldn’t see a damn thing.

  Fighting down panic, I realized something covered my head. Something clingy and soft. At least I hadn’t had a stroke. Struggling with the thing, I realized it was some sort of cloth. A sack? A hood?

  Growling and snarling slashed the air around me. It sounded like a pack of ravenous dogs. I had to do something. But how could I fight without my sight?

  A couple quick little snicks were followed by a deeper ka-click.

  And I realized I could fight—with my ears! I swung both fists. Hit nothing.

  In front of me came a sound uncomfortably like meat tearing. I flailed at it, again swiping air.

  And then came that terrible, awful sound I hoped never to hear again. Wet plopping. Blood, spattering onto the pavement.

  Inside my restraint, I gasped for breath. I had to see! I reached for my face but a roar startled me into falling on my ass. The voice was Julian—if Julian had eaten a lion. What the hell was going on? Frantically, I tore at the cloth over my face. It wouldn’t come off.

  My fingers hit some lumps in the stuff. Gathers, like a tie in a channel of cloth.

  It was my hoodie! My own freaking hoodie. I traced down until I found the laces. They were knotted tight.

  Blindly I picked at the knot. Around me were sounds of a fierce fight. Four against one. I could only imagine the beating poor paper-pushing Julian was taking. If only I could help! The knot loosened but refused to come free. In impotent fury I jerked at the hood, as if I could rip it open. The cloth remained stubbornly whole.

  The sound of fighting died away. What was going on now? Was Julian down? Was he…no, he couldn’t be dead. Julian Emerson, Super Suitguy, was too damn arrogant to be dead.

  But it was so silent. What else was I to think? And what would happen to me if Julian was…down?

  Hands came around my waist. I went ballistic, hitting and scratching with no finesse at all. Strong fingers grabbed my wrists, restraining me. Arms wrapped around me like steel bands. Lifted me. Caught me tight to an immense chest. My legs curled automatically around a lean waist.

  My fight died. Strong fingers, steely arms, concrete wall chest. I recognized these body parts. And the oh-so-lean waist. Panic flamed into instant desire. I tightened my legs, snuggling my crotch up good and close.

  Well, hello. Someone was very glad to see me.

  “Nixie.” Julian’s voice. But not his usual cultured drawl. No, this voice was tight and strained. The kind of voice you got when all your blood drained from your vocal cords to your baseball-bat-sized cock. Ooh, he really did carry foot-long things in his clothes. I rubbed my hips against Mr. Big Gavel. That drew more blood down. “Nixie,” he said again, even more strained. I found I liked Julian’s voice all stiff and growly.

  “Stop that. I’m trying to untie your hood.”

  Damn. Aroused, but in control of himself. How disappointing.

  In my dark cave, I blinked. Disappointing? No way. I was not disappointed that Julian Emerson, stodgy old hoag, was not interested in me. Well, feeling his big nightstick flex, maybe he was interested. But not enough to be out of control about it. And that was a good thing, right?

  Except I was burning up. That thick rod pulsing against my crotch, the smell of fighting male, the feel of his hard body under me… I was wet enough to grease a Cadillac. So when my hoodie came loose, I took one look at his beautiful, dark-bronze mouth and kissed him good.

  He tasted like war. Like fast rides with a powerful motorcycle between my thighs. Like getting drunk on expensive champagne. I ran my tongue over his lips and drank.

  Julian’s hands, in the process of putting me down, stopped. Came back around me. Crushed me to him.

  His mouth opened against mine. With a raw groan, he kissed me back.

  OMG. Julian hadn’t spent all his time studying law in law school. His tongue slid between my lips, stroking my skin like wet silk. He tasted me as a man savors the last pressing of summer grapes. Suckled my lower lip like it was sweet, heavy, and ripe.

  And as Julian kissed, his hands, those square competent hands, were oh so busy. One slid up and under my shirt. The other stole down the back of my pants.

  That wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Tonight I was wearing ruffled spandex over jeans cut to my ass over a French thong. But Julian wove his fingers over and under, smooth as a wet dream. Stroked my buttocks. Found that really sweet spot right at the base of my spine. Brushed the downy hairs until my bottom was wide awake and clamoring for more.

  My brain f
illed with images. Me lying on my back, six-feet plus of male over me, all lean muscle and hot satin skin. Blue eyes clouded with desire as he did the passion pushups. Julian would be tender and attentive. Conscientious. Sober. Staid. Deadly dull.

  We would have vaginal sex in the missionary position.

  Would he even take off his tie?

  Lust turned off like a light. I pulled away.

  Julian didn’t put me down immediately. He lifted his head, looked at me. Intently, as if he could read why I’d cooled in my eyes. It was weird. His hand was still down the back of my pants. I was still breathing heavily. I could feel my lips, still wet and buzzing. But Ms. Malebox no longer wanted any deliveries.

  I expected Julian to be angry. I expected him to accuse me of being a cock tease or worse. After all, I had started it. And pulsing against my crotch was an erection as big and swollen as a Usinger sausage. It had to be painful.

  But Julian only continued to stare into my eyes. Deeply, as if he could read my thoughts.

  And maybe he could, because slowly he bent his head. He pressed warm lips to my neck. As if he had all the time in the world, his tongue came out and tasted me.

  Not a little lick or tickle. No, a full, curling hot swipe. Intimate. Wet. Sinfully erotic. And just a little bit kinky.

  That hot lick was not staid at all. My motor revved back up, going directly into third gear. I clutched Julian’s shoulders. Hard muscle met my fingers. I closed my eyes and enjoyed.

  The tongue grew bolder, tracing the line of my throbbing pulse. It slicked over my skin, steamy and questing. Hot male battle-scent spiced the air. Julian’s fingers threaded into my hair, pulled my head aside to give him greater access to my neck. His mouth opened over my skin. Fiery breath lanced me.

  Oh, please, I thought. Give me the sharp edge of sex. Bite me.

  It’s never a good idea to date your prey…