by S. K. Yule
Jericho’s Revenge
Copyright © December 2009, S. K. Yule
Cover art by Amira Press © December 2009
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
ISBN: 978-1-935348-84-9
Amira Press, LLC
Baltimore, MD 21216
www.amirapress.com
Dedication
To Grandma Thelma. Thank you for passing your creative genes and naughtiness on to me. You will never be forgotten.
Chapter One
Why hadn’t he killed the little bitch yet? He clenched his fists and tried hard to resist the rising urge to punch something. She’d been chained in his basement for a week. He’d yearned so long for the sweet taste of revenge, yet now he sat here like some pansy ass wondering why he hadn’t exacted it. Hell with it! He’d go do it right now. He’d drain the last drop of blood from her scrawny neck and watch until the last flicker of light vanished from her lifeless eyes.
He lunged out of the high-backed leather chair he was sitting in with such force it fell backward. But before it crashed to the floor, he spun with lightning speed and yanked it back up by the arms then flung it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into several pieces, and splintering wood speared the air. The loud crack upon impact reverberated throughout the room. Later on, he’d be pissed about the chair he’d just broken—his favorite—and the hole in the wall. Right now, he was too occupied with his current problem. He dug his fingers through thick hair, pulling at it as if he could tug the warring thoughts from his brain. He closed his eyes, felt his nostrils flare in anger, and sucked in several frustrated breaths.
For the past week, something had halted his every attempt to kill Sabrina. Some nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, some emotion he was not familiar with. He’d never been a man ruled by emotions, and the new feelings sparked by the current situation angered and frustrated him. He wasn’t one to tolerate such weakness. He had not lived for more than four hundred years by allowing sappy feelings to rule his life. He considered himself fierce, loyal, and a damn good fighter. There was no room in his life for crappy road trips down emotional lane.
“Fuck!” He pounded his fist so hard on the desk that it shook and threatened to break in half. The one moment he’d yearned for, lived for, hungered for—the day of vengeance—was now a reality waiting for him in his cellar, and yet Sabrina continued to breathe, continued to live. Her every breath called to him, mocked him for the coward he was.
Sabrina Johnson had become his enemy the night she’d killed the one woman he had ever come to feel anything for in his long existence. Jade had been beautiful, strong, and his match in every way. He had planned to spend his life with her, that is, until Sabrina had turned that dream into a nightmare by murdering Jade in cold blood. The images of that ill-fated night were forever imprinted on his brain, each crystal-clear detail as vivid as if it had happened only yesterday.
* * * *
100 years earlier
After feeding, Jericho returned home and opened the front door to a sight he never imagined he’d witness. The body of the woman he loved, the woman he made love to night after night lay on the floor, limp and lifeless. Her soft blonde hair, mixed with sticky, half-dried blood, fanned out under her as if the wind gently blew it. The rich red liquid matted the thick waves, and the macabre contrast of colors only emphasized her beauty. His heart leaped, skipped, and then settled into a sporadic rhythm that ached with each beat. His woman was dead. Bled dry from the jagged slice across her pale throat. Jericho was so stunned by the vision in front of him it took his brain a moment to process the slight movement in the shadows.
The red-headed bitch, Sabrina Johnson, stood near Jade’s lifeless body. He didn’t know Sabrina well, having run across her on only a few occasions, but never in his wildest dreams would he have labeled her a murderer.
Sabrina had weakly denied killing Jade, but by the time the shock wore off, allowing his stunned, cramped muscles movement once again, she’d pulled a disappearing act.
He sat on the wooden floor that was nearly as cold as the dead body he now cradled in his lap and vowed to hunt Sabrina down and kill her for taking his woman from him. There was nowhere she could hide from him. He would turn over every rock, every stone, every pebble, every damn grain of sand. Look in every nook and cranny. Scour the earth until he found her. Then, he’d bring his full wrath down upon her.
* * * *
The present
Images of Jade’s life force flowing across the floor had haunted his every waking hour, his every dreaming moment for so long he couldn’t remember what life had been like before the memories had been forever stamped on his brain. After almost one hundred years of hunting her, he’d finally caught up with Sabrina a few nights ago. She’d evaded him at every turn for so long that he’d never believed his luck when he got a tip she was at a restaurant only a couple hours from his home. She should have known better than to have the audacity to set foot so close to his neck of the woods.
Yet now, instead of wallowing in the belly of revenge, he was full of anger, confusion, and questions. Why did he let her live? Why had he brought her to his house? He’d planned to take her out onto a deserted road somewhere in the swamps and to bleed her just dry enough so that there was no chance for her to survive. Then he’d throw her to the gators. But, instead, he’d continued driving and driving until he was back at his own house in Baton Rouge.
He pulled his six-foot-five frame straight, every muscle tense and ready for battle, and sucked in a deep breath. “No more excuses,” he muttered. Jericho Tavi was not a man to go back on a vow. He would finish this tonight. And still a small voice buried deep in a corner of his brain, a corner he tried hard to ignore, whispered doubt and wondered if it would be heard.
* * * *
She’d finally made a mistake. A hundred years of watching every step, of making sure to leave no trail of her whereabouts had been for nothing. Normally, she’d never travel anywhere without meticulous planning then an out-of-the-blue phone call one Saturday night from a frantic friend changed everything. Riddled with worry, Sabrina had booked the first available night flight to Alexandria, Louisiana, using her real name, which was mistake number one. She always used a fake name when flying anywhere, but she had been so upset by Crystal’s tearful plea for her help that she hadn’t been thinking straight.
Crystal Lefeve had been a friend for a long time, way before Jericho Tavi was chasing her. Unfortunately, a few years earlier their friendship had become long-distanced when Crystal married Tom and moved from California to Louisiana. Sabrina had only seen her a couple times since then, times when Crystal visited her since she wouldn’t step a foot in Louisiana. She knew Jericho lived in the outskirts of Baton Rouge, and she didn’t want to be in the same state as him. Hell, at times, California hadn’t seemed far enough away. She’d mulled the idea of moving to a different continent several times, but she had to draw the line somewhere on how much she was willing to allow the man to interfere with her life.
That brought her to her second mistake—breaking her own rule and setting both feet plus the rest of her in the same state in which Jericho lived. She’d planned a quick trip. She’d fly in, meet Crystal, comfort her overdramatic friend, and ease her fears about her husband then fly back home the next evening. She loved Crystal, but the woman had serious trust issues where Tom was concerned. Sabrina knew Tom would never cheat on Crystal. She’d seen the way he looked at her friend, and only wished a man would look at her like she had hung the moon.
She’d just watched Crystal drive away from Nic
o’s, the Italian restaurant they’d eaten at, and walked toward her rental, thankful that she’d made Crystal see reason and convinced her Tom was in fact on a business trip and not screwing his secretary. She pushed the key in the lock, but before she could turn it, strong hands grabbed her from behind and wrestled her across the lot into a dark SUV, where she was thrown into the back. Before she could escape, another door opened and closed, and then the locks engaged. She would have torn the vehicle apart to get out but was dismayed to see that the whole back was lined with iron bars. She hadn’t been all that surprised when a few hours later, the back was yanked open and Jericho dragged her out.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her elbows propped on her knees, her spinning head in her hands. She was weak and hungry. She’d been chained like an animal for the last week. Jericho was going to kill her for what he thought she had done, but at this point, she just wished he would get it over with. She was sick and tired of the whole mess, fed up with running and constantly looking over her shoulder.
Under normal circumstances, she would have no trouble escaping the cuffs around her wrist, but her strength was near depleted since he’d made sure to deny her the one substance their kind relied on for life. Blood. Only two things could kill them, sunlight and bleeding out.
Some considered them vampires, and others considered them evil and soulless monsters. They simply referred to themselves as “Night Wanderers.” She had lived long enough to realize that no matter what the truth was, people preferred to believe lies, especially when they proved to be exciting or scandalous, and even more so when it involved any fault of a loved one. The truth was just plain boring to most. However, she had never thought Jericho Tavi to be one of those people.
Jericho Tavi had been around even longer than the two hundred twenty years she’d lived. He was well known among their kind. Not many wanted a piece of Jericho, but anyone stupid enough to try came out of the situation worse for the wear, if they came out at all. Jericho was a hard, ruthless, no-nonsense type of man. A man who, until that fateful night so long ago, she had thought to be honest and fair if nothing else. Now she recognized him for what he really was—a superficial jerk who couldn’t see the truth if it bit him on the ass.
She’d seen many things in her lifetime, but never anything that could compare with the look on Jericho’s face the night he found her leaning over the lifeless Jade. She shivered when she remembered the contempt and hatred that had crept into Jericho’s black eyes. At that specific moment she knew he’d set his sights on her for revenge. She’d never felt bone-chilling deep fear until the night she’d become a big red target to Jericho. Yet, even through that fear, there’d been something else. She wasn’t sure what it’d been, just a sixth sense of something. She hadn’t been able to figure out what that something was and had finally come to the conclusion that she probably didn’t want to know what it was anyway.
While she couldn’t lie and say Jade had been a favorite of hers, she knew one thing for certain. She did not kill Jade. She couldn’t kill Jade. And, maybe if Jericho were aware of the circumstances surrounding Sabrina and Jade’s connection, he’d know Sabrina couldn’t have killed her either. Instead, Jericho, like most lovesick and foolish men, was blind when it came to Jade the beautiful. Jade was one of those women who could crook her little finger and have every man panting and drooling to do any deed. She’d walk through a room, and every cock would stand at attention in hopes of gaining entry to the golden prize. She’d been crass and selfish, and she had had little regard for anyone or anything but herself. Yet, no man seemed able to see past the charade. Sabrina snorted. Yeah, because all their blood was in one part of their body when Jade was around.
Sabrina shivered when she thought of the countless women Jade had made enemies of by flaunting her sexual talents with their husbands. She’d never gone after the husband of one of their kind but preferred to prey on humans. She hadn’t viewed humans as a threat. A fighter Jade wasn’t, and she’d never risk having another Night Wanderer gunning for her hide. She was more the bully-coward type who liked to manipulate people into seeing things her way and would slink to the nearest hole at the first sign of threat, to lick her wounds and plan revenge.
Come to think of it, things were starting to make perfect sense. Sabrina had never imagined Jade going for Jericho. Not that Jericho wasn’t gorgeous enough even for Jade, but he had a reputation of being somewhat of a hard-ass. And now that she thought about it, that was probably exactly why Jade had singled Jericho out. No one would mess with her if she were with Jericho. She wondered if Jade had ever once stopped to think about the consequences if Jericho ever found out the games she’d been playing right under his nose.
Sabrina couldn’t deny Jade had been impossibly beautiful with waist-length hair the color of golden honey flawless porcelain skin, ocean blue eyes, and a figure every woman envied. Yet what lay beneath the surface was a dark ugliness that would rival Medusa. It still amazed her how far simply being beautiful could get someone regardless of how shallow, hateful, or nasty the person was.
Jericho hadn’t believed her when she told him she didn’t kill Jade. That fateful night triggered the events that kept her running from him for years and ultimately led to her current, precarious predicament. She’d denied killing Jade, yet fled the scene at the first opportunity. She was a talented fighter, but she wasn’t stupid either. Jericho was twice her size, twice as strong, and a commanding figure of solid muscle. She knew running would make her denial look like a lie, but she hoped that she would be able to clarify her decision at a later date. Obviously that plan hadn’t worked to her advantage, and now Jericho had finally caught up with her. She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Why was he stalling?
She was becoming angry, and the hunger was an agonizing set of claws raking the inside of her stomach. She yanked at the chain, again to no avail. “Jericho!” she yelled. “Finish this already, one way or the other.” She was so tired that she slumped to her side on the bed and drifted into sleep, a pair of black eyes dancing in her dreams.
* * * *
“Get up!” Jericho watched Sabrina struggle to open her eyes before she pushed strands of wavy, luxurious red hair off her face and sat up slowly.
“Finally come to finish the job, Jericho?” Her voice was weak and raspy. “What took you so long?” She gave him a sneer just for good measure.
Anger flared hot in Jericho as he hardened in response to the sound of her sultry voice caressing him with invisible fingers. He hated her even more for evoking such feelings. “Just shut up, Sabrina!”
“Yeah, whatever you say—”
His hand shot out, and he twisted his fingers in her hair and wrenched her head back to expose her slender neck. She cried out, and he felt a little repulsed at the pleasure he got from her pain. “I said, shut up.”
Rage danced through her eyes, and he knew that, if she were a cobra, his face would be full of venom at this very moment. She was one of those smart-mouthed types who didn’t realize that she should do as told for her own good. Maybe he should teach her how to behave. Yes, maybe he would have a little fun before he finished her. He tightened his hold on her mane, and she gasped at the increased pressure. He watched with satisfaction as green eyes that could rival the perfect color of the ocean grew wide in realization of his intentions. Her full, kissable lips parted in surprise.
“Jericho—”
Before she could utter another word, he brought his mouth down on hers—cruelly at first, bruising, then bit, drawing blood. His fangs pressed against her lips, cut them. They demanded that she open to him in submission. Her hesitation was short, and his tongue plunged into her mouth, stroking, licking, dominating.
His fingers remained tangled in her hair while he encircled her throat with his other hand, nearly choking off her air. Her scent and taste evoked feelings he never thought he’d feel again. Feelings he thought had died the same night as Jade. He pushed her onto her back and tore at her clothes until nothing w
as left but a pair of red panties. He groaned at the sight of her puckered, dusky nipples and nearly stopped breathing when his eyes rested on the wetness dampening the tiny scrap of fabric that hid her from him. Jericho fell on her and ravaged her mouth once again. Her unique taste was like nothing he had ever experienced in his long life—spicy, yet womanly, soft, and fragrant. He pushed her legs wide apart and ground his hips against her, only her panties and his jeans between them. The friction of the material heightened his desire for her to the point where he thought he might explode.
She moaned, the sound shaking him out of the insanity he was experiencing. He immediately tried to move from her then froze as her arms came up and circled his neck and she played with the hair lying lazily at his nape. The flutter of her soft fingers dancing across his skin sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. Her touch was magical, and he wanted to lie beside her while she caressed every part of him. He wanted them around his cock and stroking him until he came.
What the fuck are you doing? He had a raging hard-on for the woman who had killed Jade. Disgusted by what he’d almost done, he nearly catapulted off the bed.
* * * *
Sabrina slowly sat up and stared at Jericho, confused, achy, wanting. He reminded her of a wounded animal caught in a trap. If she approached him, she wasn’t sure if he would welcome her or attack her. She didn’t care at this point. She had done nothing to his precious Jade whether he believed her or not, but she also had never felt anything like the touch of Jericho Tavi. If she was going to die, she’d be damned if she didn’t have him first. The man was beautiful. Oh, I just bet he’d love to hear that. Men didn’t like to be beautiful, especially a man like Jericho. They wanted to be tough, handsome, gorgeous, sexy. He was all of those, but beautiful, too—whether he liked it or not—in an elemental, masculine, ethereal sort of way.
