by Kresley Cole
But it was gone, helped along by the grease on her hands. "Damn him!" She heard a ping. Following the sound down, she swiped her hair from her eyes with her greasy hands—
Her ring had just beaned a second monster X in the head. Another one of those things was directly below her, gazing up with its mouth wide, its body crouching to spring.
Chapter 10
Antennae slashed all around Malkom; he dodged them to attack the beast's body.
Now his succubus female could behold his skill. As with the head he'd gifted her, this contest was proof that Malkom could protect his woman and their offspring.
He landed a mighty blow, glancing back. Had she seen it? Was she looking—
She was gone? Foolish female! Running from him when the Gotoh hunted in pairs? He had to dispatch this one swiftly.
And then I am going to heat her backside for this!
The beast sprang closer, the tip of an antenna slicing past his face.
"Demon!" she screamed from a distance. A second Gotoh's roar sounded. Which meant it was about to feed on its captured prey.
Though Malkom hadn't killed the first one, he sprinted toward the sound, knowing the beast would follow him, knowing he'd have to fight two.
Gods, to be able to trace. Even with his speed, he might not reach her in time. Pumping his arms ... faster, faster.
His newly beating heart raced as it hadn't in centuries. Dizziness washed over him, and his vision wavered.
What was this frenzy? The feeling that had weighed on him now escalated. When he recognized it, his eyes narrowed.
Thiswasfear. For her. It'd been so long since he'd felt it that he hadn't comprehended it.
The only people who knew fear were ones who had something to lose.
At last, he did. And he'd be damned if anything took her from him.
His fangs sharpened even more, that mindless furor from the night before arising again.
Swinging to avoid the creature's leaps, Carrow repeatedly flung her body upward to try to secure that lead rope. "Demon!" she screamed again. When the thing's claws brushed her hair, she added, "Get your ass over here!"
Slaine burst into the clearing. He scowled, yelling at her in Demonish as he launched himself at the beast.
"Behind you!" she cried when the original one appeared directly after.
He was going to have to defeat both of them—while keeping them away from her.
As he clashed with them below, she hung like a pendulum, helplessly swinging. The second creature kept jumping for her, and the demon kept batting it away while still contending with the first.
With one flick of its antenna, it slit through the demon's chainmail, slashing his chest. He bellowed in fury as blood gushed. But he caught the antenna the next time, using it to force the creature's head down. Hauling it back like a leash, he moved in for the kill, claws bared. A grisly spray of blood erupted. The thing was no more.
One down. But while Slaine had been occupied, the other had begun crawling spiderlike up the tree for her. "Demon! Eyes up!"
At once, he leapt for the beast, tackling it away from her. He wrestled it to the ground, evading those sharp antennae as he punched holes in its body. The thing snapped that mouthful of fangs, but the demon was too quick, too powerful....
With a wrenching crack, he twisted off the second one's head. Two down. He hauled the twitching bodies away.
Now that the fighting was done, no longer was he roaring or berating her; he'd grown eerily silent as he crossed to the bone tree behind her. She nervously twisted around, pulling her skirt over her ass while keeping him in sight.
He untied the lead rope, feeding out a length to lower her. As he approached her with the line in his fist, she saw he was battle-maddened once more—and getting aroused. The raised outline of his shaft bulged in his pants.
He eased her to a sitting position on the ground, just enough that the pressure was relieved from her ankle. As he stalked closer, she heard his heartbeats accelerating, his breaths growing more hectic than they'd been in the fray. His fangs were elongating.
He was about to bite her. Again.
"No, demon!" She scuttled back, but he merely stepped on the rope. "Bastard!" When her palm landed on a stone, she chucked it at him, popping him in the horn. "Snap out of this!"
One's memories could be taken through the blood. The more he drank from her, the more likely he'd be to see hers. He might discover her plan to betray him. Then he'll behead me, put my head on a pike. "Don't bite me," she warned.
His eyes now a hungry black and locked on her pulse point, he dropped to his knees before her.
"Don't, vampire!"
He growled at that.
"What? You don't like being called a vampire? Then don't act like one!"
Though she fought him, he looped his arm around her back, pinning her arms to her sides as he covered her body with his own. His erection was like a steel rod as he rocked it against her.
She thrashed as he made her arch up to him, digging her nails into his skin under his chainmail, scarcely breaking the surface. "Damn it, stop this!"
With his free hand, he tugged her hair to the side. When he leaned down to nuzzle her collar higher, she ... shivered?
Before she could analyze her response, he gave a wretched groan and pierced her.
As he snarled in bliss against her skin, she cried out, trembling in confusion.
It doesn't hurt this time.
* * *
Malkom drank deep of her blood, a rich stream of heat sliding down his throat. Shuddering, about to come from her taste, he clutched her closer for more.
Her essence inflamed every inch of his body, stoking his need. Searing and sweet ... His cock swelled, throbbing.
So sweet...
He groaned into his bite as he found his release. Over and over, the dry spasms racked him until his eyes rolled back in his head.
The mindless frenzy began to recede, leaving him with that awing sense of closeness, with a satisfaction he'd never known before her.
Once the pressure had finally subsided, he withdrew his fangs. Catching his breath against her neck, he felt her shivering beneath him.
Her head had fallen back, her lips parted. Could she ... could she have enjoyed his bite?
When she angrily shoved at his injured chest, he rose up with an exhalation. Or not at all.
Staring straight ahead, she swiped her tangled hair out of her face, streaking her cheek with grease from the rope. Had her bottom lip trembled?
Could any female withstand all that she had without tears? The imprint of his hand on her chest was a glaring bruise. Her fatigue weighed on her so plainly, and his bite had weakened her even more. Now her face had paled.
He'd taken too much. He vowed that he would not suck her so greedily next time, would take but a few sips. Have to get control of myself.
Surely she would cry now. Damn it, if she cried, it should not be by his doing. Nay, he dreamed of collecting her in his arms and comforting her. He would ask her if she wanted him to take away her troubles, and she would softly nod against his neck.
She could give him purpose.
Yet he didn't have a way of asking her that.
Do I not ... ? He'd once known her language but had buried it so deeply. He couldn't remember it without recalling his torture—and his childhood. Centuries had passed since he'd spoken it.
With a swallow, he concentrated, staring at her lovely face while struggling to recall words from a language he associated with torment and misery. How to tell her that he didn't wish for her to cry? That he needed to see her safely to his home?
That he would endeavor not to hurt her again?
When she squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her hands, he realized this female wasn't on the verge of tears.
She was on the verge of attack.
And he suspected she'd just become even more powerful than the night before.
Once she opened her eyes again, they were glit
tering with wrath, brilliant starbursts flashing.
Glorious female. And not a little fearsome.
When she raised her glowing hands, he exhaled, tensing his muscles, bracing for his woman's unholy pique....
Chapter 11
Slaine's bite hadn't been horrible. And that made Carrow furious.
Luckily, she could now vent her fury because she'd sucked in his happiness as if through a straw. Power! A swift, scorching infusion of it. She was even stronger this time.
"You shouldn't have done that again." Was she just like the bite whores in New Orleans who got off on having their blood drunk?
The bite whores Carrow loved to ridicule.
With a wave of one of her glowing hands, the rope around her ankle disintegrated, allowing her to stand. Another wave brought her missing ring flying to her as though magnetized. As she slipped it on, she gave him a cruel smile. "Double, double toil and trouble," she murmured. "Where do you want it this time?"
His tone stern, he said something in Demonish that sounded like an order. Carrow didn't like orders, was accustomed to giving them.
So she fired on him, propelling him across the clearing. He staggered to his feet, looking disappointed with her.
"You think I should respond differently?" She fired again. "Though I warned you to keep your fangs to yourself?"
When he growled at her, frustration stamping his rough features, she cried, "Then treat me differently, goon! I'm as simple as that."
On her third strike, he tensed his body, bowing up to take the hit directly in the chest, almost proudly. Then he narrowed his gaze on her neck and smirked, as if to say, It was worth it, honey.
Her eyes went wide. "Oh, you are so dead," she vowed. "You don't even know how dead you are!" Using the last of her strongest magic, she launched another shot and heard something snap that time. Maybe his ribs? A collarbone?
Yet he was still standing! She'd tapped herself out—no more spells, no more cloaking or firing—and for what?
Gnashing his teeth, he held out his hand to her. As if with great difficulty, he sounded out, "Home."
Though shocked that he knew even one word of English, she said, "Go home with you? Not likely." But her curiosity got the better of her. "Oh, so now you know English?"
He frowned.
"Heh. Or not."
Still he tried to communicate with her. He waved a hand at the surrounding area, then ran his finger over his neck.
"You're telling me there's danger around here? Duh! How about danger with you? You bit me twice, broke my wrist, and bruised my sternum—all in twenty-four hours!" At the memory of each incident, her temper rekindled. "Why would I ever voluntarily go anywhere with you?"
With obvious irritation, he made a dampening motion with two flattened hands—to tell her to shut up?
In a tone as dangerous as she was feeling, she bit out, "Did you just shush me?"
He put his finger over his lips, then motioned around them again.
"You did! You freaking shushed me? Word to the wise, demon ..." She trailed off when something rustled the brush nearby. Pointing in that direction, she asked, "What the hell is that?"
He glowered at her, as if he'd already explained this.
"Yet another thing that can kill me? Besides Cloverfield monsters and demon rapists—present company not excluded." Yet as she spoke, she recalled how he'd saved her from the monster Xs and Asmodel's gang.
With difficulty, she acknowledged that she wouldn't have lasted the day without him—and likely wouldn't survive a second night with no magic for a cloaking spell.
She remembered him warning her to run before his first attack. He'd wanted to spare her.
Unless, of course, he merely liked the chase.
Maybe he lost control solely in the heat of battle? Perhaps it wasn't Carrow who'd triggered him last night and today, but the clash with those demons and then the monster X attacks.
More scrabbling sounded, this time accompanied by a new sucking sound—from above. Of all the creatures she'd heard, the calls and cries at night, she'd never heard anything from the sky.
"Alton, ara." He held out his hand for her.
What would Ripley do? She'd face the known rather than the unknown and accept help from unlikely allies. An extra gun was an extra gun, no matter who was pointing it.
Still Carrow was hesitant, absently reaching up to feel the demon's bite. Then she asked herself, What's more dangerous than Malkom Slaine biting and claiming me?
Answer: Everything—else—out—here.
Case closed.
She had two goals. To stay alive and to free Ruby. Carrow needed him for both. But she knew a male like him would expect sex from the female under his guard.
She would have to manage him, appeasing him short of sex. She ignored what might have been a flutter of excitement at the idea.
"Home," he repeated.
I'll try to establish some ground rules. "No biting." She pointed at her neck, then at his fangs while vigorously shaking her head. "Biting ... nooo."
He gave her a look of disbelief, clearly taking her meaning—and not liking it. A spate of stern Demonish followed. Was he justifying it? To argue his point? She knew he'd enjoyed drinking her, but was it this important for him not to give up?
She made a peace/viper fangs hand sign, tapping her neck while shaking her head. "No biting, demon."
He flung his hands out in a What gives? gesture.
With her palms on her head, she mimed that the bite had made her woozy and her head hurt.
His lips thinned. Then, with a wary glance upward, he quickly crouched in the dirt, drawing three circles in an arc with lines between them. Once done, he pointed at the indistinct sun.
"Okay. I think I'm with you. Morning, noon, and dusk. This represents a day?"
He held up two fingers.
"Two days? Without biting? No dice, demon." She held up eight fingers.
With a warning growl, he held up five.
Perfect. When she nodded, he held his hand over his chest, his expression pained. He'd just sworn he wouldn't bite her. Though it was obviously a huge concession for him.
Could she trust his vow? In her situation, she had to trust this demon to a degree, had to believe he wouldn't bite her.
Her next condition wouldn't be so easy. "No sex."
Not understanding, he shrugged, then motioned for her to hurry.
How to say sex? How to mime sex? "Ah, gods, are you really going to make me do this hand gesture?" She made an okay sign with one hand, then threaded the forefinger from her other hand through it.
His eyes widening, he nodded emphatically.
Until she did it again while saying, "Noooo sex. NO."
He growled, pounding his fist over his heart again.
"Yes, I know I'm ... yours. But you're too strong." She made a muscleman arm, pointing at her bicep, then pointing at him.
"Fortis?" he said.
"Latin?" I suck at Latin. Carrow just memorized it for spells or used it for fun. More than once, she'd slurred, Carrowicus much drunkicus or Hot-assicus in my greedy handsicus.
But she thought fortis meant strong. Maybe. "You"—she pointed at him—"are fortis ... maximus?"
His chin went up, and he nodded arrogantly, as if saying, Tell me something I don't know.
She scooped up a twig, pointing to herself, saying, "Me." Then she broke the twig.
He gave another nod of understanding, and again she noted the cunning in his eyes.
"So nooo sex."
Before she could extract that promise, a roar from above sounded. "Oh, shit." With a gulp, she sidled up to him. "And we're off!"
Chapter 12
This hike is the most enlightening one of my life, Carrow thought as they wended their way up the mountain.
For instance, in the last hour she'd learned how sardonic a lift of a demon's dirty brow could be—when she'd refused to let him carry her as they'd dodged whatever had been approaching. And she'
d come to understand how important decapitated heads were.
He'd swiftly collected those monsters' heads, tying them together with a piece of the rope she'd hoped never to see again, then strung them over his shoulder. Periodically, he offered his catch to her.
"No, no, I have a pair just like them at home," she'd said. "I would just regift them." Earlier when he'd thrown that ghoul's head to her, then rolled it to her feet, had it been his idea of a gift? A vemon version of a dozen red roses, meant not to intimidate but to signal his interest and intent?
On the way to his "home," he guided her this way and that, pointing out more of his hidden traps. She used the time to assimilate all that had happened, now that her anger was cooling.
Carrow was one of those people who had bursts of temper, then later scratched their heads, wondering, What exactly was I so pissed about? Yes, he'd bitten her—twice—against her wishes, but she did feel gratitude that he'd saved her life. She didn't know of another male who could've fended off two of those monster X creatures then gotten her away unscathed.
She'd never seen a monster like that before, had never heard of one in all the Lore. When she grappled with the question of what it was, her sharply honed scientifical mind deduced one answer: manbearpig. An amalgam, something made by sticking the parts together instead of melding them—just like the vemon.
If a demon and a vampire mated, their offspring would be unique but in harmony, like a Labrador retriever crossed with a poodle. Voila, labradoodle! But a vemon was a made creature, as if one took the front half of the Lab and jammed it onto the back half of the poodle.
In other words, wrong.
Maybe that was why Slaine couldn't trace. Though both vampires and demons had that innate ability, vampires could trace easily while demons had to study and train to. Perhaps the two different natures clashed as they tried to do the same thing in totally disparate ways.
She gazed up at him from under a sand-coated curl. "Is that why you can't trace?" she asked him. "The vemon that terrorized New Orleans could teleport. Maybe you just can't puzzle out how?" He frowned at her. "I bet you used to be able to. Must suck not to anymore."
