by Jeya Jenson
“I can understand the need to protect your interests.”
Clenching his jaw, Devon forced himself to swallow against the acid rising in his gut. “My interests—more than that is on the line here. The lives of my children are at stake. I want him brought to me and I want to see him die.” All of a sudden angered by his own ineffectiveness to trace Adrien, he slammed his hand down. “Whatever the cost, I swear I will pay it. Money is no object. Name your price.”
“Money is no object?” Morgan countered. “Please, spare me the dramatics. I know exactly how this needs to be handled.”
Relief filled him. At last, an end was in sight. “Then you’ll take the job?”
“After we discuss my fee.” Saint-Evanston smiled and lit another cigarette. “I no longer work for money.” He exhaled a stream of smoke. “That is useless to me.”
Very few people had the nerve to call money useless in this world. Morgan was, perhaps, the only one who would.
Regaining his lost composure, Devon sat up straight, lacing his fingers together and looking the hunter in the eye. He made his own gaze as unwavering as the assassin’s laser beam stare.
“What is your price?” he asked, not daring to blink. Inside his head, the wheels were turning furiously. Was he about to go in over his head? He knew Morgan…but did he trust him? He wasn’t sure. No time to second guess his decision, however.
The tip of the cigarette grew shorter, burning away “My price is a favor,” came the simple reply. The answer caught Devon off guard.
He stared at his friend for a long moment. “Did I hear you correctly?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Did you say you wanted a favor?”
A nod. “Yes. Anything I might need, any time, anywhere. If I call on you, you must fulfill the obligation.”
Devon considered the deal. “That’s all? One simple favor?”
“Held in reserve until I need it,” Morgan finished. He said it with authority, with presence, with the security and power benefiting his position. “Whatever I ask, you must grant me.”
Ouch. That was a steep edict.
Like the sword of Damocles, it would hang over his head until fulfilled. How long would it take for Morgan to put in his request? A week? A decade? A century? More? The businessman in him said not to make a deal; never walk away from the table owing anyone anything. It was supposed to be the other way around. In fact, most of his life it had worked exactly that way. He always worked things to his own advantage. He had the money to make things happen, to make people miserable, bend to his will. Such was not the case at this moment.
Checked and mated, there was no other option in his arsenal. Make no mistake. Saint-Evanston had been in this world a very long time. He probably knew how to make and spend money as well as Devon did. Probably more.
I’ve got to agree or he’ll walk out.
There was no point in trying to bargain, ask for a secondary choice. The price had been set and the ball was in his court. Refuse and he was back to square one. Accept and the solution would be set into motion, soon to conclude.
He wanted that conclusion before Rachel gave birth. Thought of his precious wife spurred him on.
“I accept,” he replied without a visible flinch.
“Good.” Morgan snuffed out his cigarette on the palm of one hand. He flicked the butt toward the nearby trashcan—and missed. “I will start immediately.”
“How long will it take?”
A shrug. “You will have him when I find him.” Without saying another word, he headed toward the door.
Devon couldn’t help asking a final question. “This favor,” he called. “What if you never need it?”
Saint-Evanston halted as though shot in the back. He turned slowly on his heel, long coat whispering ominously around his legs. “Then you would owe me nothing, Devon.”
The sunglasses perched on the top of his head came down, hiding his eyes behind an impenetrable shield. The meeting was clearly over in his mind. And then he vanished. Not bothering with a conventional exit this time, he slipped through the shimmering veils parting the dimensions; a wraith fading from sight with the ease of a shadow.
The damned door was still closed and locked.
Fucking awesome.
Alone, Devon sagged back in his chair. “Whatever you ask in return, Morgan, I shall grant.”
His eyes drifted to the stack of letters, then to the box holding Lilith’s head. His guilt began to fade a bit, replaced with a sense of relief.
My family will survive.
Chapter Five
Adrien turned into the parking lot, maneuvering his large machine around the far side of the building. Trisha lived in 12-A. The complex was a series of rooms with tiny adjoining kitchenettes; seedy and hardly the best place to live, but affordable to even the smallest budget. Charging weekly, nightly or even hourly rates, it was a haven for the prostitutes, junkies and other disreputable riff-raff. He had no doubt that the girls had cut a deal with the proprietor of the establishment. Turning a blind eye was a profitable venture for all parties concerned. The cops usually didn’t roust anybody unless gunfire was involved. They’d given up on saving this side of town.
Killing the engine, his fingers tightened around the handlebars. Trash littered the parking lot. It was not unusual to catch a glimpse of a drunk throwing up in a shadowy corner before passing out.
I wish I didn’t to do this, he tried to tell himself. But that wasn’t entirely true. He liked the sex act. What he did not enjoy was the fact was that it was not entirely for his pleasure. Blood and sex was his drug, feeding the beast inside. He was little more than a leech.
He lowered the kickstand, letting the bike lean over to one side. He doubted anyone would bother it. The worn leather saddlebags didn’t contain anything worth stealing, and if thieves wanted the bike bad enough they’d simply roll it away. Also, it was not a particularly new or enticing vehicle, an older Harley; scratched and dented, reliable enough to get from point A to point B. The windshield was darkly tinted, pocked with the bodies of insects who’d given their lives. He wasn’t hardcore enough to want to pick bug legs out of his teeth. Those critters didn’t taste good at all and were hard to swallow.
An invigorating breeze pulled at his hair with invisible fingers. He paused for a moment, inhaling the night air. Boots crunching over bits of broken glass, he walked to the door and went in without knocking.
The place Trisha called home was decorated in nondescript colors or browns and greens. There was a bed, bureau, a table and a chair. A little color television was tucked in one corner. Unattached to cable, which cost extra, it did pick up five local channels with relative clarity. People usually didn’t rent rooms here to watch the nightly news. They came here to shoot up their junk, disappear into a drunken bender or just to fuck.
Trisha sat on the bed, legs crossed, swinging one sandaled foot. She drank diet Coke laced with bourbon out of a jelly glass. “Hi, honey,” she greeted.
His eyes skimmed over her in a familiar, but not loving way. “Hey, babe.” He’d known her for about five months. She was one of the first he’d taken after settling in La Lorona.
Trisha was a pretty, but not beautiful, woman, one of the hundreds in Port Orchard who had convinced themselves that living on the edge of society was the best they could aspire to. With little education and lesser talent, many lower class women in this area had been raised with the single ambition of marrying some good old boy on the farm and having a passel of kids. Trisha had gotten stuck by the wayside, struggling to make a living anyway she could. A regular nine to five did not suit her, neither did waiting tables in a bar or clerking at the 7-11. Hooking came naturally to her and what Adrien asked of her was no worse than what any other john wanted to do on any given night. If she didn’t get slapped around at least twice a week, she thought she’d done something wrong.
At twenty-six years of age, Trisha had been ridden hard and put away wet, appearing much older than her physical years. Despite her time o
n the streets peddling her pussy to strangers, there was still a sense of innocence lingering in the depths of her fawn brown eyes. She actually believed the fairy tale, that someday a rich man would fall in love with her and sweep her off her feet. It wasn’t likely to happen, but she liked to indulge the fantasy. In that regard, she tried to keep herself relatively disease-free, getting regular check ups and insisting on the use of condoms from most of her customers. Adrien was one of the few with whom she allowed love without the glove to take place.
Finishing her drink, Trisha set her empty glass aside. “The usual?”
“Yes.”
Reaching up, she caught the zipper dangling between her full breasts and yanked it down, peeling away the faux leather. Cupped in a lacy red bra, her breasts were real, small, but firm and tender. Her waist was tiny, the soft curve of her belly disappearing under a pair of matching silk panties.
A wave of lust immediately rolled through him. His gaze traced her throat down to the gentle vee between her legs, that place where the treasure of her womanhood waited to be discovered, then plundered by fingers, mouth and cock.
His member began to twitch, as though having a will of its own. The Kynn were highly sexual creatures—needing sex, craving sex—as surely as other men craved air in their lungs. When he wasn’t having intercourse with some willing female, he was thinking about having sex.
Going fast were sanity and sense when he cupped her left breast, teasing the taut tip of her nipple under the silky material of her bra. Trisha pressed herself closer. He squeezed the soft mound of flesh, rubbing round circles with his palm. She began to writhe with the motions of lovemaking as she pressed her mound against his thigh. Already his penis was pressing against the confines of his tight jeans, eager to break free, slide into that hot cunt of hers.
Adrien lifted his hands to her shoulders, taking the straps of her bra and easing them down her slender arms. Spiraling warmth took hold in his belly, working its way to his balls, making them tingle and tighten. His hands found and teased the hard little nubs, giving them refreshed hardness. She made a soft sound, a half gasp, a half laugh. When she looked up at him, her eyes were full of desire. A shudder of longing shadowed her face.
“I like it that you take your time with me,” she whispered. “You don’t just use my body for sex, but make love to it.”
He laughed. “I want it to be good for you, too, honey.” He felt the unmistakable urgency of sexual need radiating from her body. He wanted to screw her until she wept with pleasure. He continued circling the pink aureoles with his fingers.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Please.”
Smiling, he caught her around the waist and bent her back. His head dipped. His mouth sucked at a tender peak. He teased her nipples one after the other, swirling in soft circles, gently biting then massaging away the ache, he gave each equal attention. Trisha squeezed her eyes tight, her breathing ragged from the sensual motion of his mouth.
“God, that feels so good,” she moaned with breathless abandon. The vulnerable expression in her eyes was quickly replaced with a look of wanton desire.
“Good.” Adrien rubbed one breast with his palm, until she released a soft gasp. His cock was throbbing, a thing alive. The flutter in his stomach was not nerves. It was need.
Trisha slid her hand toward his crotch, finding the hard bulge.
“Why don’t we do it a different way tonight? I think we’d be so good together.” She offered her mouth, moistening her lips with the tip of her pink tongue. “One kiss. Please.”
Jaws tightening, Adrien turned his head. He never kissed the women he fed from. That was an intimacy he could not bring himself to share with a common whore. A true heartfelt kiss was reserved for a woman he desired. Loved. It was the part of himself he held aside, a thing sacrosanct and sacred.
“It’s just business, honey,” he bit out. “You know that.”
Her expression saddened. “Yeah, I know. You don’t want to get tangled up with a whore.”
“That’s right,” he said tersely. The rule was to always keep it brisk and impersonal. Don’t get involved, don’t put heart or emotions on the line. “I don’t need a woman for anything but sex.”
“Then that’s what you’ll get.”
Her voice was resigned, but not hurt. She was pro enough not to push a customer. He paid well and demanded very little for the evening’s work. With Adrien, she knew she’d be taking the rest of the night off. It was a necessary thing, something she didn’t seem to mind at all.
Breaking away, she walked over to the chair. She grasped it for support, her back to him. Casting a glance over one shoulder, she flexed her taut ass cheeks.
“Come and get it, babe.”
Adrien positioned his body behind hers. His hands went to her shoulders, brushing her long hair away from her nape. A series of small scars covered her neck, evidence of past feedings. She’d recently washed her hair and the clean scent of fresh peaches tickled his nostrils. She wore no other perfumes. He inhaled her scent, memorizing it, savoring it—part of the connection he needed to make with his victim. He ran the pad of his index finger over one of the scars, causing her to shiver. Goose-pimples rose on her skin.
He nipped lightly at her pale flesh, nuzzling the crux between shoulder and neck as his hands moved downward. He grasped her hips and pulled her back against the bulging erection straining against the front of his jeans, moving his hips in a slow rhythm. Through simple touch he could feel the pulse of blood in her veins, feel the forces of life coursing through her body. Heat rising, the energy was building, just waiting to be tapped and drained away.
Trisha moaned when he slid one hand across her belly, pushing under the waistband of her panties to find the soft bud between her legs. Her mound was shaved bare, the lips of her cunt slick with her creamy juices. She eased her legs apart, letting his hand do its work between her thighs.
He easily found her tender clit. He moved his index finger in a stroking motion against the tender nubbin, beginning a sensual tease, then dipped one finger inside her, swirling it. When he entered her, vaginal muscles spasmed around his finger. Her pussy was slick, warm and ready. He slid a second finger inside. He was none too gentle, using her as he pleased. She met the thrust with increasing fervor, her wild needs increasing the pulling motions deep within her vagina. He could feel her clit throbbing. His cock was surging with a heat all its own. He longed to lap his tongue along those tender pink petals, taste her essences, but that, too, was something too personal to indulge in.
His free hand slid into his pocket. He drew out a small silver charm, one of the very same ones Lilith used to draw his blood. With a quick motion so that her pain would be brief, he slashed at her flesh. Trisha cried out, but made no protest. She accepted it as part of the sex games her customer wanted to play, the kink he couldn’t fulfill with any woman but a whore. He paid to use her body and she let him do what he wanted. It was a fair exchange.
She moaned loudly, coarse language spilling over her lips. Crimson rose from the wound, rich and red against her porcelain skin. He traced the cut with his tongue, enjoying the texture and taste filling his mouth. Then, he pressed his lips against her skin, swallowing more of the warm coppery liquid. For a moment he drank, then lifted his head. The union had been made. Now he could draw from her, recharge his body with her essences.
Trembling with pent-up desire, Adrien slid her panties down to bare her ass. He squeezed her cheeks, fondling them. Somehow he worked open the zipper on his jeans, freeing his jutting cock. His own desires were blazing when he bent her over the chair. Sliding his shaft into the narrow channel, it was like being engulfed by wet silk when her nether lips parted. Her muscles rippled around his shaft, sucking him deeper. He felt as if his cock were melting, a wonderful lassitude creeping up on and dulling his brain but sharpening his other senses.
“You’re so tight, Trisha,” he gasped.
He thrust harder, frantic to feed the furious hunger threate
ning to consume him. Each plunge into her pussy was deeper than the last, his hips a piston lifting her off the floor. The air around them crackled and sizzled, the scent of raw sex scorching tender nostrils. The room was muggy and hot. A fine sheen of perspiration coated her skin. A thin trickle of sweat traced her spine before disappearing down the crack of her ass. Her moans and his growls echoed off the thin walls of the motel room.
An irate neighbor beat the wall, shouting for quiet, but Adrien was too far gone to notice or care. He could not have stopped now if he’d wanted to. Through each passing minute he was draining her sexual energies to sate the hungers of the beast raging inside him.
“Come on, baby,” she gasped. “You’re close. Let yourself go.”
His own arousal was simmering at a level that threatened to boil over like a volcano disgorging molten lava. Clenching his teeth tight and digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs, his hips smacked against her buttocks a final time. He felt the pull of his loins releasing from the very tips of his toes. A thick stream of creamy semen erupted from the tip of his penis, filling her womb with his seed. His climax was so violent that he thought he would pass out.
Pale and trembling, Trisha collapsed in a limp heap. She would have fallen to the floor had he not caught her.
Sweeping her up in his arms, Adrien walked over to the bed and deposited her on its lumpy mattress covered by a stained flower-print bedspread. Tucking his penis back in his pants, he zipped up and sat down beside her.
Trisha was barely coherent, drifting in and out of consciousness. He brushed limp strands of hair off her pale forehead. A fresh pang of guilt stabbed at his conscience. He’d gone too long without taking sustenance and had almost drained too much from her.
He rolled her over onto her side. Her hair was tangled around her neck. He burrowed through the thick mass to check the wound he’d inflicted. Blood trickled from the cut.
