by Terry Spear
“He won’t get away with their murders or any of the others he has committed. He’s cunning, but I’m certain he’s still killing. He has to be stopped. Soon, by God, he’ll slip up, and I’ll meet him in the flesh.”
Daemon couched his disapproval, though another thought nagged him. What was Krustalus’s game? “You said Krustalus taunted you. How?”
Tezra glowered at Daemon. The tension in his neck returned when he imagined what the vampire might have done to her. The notion she had to prove Krustalus had killed anyone quickly went out the window, and he was ready to terminate the vampire himself. “Tezra?”
“He touches me when he’s in the form of mist.”
Daemon’s temper grew. “How do you know this? Couldn’t it be just your imagination?”
“Forget it! You don’t believe me anyway.”
He couldn’t forget it. He wanted to discover just how far the bastard had pushed himself on her, but his own anger was too near the surface to deal with it objectively. “Did he bite you, Tezra?”
She swallowed hard and shook her head again.
“Tezra?” He touched her arm but she didn’t pull away this time. He embraced her, attempting to coax the truth out of her. “What happened?”
She wouldn’t speak.
“If he’s bitten you, he may believe he’s laid claim to you. At least in his sick mind. I have to know if he’s done anything to you to see where he intends to take this.”
“He’s never bitten me! Don’t you think I’d remember something like that? I wouldn’t ever have let him get that close.”
“He touched you in mist form,” Daemon reminded her. “And from there he could easily have become a man, touching you just as intimately, except in human form.”
She wouldn’t look at him, and he suspected the worst. “When did he bite you?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t.”
Tilting her chin up, he attempted to will her to be honest with him, but that impenetrable wall of hers blocked him. “All right, then.” It wasn’t. But he’d get the truth from her hopefully sooner than later. “What about your sister?”
Tezra turned away, her voice filled with regret. “I’ve had the world’s best psychiatrists work with her with no discernable progress.”
He knew a promising way to bring her sister out of the darkness—most likely at great sacrifice to himself and even greater to Tezra. Frankly, after his last three disastrous relationships, he wasn’t interested in repeating his mistake. Yet a strange gnawing emptiness filled him with an unfathomable sense of disquiet. Just the bloodlust, just the hunger, he told himself, attempting to convince himself that was all it was about her that made him yearn for intimacy with the huntress.
She pushed her dark hair away from her face in such a sexy way, he groaned inwardly. His hard body couldn’t take much more of her sweet fragrance or her alluring actions.
“I vow I will help you with finding a way to connect Krustalus with the crimes. In the meantime, you will remain here and—”
“Absolutely not.” She crossed her arms, lifting her breasts. Her eyes narrowed with defiance.
“I told you last night, I expect your obedience in all matters.”
“This is not the Dark Ages, and you won’t keep me here against my will a second longer.”
“Not even if I help you to solve the crimes?”
“I won’t be locked away—”
She quit speaking when they sensed two vampires approach his house.
“Your brother and friend, Maison, are here again?”
Daemon motioned to the bedroom. “You will stay here and behave, or I’ll return you to the cellar.”
“I need a shower and a change of clothes.”
“My brother will have your bag. I’ll bring it up momentarily. You may use my bathroom to shower.” The thought of seeing her rubbing soapsuds over her soft, naked skin instantly aroused him again. Envisioning his hands soaping up her breasts, bringing her nipples to twin, rosy peaks—
Releasing a heavy sigh, he dissolved into mist and reappeared in the greatroom. “You may enter my home freely, Atreides, Maison,” he communicated before they asked.
“Trouble’s brewing,” Maison warned as he and Atreides appeared in front of Daemon.
And she’s upstairs, Daemon thought privately. He took her suitcase from Atreides. “I shall return and hear all the news in a minute.”
“She’s attempting to pick the lock on your patio door.” Atreides’s voice and expression were hard.
With his acute hearing, Daemon had recognized what Tezra was up to at once. “Of this, I’m deeply aware. I shall see to the vixen.”
***
Tezra considered the lock on the patio door, having already determined she couldn’t pick the lock on the bedroom door. But then she sensed Daemon in the room—no anger though, just conceited amusement. Straightening and turning, she shot him her best glare.
“Looking for something?” He wore a bigheaded smirk. “Bathroom’s in there.” He set her suitcase down and motioned to the other door as if she were a moron. “If you need me to help in any way, you know how to call me. Extra towels are in the linen closet. Anything else?”
She grabbed her suitcase and brushed past him, not meaning to, but his body blocked her path, and she wasn’t watching his smug expression one more minute.
“I’ve been told I’m awfully good at soaping hard-to-reach spots,” he added, his voice taking on the earlier seductive tone.
She glanced back at him, not believing he’d say such a thing to her, knowing how much animosity she felt for him. Did he think because she had slept with him, she was now interested in his great body and wanted more? Not that she wouldn’t want a great body like that making wild and passionate love to her, but…but…how could she lose her mind over a vampire’s hot physique?
She couldn’t fathom why he would be interested in her in particular, except maybe he was still hungry and would want anyone’s blood. “You’ll show me the latest tissue samples after I get cleaned up and changed.”
His eyes darkened but glistened with amusement. She didn’t figure her words would convince him to do anything he didn’t want to. But she felt some satisfaction in making her wishes plain to him anyway.
“If you are thinking of escape, don’t. Vicious animals protect the grounds from intruders.”
A ruse? Though she’d heard some vampires used trained pit bulls or dobermans to guard their premises.
Well, Daemon was back to being egotistical and controlling, which suited her fine. She could deal with him better that way. Otherwise, he threw her off-kilter, and she wasn’t sure how to take him. He bowed his head and waited.
She stalked into the bathroom, then slammed the door with such force it rattled the window. She swore she heard him laugh. She examined the window. Barred. She ground her teeth.
A whirlpool tub big enough for two dominated the room with its swirling chocolate marble like fudge ripple ice cream—her favorite flavor. Gold mirrors hung above two marble sinks set off by shining gold faucets. Encased in clear glass, a separate shower sat on the opposite wall. Jeez, the vampire had nicer stuff than she had—standard chrome faucet on a standard single sink. One porcelain tub/shower unit, one chrome mirror/shelf unit. Period.
She turned on the shower, then while the water whooshed down the drain, disguising the noise she made, she searched all the cabinet drawers for something she could use on the door lock. Not finding anything, she considered breaking the glass patio door, but then what? He’d be one pissed-off vampire.
Exasperated, she yanked off her clothes and heard movement in the bedroom. Daemon was listening to what she was up to? She climbed into the shower and glanced down at the peach shampoo sitting in a shower organizer. Peach?
She ran the shampoo through her wet hair and washed her face, brushing the silky soap over her breasts.
“Call me if you need me ,” Daemon suddenly said, then she sensed he had vanished.
<
br /> Just as quickly, she sensed Krustalus outside the house again. Her eyes shot open, and soap slipped into them. Cursing under her breath, she hurried to rinse the burning soap out of her eyes and then from her hair. She expected the bastard to speak to Daemon, to ask for entrance, to keep his communications secret from her, to show how superior he was. And clever. Daemon must have known he was here too, and that’s why he had left so suddenly.
“Tezra, love, how are you?”
When Krustalus communicated with her instead of Daemon, her heart sped up, and she shot out of the shower. Until she realized she had no weapons. Then she spied her bag, and a flicker of hope came to her. Dripping water everywhere, she yanked open the zipper. Inside, she found her swords, their shining metal gleaming in the bathroom light. Yes!
A situation of neglectful assumptions? Atreides probably had assumed Bernard would have removed the weapons from her bag. Daemon would assume Atreides had totally disarmed her. Thank God vampires could be as disorganized as members of the Special Crimes Unit at times.
After hastily drying, she dressed in black denims and a cowl-neck pink cashmere sweater, then slipped on a pair of low boots.
Krustalus hadn’t spoken to her again. She imagined Daemon was communicating to him in private somewhere else because she couldn’t detect either of them. She shoved one of her swords underneath the mattress in case she got caught. Then she’d have a backup if she needed it—if Daemon didn’t kill her for what she was about to do.
Heart hammering, she rushed to the patio door, grabbed a brass umbrella stand and bashed it against the glass. Nothing happened to the damnable glass.
She searched for something harder. The crystal lamps, though heavy, might shatter first. The mahogany stepping stool beside the high bed? She tried lifting it. Too massive to hoist against the patio door.
She rummaged through Daemon’s closet. Shoes and clothes from sporty to dressy, like any well-dressed man owned. She peered into a darkened corner of the closet. A wooden box sat half hidden beneath his trousers. Opening it, she found a huge assortment of keys, different kinds from every period, it seemed. Long, short, fat, skinny, tiny, huge, brass, iron. One by one, she tried them.
Half an hour later, she kicked the box aside and grabbed the umbrella stand, readying it for another bash. A vampire suddenly hissed behind her.
Her heart lurched, right before his huge hand engulfed her wrist.
Chapter Five
When Daemon agreed to meet Krustalus at Popia’s Wharfside Restaurant, he’d had one goal—to find out if the vampire had murdered Tezra’s parents. If Krustalus had committed the crime, he would be far too clever to trip up unless his conceit got the best of him. But learning that the bastard had touched Tezra intimately without her permission took the game to a different level.
He assumed from the way she acted that Krustalus had bitten her. Daemon figured Krustalus wanted her—not dead as he had first presumed, but as his mate. If Krustalus thought he could intimidate the woman without consequences, let him tangle with an ancient more his match.
Seated next to the expansive windows overlooking the rugged Oregon coastline, Daemon tapped his fingers on the table. He considered the antique-looking coins—replicas of ones he’d used three hundred years earlier—buried in the clear plastic tabletop, nestled against dark, seasoned wood trimmed by a white braided rope. He glanced at his watch. Krustalus was fifteen minutes late.
The sound of conversations and the aroma of fresh fish frying in spicy sauces filled the air.
Daemon tuned out the background noise and watched the clouds building, darkening, casting shadows across the foaming waves. If Krustalus wanted to win his favor, making him wait wasn’t the way to do it. But another notion bothered Daemon. Was the vampire surprised to learn of Daemon’s association with the huntress? He hadn’t seemed to be. In fact, it was almost as though he was engineering a confrontation with Daemon.
“Would you like to order something to drink?” a waitress asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Drink?
He studied the girl’s throat revealed by a low-cut blouse, listened to the blood pumping through her veins, saw the pulse beckoning to him.
“Water,” he said, and turned away.
He had to feed soon, he admitted, because he hadn’t noticed the girl’s face, breasts, legs, nothing, just the tempting pulse in the veins of her neck. The gnawing in his belly wouldn’t go away until he fed.
He tapped his fingers on the table again and glanced out the window at the panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. The waves in a never-ending fluid motion rolled in, tackling the boulders in their path, receding and coming in for yet another charge. The salty spray shot upward with the clash—an image worth capturing with his paints.
“Ahh, Daemon,” a woman said, distracting him.
Before he acknowledged her, he recognized the sensuous lilt to her voice. Lichorus stood before his table, her black eyes challenging, her raven hair straight, dangling past her slim hips. At five-eleven, she could have been a runway model. Instead, the vampiress preferred being a vampire’s pet.
“Lichorus.” Daemon bowed his head slightly in greeting.
“I hear rumors. Ugly rumors.”
Daemon figured what the gossip was about—Tezra, a member of the Special Crimes Unit, locked up in his home, a battle of wills between them. “Word spreads quickly.”
“Already dissension is building among us.” Lichorus pulled a seat out for herself. “Do you mind?”
He motioned for her to sit. “Make it quick. I’m meeting with Krustalus.” And it better be soon, dammit.
Her dark eyes narrowed while she took her seat. Did she know Krustalus? With a movement designed to entice Daemon, she licked her red-frosted lips, but he wasn’t interested.
His gaze dropped to the pulse in her neck. Normally anyone would satisfy the hunger, but all he could think of was Tezra’s sweet blood. All blood had a distinctive taste. The smell of hers was like copper and wine, the taste as sweet as the richest burgundy…he couldn’t get it out of his mind.
“Daemon, I believe my lover knows who killed the police officers.”
Instantly, he sat taller. “Who?”
Exaggerated by three-inch red polished nails, Lichorus’s long, thin fingers reached out to him across the table. She scraped them over his hands. Finding her action annoying, he pulled away.
She offered a simpering smile. “I’ve tried to find out from him, but he doesn’t…trust me. He believes I still have a thing for you.” Her lips turned up more. “Imagine that.”
Daemon’s stomach roiled. “What makes you think Mustaphus knows? If he’s so secretive—”
“He’s not very good at covert operations. From time to time he makes a slip. He communicated with another vampire but didn’t funnel his thoughts directly to him. Mustaphus related how thrilled he was the killer had been so successful.”
“This in itself means nothing. Several admire the killer’s boldness. That doesn’t mean they know who it is.” Unable to determine if Lichorus was lying or not, Daemon leaned back in his chair and studied her reactions closely.
“Why keep his communications secret for the most part, then? The other kept his talk channeled. But, darling, there’s more. Mustaphus knew where the police officer had been murdered before it was announced on the news this morning.”
“Several of us knew of the murder before it was reported.”
Lichorus gave a wicked smile, a gleam in her eye.
“Well?
She shrugged. “Let me amend my comment. He was there before the killing took place.”
Daemon stiffened his back. “You are certain?”
“Reasonably.”
“But it still doesn’t prove he had anything to do with the killing or that he knew who had committed the crime, unless he was there while it occurred. Why didn’t you report your suspicions to Maison?” Daemon asked, incensed that anyone would conceal the bastard’s actions.
“The deed had already been done.” Lichorus circled an embedded coin in the table with her fingernail. “Word is the SCU is frantic Tezra Campbell is missing. They’re concerned the vampire serial killer has murdered her or taken her hostage.” Lichorus’s lips rose. “But we know where she’s currently residing, don’t we?” She shrugged. “I believe there is much more at stake here. Those involved don’t realize how dangerous a war would be. They’re arrogant enough to believe the vampires would succeed and rule.”
“What would you want in return for the information?”
“Why, darling, as loyal as I have always been to your rule…”
He lifted a brow. “You know better than to play games with me. I recall a time when a few hotheads pulled their support, and you were at the forefront of that movement. Hell, if you hadn’t turned the others in, proved you could still be useful and sworn your allegiance again, I would have had no choice but to eliminate you back then.”
She hissed. “How can you get caught up in a dalliance with another huntress? You’re playing with fire again.”
“Temper, temper, Lichorus.” Certain she would tell everyone she knew and the word would filter to the killer, he set the trap. “She’s in my custody for her protection until I discover who killed the police officers. If he wants her, he’ll have to come and get her.”
“You are into bondage these days, my prince? I would be happy to oblige.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Daemon bowed his head, formally announcing their discussion was at an end. If the vampiress wished to provide him information free of conditions, he would be willing to listen, but he would not be cowed into an agreement with her.
Before Lichorus responded, Tezra channeled a scream into Daemon’s thoughts.
***
In Daemon’s bedroom, the vampire tightened his grip on Tezra’s wrist, numbing her hand. She dropped the umbrella stand. Before she could spin around and see the menace, he wrapped an arm around her throat. Squeezing, the bastard attempted to choke her into submission. Her mind blackening and in panic, she thrust her free elbow hard into his gut.
