Bishop (New Vampire Disorder Book 3)

by Marie Johnston

  Resting her head back on the seat, she didn’t sleep. Out of slit eyelids, she catalogued his movements. Driving one of these rigs proved more complicated than a normal sedan, but she was a quick study.

  She opened her senses up to the cab. It smelled of lonely bachelor—not enough showers, too much greasy food, and masturbation. But more good news, this was a sleeper cab. No need for a hotel.

  Fatigue weighed on her until each second was a struggle to keep from drifting off. She thought of Bishop and his eyes. Every emotion turned them a different shade of blue. Turned on, they lightened to the blue of the hottest part of a flame. Cobalt when he was upset, and for her, steel-blue.

  A warm glow settled deep within her, but there was no combustion danger. Her heat simmered inside when it was related to the big guy. She sank into the comfort for hours.

  The engine slowed and jerked her attention back to the cab. Had they arrived in Sioux Falls already?

  From her narrowed view, she saw a small building to the right. A rest stop. Jim maneuvered the truck into a long parking spot.

  He reached over and stroked her thigh. “Little lady, we’ve stopped for the night.”

  She opened her eyes fully and looked around with false wonder. “Have we arrived?” Shifting, not having to fake stiffness, she managed to dislodge his paw.

  “Nah, it’s easier to settle in for the night in a rest stop.”

  Why, so no one could hear her yell?

  He pulled back a curtain behind them. “Go on and get comfy. I’ll go drain the beast and be on back.”

  Raising an eyebrow, she craned her head around. A small cot, sleeping bag, tiny fridge. Her eyes widened in delight at the small TV. As long as his DVD collection wasn’t porn, she could use some vegging out.

  Jim wasn’t going to leave her alone, though. Threading her fingers, she cracked her knuckles. A few minutes later, he was waddling across the parking lot back to the rig.

  She jumped into the back and stretched out on the narrow bed. The lurid aroma of hurt women seeped from the mattress.

  Oh, Jim, you almost had a chance at living.

  Might as well get this over with. Holding up her fingers, she concentrated on the tips until they released the gas she intended.

  He got in and shut the door. When he saw her running her fingers back and forth across her mouth, blowing gently on them, he paused.

  “I pinched my hand,” she lied.

  “Need me to take a look?” Jim’s sordid stench reached her.

  Uck. She wanted nothing to do with his beast. He flipped a lever on the passenger seat and spun the chair around.

  His ruddy face flushed. “We haven’t talked about reimbursement.”

  Jim, you just sealed your fate.

  She sat up with an affected gasp. “But I have no money.”

  His smile was meant to soothe her. It didn’t work and she didn’t need it. “I got enough money. I think we could be good for each other.”

  He really did make it easy. She cowered. “What do you mean?”

  Why didn’t she just kill him? Why did she have to bait him to make sure his death was warranted? She was a demon. A soulless creature who thrived on evil. Jim was a pebble in her path. She could crush him. Burn him alive. And if she didn’t care about high cholesterol, she could eat him.

  “Come here, honey.” He lifted his shirt and unsnapped his pants.

  She fanned her hand and waved it around. His expression grew perplexed and he stifled a yawn.

  Why’d she wait? The man preyed upon people more than she did. However, not indiscriminately killing humans demonstrated her affinity for higher thinking. A trait second-tier demons were known for, not allowing instinct and rage to rule their actions, unlike those of purer demonic blood.

  Yet second-tiers had been enslaved by the Circle because cruelty won in the underworld.

  He lunged for her, his aggressive intent clear. She waved her hand some more. Jim’s blush turned bright red and his eyelids drooped.

  Didn’t even have to lift a finger. “What’s the matter, Jimmy? Feeling tired all of a sudden?”

  His brows furrowed and he slumped back in his chair. “I’m really drowsy. What did you—”

  His head dropped and he went limp, crumpling to the floor.

  Waving her hand for another few minutes, she ensured no more oxygen was left in the cab. Jim’s heart rate slowed to a stop.

  She eyed his bulk. “Human blood’s affinity for carbon monoxide never ceases to amaze me.”

  Whipping her hat off, she kicked back on the cot and relaxed for the first time in days.

  Tonight, she could sleep. In the morning, she’d raid Jim’s fridge and hope to find more than beef jerky and cubed cheese.

  From the wrappers in his little garbage, it was unlikely.

  Yes. She closed her eyes. Solid plan. Travel during the day when Bishop couldn’t. Sleep with one eye open the rest of the time. But tonight, she could rest.

  ***

  Bishop kicked at the lumpy mattress, but it was no use. There was no shape more comfortable than the one it was in now. He rolled to his side.

  Had he gone in the right direction? The answer plagued him.

  Hearing news of a near miss with a car fire at another gas station, he’d gotten there as fast as the speed limit would allow, driving all night.

  The scorched car had remained, a model similar to the other one she’d stolen. Had to be his demon.

  From there, he’d had to pick one of the four directions. Going north, his demon would have to consider crossing an international border. She wouldn’t backtrack east. There was nothing west, so he chose south and drove until sunrise.

  Unwilling to risk sunlight, he checked into a motel off the interstate.

  His eyelids drifted shut.

  Within moments, he found himself in an unfamiliar chair. Sunlight blazed into a tiny space. He glanced over his shoulder at the rays streaming behind him, worried he’d burn himself, but his skin felt pleasantly warm despite the massive windshield and side windows allowing copious light in.

  Was he in an RV? He glanced around. It was too small to be a camper. His gaze landed on a cot that was dark except for what appeared to be flames at the top.

  His eyes focused and his heart stuttered.

  Not flames, but hair the color of fire spread across a pillow. He shifted forward, but the toe of his boot hit a soft object. Switching his focus, he started. A man’s body lay at his feet. His gaze flew back up to the cot just as ember-yellow eyes opened.

  His heart slammed once, then kicked up its pace. His demon.

  Soft light shimmered over a fine jawline and high cheekbones. A healthy flush decorated her ivory skin, startling him with such a human trait.

  She gasped and sat up, and he gulped. She had legs for miles and he tried not to like what he saw.

  “How did you find me?” Then she squinted at him. “You’re not really here.” Sitting back, she chuckled. “Had me going for a bit.”

  “You killed a human, demon.” Bishop prided himself that he could get a coherent sentence out. The exotic beauty in front of him stole his breath.

  Her length was curled into the small space, but she’d be tall compared to most humans. Her glorious hair lit up the entire cabin of…was this a semi?

  And those eyes.

  A pout curled her fire-engine-red lips. “Would it have been better if I’d fucked him like he wanted? He actually preferred to force me.”

  Bishop’s leg kicked the body of its own accord. He sneered at the dead man, then turned it on her. His demon deserved the look, not the dead human.

  She studied her fingers. “The cabin must’ve aired out, but I guess you’re not really here, so the lack of oxygen won’t bother you.” Her hands folded on her lap, on top of deliciously curved thighs. “What are you doing here, Bishop?”

  His name, in that husky voice…he gritted his teeth. If he were tangible, he might not react any better than the human had.

/>   His eyes wandered her lush body. Had to know what she looked like, after all. For research. “What in the devil’s name are you wearing?”

  A flash of vulnerability preceded a petulant expression. She tugged at the neck of her ridiculous sweater. It was ratty, two sizes too small, and barely fit.

  “It’s not like there were many options, and females in this realm are pathetically small.” She shifted and that only drew attention to the fabric stretched over her wide hips, stopping short of her deliciously long legs.

  Heat flushed through Bishop and it had nothing to do with the fiery demon. Good thing there was a dead human between them. His foot dug into the man’s guts again when he recalled his demon’s tale. Was she speaking the truth, that he’d tried to accost her?

  “What’s your name?” Bishop’s guttural words reflected the lust slamming through him. Damn that bond.

  She batted long, sienna lashes, the effect against her yellow irises like the flicker of a flame. “Now, what have you done for me to earn my name?”

  “What does it matter? Do names hold power in the underworld?”

  She adjusted in her seat again and her gaze flicked out the window. Ah, of course. His team leader, Demetrius, had pilfered a tome from a demon his team had fought; in the text, many of its incantations needed names.

  “I have to call you something.” Bishop leaned back, the warm rays shining through the window an unusual sensation, but not a bad one. His kind and sunlight didn’t mix, but as his demon had mentioned, he was in the dream world. “What about—”

  “Raquelle?” She tapped her chin in thought. “Monique? Cleopatra?”

  If that’s what she wanted, he’d pick a simple name instead. “Kim.”

  A choking sound left her. “Kim? That’s so…so…undemonlike. No, no. How about…Celeste, Angelica, or something stronger, like Storm or Roane.”

  He fought a grin at her indignant horror, but failed. “You’re Kim until you tell me your real name.”

  “Kimberly?”

  “Kim.”

  “You play hardball, vampire.” She tilted her head as she studied him. Her lively gaze drifted over him, leaving licks of heat where it hovered. “I like it.”

  She started for him, dropping to her knees to crawl toward him. He pressed back in his chair. Resisting his demon in a human’s body had proved almost impossible, but her real form in the dream world carried loads more power.

  Fortunately, to get to Bishop, she had to kneel on the dead guy, and a punch of gas escaped him. The spell broke and the world faded around him.

  Her nose wrinkled. “Ugh, he smells even worse than he did when he was alive. I didn’t think that was possible.”

  She coughed and a spout of steam escaped.

  Bishop’s eyelids flew open and he shot up. He was no longer in the semi, but back at the dive he’d rented by the hour, expecting to be gone before dark. His demon, Kim, would be on the run all day while he was confined to the night.

  I swear I saw sunlight touch him, his pap’s voice drifted up from buried memories.

  Ludacris, Bishop’s mam responded. You see no burn, correct?

  Bishop had been hidden in his room, listening to one of his parents’ arguments. They always centered on him or his grandparents, his mam’s parents, who he barely remembered.

  No, his skin’s not blemished, Pap had growled. But I saw the sun kiss his skin and I tire of your constant lies.

  There are such things as genetic mutations. Science has come a ways since you were born, but I’ll not risk our son’s life proving your hallucinations.

  The memory faded and Bishop flopped around on the bed, its weak metal frame groaning under his size. He barely remembered Pap. The man had abandoned them when they’d needed him the most, as far as Bishop was concerned.

  He brushed the recollections off. Nothing was going to distract him from pursuing his demon.

  He grinned. But he’d made good use of his time during their dream encounter and had noted her surroundings, the vehicle information, and, he suspected, where she was heading.

  Chapter Three

  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  Fyra slammed the gas nozzle back in the machine and spun to face the person addressing her. She forced a smile that revealed more fang than she’d intended. “Yes?”

  The woman took a step back, her hand on her heart. She wore an ugly orange shirt that had the name of the gas station embroidered on it. “Well, I mean, I’m not a truck driver,” her gaze bounced between the gas pump and the semi, “but this is unleaded gasoline. Don’t semis usually use diesel?”

  Fyra stared at the woman? Diesel? Wasn’t that the last name of a yummy movie star?

  Bollocks! She’d already filled the tank. The semi had proved to be a gigantic PITA. There was no reason something should be so complicated to drive. And wide right turns, her ass. Fyra had made it her goal to take as many lefts as possible. Not even demons liked to be honked at and given the finger.

  Finding the gas tank had been enough of an adventure. Why couldn’t she tap the load she was hauling and avoid gas stations?

  A light breeze blew smoke off her.

  The woman squawked and jumped away, her eyes wide with fright. “Y-you’re on fire!” She sprinted for the building, yelling, “Call 911!”

  Fyra raised her arm. Yep. The turtleneck she’d pilfered from Jim’s storage was smoldering against her red-hot skin.

  Time to leave. Still in rural America, she’d stand out too much if she ran. She sucked in deep breaths to calm herself until her clothing quit smoking. The effect was marginal, but enough, and she hopped into the semi.

  “Curses,” she muttered as she frantically pushed and punched anything that’d make it go. The truck lurched and groaned but rolled forward.

  Yes. She could work with that. Increasing speed as much as possible, she lumbered out of the small town. Only, in the confusion of her flight, she was on a rural highway headed into the middle of nowhere instead of the interstate.

  It’d have to work.

  When nothing but open road lay in front of her, she increased the pressure on the gas. The engine skipped.

  She frowned. Many noises had come from under the hood since she’d woken up and gotten behind the wheel, but that was new.

  Another skip. A shudder. The speedometer fell.

  Fyra slapped the steering wheel. “Stupid truck.”

  She stomped on the gas. More shuddering and the engine cut out. Her emotions, which had been stabilizing during her getaway, spiked once again. The atmosphere in the cab smoldered. Tiny fires broke out on the fabric and upholstery.

  She’d need to ditch the truck. Climbing out, she realized her error, not that it could’ve been prevented. All her turmoil, all of her unnatural fire, was now free to lick along the exterior of the semi, even surround the flammable load it carried.

  Aww, hellfire.

  She jumped the rest of the way and ran. Maybe a nice sprint would calm her, because the dried, crusty fields she sprinted through were nothing but tinder.

  An explosion rocked the earth. Stumbling, she pinwheeled her arms to regain her balance. The shockwave reached her with an epic force of heat and debris. Rammed into the ground, she rolled and flipped. Her skin, which was immune to flame, was torn and shredded from the remnants of whatever had been harvested months ago.

  Coming to a stop on her back, she saw the cloudy sky already darkening with black smoke from the tanker. It laced the air around her, but like the flames, that didn’t bother her.

  Her ears rang and any noise was dulled from the blast. The left side of her face throbbed and she tested all her limbs, only to cry out when she tried to move her left arm.

  Broken. She tried her legs. Sore, but intact. The arm would heal, but she needed her legs to run.

  With a moan, she got to her knees but took a moment to rise to her feet. She squinted through the smoke. Alarm pierced her gut.

  How had the human police arrived so quickly?
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br />   The gas station lady. Fyra should’ve left the tanker there to explode. A true demon would’ve. Some of Rancor’s ire might’ve been appeased if she’d taken out ten or twenty decent human beings.

  But she wasn’t Rancor. Higher thinking, higher thinking.

  Scanning the area, she spotted a row of trees used as a windbreak about two hundred yards away. Could she make it there?

  Swaying on her feet, she concentrated on one step in front of the other. Almost there.

  “I said stop.” The muffled words reached her injured eardrums just as a hand gripped her left elbow.

  She shrieked and dropped to her knees. She had to school her reaction, otherwise she’d bare her fangs. It was just a broken arm.

  “Dispatch, we have at least one injured.”

  Blinking away her haze of pain, she glanced over her shoulder. An older deputy in a brown uniform cocked his head to listen to the reply coming from his radio.

  “Roger,” came the static voice. “Ambulance is en route.”

  “Thanks, Gail.” He dropped his stern gaze to Fyra. “Ma’am, were you driving the tanker?”

  Well, Jim certainly couldn’t while he was festering in a remote ditch. A giggle burst forth and the deputy scowled.

  “Ma’am, you’ll have to come with me. What’s your name?”

  Her attempt at holding back another chuckle was in vain. “Kim.”

  She sputtered, then guffawed. Each laugh shook her body, sending waves of pain through her.

  She lifted her arm to assess the damage. Agony screamed through her body. Ah. No wonder. Both bones in her forearm poked through Jim’s shirt, blood spreading around the injury.

  Her laughter died as she prepared to do what was necessary. Concentrating on anything else, like the sulfur-tinged copper flavor in her mouth, she ignored the deputy’s constant questions and wrenched her arm until the bones were back inside her body.

  A scream tore from her, but at least she could start healing.

  More sirens approached. The ambulance plowed through the field to reach her. Mr. Deputy held his arm out to stall the EMTs that jumped out.

  “You’ll need the restraints for this one. Something’s not right.”