The muscles in the man’s back tightened and he stopped. The fingers gripping the surfboard grew tense, the knuckles white. He turned, his eyes catching the streetlights’ glow for a split second, their sharp green depths flaring with iridescent light. His lips stretched in a cold smile, the action revealing fangs, long and pointed. “Now, you know better than to make threats like that, blood-sucker.”
Ezryn bared his own fangs, every nerve ending on edge. It wasn’t just adrenaline surging through him at that moment. It was borderline fear. Even with the power and strength of his ancient bloodline, what he was doing would be considered suicide by most of his kind. “And you know me well enough to know I don’t make threats, Watkins.” He cocked an eyebrow, refusing to be intimidated. He was Ezryn Navarr, after all. He wasn’t just some bleeder flexing his muscles. “And by the way, who are you calling a blood-sucker?”
Ven Watkins, supreme Principatus and ex-vampire, gave him a steady look, his eyes green chips of ice. The knuckles on the hand gripping his surfboard grew whiter. His jaw muscles bunched. “Be careful, Navarr.” His voice was low, his accent thicker. “I believe you may be close to pushing our friendship somewhat.”
Ezryn nodded, his own gaze unwavering. “True. But then we’ve never really been close, have we, Ven? Even before your ‘rebirth’? We may both have been vampires, but you kept to yourself, too concerned with looking out for your brother. In fact, I think I recall you telling me to ‘piss off’ out of the country at one stage. Wasn’t that the night I met your girlfriend?”
A shimmer of black rippled over Watkins’s face, and Ezryn had to stop himself taking a hurried step backward. This wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. Not at all.
How did you think it would go? Did you think the guy would offer to buy you coffee? Maybe invite you to share breakfast? You do know who you’re talking to here, don’t you?
Ezryn squared his shoulders a little, refusing to break eye contact.
Ven Watkins had once been a vampire, a good vampire, in Ezryn’s opinion, but something about the Australian had always troubled him. An aura of immense power and untold force. The first time Ezryn had met the young vamp, he’d been surprised to discover he was a bleeder. The man radiated not just the strength of a born vampire, but the icy potency of a master. It came as no surprise to Ezryn when he’d learnt Ven had become a Principatus, although what happened to elevate the vamp to an assassin of God, Ezryn didn’t know. There were whispers amongst Sydney’s paranormal world of deals with the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse, Death herself. Ezryn could only consider himself fortunate he and Ven had never been forced to square off.
It was rumored Watkins could kill a demon of any genus with a simple thought—if he was inclined to do so. Ezryn didn’t doubt it. He’d seen what Ven Watkins the Principatus could do, the assassin dealing with a blood-frenzied horde of cambion who’d decided to assault a busload of tourists during the last Sydney Mardi Gras. It had not been pretty, and if Ezryn was capable of having nightmares, he believed what he’d witnessed that night would have left him sleepless for some time.
They had an uneasy truce, he and Watkins, and tolerated each other’s existence in Sydney with what came close to studied indifference. But Ezryn had little doubt that truce would dissolve with just the wrong word or action. And then Ven would render his existence null and void.
A chill rippled up Ezryn’s already icy spine.
It was an unnerving thought, especially given his current mission.
He needed to be careful, no matter how much he wanted answers. When it came to the decimation of demons, Watkins was close to God-like—his power was unfathomable and no one escaped him. Ever. Which meant Ezryn couldn’t afford to antagonize him now.
Can’t afford to have your unbeating demon heart ripped from your chest, either.
“I know there is no reason to trust what I say, Steven.” He kept his voice calm and composed, the use of the supreme Principatus’s first name deliberate. And risky. “But this is important. For both our kinds.”
A mocking expression fell over Watkins’ face. “Both our kinds?”
Ezryn didn’t say a word, all too aware he walked a dangerous tightrope.
Watkins regarded him, nothing about his stance or body language hinting at what went on behind his piercing green eyes. For all Ezryn knew, the Principatus could have been thinking about what he was going to have for breakfast.
Me?
He flicked a quick look over his shoulder at the sky behind him. The cold, purple smudge had spread to a golden-pink hue, the disconcerting coloring rising higher from the horizon. He forced his muscles to relax. Dawn was almost upon him. If he didn’t get the answers he needed soon, he’d be toast. Literally.
As if hearing his thoughts—maybe he does, Ezryn. You don’t know everything about him—Watkins moved his gaze passed Ezryn, taking in the hint of sunlight low in the night sky behind Ezryn’s back. “Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day, doesn’t it?” He returned his steady gaze to Ezryn, his face expressionless.
Ezryn bit back a growl, his control close to snapping. He’d had enough of being played with. Watkins wasn’t a cat, and he sure as hell wasn’t a defenseless mouse. “Curse it, assassin! Either agree to tell me what I need to know or try and rip my heart out.” He took a step forward, his fists clenched, his fangs growing longer, readying to be attacked. “Either way, get it over and done with.”
Watkins raised his eyebrows, what almost looked like a grin playing with his mouth. He slid the surfboard from under his arm and stabbed its tail into the sand beside his bare feet before loosely draping an arm around its edge. “War, you say?”
Ezryn nodded, jaw clenched. War would mean little to Ven Watkins—the vampire-cum-supreme Principatus was likely to survive any battle between vamps and the Agents of the Order. But despite the mystery surrounding him, one thing was known—whatever brought about the transformation from vampire to Principatus, Ven Watkins now had a certain distaste for mindless slaughter and destruction, regardless of the species of corpse. Since his transformation, he’d dealt with more than one demon and hell spawn with such icy, sardonic calm few dared enter Sydney anymore, but of late he was, for the want of a better word, retired.
Like everything else surrounding Watkins, no one knew why and no one dared ask, but the Principatus spent most of his days on the end of a wax-coated surfboard riding the waves at Bondi and most of his nights sliding between the sheets as he moved over and into whatever gorgeous female he desired.
“Please,” Ezryn said, the word like bitter essence on his tongue. “I have to know.”
Watkins narrowed his eyes, and Ezryn couldn’t escape the feeling he was being weighed and measured. “Name?”
He swallowed. “Inari Chayse.”
Even the sound of her name passing his lips made Ezryn’s blood heat, despite the dangerous position he was in. He stared at the Principatus, unable to miss the lightening shadows stretching over the beach behind him.
A gentle heat teased his back, the rays of the rising sun beginning to warm the cool night air around him. He resisted the urge to fidget. Damn it, he was running out of time. Quickly.
“Inari Chayse,” Watkins repeated. His green eyes flickered with an enigmatic light, and an icy finger of nervous apprehension stabbed into Ezryn’s gut.
Fuck, what is going on? Why is he being so obtuse? So—
“What do you want to know about her?”
Ezryn swallowed again, the pit of his gut tightening. Why I can’t stop thinking about her? Why all I want to do is claim her? Why I want nothing more than to bind her to me? Make her mine and lose myself forever in her—
A cold grin pulled at Watkins’s mouth, a glimpse of wickedly sharp fangs peeking from behind his lips. “Ah,” he said. “I see.”
And with that, he chuckled once, pulled his surfboard from the sand, tucked it under his arm again and walked up the beach toward the street with long, comfortable strides.
&nbs
p; Ezryn blinked. What in all the levels of hell?
Knowing he was pushing his luck, he blocked Watkins’s path. ”What in the name of the Dark Ones does Ah, I see mean?”
Watkins gave him a level look, his pale eyes shimmering white for a split second. White. A Principatus’s eyes. But Ezryn didn’t budge. He couldn’t. He needed to know.
“Inari Chayse,” Watkins said, his voice as controlled as his gaze. “Ex-succubus. Over three hundred years old. And one of the most lethal Principatus I know. You’d do best to stay away from her if you want to continue existing.”
He began walking again and Ezryn stepped out of his way, a strange pressure wrapping around his chest. Did he just hear…?
“Oh, and by the way,” Watkins threw over his shoulder without slowing his pace, “my family is greatly indebted to her, so I’d be a touch miffed if something were to happen to her, if you understand my meaning.”
He didn’t wait for Ezryn’s response, turning away from him as if he no longer mattered and moving across the sand.
Ezryn stood motionless, watching him go, one word replaying over in his head. One word echoing in his mind. Repeating it in a low whisper louder than a scream.
One word. Only one.
Succubus.
He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his hands over his face.
Succubus.
A hot beat thumped in his temple, his throat. He dragged his nails through his hair.
Succubus.
He drove his nails into his scalp, piercing his flesh. Damn. He’d been made a fool. A fucking fool.
Succubus. A female sex demon who feeds on the sexual energy of her victims, seducing them until they are enslaved to her by their lust and fucking them until they were drained of their life force. Mating with them over and over and over and over again.
Succubus.
“One more thing.” Watkins’s distant call jerked Ezryn out of his dark stupor and he stared after the Principatus, black rage snaking through his very veins. “Tell your brother if I so much as even see him on my streets while he’s here, I’ll come out of retirement.”
Ezryn sucked in a sharp hiss, his black rage turning to a darker, dense fury. He was right. The bastard Principatus could read his thoughts.
There came a low chuckle from Watkins’s direction, the man moving over the loose sand with graceful ease, his arm hugging his now-dry surfboard with casual comfort. “You should probably think about getting out of the sun soon.” He tossed Ezryn a quick, smug grin over his shoulder, never slowing his stride. “Just a friendly safety tip from me to you. Agent to bloodsucking demon.”
Ezryn spun around, his attention snapping immediately to the east, his throat growing thick at the sight of the horizon awash in brilliant golden light.
Fuck.
He turned from the beach, looking west. Ven Watkins was nowhere to be seen, swallowed up by the waning night shadows. Or gone by other less natural means.
A strange beat throbbed in Ezryn’s temple. A charged tingle heated his flesh. He scanned the buildings stretching before him, the scattered lights glowing in their windows reflecting a populace about to start the new day. Already he could see the cafes and restaurants preparing for their morning customers. It wouldn’t be long before joggers appeared on the beach. Life had come to Bondi Beach, and he was standing alone on the sand with no close refuge from the sun. Even at his fastest, it would take him too long to get back to his home before the sun’s rays found his vulnerable flesh.
He had to move. Now.
Curling his fingers into fists, he launched himself forward, defying natural law as he propelled himself away from the lightening horizon. Jacob’s Woolloomooloo penthouse was five miles away. If he hurried—and he planned on doing just that—he might just make it.
It’s only four miles to Kings Cross…
The insidious suggestion flittered through Ezryn’s head. Four miles to Inari Chayse’s apartment.
A growl rumbled up his throat, the sound low and completely demonic. Four miles.
Go there, Ezryn. Take her. Claim her. Fuck the lying, deceiving sex demon until she screams and begs for mercy and then gorge yourself on her blood and body.
He moved through the rapidly filling streets, the houses and buildings nothing but streaks of shadows and light around him.
Three miles.
Two.
One.
The gaudy neon lights of Kings Cross flared in his sights, the distinctive stench of the suburb of sex and sin filling his nose.
Fuck her, Ezryn. Bite her.
Bind her.
He could almost believe her scent wafted on the still dawn air. Taunting him. Teasing him.
He moved in a dark blur through the waking streets. Past drunken tourists who had little memory of the night just gone and the harried beat cops trying to decipher from their slurs and mumbles where their accommodation was. Past early morning dog walkers and businessmen running late for their buses.
Faster. Closer. Closer to his destination.
And, in three effortless leaps, he landed on Jacob’s fourteenth story balcony, smashing the glass sliding door’s lock as he flung it open and stormed into his friend’s living room.
Jacob looked up from the newspaper on his lap, not a hint of shock at Ezryn’s appearance evident on his seamless face. “Well,” he said, a grin twitching on his lips, “this is a surprise. I didn’t know you’d taken up extreme parkour. Or is it extreme freerunning? I can never tell with the fads today.”
Ezryn didn’t respond. He couldn’t. All he could think about was seven short words. Seven short words that said it all.
Succubus. Sex demon. Fuck her. Bite her.
“I take it by your foul mood you’ve been visiting with the Principatus again.” The grin on Jacob’s lips stretched wide, although there was a tension around his eyes that seemed to mock the smile. “Is that why you didn’t answer my earlier phone call?” He paused, and for the briefest of moments that same tension pinched the skin on either side of his nose. “I wanted to tell you Eliah Bartowski was in Australia.”
Ignoring the unusual strain on Jacob’s face, Ezryn gave his friend a slow, cold smile. “Are you ready for hell on earth, General Ford?”
Jacob’s grin vanished, his body becoming still. “What have you done, Ezryn?” he asked, putting his paper aside and rising to his feet.
Ezryn turned away from his long-time friend and most loyal ally. Standing in the room’s cool shadows, he studied the soft line of the sun’s heat creep across the plushly carpeted living room floor. If he stood here long enough—a few minutes, if that—the golden light would find his feet and he would begin to burn.
Yet even that heat would pale to insignificance compared to the black rage Ven Watkins’s revelation had awoken in him.
His mouth filled with saliva and his nostrils flared, his mind turning to Inari Chayse. No, not turning to it. Turning to it would imply he’d stopped thinking about her. He hadn’t. Not at all. She’d been at the center of his every thought since he’d found her in the Pleasure Pussy. Every deluded, irrational, feverish thought. And now he knew why.
The anger boiling in his gut, his chest, twisted into a writhing snake of icy resolve. Ruthless purpose.
“Ezryn?” Jacob spoke behind him, his tone urgent. “What have you done? Tell me you haven’t killed the Principatus? Tell me you haven’t taken her life?”
Ezryn ignored him. He watched the weak morning sunlight inch toward him and smiled again, the feel of his fangs pressing inside his lips a clear reminder of who—what—he was. What he was and what he could do. What he was going to do.
“Ezryn?”
Jacob’s voice was a distant buzz lost in the roar of his blood in his ears. He lifted his stare to the window, studying the pale, golden-tinged blackness beyond and seeing only the Principatus. He looked forward to the coming night. Dark Ones, did he look forward to it.
Succubus.
Sex demon.
Fuck her.
Bite her.
“Kill her.”
Chapter Eight
“So what’s your plan now?”
Inari didn’t lift her head from her hands. She kept her stare fixed on the spot between her feet even as her sister’s voice played over her back like a cool breeze.
“You know you can’t keep running away forever, don’t you?”
She frowned at the floor, her teeth catching her bottom lip to gnaw on its fleshy fullness. She needed to shampoo the carpet. Or maybe rip it up and have new carpet laid. Or better yet, polish the floorboards beneath back to their original life, restoring them to what they’d once been. Or maybe—
“I’m not going anywhere, sis,” Tianya pointed out, each word growing colder. “I can stand here and watch you sulk all night if I must, and you know it. You’ve been at it for most of the day already, by the way. Just in case you didn’t notice.”
Tianya’s mocking statement made the skin on the back of Inari’s neck prickle, the sensation so like the warning she’d get when a demon was about.
When you were a Principatus, you mean?
The thought was a dagger of dark pain burying deep into her chest, and she stared harder at the spot of carpet between her feet. Maybe she should by some rugs? A shag one?
“You have to do something, In.” Tianya’s voice danced on the air behind Inari’s bowed back and she gritted her teeth. “You’ve submitted to a master vampire so many times now I’ve lost count.” Tianya paused. “The same master vampire.”
Damp heat blossomed in the junction of Inari’s thighs at her dead sister’s words, and she snarled silently.
“It’s like your body’s trying to tell you something,” Tianya went on.
“My body has shit for brains,” Inari mumbled, stubbornly refusing to take her eyes off the floor. “And do you really think I’m worrying about a vampire? After what just happened?”
“Contrary to what you think, I’m not always hanging around with you. Did something bad happen? Did you kick your toe on the table? Or drop mustard on your—”
Dark Embrace (Principatus) Page 18
