Intervamption

by Kristin Miller

  In his time of need, when he needed her most, lying cold and near death on the concrete, she’d saved him. Supported him inside, offering the life flowing through her veins so he could live.

  No one had ever done anything like that for him before.

  It was a sacrifice he’d remember until he took his last breath. There, holding her hand, listening to the soft rhythm of her heartbeat, his sole purpose for being became clear.

  He’d be her protector. Her shield. As long as he walked the earth not a single person, therian or vampire, would make her feel weak or intimidated, alone or inferior, ever again. He’d be at her side, watching over her, protecting her one way or another. It didn’t matter which form he was in. He would never . . . could never leave her alone.

  As he squeezed her hand, her chest heaved . . . and then fell.

  “Dylan, baby. Can you hear me?” He rose to his knees and brushed his hands over her hair. “Come on, Dylan, I know you can hear me. Open your eyes, sweetie, I’m here.”

  In a violent jolt, Dylan’s chest heaved again, her back arching into an awkward upside down U. She looked like she was being shocked by invisible defibrillator paddles. When she sank into the bed a second time, Slade watched her chest carefully. It didn’t rise.

  He snaked an arm behind her neck and raised her up. She was pale . . . drained beyond replenishment. What had he done?

  Just when he thought he’d lost her, when he was about to take out his rage on anyone and everyone, her eyes shot open. As she lunged for his throat his arms came up, capturing her around the neck. He led her fevered mouth to his vein and breathed a deep sigh of relief as she sucked with greedy pulls.

  “Dylan,” he moaned, his body shaking from the release of tension. He maneuvered his body on top of the bed to allow her easier access to what she wanted most. “I don’t know what I would’ve done . . .”

  Whimpers escaped her mouth with each gulp, making Slade’s insides knot with excitement. She was all right. She’d be fine. And she’d never know that kind of hurt again.

  He closed his eyes to focus on Dylan and the sensuality of his blood flowing through her mouth and down her throat, when a seizure racked his body. From the inside out.

  This was not like the last one—the one in the alley in front of the haven when he’d had trouble shifting back to vampire form. No, this was different. Slade could’ve sworn his tissues tore away from his muscles, then his muscles from bone. He crumbled onto the bed, careful not to detach Dylan from what she needed.

  He lie there for minutes . . . or was it seconds? With Dylan using him to survive and his body exploding from the inside, sending shrapnel firing through his organs, he couldn’t tell milliseconds from hours. Time faded away to nothing but a nagging thorn in his side.

  It was more intense than anything he’d ever experienced. The ultimate combination of pain and pleasure.

  After he thought it might never end, that he’d die with Dylan at his throat and his body torn to shreds, the pain subsided to a dull roar. His breathing returned to normal. His heart rate slowed.

  Dylan’s fangs scraped along his neck before she licked a line up his chin.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” Slade said, turning to her. He admired the soft lines of her cheek, how they rounded down to her supple, blood-plump mouth. “How do you feel?”

  She laid her head in the nook of his arm, a crevice made just for her. “I’m better now. But Slade . . . there’s a whole lot of things we need to talk about.”

  He stroked her hair out of her face. “Maybe later. I can think of a much better use for my mouth.” He roped her chin with his fingers and tugged her lips to his. “I love you, Dylan. More than anything. More than life itself.”

  A tight smile pulled at her lips. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t come to that. And according to Meridian I have the choice whether or not to—” She stopped short, her eyes focusing on Slade’s shoulder. “Look at that.”

  His therian marking looped over and around his shoulder, across his chest and down his right side. “What the hell?” His tongue tapped the tip of his fangs.

  Aware of a powerful presence in the room, Slade’s eyes shot to the door. Standing in the middle of the doorway was Meridian . . . only about fifty years younger. Same eyes. Same squirrelly grin. Same strong stance.

  “We’re both glad to have you back,” she said. “Why don’t you two wrap this up and come have a drink. I’ve got enough AB+ to feed the United Vampire Nations and Winter Solstice ain’t waiting for your pretty ass.” She turned and left the room.

  When Slade made no effort to move, and continued studying the familiar marking with long sweeps of his thumb, Dylan reached around and smacked him on the rear. “I think she was talking to you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Feed yourself first, before you feed the homeless. For if you are starving, there may be no homeless to feed.”

  —The Order of Things: A How-To Cookbook by Miss Canine

  “I said I’ll get on it,” Ruan growled at the raspy voice on the other end of the phone line. “Savage, I can’t very well run into the daylight to bring her to you. You’ll have to wait until—”

  The line went dead.

  Ruan knew it was Winter Solstice and his job was to assist Savage in last-minute preparations, but this was getting downright ridiculous. He’d somehow managed to keep his trap shut, but it was getting harder and harder to keep it that way.

  He was no one’s slave.

  He’d run back and forth from Erock’s chamber to Savage’s more times this month than he cared to hash over.

  Take him this message. Talk to no one. Bring me that box. Keep tabs on this trail, now that one. Make this phone call and leave no message. Keep your head down and your ears open. Ask around to find out if anyone’s heard of the scrolls or where to find them. The latest orders were the straws breaking this camel’s back: Search for a therian in their midst tonight and bring Eve Monroe to their haven without anyone the wiser.

  He’d had enough. Working for Erock the past two years had never been as bad as this. His one and only job was to watch over Dylan so no other vampire could get close to her. Turned out he would’ve done that without Erock’s orders . . .

  Once Erock told him to work for Savage as well, things had gone straight to hell. He didn’t ask the why of it, just did as he was told.

  As Savage demanded Ruan’s assistance once again, he knew it would be the last time he’d be called. Ruan would bring Eve to the haven, scope out the newborns at the pre-celebration, perform these last tasks, then tell that egotistical bastard to shove the rest of his orders up his pale ass.

  Speaking of which, how did Savage expect Ruan to parade out into the city while the sun was high in the sky? Winter Solstice stress must’ve overloaded his brain.

  Ruan found himself walking to Dylan’s studio without even realizing it. It was probably because she’d been on his mind since discovering Eve was the stable blood donor they’d been searching for all this time.

  The halls were empty, most sensible vampires catching shut-eye or getting last minute things ready for the party tonight. He knew Dylan wouldn’t be in, though she didn’t say where she was exactly when she’d called. Only that she and Slade were attacked by a therian, that they were all right, but wouldn’t make it back by sunrise.

  Damn that newborn. If this was Slade’s fault, if he’d let something happen to Dylan because of his blatant stupidity, Slade would have to take up residence with another khiss in Abu Dhabi or some shit; far, far away from Ruan’s wrath.

  As Ruan stood face to face with Dylan’s studio, he noticed her door was cracked open.

  “Hello?” he called into the dark as he palmed the door, pushed back. “Anyone here?”

  Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, he breathed, “Oh, shit.”

  The place was ransacked. Dylan’s bed had been overturned; blankets and pillows torn to shreds littered the ground. The r
efrigerator door swung open, its iridescent light gleaming through the dark, showing not a single bottle remained intact. Blood spilled from the glass shelves onto the floor.

  And her desk. Damn it, she wouldn’t be happy about this. Drawers hung loosely from their holds like tongues lagging from a dog’s mouth. Her laptop was gone. Along with her rack of files and basket of thumbdrives. Blood-Blaster wrappers were everywhere—though something told Ruan those might’ve been the way she left them.

  He tunneled his fingers through his hair. Who would want to do this? He wondered, as he picked up her briefcase off the ground. Before he could check if they stole the contents of her bag, something moved out of the corner of his eye.

  Gearing up to battle whatever stranger intruded on her personal space, he let his fangs drop. Walked around her desk, careful not to trip on anything, keeping an eye out for the flash of a therian change or the mark of another perp.

  A mouse darted from the corner, scurried between his legs and out the door.

  “God damn it!” Ruan hissed, jumping back, hitting the wall behind him. “Jesus . . . she really needs to clean this place up. That sugary crap is attracting rodents the size of housecats.”

  Once he calmed his heart rate down, put his nerves back in check, he straightened up her room as best he could. The bed he could manage. The desk, however, put him at a loss. He rudimentarily shoved stacks of paper together, not sure which went with what, until the pile looked somewhat straight. When he picked up the last scrap of paper, he spotted a prescription bottle rolling along the hardwood floor.

  The white printed label read: DayGuards.

  He remembered hearing Dylan’s proposal to produce the sunblock pills in front of Court a few months back. Her request had been unanimously denied. Too risky for mass production. No matter how many times she stated they were safe, with little or no side effects, the Primus wouldn’t listen. He said it wasn’t natural for their race to be exposed during the day. Nature had deemed it so thousands of years ago.

  Staring at the bottle, turning it in his hands, Ruan realized her lofty dreams might’ve just saved his ass.

  He popped off the top, shook two into his hand and tossed them into his mouth. Damn things left a bitter aftertaste. She’d have to work on sugar-coating these things for sure. On second thought, this was Dylan he was talking about—he wouldn’t have to tell her to do something like that; it was probably numero uno on her to-do list.

  After making sure her studio door was securely shut behind him, Ruan hightailed it to the door leading to the back alley. He took a few seconds to size himself up before pushing open the door. He didn’t feel any different. His skin felt the same. Wouldn’t he feel a change? A tingle? Something?

  Figuring there’d only be one way to tell if the pills worked, Ruan punched open the door and stuck out his arm. He turned palm up as if catching the rays of light in his hand. No pain. No burn.

  Wicked.

  He stepped into the light slowly, remarking how warm his face felt and how vibrant the colors were around him. Even the alley that had seemed dull and muted all these years had colors that were merely paled by the night sky. Pallets lined up across the street were deeper brown than they were last night. The warehouse wasn’t whitewashed and dingy at all. It was tan.

  And . . . Good Lord. The cars parked out back were lined up like colorful stripes of a rainbow. There were bright blue Mustangs, pearl white Corvettes, green Mercedes, charcoal black Camaros, and yellow S2000s. Their beautifully deep shades mesmerized Ruan to the point of delirium.

  Now this is the way the world is supposed to be seen, he thought.

  He dug through his jeans pocket, found Erock’s keys, and let himself into the sky blue Hummer parked in the reserved space. Good thing about being a go-getter for royalty . . . you got to go-get their cars and drive ‘em to the max. He peeled out of the warehouse lot and didn’t get far into the city before he found himself lost in the sights.

  Everything was different.

  Mundanes were bustling about, bicycling with funky helmets and much-too-tight latex pants, walking yapping dogs, having coffee beneath awnings on street corners, crossing the narrow streets in large herds, their umbrellas brushing as they passed . . . it was fantastic.

  He felt like a kid in a candy store, and not because these mundanes would be a delicious snack and he was in fact hungry, but because his mind couldn’t wrap around all that he’d missed. It felt like he’d been walking beside the world all this time. Not a member of it. Not living life, biking, walking, drinking coffee. He’d become a ghost. A mute invisible among a world of people who lived visibly and out loud.

  Time flew by with him staring out the window, wondering where people were going and who’d be waiting for them when they got there. Before long he’d arrived in Brookside on the outskirts of Crimson Bay and turned down Eve Monroe’s street. The place looked pristine and colorful. Taken right out of one of those home and garden magazines women drooled over.

  He zipped up his black leather coat, then took out a piece of paper with what little information he’d unearthed about Eve Monroe scribbled on it.

  Parents deceased. No siblings. Female. Twenty-five years of age.

  Should be easy to convince a naive gal like that to follow a charming guy like him back to his haven. It’s not like he was going to give her a choice. . . .

  While pounding on the door, he leaned over, checking the windows flanking the door. No movement.

  Then just like that, the door opened wide, like this mundane was expecting someone to come knocking.

  The breath in Ruan’s lungs pushed out on a rough exhale. Standing before him, with long flowing blonde hair and light hazel eyes, was the most striking woman he’d ever seen. The contrast between the olive of her skin and the light hue of her hair bewildered him.

  “Yes?” she asked, staring at him expectantly with eyes the shimmer of honey. “Can I help you?”

  God, if angels could sing, this is what they’d sound like. . . .

  He opened his mouth to say something intelligent and witty and charming and carefree. But nothing came out. He closed his trap and chuckled, careful not to show his fangs. Okay, maybe blushed a little from embarrassment. Shit, he was making this worse. Just say something you ass . . .

  “I’m here to . . . ah, serve you,” was the first thing to pop into his mind. Idiot.

  She frowned, her thin eyebrows pinching together. “Excuse me?” She let the door close until all he could see was half of her firm body. Her curves were strong, yet feminine, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. She definitely took care of herself. Ruan bet beneath her knit sweater she was soft in all the right places; her stomach, her full breasts, that sweet spot right between—

  She cleared her throat. He wondered if she was coming down with something. “You don’t look like the phone guy,” she said.

  “Phone guy?”

  “Yeah, he was supposed to be here an hour ago. Someone cut my line.”

  Funny. Every time her hazel eyes set upon his he felt like someone was cutting his aorta in half. “Want me to . . . I could take a look if you want me to? Check things out.”

  “Really. What are you doing here?” She pursed her lips and squinted, her eyes narrowing to playful slits. “You’re not here to fix my phone, are you?”

  He sighed. “I’ll do and be anything you ask me to. Just promise you won’t shut this door on me.”

  When Eve called Verizon to report her slashed phone line, the last thing she expected was for them to send a guy like . . . well, like Brad Pitt plucked straight from Legends of the Fall. This guy was gorgeous. Celebrity material. Certainly not the type who climbed telephone poles or made house calls.

  Why was he staring at her like that? She couldn’t sense any hint of danger coming off him like she could from everyone else, and his eyes didn’t show anger or greed. He was looking at her like . . . almost like he wanted to bite her.

  She pushed her hair behind her ears
and tugged down her sweater, crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You’ll do anything I ask you to, huh? With the exception of fixing my phone, it seems. You know, that’s a new one,” she said, remembering the visit she got last week from some creep in black. All that fool wanted was to use her bathroom. She wasn’t falling for that one either. “All right, then first you’re going to tell me your name.”

  “My name’s Ruan,” he said, quick and firm. His blue eyes were innocent, honest. “And I’m not here to hurt you.”

  She may’ve been a fool, but she believed him. “Then tell me why you’re here and don’t tell me it’s to fix my phone.”

  “I’m not here to fix your phone.” He scanned the street, his eyes stopping on a vacant foreclosed home a few yards down. She took the opportunity to check him out properly. His clothes were new, pressed, most likely from Abercrombie or American Eagle. His leather jacket gripped his broad shoulders perfectly, a slick span of black, making him seem like a deadly quick predator. His booming square jaw was well past five o’ clock and due for a shave, and his hair . . . oh my, it was thick and full, dropping in thick waves past his shoulders. “Like what you see?”

  Her stomach clenched at the deep baritone of his voice. Damn it. He’d caught her. “You, ah, still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.” Blush crept onto her cheeks.

  He stepped closer and palmed the sides of the doorjamb with a dominance that shot lightning rods to her core. She was frozen in place. Dumbfounded by the heat of his gaze and his debilitating power over her body. “We don’t have long—minutes if we’re lucky. I need you to trust me. Can you trust me?”

  She nodded without thinking. God, was she really trusting this guy she’d just met?

  Ruan pushed against her, though she got the feeling he didn’t want to get by her. He wanted her against him and she made no attempt to move. He was even sexier up close, his leather coat crackling as her body pressed against it.