Firestorm: Heart of a Vampire #5

by Kallyn, Amber

  Hot lust coursed through him, making his body ache. He wondered the same about her.

  But he wasn’t here for that.

  Eric glanced over at the matador, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand. He stepped back, putting some distance between them once more.

  She followed, pressing close.

  He hardened, his blood firing. He felt the need to take her somewhere, anywhere, and explore these sudden urges. Every fiber in his body screamed to bury himself in her sweet softness and find release. He didn’t know where this lust was coming from, but it was beyond his control.

  And somehow, it felt right. Natural. It wasn’t just her beauty, or her wit, or even her spark of sarcasm that she couldn’t quite control. There was something else, an indefinable, unnamable thing that hit him every time she was near.

  And damn if he wasn’t enjoying this, her flirting, feeling her pressed against him. Wanted it to last longer, go further. And that was so damn wrong. Maybe he was even more screwed up than he’d thought, not that he was sure that was possible.

  “Stop,” he demanded harshly, even though it was the last thing he wanted to say.

  Hurt flashed in her eyes and she pulled back stiffly.

  The next few minutes passed tense and awkward, until they finally reached the other side of the dance floor. She nearly jerked away from him, head bowed, eyes downcast. For a long moment, he worried he’d hurt her. Another long lost feeling catching him off guard. Then he caught a glimpse of the smoldering fury in her eyes.

  Damn was she pissed. He didn’t have time to say anything as they reached the matador. Beside him stood Cat’s friend, the girl Nina.

  Cat’s entire demeanor changed. Flashing from anger, to worry, to a mask of happiness so fast, Eric wasn’t quite sure he’d seen it all.

  Pretending nothing had happened between them, Cat slid her arm through his. She laughed as if he’d said something funny, then swatted his arm, fluttering her eyelashes.

  “Play along,” she hissed.

  He swallowed, tried to grin.

  Her eyes widened and she whispered, “Never mind. I’ll do the acting.”

  Incensed at her dismissal, he fought back the reply that he was a warrior, not a damn movie star.

  “Nina, love. Who’s your friend,” Cat cooed.

  The girl laughed. “Don Juan, or so he says.” She glanced up at the matador, flirting with a heavy hand.

  The man wore a mask that covered the upper three-quarters of his face. Black feathers decorated it, along with strange, dark crimson designs that seemed to waver before Eric’s eyes. He smiled at Nina, but it didn’t carry past his lips. He held himself like one preparing to enter the battlefield.

  Eric took a deep breath, then nearly choked at the stench of decay.

  This guy was beyond wrong.

  Something dark and dangerous slithered down his spine. He gripped Cat’s hand on his arm, squeezing tight. She tensed, her lips tightening, as if getting his message and smelling the stench at the same time.

  “Nina, darling, let’s go get some drinks for our men,” Cat stated.

  The girl started to pout, but Cat took her hand and led her away, sending a quick glance back at Eric, as if warning him to not let the guy get away. He nodded before turning back to the man.

  “Women, eh?” the matador asked, his voice stilted, hoarse.

  “Something like that,” he replied, trying to figure out the stench of decay and death. It wasn’t natural, not the usual vampire scent—almost dusty, like the ash from a burnt out fire—but more like a rotting corpse.

  The man assessed him as well. He grinned, flashing fangs and his dark eyes bled to crimson as a calculating look appeared.

  * * *

  Beyond pissed, Cat dragged Nina through the thick crowd, towards the last place she’d seen Malia and Jeremiah.

  “What are you doing?” the girl asked.

  Feeling slightly murderous, Cat spun. “What do you think you’re doing? Didn’t we just talk about staying with friends—with people you actually know?”

  “I have been,” the girl’s lower lip trembled. “But this guy is really nice.”

  Cat’s temper spiked higher and she had to bite her tongue before flaying the girl. After a couple deep breaths, she replied, “This guy is suspected of working with the people who are kidnapping and murdering vampires. Including our sire.”

  Nina gasped, paling. “B-but... he seemed so nice.”

  With a frustrated shake of her head, Cat pulled the girl through the crowd until they reached Malia.

  The woman glanced over at them with a cat-got-the-cream grin, then, reading the situation, straightened. “What?”

  “Get her friends together and take them all home. Call Blake to send some guards to watch their place.” She shot the girl a glare. “Nina decided to become friends with the matador.”

  The girl looked ready to burst into tears, especially when Malia glared at her.

  “Stupid. Not paying no attention to the rules Cat’s setting out, trying to keep you safe. You want to end up being the next vampire found dead?”

  Nina shook her head, shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know.”

  Cat still wanted to shake some sense into the girl, but it would be futile. She was young, and reckless. “You’ll be on the next bus out of town, got it? I don’t want this guy coming after you.”

  Nina nodded, and left with Malia.

  Needing a minute to compose herself and reign in her anger, Cat grabbed a glass of blood from a passing waitress and took a quick sip. The spiced drink suffused her with warmth and dimmed her anger. The tension in her muscles loosened.

  Finally, she pushed her way back to Eric and the matador. She spotted Eric easily, towering above everyone else. As she drew closer, she realized she didn’t see the stranger.

  The slight relaxation she’d gotten from the drink disappeared in a flash. “Where is he?” she demanded.

  Eric glanced at her, scowling. “I turned away for one fucking second.”

  “Great. Just great. Any idea where he went?”

  He glowered at her. “If I did, don’t you think I’d be following?”

  She humphed and spun around, trying to see the entire room. She wasn’t nearly tall enough.

  “For all I know, he’s still here, even though I can’t smell that disgusting stench any more. All he’d have to do is drop his red cape and he’d look like fifty other people.”

  “Lovely,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What now?”

  He assessed her, his gaze growing concerned. “What happened to you?”

  “Not a damn thing.”

  “Uh, huh. Are you drunk?”

  “I am not fucking drunk. Vampires don’t get drunk.”

  “Unless they’re drinking substances provided by dragons,” he replied with a smirk.

  And she realized her words had been slurred. “This is great. A party of hellish proportions.”

  “Interesting,” he murmured. “I didn’t think you knew how to cuss.”

  “I don’t use those crass words, especially not in public.” She lifted her chin sharply, and the world spun.

  Damn. She’d only had a few sips of the last drink. As the night wore on, their hosts must have increased the amount of whatever herbs they’d been lacing the drinks with.

  “I think home is the best place for you right now. There’s nothing else to do here,” Eric said.

  She realized he’d taken her arm and began leading her to the front door some time ago. “Son of a bitch,” she said. “Our only damn lead is gone. Poof, up in smoke. Drifted away. Just like everyone else. Disappeared and gone.”

  “We’ll figure it out.” He drew her outside. The snow had stopped. Anything stuck to the ground was now melted.

  As they reached his SUV, Cat’s knees wobbled and she stumbled. He grabbed her around the waist, bringing her tight against his chest.

  She couldn’t breathe as desire swept t
hrough her.

  Seeming to read her mind, he abruptly set her back on her feet and opened the passenger door. She got in, feeling cold, bereft from the loss of his touch, which didn’t make sense. Sure he was hot, but it wasn’t like she was deprived and ready to jump the first good-looking man that walked by. Besides, she reminded herself, he was an archaic ass.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and slammed his door shut. “An archaic ass, huh?”

  Heat suffused her cheeks as she realized she’d said it out loud.

  Chapter Seven

  Cat woke abruptly, in her own comfortable bed, but with a shrill ringing reverberating in her head. She sat up and her headache throbbed harder, but she realized the ringing was her cell phone. She answered it with a soft, “Hello?”

  “We need to talk,” a deep voice stated.

  She blinked against the dim light coming in through the curtained windows on the other side of the room. “Who is this?”

  “Cat?” he asked cautiously, and she recognized him.

  “Blake. What is it?”

  “Need your help. We’ll be at the plantation in twenty.”

  The line went dead. She stared at the silent phone for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. And realized the pounding in her head was a hangover, for goodness sakes.

  Hung over. Her.

  And she only had twenty minutes to get ready.

  She jumped out of bed, then clutched her head at the pain her quick movement caused. The scent of blood drifted to her, along with Eric’s unique musky scent, a second before a knock came at her door. Without waiting for an answer, he strode in, carrying a mug.

  He gently pushed her to sit on the edge of the bed, then silently handed her the cup. Gratefully, she drank it down.

  Head clearing, the pain fading, she glanced at him. “Thank you.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Company will be here in...” she glanced at the clock, then stood up, “...fifteen minutes.”

  After shooing him from her room, she grabbed a quick shower, then headed downstairs.

  Eric sat in the parlor, studying a laptop screen. As she entered, he asked, “Private meeting?”

  “Blake.”

  “Hmm.” He managed to infuse the simple sound with a ton of undecipherable meaning.

  Before she could ask exactly what he meant by it, the doorbell rang. She hurried to open the door, only to be confronted by Blake and a second guard, Sam, dragging a bloody body.

  “What the—”

  Blake glanced up, his eyes glazed with near-panic. “You still have all the healing supplies in the basement?”

  “Yes, but—”

  They pushed past her, heading toward the kitchen and the door leading downstairs. The bloody carcass they dragged moaned in pain, somehow still alive.

  Eric reached the hall as they passed by, took one look at the body, then pushed between the guards. “Let me.” He easily lifted the unconscious man. “Where?”

  Blake led the way. The basement looked more like a cross between a torture chamber and some old castle’s dungeon. Divided into six cells, three on each side, the walls were made from titanium and steel. Each cell door was bolted with multiple, reinforced locks.

  It was the perfect place for new vampires while they recovered control over their minds and bodies. When first turned, the hunger was overwhelming. It was either safely lock them up, or have a rampage littered with dead humans left in their wake.

  Blake entered the first cell on the left, set up with a complete medical station and supplies. Eric followed and laid the man on the bed, then glanced at her, his eyes dark, haunted. Blake searched the room, as if not sure what to do. The other guard stayed outside the room.

  Briskly, with forced confidence, Cat moved to the unconscious man’s side and began checking his wounds. “Tell me what happened.”

  Blake fisted his hands. “He was attacked by wolves. We found him at the perimeter of the area he was patrolling. I don’t even know how he’s still alive.”

  She tried hard, but didn’t recognize the man. “Who is he?”

  Blake glanced up, startled. “Henry O’Brien.”

  She stared at the injured man, her heart skipping a beat. “Irish? This can’t be him.” His face was swollen, contorted unnaturally in places. Naturally carrot-haired, the man now sported tufts of crimson.

  Eric laid a hand on her shoulder and she jumped. Glancing into his deep blue gaze, she took in his scent, his radiating warmth, and pulled herself together.

  “Help me undress him. We need to clean his wounds.” She turned to Blake. “Get the transfusion equipment out of the cupboard. Tell Sam to bring down an armful of bagged blood from the refrigerator.”

  Burying her sorrow for Irish, and her anger at the damnable wolves, she filled a large metal bowl with warm water and began bathing the man.

  Soon enough, she uncovered many deep gashes, furrows, and multiple bite marks covering his body. “What the...”

  Eric and Blake hovered over her, staring at some of the bite marks she pointed out.

  “Since when do wolves attack in their human form?” she asked. Most of the bites were canine. But a few, courtesy of at least two different people by the size of them, matched human mouths.

  “I’ve never heard of a shifter doing this kind of thing,” Eric replied, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

  “Neither have I.” She directed him to bring the sewing kit, sniffed each wound for any kind of poison known to hurt vampires, and when she found them clean, began stitching the poor man back together.

  On the other side of the bed, Eric helped Blake set up the transfusion system, sliding a needle into Irish’s arm and hooking up the first bag of blood. It would take too many for him to even respond, much less to begin healing.

  And she worried they didn’t have the time. Beneath her hands, Irish’s body was cooling. “Damn it. This isn’t fast enough.”

  She made up her mind without a second thought. Biting her wrist, letting blood flow freely, she shoved it between the man’s lips, then massaged his throat until he swallowed. “Keep stitching him up. It doesn’t have to be pretty, but we must stop his bleeding,” she ordered the men.

  They hastened to do her bidding.

  When her wound healed, she bit it open again, and again. Ten minutes later, feeling a bit woozy, she asked for a chair and a cup of blood for herself.

  “We can feed the man. You’re about to pass out,” Eric stated harshly, though his gaze was filled with something she thought might just be a hesitant respect. For her.

  “No. I’ll be fine,” she replied. Her blood was better, stronger.

  He didn’t push the issue, just continued to sew Irish’s wounds closed.

  She didn’t know how much time passed, but his body finally began to warm. “Good,” she said, feeling a bit drunk once more.

  Eric gathered her in his arms, and with a quick, “I’ll be back,” to Blake, carried her upstairs and into the parlor. He set her gently in one of the chairs near the fireplace, then stoked the fire until it blazed, spreading warmth over her cooled skin.

  Eric growled, “You may have saved the man’s life, but it’s no reason to push yourself so far you dip a toe onto death’s side of the door.”

  “What I did won’t kill me. I just need to refill on blood and food.”

  “I’ll bring you something.” He paused, looking her over, and she almost thought he was seriously worried.

  As another flash of weakness hit, she figured maybe she should be worried, too.

  * * *

  Cat ate, drinking enough blood to make her feel a little better. But all she wanted to do was nap. After calculating the time, she realized she must have only gotten about two hours of sleep after the party before Blake’s call.

  Eric and Blake came upstairs, taking seats on opposite sides of the room.

  “How is he?” she asked.

  “Still unconscious, but mending,” Blake tiredly replied
.

  “We’ll keep an eye on him.” She carefully studied each man. “So the human bite marks?” Just the thought of it made her lose the sense of warmth from the roaring fire. A chill covered her arms with goose bumps.

  “We don’t know the bites came from wolf shifters,” Blake stated slowly.

  Cat raised an eyebrow. “You think what? He was attacked two separate times? Or the wolves let some mortals chew on their prey alongside them? How many mortals do you know that go around chomping on people?”

  He shrugged uncomfortably.

  A despondent fog embraced her. “Everything is wrong with this city lately. It’s like a cloud of darkness, of something putrid and evil, hanging over us. Vampires murdered without a known cause. Now this. None of it makes any sense.” Weary, she drew her legs up on the chair and laid her forehead on her knees. “Jacques would be able to figure this out.”

  “Yeah? Well he’s not here,” Blake replied harshly.

  She raised her head and shot him a glare until he looked away. “No. He. Is. Not. So it’s up to us. Yet, everyone we talk to knows nothing. Every hopeful hint I’ve followed has only led to more questions, never any answers.”

  Eric cleared his throat and she turned her dark glare on him. He didn’t glance away. “Now you have my fresh eyes. We’ll go over everything you guys know, think you know. Even what you don’t know. Every problem has a solution.”

  She rested her cheek on her knees, captured by his confidence. His assurance. She just didn’t know if it would be enough.

  Eric and Blake finally drew closer to each other. She listened to them going over her plans to get the younger vampires out of town to a safe haven, making the exodus move along faster.

  Blake slapped his hand on the arm of his chair. “The problem is, some of them are hiding. They don’t want to leave the parties, or their mortal friends, or whatever. And when we do actually find some of them, they run away. It’s one thing to hunt an enemy, but it doesn’t sit well with my guards to hunt our own.”

  “The young do stupid things,” Eric said, making her think of Nina. “But remind your men it’s to save their lives.”

  They continued to strategize, soon turning to maps of the city and the areas where she’d put people on guard. Her eyes slipped closed as she grew drowsy, the sounds of the men’s voices lulling.