The vamp raised his machine gun and took aim.
Before he got off a round, Darcy hit him in the temple.
He dropped his weapon and cradled his head. “You fucking bitch!” he screamed.
Darcy leapt for him, kicked away the machine gun, and raised the stake. But the wooden tip was blunted from the previous kills, and was stopped by bone at his sternum.
The vamp roared and quickly overpowered her, pushing her to the floor.
Unable to do anything except stare in horrified fascination, Darcy watched his mouth, with its jagged row of teeth, descend.
Suddenly, the vamp screamed and crumbled into dust.
Quentin leaned over her, his stake still poised. He lowered it and offered his other hand to help her to her feet.
She pushed the pile of dusty clothing from her body to the floor. “Thanks. Is that it?”
“That’s everybody inside, and the team’s taking care of the strays on the grounds. But Darcy, Nicky got away.”
Darcy felt ill. A niggling sense of doubt rose. Did Quentin deliberately allow him to escape? “At least, he’s lost his minions.” She looked around the living room that was pretty well trashed. Bullets had ripped through the furniture and the walls, in some places leaving gaping holes so large a fist could fit inside. Thank God, she and Joe had escaped being hit.
Joe? Her heart went still, and a cold dread settled over her. She hadn’t seen him since he’d battled it out with the vamp with the machine gun. She hadn’t heard his voice.
She approached the sofa where Joe had taken cover. Before she rounded the corner, she saw a crimson pool of liquid spreading wider by the moment across the blue-gray tile. Her stomach dropped to her toes. “No, no, no.”
Joe lay on his side, his 9mm still grasped in his hand, his face ashen.
She knelt in his blood and felt for a pulse at the side of his neck. It was weak and slow. Her hands moved over him, looking for the wound. The blood appeared to seep from beneath his Kevlar jacket, and she opened it, dreading what she would find.
The bullet had entered the top of his shoulder, making a rather small, innocuous-looking hole. She reached inside the jacket, smoothing her hands around his back, and found the exit wound. It was large and gaping. Joe wasn’t going to make it, but she had to try. “Joe, you hold on. Don’t you die on me. Quentin, help me get off this jacket. I have to stop the bleeding.”
Quentin’s hand stopped hers as she began stripping away the vest. “Darcy, he’s lost more than fifty percent of his blood. He’s going to die.”
She sought his gaze, her own pleading with him to help. “I have to try. Please, help me.” She didn’t realize she was crying until his fingers smoothed the tears on her cheeks.
“Sweetheart, no amount of modern medicine can save him. I might be able to turn him, though. It’s not too late to try.”
She shook her head, not understanding what he was saying.
“I can make him a vampire.”
“No!” The word wrenched from her gut.
His expression remained neutral, his tone soft. “His internal organs are shutting down, one after the other. He will die.”
She leaned over Joe and cupped his face. “Joe, wake up. You have to tell me what you want. Please, wake up.”
“Darcy, he won’t answer you. He can’t. You have to choose.”
The moments were ticking by, and she could feel Joe’s life slipping away. She raised her face to Quentin. “Do it,” she said, a quaver in her voice. “Save him, please.”
Quentin knelt and gathered Joe’s upper body off the ground to hold him in his arms. “I have to take more blood—to the point of his death. Go stand at the door. Make sure no one interrupts.”
She didn’t want to leave. She wasn’t sure she trusted him enough to leave Joe’s fate in his hands.
“Go!” He gave her one last hard stare, and then lowered his mouth to Joe’s neck.
Darcy rose and went to the doorway that led to the patio. She glanced back at Quentin, praying she’d made the right choice for Joe.
Stepping outside, she realized the storm brewing all day had broken. Rain fell in fat drops, soaking her uniform in moments. She welcomed the moisture and raised her face to let the drops mingle with her tears. Will he forgive me? As close as they had been—as partners and lovers—she knew he held a deep and abiding hatred for vampires. Yet, she had just given Quentin permission to make him into something he believed abhorrent and unnatural. She’d made him into one of the monsters he’d sworn to fight. If he survived the change.
Darcy heard the sounds of her team members as they combed the yard for weapons and vamps. Since stealth was no longer employed, she knew the vamps had been vanquished.
Max stepped inside the garden gate. “Darse, is the house secure?”
“Yeah.” She had to fight to speak the single word.
“You okay?”
She nodded, and then realized he couldn’t see the movement. “Sure.”
“Joe and Quentin still inside?”
“Yeah.” Darcy shook herself. She had to keep Max outside. He wouldn’t understand what Quentin was doing. “Max, let the rest of the team know the inside’s secure. We lost our headsets.”
Max radioed the status. “Let’s see if the rest of the team needs help.”
“You go ahead. I’ll be along in a minute. I have to let…Joe know where I am.” She returned to the doorway.
Quentin still held Joe in his arms.
Joe’s mouth was latched to Quentin’s wrist, and he was drinking.
Air whooshed from her tight lungs. He was alive. But had his soul survived?
Quentin’s gaze was on her, wary and watchful.
In the lamplight that bathed the two men, both glowed golden and beautiful. She couldn’t be sorry for her choice. The two men she loved still lived.
“I’ll have to get him away from here, quickly,” Quentin said.
Darcy sighed, weary enough to sleep where she stood. Another set of problems presented itself. “We’re expected for an outbrief and after action reports. What do I tell them?”
“Nothing yet. Joe’s alive, but we don’t know if he’s intact.”
“Meaning, he’s not a monster?”
“Make an excuse. He needs time to get on his feet. And he has to feed soon.”
Joe’s eyes stayed closed as he suckled like a babe on Quentin’s wrist.
“He needs blood from a source.”
“What?” She bit out. “Meaning not…recirculated?”
“Just enough to take the edge off his hunger. Then we can feed him steak, or animal blood.”
Darcy glanced away, sickened by the reality of Joe’s new existence. “Take him to my place. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Darcy, perhaps we should find him another host. The longer he waits, the stronger his thirst will be. He’ll be out of control.”
She lifted her chin to give Quentin a bitter smile. “I made the decision to make him what he is. His first meal won’t come from a stranger.”
Chapter Seven
‡
Hours later, Darcy let herself in the front door, dreading the coming moments. She’d lied to the SU team and Captain Springer about Joe. In a few hours they’d know it, and she’d lose her place on the team—and likely lose her job altogether. But that thought was the least of her worries. She had to face Joe and see whether her impetuous gamble had been for nothing.
The kitchen door slammed open, and she jumped. Joe filled the doorway, fury darkening his face, his chest heaving with suppressed rage.
Her hand crept to her throat, fear leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. She seriously doubted Joe was going to thank her for saving his life.
Quentin followed him out of the kitchen.
Her gaze shifted to him, but his expression gave away nothing of his thoughts, which made her even more nervous.
“You bitch!” Joe cursed. “You’ve made me into a thing. You had no right.”
Trepidation pumped her heartbeat faster, and she opened her mouth to explain, but realized she really couldn’t. He was right. She’d made the choice for him, knowing how he felt about vampires. She straightened her shoulders, ready to face his ire.
Quentin laid a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “We talked about what happens next. You need to feed.”
“Shut up!” Joe shrugged off Quentin’s hand with a jerk. “This is between her and me.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with her.” Quentin’s voice lowered to a deadly tone.
“Then you can watch,” Joe snarled, glaring over his shoulder.
Quentin looked ready to strike him, but Darcy shook her head.
Joe stalked toward her.
Refusing to back away, Darcy held her ground. This was Joe. He wouldn’t hurt her. He might be mad as hell, but he wouldn’t hurt her.
Grim-faced, he reached for the front of her black T-shirt and ripped it away. His hands gripped her upper arms hard and squeezed. “Get your clothes off.”
She’d known that, for vampires, blood and sexual lust were closely related. She’d seen the results of horrific first meals. Shaking, Darcy swallowed, her eyes widening as Joe crowded closer, as if daring her to step back. “Can we at least go to the bedroom?” she asked, needing a moment to collect her courage.
“Strip, now.” He enunciated each word slowly, nostrils flaring. “I smell your fear. Smart lady.”
Lord, he no longer sounded like her Joe. His voice was deep, raspier, nearly growling.
She lifted her trembling hands to the front of her sports bra, opened it, and let it drop to the floor.
His hand covered her breast immediately. He flicked the pad of his thumb on her nipple.
It puckered, drawing to a tight point. “My boots,” she said quickly. “I need to sit.”
He shoved her back against the couch, and she fell over the arm. He ripped at the laces and jerked off her boots, one at a time, and then he pulled her to her feet again.
Her composure lost, Darcy sent Quentin a wild-eyed glance. What are you doing?
His jaw tightened, but he remained still, his hands clenched at his sides.
“I said, take off your clothes,” Joe snarled.
Darcy grabbed for the snap at her waistband, popped it open, and slid down the zipper. He stood so close, her head rubbed his belly when she knelt to push the pants down her legs. Her cheek glided along the erection straining against his pants.
Naked, she straightened, fighting to keep her hands at her sides, rather than covering her breasts. Ridiculous, she knew. Both men had made love to her, but this was different.
Joe was like a stranger.
The corners of his mouth lifted. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.
She shivered, alarm and a wicked thrill coursing down her spine. Before she could protest, he ducked and shoved his shoulder into her belly. She folded over him, and he straightened. Lifting her from the ground, he headed for her bedroom.
Darcy raised her head to find Quentin, hoping he would intervene. His jaw was set and his gaze a little wild. Yet he said nothing, did nothing, save follow them inside, turning on the lamp on the bedside table.
Joe tossed her on the mattress, and her breath left her in a whoosh.
He stripped in seconds and fell across her. “No preliminaries, sweetheart. I’ll fuck you before I eat.”
His thighs forced hers apart, and he rammed inside her.
Even as tears of outrage filled her eyes, she couldn’t deny the ease of his entry. Her pussy was drenched with her arousal.
Joe allowed her no time to adjust or room to breathe. He pinned her arms to the bed high above her head. He pumped into her, hot and fast, his chest flattened against hers. With his face inches above her, he forced her to see his anger and accept the pain he inflicted.
His cock pounded away at her womb, reaching farther than she thought he could. His girth was thicker than she remembered and crammed tightly into her channel with each forward stroke.
While her mind protested his rough treatment, her body ripened. Her nipples swelled, the tips stabbing at Joe’s chest. The delicate tissues lining her vagina released a wash of arousal that lubricated his cock and eased his passage.
“If I’d known you got off on violence,” he whispered harshly, “I’d have raped you long ago.”
Blood pounded in her ears. “No, you wouldn’t have. And this isn’t rape,” she gritted out, finding it difficult to speak as he pummeled her. “I’m here of my own free will.” Darcy decided to prove it. She raised her legs around his hips and gripped him, pulling him deeper inside.
With a growl, he pumped faster. His scowl tightened, and he closed his eyes and flung back his head. With a final thrust, he came, his warm ejaculate spurting into her.
For a long moment, they stared at each other. His face was still taut, his cheeks still colored with his anger, but regret stained his eyes. He released her hands and dropped his forehead onto her shoulder.
Darcy enfolded him in her embrace and held him until his breath slowed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice strained.
She squeezed her eyes tight, relieved Joe’s soul was intact, and that he was still her friend. Remorse meant he still had a conscience. “I know. It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay.”
He pushed away, and she unwrapped her legs and arms. Rolling to his back, he covered his eyes with his forearm.
Darcy lay sprawled on the bed, her legs splayed, tears leaking from her eyes, utterly defeated. Joe’s soul had survived, but his unhappiness wasn’t just a matter of adjustment to his new state. He hated what he’d become. And the change was her fault.
She heard the rustle of clothing, and her gaze found Quentin.
His face was taut, his eyes haunted. He removed his clothing and lay down beside her, opposite Joe.
Darcy rolled to her side and opened her arms.
They lay on their sides, facing each other. Quentin wiped her tears away with his fingers, and then rubbed the moisture onto her nipples in slow circles.
Darcy leaned toward him and kissed his lips, her breath catching on a jagged sob when his mouth molded to hers.
He made love to her, sweetly, slowly—his hands soothing her frazzled nerves. He rubbed away the tension in her shoulders, circled each bump of her spine in slow, melting caresses until her sorrow eased. He built a slow fire that raised dimples on her nipples and drew the tips to hard points. His hand moved to her belly, and he massaged away the tension she hadn’t known was there, smoothing her with his fingertips, gradually increasing the pressure and using his knuckles to knead. She almost drifted to sleep beneath his tender ministration, until his hands slid southward.
She eased apart her legs, allowing him entry, and he circled her opening without dipping inside, building a slow ache that had her arching gently into his hand, seeking more of his sensual solace.
He kissed her, his lips lapping hers in an undemanding kiss, and suddenly, she wanted more.
She wound her fingers in his soft hair and pulled his face closer to deepen the kiss, making kitten sounds in the back of her throat to tell him how much he pleased her.
He drew back from the kiss.
At the movement, she opened her eyes. His face was still stark, his nostrils flared, and she knew the cost of this sweet seduction to his control.
“Love, Joe must feed, and you have to take him into your body again while he does it.” He inserted a finger into her channel and swirled inside. “He’s waited too long to drink without the bloodlust overcoming his senses—unless he substitutes sexual lust for bloodlust during the feeding. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
She nodded, not happy he’d prepared her for Joe’s benefit. She bit back a moan when a second finger slipped inside her.
“You have her well primed,” Joe muttered behind her. “She wants you.”
“You made a ballocks of your previous opportunity, pup,” Quentin countered angri
ly, even as his hands continued to gently seduce her body. “You’ll do this under my guidance. A first feeding can take a man’s mind. I won’t let you harm her by forgetting yourself.”
Joe growled deep in his throat. “But she wants you. The scent of her arousal is growing by the moment.”
“Perhaps…” Darcy’s voice was so soft and uncertain, she wasn’t sure they’d heard.
Quentin’s gaze met hers. “What is it, love?”
Darcy swallowed, not believing what she was about to ask, but she wasn’t sure her heart or her body could take another angry storm. “Could you both make love to me?”
He went completely still.
Behind her, Joe’s soft, cynical laughter shook the mattress.
Heat infused her body, and she framed her hands on Quentin’s face. “I want you, but he needs me now. Can’t I hold you, and take both of you inside me?” She knew her face flamed at the whispered suggestion.
Joe stopped laughing.
“You’re very tight there,” Quentin replied, his words spoken with deliberation. “He’ll hurt you.”
“Then help prepare me.”
“You try me, Darcy,” Quentin said, his voice hoarse. “I haven’t any liking for sharing you with another man, much less helping him fuck you.”
Her heart thrilled at his possessive tone and words. “Tonight ends it. I promise.”
He drew in a deep breath. “You have a lubricant?”
Darcy couldn’t believe he conceded so easily. “In the nightstand.” Watching him turn to reach for the tube, she couldn’t stop a mix of dread and guilty anticipation stepping up her heartbeat.
“Such a nasty girl,” Joe said, his hand reaching around her to cup her breast. His lips opened over the curve of her shoulder. He forced her to her back on the bed.
Quentin placed a hand in the middle of Joe’s chest and shoved. “You won’t treat Darcy harshly, not in word or deed, or I’ll dust you.”
“Are you so sure you could take me?”
Darcy rose on her elbows. “Joe, put a sock in it. If you’re drinking my blood, you’re damn well treating me with respect. You may be a big, bad vampire now, but you’re acting like a brat. Cut it out.”
Truly, Madly...Deadly (a vampire romance) (Night Fall Book 2) Page 8
