Not Tiff. She had chosen to be here. Yes, I had taken her from a club owned by a vampire, but she didn’t know what he was at the time. He hadn’t had time to taint her with his evil.
She was a clean soul.
It made me ashamed to have involved her in my life as much as I had.
Blue eyes flashed at me. Her brow creased, full lips hardening into a line of anger. Tiff moved. Straddling me and pushing me back against the wall. One small fist thumped down on my chest, hard enough to get my attention. Hard enough to hurt. She loomed over me, finger pointing in my face.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Her voice pushed through clenched teeth. Tears pooled in the rims of her eyes, glittering and shimmering, waiting for the one small thing that would send them tumbling down her cheeks. “Don’t you dare get that look on your face. You are not sending me away for my own good. I am a grown woman and I want to be here. I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere.” She leaned in, face close to mine. The tears had spilled and her voice was a fierce whisper. “The only reason I got so scared is that I love you, Deacon Chalk. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone or anything in my whole damned life.”
Then she kissed me.
21
Her mouth was soft. The kiss was hard and fierce. Lips delicate and tender parted against mine. Her hands came up to my face as our tongues danced. I returned her kiss roughly, arms sliding around her. One hand went to the back of her neck, pulling her into me, holding her there even though she wasn’t trying to get away.
The air was charged, energy dancing back and forth between us. My skin felt swollen with need. The kiss broke and she sat back. Both of us were breathless. My mouth ached with the absence of her. I could still taste her warm and sensuous on my lips. She turned her face away, sliding her bangs over to cover her eyes. Hiding.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m not trying to push you where you don’t want to go.” She leaned away, moving. “I’ll leave.”
Those two words stabbed me in the heart.
The inside of my chest collapsed, hollowed out by the thought of her hurt. The thought of her leaving. My fingers tightened on the back of her neck, holding her still, turning her face to me.
My voice was thick with the feelings storming inside me. Love. Heartbreak. Desire. They all rolled through me. She stared into my eyes through a veil of black and pink hair as I spoke.
“Stay. I couldn’t stand it if you left now. I want you with me.”
“But your—”
My finger touched her lips, stopping her words. “I am a grown man, darling. Let me worry about all that.” I lifted her chin. “I love you, Tiffany. I’m fucked up and I have more issues than Time magazine, but I do love you and I want you in my life.”
She shook hair out of her eyes. “Really?”
“Truly.”
Her smile was a brilliant, beautiful thing. Sweet and happy, but mixed with a dark edge of desire. White teeth pressed into her bottom lip, drawing my eyes into looking as they made tiny, half-moon impressions. Her eyes were heavy lidded as we moved toward each other. Tentatively, so softly, our lips touched. A thrill tightened the back of my neck as we kissed. Tongues seeking, searching. A spark of desire shot through me, cutting through my chest. Hunger for her boiled up through me and I couldn’t get enough.
Not enough of her kiss. Not enough of her. She matched me, hunger for hunger, small sounds escaping from deep within her.
The kiss broke, my lips afire with the taste of her. The taste of her burning on my tongue. Her forehead rested on mine. Our lips just far enough apart to catch our breath. My head swam with her warm honeysuckle scent.
The cover had slipped and I was suddenly aware of how little clothing was between us. I wore only shorts. Tiff was in a thin T-shirt and a matching pair of panties.
Need pressed against me hot and heavy. My veins ran hot with it, rushing and coursing under my skin. My mind swam with animal lust. I had to have her; if I didn’t, my heart would stop beating. Desire hung from me to her, stretching and pulling. The air between us was charged, heavy with anticipation, crackling with desire.
With a wicked grin, Tiff slid off my lap, moving back on her knees. Shapely muscles flexed in her thighs, drawing my eyes to the hollows of her hipbones. She was wearing a thin pair of panties, blue with orange flowers meant to be cute, but now just enticing and teasing. Her fingers grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it slowly up. The fabric slid up her body, caressing smooth skin, unveiling the edges of her curves. Like a work of art being slowly, teasingly revealed by its creator.
I held my breath as the shirt slipped like water over the swell of her breasts. It seemed to take an eternity to slide those few inches, hesitating just before popping free and being pulled over her head. She sat back, watching me through bangs that fell soft across her eyes.
A growl cut through the air and I realized it was me. Everything stripped away and boiled down to bare desire. We crashed together, clothes being pulled away by eager hands, desperate to remove any barrier between us. We rolled on the bed. My hands landed on each side of her head as I rose over her. Nothing between us but heavy desire and our swollen need for each other. She looked up at me, hair fanned around her face, blue eyes sharp and searching.
I was naked. All pretense stripped away. Every secret laid bare. Every scrap of pain exposed for her to see, for her to soothe. I was overwhelmed by what was in her eyes. Desire, yes, but tempered with something deeper, something richer. The texture of our feelings slipped between us, caressing our skin. Her hands moved up, sliding along the muscles of my arms, nails grazing the skin across my shoulders. The connection between us sparked, flaring into an inferno. We surged. She arched up to meet me as I fell and we spun away together.
A storm of passion unleashed between us. Driven by need, urged by desire, we rode the storm untamed. The world fell away until it was just the two of us chasing the lightning. Pleasure washed my mind empty. I couldn’t think, I could only feel. Skin fevered and sensitive everywhere we touched. The pleasure rode us, driving hard, too much need for hesitation. The maelstrom carried us to the top of the mountain and threw us off the edge. Tiff broke beneath me as I broke above her and we crashed together, spiraling to the depths as passion washed away in a climax of ecstasy.
I fell away, landing beside her. Still touching, still connected as I tried to catch the breath she had taken away. My hand searched, fingers finding hers, twining together. She rose up and lay across my chest, skin slick and warm. Her arm draped as she looked down at my eyes, warm girl weight delicious against me. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, hair tousled, face soft in the low light of the bedside lamp. I leaned up and kissed her softly. Her lips were swollen, full and tender. Our hearts beat in time as she lay across me.
“Wow,” her voice was throaty with satisfaction. She snuggled against me, stretching one smooth, sleek leg over mine. “Thank you.”
No, thank you.
22
I woke up with the same warm weight against my back, the room dark once again. I stayed where I was so I would not disturb her. I felt good. Really good. Better than I had felt in a long time. Well rested. Sated.
Tiff and I had made love.
Yes, we did. It had been amazing. Passionate and caring. Everything lovemaking should be. She was insistent, and yet caring. Patient.
It had been a while for both of us and we worked to make it worth the wait. I felt a satisfaction deep in my bones. It had not been my plan, though. I didn’t regret it. God no, not one moment of it, but things were different now.
I had been celibate since my wife’s death five years ago. Consumed with killing monsters and saving people, there had been no time for romance. No inclination either. I loved my wife, still love my wife with everything in me. Even being separated by time and death had not lessened that. I miss her and my children every day. Every. Single. Day. I push their memories into safe boundaries just so I can function. The loss of them burns deep in my soul.<
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Tiff had come along and found one small piece of my scarred-up heart and made it her own. I did love Tiff. I knew that. She would never take the place of my wife, and truthfully would never want to. That made her the only one I could let in deep enough to go there with. She was very special. More special than she realized.
Part of me felt like I should have guilt over being with Tiff, like I betrayed the memory of my wife. Thinking about it, I realized that my feelings for Tiff didn’t diminish my love for my wife. Not even a little. Realizing this made a small knot inside me loosen. It was okay. I could love two people, maybe not equally, but love nonetheless.
I rolled over carefully, slowly putting my arm around the person pressed to my back. With a sigh, she slid back, pressing bare skin against my chest. Sleepily, I took a deep breath into a thick mane of long hair.
Wait.
I jolted out of sleep, sitting up sharply. The girl next to me gave a little yelp as she scrambled away, pulling the covers with her. The person I had been holding didn’t fit just right and she had hair well past her shoulders. She didn’t feel right. She didn’t smell right.
I realized it wasn’t Tiff about the same time the light was switched on with a click.
“Well, this is interesting.” Tiff’s voice came from across the room.
I blinked in the harsh light. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust enough to see who was in bed with me. The girl I had been pressed against was huddled under the covers. Her skin was pale, translucent, almost glowing even in the low light. A thick tangle of russet hair cascaded around a finely boned face. She blinked at me with a mismatched gaze: one eye blue, one eye brown. Even with the covers pulled up to her neck it was obvious she was nude. It took a moment to realize I was too. And she had taken all the covers with her when she pulled away.
Putting the pillow over my lap, I tried to make sense of what was happening. Tiff was dressed and standing in the door of the room holding two cups of coffee. The naked girl huddled as far away as she could but still be on the bed. Looking over at her, I had a guess who she was.
“Sophia?”
She nodded, her chin trembling.
“What the hell is going on?”
Her mouth opened to answer, closed, opened again, then slapped shut as her bottom lip curved down. Tears trembled in her eyes, shimmering on the edge of spilling. A long, quivering breath pulled into her nose, color bloomed on her cheeks, and the tears spilled over in streams.
Tiff strode around the bed, moving quickly and with purpose. Putting down the coffee, her arms scooped Sophia up and pulled her close. She shushed and caressed, making low, soft sounds of comfort as she rubbed the other girl’s back.
Looking around, I found the shorts I’d had on earlier and slipped back into them. To do so meant flashing the room, but Tiff had already seen the show and Sophia had her head buried in Tiff’s shoulder. I got up, moved to the closet, pulled an Orion Outfitters T-shirt off a hanger, and slipped it over my head. The shirt had a silhouetted demon skull in a crosshair with the words “ORION OUTFITTERS: BUMP BACK.”
It felt better to be somewhat dressed. I would really feel better if I had my guns, but somehow I didn’t think they would help this situation. Pulling down a short-sleeved dress shirt, I handed it to Tiff, motioning toward the crying lycanthrope in her arms. I turned my back to them while Sophia slipped it on.
“Okay, you can turn around now.”
My shirt fit Sophia like a dress that was too big. It swallowed her, making her look like a child. Her mismatched eyes were red rimmed, her skin ice water pale, except her cheeks, which were scalded with blush. She was pretty. The hang of tangled locks and fine-boned features drew her face long and lean, the delicate ethnic cast of Eastern Europe stamped there. She could have been Ukrainian or Russian, definitely something from that part of the globe.
Tiff sat next to her, hands around one of the cups of coffee. An amused look was on her face as she took a sip. Skintight jeans stretched up her legs as she sat with them crossed on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Her shirt was the same thin tee from earlier and she was in her socked feet, but the Colt hung from her hip in the gun belt. The sight of it made me itch for my guns again, but I pushed it aside. There were weapons stashed around my room, handy to reach, but only if you knew where they were.
Leaning against the doorframe of the closet, I spoke, “Okay, who wants to explain what just happened?”
Sophia looked at Tiff. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Tiff cut her off with a pat on the knee. “It’s okay.” She turned to look at me. “I left you sleeping to get coffee and let Sophia in as I left. She was still in her other form, so I didn’t think anything of her curling up on the bed.” She patted the other girl’s leg again. “I was thinking of you as a dog, honey; sorry if that was rude.”
“No, no. I am a dog when I’m shifted. Not just a dog, but still a dog if that makes any sense.” Her eyes turned to me. “That is why I came in. It was instinct. I wanted to curl on the bed for comfort.” Her chin dropped in embarrassment. “I guess I got too comfortable.” A small chuckle escaped her. “I didn’t plan on changing.”
Okay. It was good that Sophia felt safe enough to relax into a change and Tiff was handling her being naked in the bed with me well. Not that I really saw anything. It was all an accident. I was sleeping, she was sleeping, she shifted. No big deal. Which brought my mind to more important matters.
“How are the babies since you shifted?” I asked.
Sophia’s hand went to her own stomach. It was a gentle, rounding curve in the center of her. Until she framed it with her hands you wouldn’t have noticed it. Her eyes closed, brow creased in concentration. Seconds ticked by until a smile broke over her face. “They’re fine. It doesn’t feel like my shift affected them.”
“Good. Let’s try to keep you from shifting again.”
Sofia nodded.
Tiff stood up. “Now that you are human, let’s go find you something to wear. Surely with all the girls around here we can find something appropriate.”
My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. “All right, then, I am going to get dressed. We’ll eat and then you can both fill me in on what I have missed.”
23
My boots made a nice sound as I stepped out onto the tile floor of the foyer outside the club’s kitchen. They’re harness boots—black and square-toed with a strap and ring across the instep. They’re a style of engineer boot with a cowboy heel and oil-resistant rubber soles. They are a badass pair of boots. Look up badass in the dictionary and you will find a picture of these boots beside the entry. I’ve owned them for years.
They were a gift from my wife, on a birthday before the kids had come along. She had bought them for me and surprised me with them when I got home from work. I put them on and she liked them. She liked them so much I spent the rest of that birthday wearing nothing but the boots.
Enough of that.
That memory was a dark road with a bad end. Pushing it aside, I kept moving.
I had changed to an old pair of jeans, white-blue from untold washings and threadbare over the knees. The Orion Outfitters shirt remained, tucked in now to stay out of the way of my shoulder holsters. Both Colt .45’s rode under my arms, where they were supposed to be, rows of extra clips stacked below them. Bessie hung heavy on my hip. The leather cords cut into my thigh where they were tied to hold the holster down. The big gun had pitting and corrosion from Were-snake venom splashing on her the night before. Spots of rust scattered on her stainless-steel frame, but she was still serviceable.
In my hand, I carried a katana.
The Japanese sword was past antique. It was downright damn ancient. It had been taking lives for almost fifteen centuries. The scabbard was ebony and wrapped with a crimson and saffron cord that was knotted and woven so the sword could be worn at the waist or slung over a shoulder. The handle was plain yellow wood wrapped in black cord. Inside the
blade rode, tarnished and dull, spotted black from gallons of blood drank along its edge. It was a cursed and bloodthirsty blade. Every time I held it I had to fight its call to kill more than necessary.
I didn’t know all of the sword’s history. Kat had looked it up and found out that it used to belong to a Japanese emperor’s executioner before being stolen by a group of Tibetan Demon-monks. I kind of zoned out as she told the story. It was one long of evil that ended in the hands of an asshole named the Kensai. He was a rogue Yakuza assassin with delusions of murderous grandeur. He was the one who had stolen Charlotte’s egg sac a few months back with dreams of bonding with her offspring and using them as tools to assassinate people who cannot be gotten to.
I had put an end to that plan.
Everything ended with him dead and eaten by Charlotte’s young, who then bonded with Ronnie from the club. I wound up with the Kensai’s matched pair of Colt .45’s and the katana, which now was home to an Oni, a Japanese demon I set free from being trapped in a tattoo on the Kensai’s back.
I am not a master swordsman by any stretch of the imagination, but I can hold my own. Especially when my opponents only have claws and fangs. The sweeping curve of a katana makes it one of the most deadly weapons in the world. I wouldn’t take it over a gun, but I would take it over bare knuckling a few rounds with a lycanthrope.
This cursed katana was a bloodthirsty blade. When used, the Oni inside it tries to seduce you over to the dark side. Whispering in your mind, promising you your darkest desires if you will just use it to spill more blood. It pulled to you, making it hard to stop killing, especially if you were prone to killing to start with.
Not that I would know anything about that. No, not me.
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