Assassins Bite

by Mary Hughes

  “You’ve seen what’s going on in my life. Now that Rorik’s started walking, well…sorry, but I didn’t have time. You dealt with it all right.”

  “Learning by doing? I made a lot of mistakes.”

  “It’s a new age. We’re all making up the rules as we go.”

  By the time we got back with the food—breakfast burritos and Mrs. Cook’s famous chiles rellenos along with scalding hot coffee and fried potatoes with onions and red and green diced peppers—they’d managed to hammer out the start of an agreement.

  Aiden rose to his feet. “We’ll finish later. Sunny, can you drive me somewhere?”

  “Where?”

  “Redfox Village Police station.” Affection—maybe something more—lit his eyes. “I have a parking ticket to pay.”

  On the way back Aiden’s phone chimed. He frowned at it. “Unknown number. Last time that was Nosferatu.”

  I grimaced. “Better answer.”

  “Mr. Blackthorne,” Elias greeted us, his deep voice defying the tiny speaker. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  Aiden shot a black glare at the phone. “That was a slick trick you pulled on me.”

  “No trick, Mr. Blackthorne. I find it in everyone’s best interests to gather harmony where I can. I’m calling about Detective Ruffles.”

  “My brother?” I squeaked. Damn, I was definitely going to have to have a mousectomy. “What about him?”

  “Simply to reassure you, Officer—or should I say Police Commissioner—Ruffles.”

  “How about Sunny?” I surprised myself by offering him my family name.

  “Thank you for that honor,” he said, and I knew I’d done the right thing. “Strongwell reported to me that he hadn’t quite made it clear. As a human, your good brother had some, well, frailties. In my experience, given the proper nurturing and training, he will end up as good as any other of our kind.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He chuckled, the sound like rich black silk sliding along my skin. “Leaders are made, not born, and the same is true of protectors. It just takes time. Mr. Blackthorne, here’s your opportunity to be a different maker than Nosferatu. Whether Detective Ruffles is to be any better than a basic beast is up to you.”

  “Wait,” Aiden said. “Are you being helpful?”

  “Am I?”

  “Impossible. What’s the catch?”

  “The catch is that I feel there are enough Nosferatu clones in the world. Please don’t make another.” He disconnected without saying goodbye.

  “I’ve asked several times,” I said. “You’ve never answered to my satisfaction. What does that mean exactly, that you’re my brother’s maker?”

  “I guess I can tell you now. I gave your brother a transfusion. A rather large one. It insured he’d turn, but it also means we have a permanent connection. A blood tie.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’re leaving out details.”

  “Only the gory ones, I promise.”

  “Fine. But does it mean Dirk will be less of a Ruffles?”

  “I don’t mind Ruffles.”

  “You know what I mean.” Inside I was smiling.

  He took one of my hands from the steering wheel to give it a brief clasp. “He’ll be the best he can be. I’ll make sure of it.”

  As we drove, he sobered. “Sunny, a while ago you asked me for the truth about whether I was falling in love with you.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” We’d been dancing around it and I still didn’t know if I was ready to hear the bad news.

  “But I do. My kind feels everything more—pain, pleasure, and most of all, love. I said it was complex, that I didn’t know if I could ever love you as you deserved, but Sunny, I lied. I knew, I just didn’t believe. How could I be capable of real love? But now I know. I’m not falling in love with you.”

  I sucked in a breath like glass shards.

  “For me, the fall is long over. I think it was the moment I first laid eyes on you. I’d like to tell you there’s still time for you to get free of me. But I don’t think, short of destroying me, there is.”

  “You have a strange way of expressing your affection.” But my throat was thick with relief and joy. “Was that a declaration of love or of Armageddon?”

  He huffed a laugh. “A little of both, I think. But let me make it clear. Sunny Ruffles, I love you. Maybe not as you deserve, but what can’t we accomplish together? You’ll help me figure it out.”

  “Well then.” I grabbed his hand. “I love you too.”

  Some months later, Aiden and I snuggled together on our couch in the rec room of our new household.

  I was happy…mostly. Something was missing.

  At first I thought it was because I couldn’t do what I wanted, run my hands—and tongue and teeth—over his chiseled body.

  We weren’t alone. A group of adults and kids watched television. A woman rocked in a hand-finished chair, knitting washcloths. At a corner worktable, a man helped his daughter with her science project. Children and adults bowled on the game station, including Dirk, who, surprisingly, was winning. The aroma of our own Mr. Cook’s baking came from upstairs. Our big Swedish vampire lieutenant Einer was with him.

  A book was open on my lap. Aiden sat next to me sharpening a blade, when he suddenly asked, “So how did zapping Eloise feel?”

  I glanced at him. His mouth was curved in a subtle but smug grin that I’d learned to ignore only at my own peril. “Good,” I said cautiously. “Why?”

  “She bit you. She was trying to incapacitate and maybe kill you.”

  “Yes. Where’s Gunner and Gail?” Our other two lieutenants, a lanky blond punk with enough leather and studs to outfit a stable, and a tightly muscled black woman who favored tailored skirts and blouses, had become inseparable.

  “Patrolling Linesville. Look, I have a point.”

  “Yes. I was trying to distract you from that.”

  His Mona Lisa smile flashed across his face. “You were stressed. Did you go all rampaging monster on Eloise?”

  “No, but you were there, and somehow a measured response was easier… Oh no.”

  “Oh yes. We both have our dark sides, Sunny Ruffles Blackthorne. I respect the dark, but I’m not afraid of it. You don’t have to be afraid either. I’m better with you, but you’re also better with me.”

  “It’s so annoying when you’re right.”

  “We’re a match, then.”

  I smiled. “I love you too. I hope we annoy each other for decades to come.”

  “Or more.” Aiden kissed me.

  Smoochy sounds and childish pipings of “yuck” didn’t stop him at all. But he broke off at Mr. Cook’s, “Bedtime snack, Madam?”

  The man held a tray with a pitcher of milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, the gloss of the chocolate and warm sugary scent telling me they were fresh from the oven. I opened my mouth to say yes.

  Aiden answered instead. “Yes, please. She’s a bottomless pit lately. If she doesn’t get fed regularly, she’ll start in on me.”

  I slugged his arm and was rewarded with that flashing smile.

  Mr. Cook set the tray on the table. It was immediately mobbed by the household, not just the children. “Madam first,” he admonished. “She needs her nutrition.” They waited as he poured a glass of milk and gave it and a plate of cookies to me. Then he doled out snacks to the rest of the household.

  I bit into a cookie. Gooey sweet heaven melted in my mouth. “Know what? Ruffles luck isn’t so bad. It brought me you.”

  Aiden kissed the top of my head, carefully keeping fingers away from my mouth as I gobbled sugar and chocolate. “I always knew Ric would find his Sunshine. But I’d lost hope and hadn’t even realized it, not until you brought back my mother’s voice. You saved me every bit as much as Ric did
all those years ago. I’m the lucky one.”

  I finished my cookie and grabbed a couple of his long, clever fingers, and nibbled anyway. “I know.”

  He laughed. “Thank you, Han Solo.”

  As I finished my milk, Aiden curled me in one arm. I snuggled into him and we sat together, basking in the warmth and light of our friends and new family.

  But something was still missing…

  And then I got it. I raised my head. “You’re a husband and householder now, a solid, upstanding citizen and leader. Can you still do the sexy shadow man thing?”

  “Sexy, hmm?” His thin lips developed the breath of a curve. “For sexy, I’ll certainly try.”

  He misted, not into an obvious silver snake but dissipating into near nothing.

  Then, from the corner of my eye I thought I saw movement. In the dark of the corridor leading to the bedrooms.

  The shadows stirred. Leaning lazily against the wall. Crooking a coaxing finger at me.

  My heart sang, happiness complete. Knowing my sexy shadow man waited for me, I went.

  About the Author

  As a girl, I spun romantic, happily-ever-after stories to get to sleep. A husband, a family, two degrees and a blackbelt later, I’m delighted to spin them for readers.

  I’ve lived with love and loss, in bright times and dark, and learned we can all use a break from reality every now and then.

  So join me for action, sparkling humor and red-hot love. Strong men. Stronger women. Hugs! ~Mary

  I’d love to hear from you! Write me at mary@maryhughesbooks.com.

  Or visit me online!

  Website: www.maryhughesbooks.com

  Facebook: MaryHughesAuthor

  Twitter: @MaryHughesBooks

  Look for these titles by Mary Hughes

  Now Available:

  Biting Love

  Bite My Fire

  Biting Nixie

  The Bite of Silence

  Biting Me Softly

  Biting Oz

  Beauty Bites

  Downbeat

  Coming Soon:

  Pull of the Moon

  Heart Mates

  Striking the right note could shatter more than their hearts.

  Downbeat

  © 2014 Mary Hughes

  Biting Love, Book 7

  After an attack that slaughtered his family, vampire Dragan Zajicek walled off his heart and went on a sixteen-hundred-year rampage with the bad boys of history.

  Now a rock star of the concert podium and master freelance spy, he’s taken the baton for a small orchestra near Chicago to investigate rumors of a monstrous, undefeatable vampire dubbed the Soul Stealer.

  But it’s the lovely, unassuming Raquel “Rocky” Hrbek who mesmerizes him from the first touch of her luscious lips on her flute.

  Rocky, a shy shadow scarred by middle school cruelty, is mystified as to why core-meltingly gorgeous Dragan would notice a mouse like her. As his stolen kisses draw her dangerously close to the edge of her carefully constructed comfort zone, he exposes her secret—she’s investigating the monster herself.

  As their quest draws them closer together, the monster zeroes in on the woman Dragan’s rebellious heart tells him is his mate. Now they must find a way to destroy the indestructible before Rocky is utterly consumed. And Chicago is bathed in the blood of innocents.

  Warning: Contains a master of seduction and symphonies, an awkward and innocent flutist, small-town humor, heart-stopping action, and an exodus to Iowa. Oh, and the cheese balls are ba-a-ack—and deadlier than ever.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Downbeat:

  “May I accompany you, Ms. Hrbek?”

  I jumped and nearly tripped. Zajicek caught my wrist to steady me. His fingers were long and slender but amazingly strong—and fiercely warm. Like iron filings to a magnet, my skin aligned instantly to him. Hot sensation juddered through me, knocking me even more off balance. I scrambled to regain my equilibrium, only to have my feet scud into one of the semi-vertical sidewalk stones. My flute bag slipped off my shoulder and nosedived into the crook of my arm, yanking me sideways. I went down.

  Powerful arms wrapped around me and saved me from severe pavement burn. The arms were gentle righting me, and I stood in their comforting embrace a moment to get my breath back. A strong heart beat under my cheek. My palms pressed against warm, crisp cotton. The body under the cotton was a solid, cloth-covered cliff, so unlike my own soft limbs. I shivered.

  “Are you all right, Ms. Hrbek?” Zajicek’s deep honeyed tones, tinged with amusement, came from somewhere over my head.

  “Huh?” Not the snappiest of rejoinders but I was cheek-to-massive-chest with Dragan Zajicek, the posterboy I’d had the hots for half my life.

  He was definitely not pasteboard now. The longer I stood there the more I felt. Every ridge of his taut abdomen, the roped muscles of his long thighs, the poke of his belt buckle; they all became alarmingly three-dimensional. His warm breath stirred my hair. Something else stirred too, at hip level…and silent laughter rippled through him.

  My brain churned. The intimate way he held me made no sense, but the laughter, well, my clumsiness had lightened the room on more than one occasion.

  Then Zajicek’s long fingers slid under my chin, raising my face. His brilliant eyes were shuttered by slumberous lids. I stared in bemusement as his face expanded in my vision…

  His lips found mine.

  Warm. Smooth. Exciting. “Some Enchanted Evening” sang through my right brain.

  My left brain locked up in utter confusion. A man was kissing me. Zajicek was kissing me. The sum of my kissing experience was a slobbery grandmother and a few rushed awkward sexual encounters. I never really saw what the fuss was about. Until Zajicek.

  I always thought kisses were simply the press of lips. His mouth didn’t simply anything. It rubbed, it tasted, it gently teased. Warm, velvety soft, his tongue began to explore.

  I stood there in stupefied awe.

  Until he murmured against my lips, “How clumsy you are, Ms. Hrbek. How very fortunate I was here to catch you.”

  He thought I’d done it on purpose.

  I struggled out of his embrace. He was slow letting go, his fingers firm on my arms. With a little tilt of his head, he perused me. Whatever he saw on my face made him release me with an extravagant sigh. “I beg your pardon. Apparently I misread your…desires.”

  I flushed, because he hadn’t misread my “desires” at all. Just my intentions. I jerked my flute bag onto my shoulder and started determinedly toward my car, fiercely watching my feet on the uneven sidewalk. “No biggie. What did you want, Maestro?”

  Long legs kept graceful pace with me. “Call me Dragan, please. Maestro is so overused.”

  His first name? It implied an intimacy I couldn’t afford. “You call me Ms. Hrbek.”

  “Yes, but perhaps you would allow me the familiarity of your first name as well?” His tone was coaxing.

  I skewed a look at him, immediately returning my attention to the stones, although I was beginning to think Zajicek was more treacherous than my footing. “If you want. After all, you’ll be seeing us weekly for a while.”

  “Perhaps you and I will be seeing a great deal more of each other, hmm?”

  Yikes. My stomach flipped, my attention disintegrated and the elevated corner of a concrete slab cold-cocked my foot. I tripped and would have fallen again if not for Zajicek’s lightning reflexes. He caught me in his arms, steadying me. Senses reeling, I let him, my forebrain scolding idiot but my lizard brain panting and presenting its tail. Before I could completely self-combust, he brushed a thumb over my cheek and released me.

  “What do you mean by that?” I croaked. Catching my flute bag to my chest, I wheeled and trotted off, fast, too fast, almost running, nearly stumbling yet again. Ma
king a conscious effort to slow down, I cleared my throat. “Why would you see more of me than any other orchestra member?”

  “I am staying in Meiers Corners for the duration of Mr. Banger’s recovery. That is what I wished to discuss with you. I have only just arrived in the area. I’d like to follow you home this evening.”

  Dragan Zajicek in all his powerful, elegant glory, driving behind me? My internal meter was pinging red alert, core meltdown imminent. “You don’t need to. I can tell you how to go. It’s not that far.”

  “Perhaps. But it’s late and I would not wish to become lost.”

  I opened my mouth to say no, heard my voice say, “Oka—” and snapped my jaw shut so fast teeth sparked. Problem was, I liked being with him—which, considering I was practically wearing my heart on my sleeve, was dangerous. What if he found out his kiss was the first real one of my life, and had utterly demolished me?

  “Ms. Hrbek?”

  He was politely waiting for an answer. Politely, as if the whole of my pitiful ego wasn’t in the balance.

  I tried to see it from his point of view. The man wanted help getting around. A few directions, not my soul. Simple neighborliness would do. I breathed deep, and managed to rasp out, “Sure. No problem, Mr. Zajicek.”

  He smiled and slipped his arm around mine. “Dragan, please.” His hip bumped against my side as we walked.

  My respiration rate shot through the roof. I gritted my teeth. Simple neighborliness, yeah, right. Like your basic neighborhood raging inferno. “Okay. First names. I’m Rocky.”

  “Rocky? That’s a boy’s name.”

  “It’s a nickname,” I admitted.

  “Ah. And your real name?”

  Yes. My “real” name.

  My friend, Nixie Emerson, once told me names have power. In her case, she went by her kicky middle name instead of “Dietlinde”, her dull-as-dust first. For her, that was appropriate. Nixie was short and punk and smart as a whip—and as smart-mouthed too, though she reined it in around her new baby.

  In my case though, my “real” name was not appropriate. Anti-appropriate, in fact. My mom named me Raquel, after Raquel Welch, the sex-goddess of the sixties. So while Nixie’s name was right and good, mine was a joke. And considering my nega-love-life, a rather nasty one at that. “Rocky’s good enough, Mr. Zajicek.”