Biting Me Softly: Biting Love, Book 3

by Mary Hughes

  I got a fresh deck from Buddy the bartender and brought it to the table Bo’d set up in the back corridor, the only place empty enough in case things got fangy. The occasional drunk wove through to use the restrooms, but they wouldn’t notice anything.

  I shuffled the cards and passed them to Ruthven, watching him cut. His hands flickered briefly and he slid the cards back with a smug smile. Cheat.

  I’d expected that, though. I passed the cards to Elena for her to cut a second time. “Double cut, and Bo deals.”

  Ruthven’s smug deflated.

  I passed the cards to Bo, wiped my palms discreetly on my pants. A single hand of sheepshead. I’d wagered not only the Center’s future but that of the entire city on one hand of cards. What had I done?

  What I had to do. My body was nervous but I sure as hell was not. This was the only way I could fight back, and I was determined to battle with everything I had. This total disregard of the humans shot me well beyond hot anger to a cold, frigid, how dare you.

  I swiped up my cards. Ace, eight and seven of hearts, nine and seven of diamonds and ace of clubs. I carefully schooled my face against disappointment. It was not a winning hand. Some decent points though, enough to throw in with Logan, nudge his team for the win.

  “Pass.” Razor snickered. Probably all trump. Damn mauerer (German for slimy suckbag sleazeball).

  Bo threw a dark look at Razor. He’d caught the snicker too.

  “I pass,” Ruthven said, tapping one finger against the table. He looked cool, untouchable. Like he had half a dozen queens up his sleeve. Probably did, the cheat.

  I wiped my palm again. Damn it, I wanted to beat Ruthven just because he was such a cheat and jerk. He and his Loser-stats didn’t deserve our Blood Center.

  But if Ruthven didn’t deserve the Blood Center, neither did Logan, who’d wanted me to trust him but lied about Razor. I looked at my hand again. Only two trump, both low. But with the aces, not good for a leaster, either.

  Ham it to Dell, not a winning hand either way. But if I didn’t even try for a win, humans would get shut out, voiceless.

  I picked up the blind. Maybe there’d be eight queens.

  Logan looked at me like I’d gone nuts. Which meant he had as many power cards as Razor. Which meant…the blind was the ten of hearts and the king of diamonds.

  A partner could save me. If it turned out to be Race or Logan, who apparently held the strong cards, I could ride along for the win.

  The problem with sheepshead is you can’t actually pick your partner. I could only call an ace. If I called an ace that Logan held, humanity would have beneficent masters. Oh joy. If Razor held it, humanity would share the Blood Center with a group not known for playing nicely with others.

  Still, either was better than Bo or Ruthven, the two weaker hands. Then I’d lose. Humanity would lose.

  But what else could I do? Logan had said I could win if I’d take more chances. Time to see what truth there was to his words. Take a chance. Call an ace and hope…no, pray the right vampire held it.

  I took another look at my cards.

  Fuck it. If humans were going down, we were going down as humans only.

  I slapped the ace and ten of hearts face down on the table. “I call no-ace.” No partner.

  Elena grabbed my shoulder from behind, fingers biting though her face was cop-blank. I shook my head, once. She let go.

  If the big guns were evenly distributed, I could still win. If not, even Superman couldn’t save me. With Razor’s snicker and Logan’s incredulous look, I rather thought I was staring green Kryptonite in the face.

  I had no hope. I had only skill. And a shitload of defiance.

  Razor led the seven of spades. And the game was on.

  In sheepshead you have to follow the suit led. Well, unless you cheated, but that was dangerous because you lost a whole lotta points if you got caught. So we all had to play a spade if we had one.

  Bo laid down the ten. Ruthven played the ace.

  Stars in the freaking sky. This trick was already worth twenty-one points and I didn’t have any spades. I tossed down my seven of diamonds and held my breath. The trick was mine—until Logan beat it. Given the look he’d slewed my way, he probably had eight zillion trump led by the Queen of Death.

  Logan’s lips twitched. “One for you, princess.” He tossed on the king of spades.

  I clamped my mouth shut to keep my jaw from falling off. It was my trick. I pulled in twenty-five seriously lovely points. But the game was far from over. One trick out of six, and I still had the weakest hand. “You are the weakest link,” Anne Robinson sneered in my head. I gave her a mental backhand.

  “You lead,” Bo prompted.

  “Right.” In normal play I should have come back with my strongest trump. But I didn’t have any strong trump. Recklessly, I tossed out my strongest card, the ace of clubs.

  Behind me, Elena sucked in a breath. It would never walk, I knew that. Every single person at that table would have to have a club. The chances against that were—well, hell, I’d only gotten a B in probability and statistics, but it seemed like they must be astronomical.

  Logan tossed on a nine, Razor the ten. Bo failed off with the seven.

  Ruthven smiled and drew a card. Elena tapped him on the shoulders. With a hiss, Ruthven threw down another card instead—the eight of clubs.

  The trick had walked. It had frickin’ walked, with twenty-one more points.

  I gathered in the cards, trying to think. I had to be wrong. Twenty-one points buried, twenty-five on the last trick, twenty-one on this.

  Nope, not wrong. I had just won the game.

  Logan cut me a glance. I kept the triumph off my face but somehow he knew. He gave me a wink.

  We played it out. I did what I should have done last trick, which was play my king of diamonds. Logan slapped on his queen of clubs, and sure enough punched the next two tricks with two more queens. Bo took the last trick with the king of clubs. But it was already too late.

  We counted points and it was official. I’d won.

  Ruthven shot to his feet. “This is outrageous! You cheated.”

  Logan rose, lazy but with a lethal edge to his stance. “No, Ruthven, you cheated. You false cut the cards. You stalled on the first trick, you reneged in the fourth, and in the fifth you actually used a palmed card.”

  “You couldn’t have seen…I mean…never mind!”

  “Just admit it.” I grinned. “I won fair and square, Ruthie.”

  Ruthven’s thin hand dove into his coat, extracted something long and sharp. “If you think I’ll let a simple human defeat me—”

  A metallic chick-chick cut him off. Elena’s grenade launcher was aimed straight at Ruthven’s chest.

  Ruthven snarled. “You won’t get away with this, Steel. I’ll destroy you—and your pet human too.” He whirled out. Razor chased after.

  Bo put both arms around Elena, disregarding the XM25. “You did great, Detective.” He kissed her. “Partner.”

  “Partner. Come on. Let’s go to the Center to clean up and get your sword.”

  The sappy look they gave each other made me want to puke. Or burst out crying. I’d never have that with Logan. Without a word I pushed out the back door.

  Logan emerged into Nieman’s lot after me, walked me home in silence. It gave me way too much time to realize exactly what I’d done. I’d won for humanity, yes. But by challenging him. By beating him, the prince of business, a man not challenged lightly.

  The last time I’d spoken to Botcher on the phone, he’d yelled I’ll never forgive you for this! If Botcher’d never forgive me, how much worse would Logan’s reaction be? Guts strewn, no doubt. Mine, and in small, bloody pieces.

  We got to my townhouse. The car was gone. Mom wasn’t there to protect me, or even mop up the pieces. I blindly opened the door, wondering when Logan would eviscerate me.

  Eviscerate. The last time I’d thought about evisceration was in connection with the photoshopped
picture. Aw, hell. I hadn’t even come clean about that.

  I nearly jumped when his warm hand touched my shoulder. “Liese? Aren’t you happy you won?”

  “Ecstatic.” I shut the door behind us. It made a hard, nail-in-the-coffin sort of sound.

  “Because I’m proud of you, princess.”

  “I know. You hate—you’re what?” My eyes flew up to his.

  Golden flecks glowed. “Proud of you. You believed in something so much you fought for it.”

  I think my jaw knocked the floor louder than the sound of the door. “I could have lost everything.”

  “I’d have won if you lost. But I knew you’d win. I said so, remember? All you had to do was let go and trust yourself.”

  I frowned. Trust myself. Trust myself to win at sheepshead? Or more? Trust myself to handle any situation…trust myself to be smart. To be attractive. To be employable. To take care of Mom. To handle getting dumped. To handle being vulnerable.

  Good lord. Could it be so simple? Could all my issues be simply a matter of trusting myself?

  Maybe. And maybe it wouldn’t always work. But when it did… I’d won the Blood Center by trusting myself. What more could I win?

  “Yes, but…Logan, aren’t you mad? I beat you. I wrested the Blood Center from the v-guys. All of them, even the good guys.”

  “How can I be mad? You’re brave and beautiful and you fought for your beliefs.” He kissed my hair, warm angel wings. “I couldn’t have done better myself. And we never wanted control of the Center, Liese. We just want to protect it.”

  He wanted to protect, not control. Unlike the bad-guy vamps. Unlike Botcher who wanted to control but never to protect me. “I can’t believe you’re not angry.”

  “This is about the rat-bastard, isn’t it? He’s got a lot to answer for. I can’t make up to you for what he did. But I can try to offset it. Here.” Logan held out a small box, exactly the size and shape of a jeweler’s ring box.

  Not only wasn’t he angry, but he had a present for me? Had he really eviscerated me and this was my dying hallucination? I took the box gingerly.

  “Open it.” He smiled, not his zap-me expression but a small boy’s eager grin.

  I snapped it open and nearly dropped it. Inside was a huge sparkling ring.

  “What…what is this?” My tone was kind of gaspy.

  “A diamond. A real one, two carats, flawless. Platinum band, for what it’s worth.”

  Which would make it worth thousands of dollars. Ten or twenty at least…Logan had spent that much on me? I glanced at Botcher’s two carats of glass. No. No way any male would spend that much on me, much less Mr. Prince of Hawtness.

  This was one of the rare times Logan misinterpreted my reaction. “No pressure. It’s not an engagement ring, or anything. Just a gift.”

  And no male would spend that much without expecting anything out of it. I tried the ring on my right hand. It was too small but it fit perfectly on the left-hand ring finger. “This doesn’t make me trust you. You can’t coerce trust, you know, or buy it. Feelings just are.” I had to stop from face-palming myself, spouting philosophy learned from imaginary creatures.

  “I know, princess. Doesn’t matter.” Logan kissed my forehead. “Trusting yourself is the first step in healing. And that’s enough for me.”

  I groaned. “Fricking psychoanalyst.”

  “No, just a security man with a few years’ experience under his belt.” He gathered me in his arms, hugged me close. “Come on. Let’s cuddle on the couch.”

  “My mom might come home.”

  “Which is why we’re only going to cuddle. Want to watch Animaniacs?”

  And because I was all done, wrung out from fears and hopes and ups and downs, I did. Tomorrow I’d fight again. But for now it was nice just to burrow into his strong arms and laugh at truly clever cartoons.

  About two my mom wandered in, looking too damned sated for my taste. But I kept my mouth shut and she went to bed. I was so comfortable snuggling against Logan on the couch that I just waved her goodnight.

  We watched cartoons until four in the morning. I was drowsing against Logan’s broad chest, his fingers running gently through my hair, when my purse exploded, “Beer Barrel Polka” like an alarm going off. Logan’s long reach snagged the purse to my side. I dug inside, had to paw through half a Radio Shack store before laying my hands on the cell. “Hello?”

  No one answered. “Hello?” I croaked a few more times before staring at the readout. Text message.

  I pulled up the menu and stared. It was from the Blood Center. It said simply, “Help.”

  The message I’d programmed into the Steel Software alarm program. But I’d deleted the hacked code—oh hell. I’d deleted it, but not before I compiled it. My altered code was running on the Blood Center’s server. And my code had called for help.

  An intruder was at the Center.

  “Help? Who’s that from?” Logan asked.

  I clapped my phone shut and jumped to my feet. Damned preternatural sight. “Nobody.”

  “I see. Then where are you going?”

  “Nowhere.” I shrugged on my coat. The original routine was also supposed to alert the police. “Um, you should check your phone. Maybe Elena’s called.”

  “Elena? Why would you think…Liese, what’s going on?” Logan followed me out.

  “Um, nothing. Much. I think.” I dug for my key ring while I headed for my car, popping the locks the instant I found Pinky.

  “You’re driving? For seven blocks? Liese, has hell gotten central air?” Logan slid into the passenger seat. He watched me put my seatbelt on and arched one blond brow. “That was a joke.”

  “Ha. Yeah. Did you check your phone?”

  He took it out, tapped some keys. “No missed calls or messages. Should I have gotten one? And why would you think Elena, not Bo, would—oh, no. Liese, you didn’t. Looking at code is one thing but altering it is another.”

  I winced. Damned lightning-sharp brain. “I just added a subroutine. I didn’t change any existing code.”

  “No? Then I should have heard something.” He tapped more keys.

  “The police should have, certainly.”

  “I had the software division set me up with direct notification too. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  I pulled to the curb in front of the Center, parking behind a red van. “Wow. When I get a chance I’ll be—” What? Impressed? Annoyed? Hope it meant more than it did but be doomed to disappointment? I pushed the car door open, left the statement and my feelings hanging. “Damn, that door’s ajar.”

  “Liese, wait.” Logan exited the car behind me, came round the hood with purpose. Fast, in dark vampire mode.

  I squeaked and ran for the Center door.

  He caught me just outside. “Liese. If the alarm didn’t go off—” His voice was baby-soft. “Something’s very wrong. Let me handle this.”

  A noise came from inside, a scuff of shoe that signaled someone emerging. An instant later the door opened and a muscled body barreled out.

  I got face-butted. Falling back I stared at the substitute blood delivery man, Carrothead Jr. I rubbed my poor nose, the absurd thought hitting me that Johansson would never have been so gauche as to deliver before dawn. But of course Carrothead wasn’t really a Hemoglobin Society driver, a truth made obvious when a tin-can whine came from behind him.

  “What is the problem, minion?” Ruthven.

  Logan gave a growl of disgust, grabbed Mr. Minion and threw him aside like a trash bag. As I stumbled into the Center behind Logan I saw his back pump up like King Kong. I could barely see Ruthven’s face beyond that flared back, but I did catch black eyes widening, slowmo. Or maybe that was just my own shock slowing things down.

  Time snapped. Ruthven spun and ran. He bowled over a couple goons carrying boxes in his haste. I recognized Razor’s not-so-sharpened gang, including the Gollum-like Shiv. Razor himself was missing.

  As if the impact shook Ruthven’
s molecules loose, he shivered into mist and shot under the back door.

  Flinging aside Razorettes, Logan ran after. This was the second time I’d seen Ruthven escape by mist and Logan just chase him. It was as if seeing Ruthven made Logan forget how to dissolve. “Mist, Logan,” I called to him. “You need to mist too!”

  But Logan only ran to my desk. Damn it, couldn’t he mist? Was he was too excited or did Ruthven intimidate him? Or—Logan hit something on my control console. He shouted, “Ruthven! I don’t know how you overrode security but override this.”

  The front door slammed shut behind me. A hum snapped around us. The whole room seemed to vibrate with it.

  Or maybe that was the growls coming from Maim and the Weed Whackers. They ringed us and were closing in like a constricting snake. I backed into my desk.

  Logan only rolled his eyes and pulled something from his jacket. A touch released a deadly sharp blade, the tzing barely audible but the gleam blinding. Then, with negligent grace and a stunning ruthlessness Logan proceeded to separate heads from Lestat bodies.

  Maim and company fought back but they were awkward. They ran straight into Logan’s sure punches and kicks, almost offered their necks to his dancing dagger. I grabbed my desk and shut my eyes to the carnage.

  Finally there was only the low hum. “Logan, what’s happening? What’s that sound?”

  “Just a minute, princess. Keep your eyes shut.” He picked me up and carted me in the direction of the back room. “The hum is current. There’s an electrical layer just behind the drywall.”

  I heard a door open and shut. “Is it dangerous?”

  “No. It’s only thirty milliamps. But it’s enough to keep vamps out—or in.”

  Sure enough, when I opened my eyes we were in the donation room and Ruthven was there. He was leaning against the back door, holding his hand to his skull like he had a doozy of a headache.

  “Ran into the electric field, hmm?” Logan’s tone oozed false sympathy. “Aspirin? Ibuprofen?”

  Ruthven’s eyes slit open on him, lancing pure hate. “My lieutenants outnumber you badly, Steel. They will destroy you.”