Bishop (New Vampire Disorder Book 3)

by Marie Johnston

  The mattress lurched as the pinned shooter tried to crawl out. Bishop stomped down on the biggest center of mass. A male groaned. He stomped again and heard a muffled snap of bones.

  “Fyra,” the man moaned. “You won’t get away.”

  She stood up, brandishing the weapon she’d snagged off the unconscious human. “Don’t kill the human, Bishop. Rancor’s probably waiting to make a grab for me through the portal that would drag this demon back to the underworld.”

  “He can find you wherever you are.” The evil laugh definitely wasn’t from the human. The demon had taken completely over.

  Terror spiked in Fyra’s eyes. Bishop bared his fangs and ripped the mattress off. The surprised face of the man greeted Bishop as he wrapped his hands around the human’s puny neck.

  “Bish—” Fyra’s pitch rose with alarm.

  “I’m not going to kill him,” Bishop snarled. The man losing his struggles against Bishop’s strength meant her harm. Scared her. Bishop’s lips pulled back farther. His body shook, holding himself back from tearing out the neck he squeezed.

  A warm hand landed on his arm. “He’s unconscious. We need to go. The police will be here any second.”

  Abruptly, he let go. He staggered off the bulky mattress in a daze. Blood loss, conflicting emotions about the demon next to him, and the fog of rage and pain were getting to him.

  She snatched her belongings as he peeked out of the room. When he turned an incredulous look toward her, she was nothing but innocence.

  “I’ve been wearing men’s clothes since I got here and I paid good money for these.” She toed off her heels and stuffed them inside, then hefted the bag and gestured for him to get going.

  He turned into the hall, weaving until he rammed into a wall.

  A strong arm snaked around his waist. Door locks clicked up and down the hall as guests gathered the courage to peer out and see what the ruckus was.

  Fyra ducked them into the stairwell he’d used earlier. He wanted to shake her off and descend on his own, but he’d been plugged full of too many holes.

  “Where’s your vehicle?” She wasn’t breathless, just a note of urgency in her words.

  Hell, he didn’t need to admire her on top of lusting for her.

  They took the stairs as fast as he could go. In his cloudy mind, he noted how she was helping him. She could’ve left him to finagle the police, possibly getting arrested or worse, taken to a hospital.

  Why would she help him?

  “Bishop.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Car? Truck? Where did you park?”

  “You’re sexy.” His mumble didn’t answer her question and he’d lost too much blood to care.

  “You, too, big guy. Ride. Where?”

  “First floor, parking ramp. Find the biggest one there.”

  They reached the first floor, but rapid-fire voices could be heard on the other side of the door.

  “Shit.” Fyra pressed him against the wall as the door to the stairwell opened. She gripped both sides of his face and brought it to hers.

  When their lips touched, he cursed the loss of strength from his injuries. The hint of sweetness in her smoky flavor addicted him immediately and made him think of gooey campfire treats. If he could have, he would’ve reversed their positions and pressed her against the wall, nestled himself between those curvy legs, and shoved inside to find out if she’d burn him as he entered.

  Instead, he resembled a newborn colt that’d finally gotten to a standing position, legs braced to each side and wobbly.

  Her size and his hunched-over torso hid his injuries and bloodstained clothing. Good thing he wore all black.

  “You two need to get out of here,” an officer ordered as he rushed by.

  Fyra broke off their kiss, and Bishop nearly growled and pulled her back. The officer’s flak vest read SWAT and several more officers raced in behind him, sparing them no more than a glance. When they disappeared to the second level, Fyra cracked the door.

  “There are people everywhere.” She scowled at his clothing. “And you’re a poster child for gunfights.”

  He swiped at his face to fend off the light-headed sensation threatening to take him under. “They’re human, right?”

  She peeked back out. “I don’t sense any demons. Just those two gang members that Pordge and Roofie managed to inhabit.”

  “Who names their kids Pordge and Roofie?”

  “I don’t know if this’ll shock you, but most demon parents aren’t loving and kind. Our race is not known for our nurturing nature.” She came back to him and wedged herself under his arm. “You have an idea?”

  “Like mesmerizing lunch, but on a broader scale.”

  “You can do that?”

  Pride swelled at her impressed tone. “Not many of us can, but it’s possible. The effect is weak, but enough to convince them to ignore us.”

  “Okay, I’ll steer, you voodoo.”

  They wove in and out of throngs of people. Police cars were parked everywhere, fire trucks and ambulances dotted the street, and everyone was out of their vehicles and staring at the hotel.

  Fyra made a disgusted sound. “I suppose that’ll make humans go back to thinking the number thirteen is bad luck. And they were starting to come around.”

  Once they made it into the ramp, he relaxed, but only a little. Leaving might create an issue if law enforcement wanted to contain everyone.

  “Keys.” She wiggled her fingers.

  He wasn’t that far gone that he’d let anyone drive his baby.

  “Seriously. It’s just a hunk of metal on wheels.” Her hand shoved into his pocket, and thankfully, there wasn’t blood to spare because it would’ve caused an instant, raging hard-on.

  With a triumphant smirk, she drew the keys out and unlocked the doors. He was shoved into the passenger seat. She rushed around to the driver’s side but didn’t get in.

  Dumping her luggage on the seat, she riffled through it.

  “What are you doing?” he slurred. His head was back on the headrest, his energy drained.

  “They’re going to stop us when we try to leave and I’m covered in your blood.”

  A surge of energy flung his eyes wide when she yanked off her top. His breath left in a whoosh. Her eyes twinkled and she wiggled her hips, just for him.

  He should thank her for preventing more blood loss because whatever he had left was racing to his groin. Creamy skin, flushed with red. Those breasts… A bra that was a feat of engineering cupped them perfectly, creating a decorative frame, not just support.

  He whimpered when she tossed on another top that was almost as revealing as the sweater. It showed more cleavage than it concealed. She frowned down at her skirt, but she didn’t change out of it. After packing her things, she threw her luggage in the back and climbed in.

  Instructions for how to handle his baby came to mind, but his mouth wasn’t working. His eyes drifted shut, but he pried them open.

  They approached the exit. An officer motioned for them to stop. Fyra rolled down the window.

  Through Bishop’s hazy view, the man’s gaze didn’t leave Fyra’s chest. He concentrated hard to convince the officer there was nothing to see.

  No use.

  Fyra was asking questions, playing the concerned woman. She turned to look at Bishop and quirked a brow, concern in her yellow gaze. Realization that he was too weak to influence the man dawned in her eyes.

  In a split second, she went form drop-dead sexy woman to blindingly hot sexpot.

  “Officer, may I ask you something? In private?”

  Bishop frowned. His lids drooped, too heavy to open. What was she going to do with him to gain their freedom?

  Dimly, he heard the door open, her flirty laughter.

  No! he screamed mentally. Too weak to form the word.

  Less than a minute later, she crawled back into the Hummer. “Men. So easy.”

  What’d you do with him? He couldn’t yell and it didn’t matter as b
lackness claimed him.

  Chapter Eight

  Fyra drove like a bat outta Hell, and she oughtta know. Bishop was slumped in his seat, pale as an ice demon baby’s bottom.

  He needed blood. He wouldn’t die, but if more second-tiers tracked her down, they could kill him too easily in his weakened state.

  Once she was sufficiently far away from the hotel, she pulled into an empty lot. Looking into all the corners and shadows, she didn’t see any security cameras.

  She leaned over Bishop, her fangs watering. His blood smelled divine, bringing up memories of gorging on frost berries in the caves she used to take refuge in.

  It took way longer than she wanted to find the lever to put his seat back down. He flopped with the movement. She should consider why she was so driven to help him. No matter what, he’d be fine, whether she left him in the hotel room or to sit here until he regenerated enough to find a blood supply to feed from.

  But she couldn’t leave him. The way he’d looked at her before they were attacked… A girl could get dangerously used to that kind of attention from a male. And she would know.

  Fool me once, she chided herself. Bishop wasn’t Trance, but that didn’t mean he was any better for her welfare.

  She sliced a vein open on her wrist, wincing at the shock of pain. Not as fun as when another’s fang pierced her skin, but maybe Bishop would—

  No. Don’t go there. Her vampire was still all about duty and loyalty. He’d take her in rather than sneak away for a little something.

  Twisted in her seat, she squeezed his cheeks until his lips opened. She jammed her wound into his mouth to catch all the blood.

  Seconds passed. Finally, he swallowed. Another pull. She expected him to shove her off when he realized who he was drinking from.

  Or when the burn hit. Curses, her blood might sear him. She tugged on her arm.

  A big hand clamped onto her wrist. Guess he and her blood were getting along just fine.

  Another gulp. She was calculating how much he’d need when he grasped a shoulder and dragged her onto him.

  It wasn’t easy. Two big people in the front seat, but she was nothing if not determined. Her wrist left his mouth and his hand snaked around the back of her neck and pressed her head down until their lips met.

  She sighed into him. Frost berries. His clothes were drying, getting crusty, but she didn’t care. The thick fog of his blood surrounded them and mingled with hers. The intoxicating effect fueled her desire and the interior started to heat up.

  His hands landed on her bottom. She gripped his shoulders and squirmed, but straddling him was impossible. So she stretched over him, the press of his impressive erection in her abdomen.

  He massaged the globes of her ass and groaned. His other hand drifted up her side until he cupped a breast.

  Her moan echoed off the windows. So much more real than the experience of being with him through a human’s body.

  She devoured him, his tongue tangling with hers. He didn’t taste like just frost berries, but like they’d been simmered on a stove into the strongest syrup possible.

  Rocking against him, she rubbed along his length to increase the friction of his fingers kneading her butt and rolling her nipple.

  Could a female come like this? She was certain it was possible. Her internal fire grew hotter. Ah, hell, if she continued, she’d light the upholstery on fire and burn Bishop.

  She tensed to jump off him. Vampires and fire. Bollocks, she’d incinerate him.

  He changed his grip to an embrace that left her no way to put distance between them. Pushing against him, she wanted to warn him, but stopped.

  She pulled back from the kiss with a frown. His hooded eyes watched her, his hips rocked up into her.

  A cool breeze caressed her burning skin. Fog filled the windows and hardened into frost.

  What…

  Bishop’s eyes flew wide and he shoved her off. He made sure she landed back in her seat without nailing any body parts with the gearshift or steering wheel. She couldn’t be too offended.

  “You’re welcome for the gift of blood,” she said sarcastically and pushed her hair back out of her face.

  “Did you fuck that officer?”

  “Excuse me?” After the world’s best make-out session, that’s the first thing he said to her?

  “How did you get us out?” He readjusted himself in the seat.

  “I used my charm.” She leaned over the console and pinned him with a glare. “And my brains. Men seem to forget I have those when they see the big boobs.” She flung the shifter into drive and stomped on the gas.

  She couldn’t see a thing. Condensation built, melting whatever had frosted the windows. Bishop adjusted the knobs until air blew against the glass to clear it.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  She glanced at him in surprise. An apology? A girl could get used to that, too.

  “Why’d you save me?” He crossed his arms and stared out the window. His impressive erection hadn’t died down.

  She tore her gaze off the fly of his pants. “Why not? I mean, you’re a good guy and all that.”

  “But you’re a demon and I’m trying to catch you.” His brows drew down. “Shouldn’t me being a good guy be the reason you’d leave me for dead, or at least leave me to deal with a major headache once human law enforcement got to me?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Varying levels of evil, I guess. I’m not needlessly cruel.”

  “You used those women you possessed.”

  Always with the human women! “They wanted it, Bishop.” Easing off the gas, she counted to ten. “Do you think those two demon-possessed humans that attacked us said, ‘Why yes, you can possess me, but please don’t hurt anyone’? Or do you think that was their goal for allowing the possession? We can’t enter a host without permission.”

  “Sure about that?”

  She frowned. “It’s one of the rules.”

  “All rules can be bent and there was a deputy that seemed pretty damned surprised when he woke in a new city in a strange bathroom.”

  “Not even Stryke can do that.” Could he?

  Bishop didn’t say anything, but she sensed his moment of triumph.

  “Son of a— I gave away his name.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “You really aren’t the best at keeping secrets. Besides, I’ve heard of Stryke. Met him even.”

  Why was she not surprised? She kept her eyes glued to the road. “We need to find a place to stop and get you cleaned up. Then we’ll run into daylight, so it’ll have to be a place where you can stay.” And she could make a break for it.

  “Do you need to work the streets to dupe another man into buying your stuff?”

  Passing him a sweet smile, she replied, “If you don’t have the funds, then yes, we’ll need a sugar daddy to foot the bill.”

  His eyes narrowed, the delectable scent of his anger spiking. “I have cash.”

  She found a moderate chain hotel and pulled in. Holding out her hand, she wiggled her fingers. “Money?”

  His glare filled with suspicion.

  She’d just saved him and this was how he acted? “I can’t get a room with no card and no money. Not without techniques you don’t approve of.”

  He whipped his wallet out and slapped a wad of cash into her palm.

  “Thank you.” She made sure her tone dripped with false sweetness.

  Her feet hit the ground and she paused. No shoes. In the chaos of their getaway, she hadn’t realized her feet were bare. She climbed onto the driver’s seat and leaned into the back to rummage around for another pair of shoes.

  “Forget something?” Bishop said drily.

  After snagging a pair of slip-ons, she pushed herself up. An icy draft traced her bustline and when she looked up, he was staring at it.

  What was with him and cold?

  She stepped into the shoes and went in search of a hotel room.

  ***

  Bishop’s phone
rang as soon as she left. Gah, he’d wanted a minute to collect himself after the dynamite that was Fyra departed.

  His screen showed it was Rourke.

  “What?”

  “Exactly,” Rourke snapped. “I’d like to know ‘what,’ too. My partner’s been secretive for weeks, then up and disappears.”

  Bishop exhaled and scrubbed his face with his free hand. The high that was Fyra’s blood coursed through his veins and lent him loads of physical power, but mentally, he was drained. “I couldn’t… I fucked up, Rourke.”

  “Yeah. You did.” Rourke wasn’t the It’s okay type of guy. “D wanted me to give you a heads-up. There’s been a spike in demonic activity. We busted some possessed humans and sent their demons back to their realm. Calli suspects another one of the thirteen crossed over.”

  “You think it’s related to my demon?” Fyra had said Rancor would find her.

  “Your demon?” Rourke paused. Talk about a pregnant silence. “I’d guess she’s a major reason for the uptick.”

  “I tracked her down tonight, but so did a couple of second-tier demons. Ruined the hotel room and filled me full of bullets.”

  “How’d you get out?” Typical Rourke. No emotion, little inflection in his voice. Rourke would fill in the details that if Bishop was on the phone with him, they’d escaped and he was all right. No need for drama.

  “She saved my ass.”

  More silence.

  “I don’t think she’s… I mean she’s…different.”

  “Is she hot?”

  “Fuck you. I’m not blinded by her looks. There’s something else going on with her besides being power-greedy.”

  “And you’re bonded to her. It’s a slippery slope, can cloud your mind easy.”

  “Okay, Dr. Rourke. Where did you get your psych degree at? Vampire U?”

  More silence. Argh. He hated when Rourke did that. “Listen to yourself, Bishop. I’ve never known you to act like this.”

  “It’s the bond,” Bishop grumbled.