Vincent forced himself to move, to pull his cock out of the warm caress of her body, but only long enough to plunge it back in as he began fucking her pussy with his fingers, sliding his cock in and out of her ass . . . and piercing her vein with his fangs as he bit into her neck, drawing on the rich fullness of her blood.
Lana screamed, her already-overwhelmed senses shaken anew by the euphoric in his bite. She convulsed in his arms, every muscle in her body tightening, squeezing down on his fingers, his cock, even his fangs as she snaked an arm around his neck and cupped the back of his head, holding him inside her.
Vincent groaned deep in his chest, the searing heat of his own orgasm building hotter and hotter, until it poured forth, filling Lana with his fiery release, contracting his own muscles until he thought he, too, would scream with the delicious pain of it. Until finally, he lifted his head, Lana’s blood dripping from his fangs, and her name on his lips.
LANA MADE SURE the No Molestar sign was out, then she closed the door and checked the locks, settling the swing bar securely into place. She was both more tired and more relaxed than she could ever remember feeling. Multiple orgasms would apparently do that to a person, which was something she hadn’t known before meeting Vincent. She didn’t know if his incredible sexual prowess was a vampire thing or a Vincent thing, and she didn’t care. She only knew what she felt when he made love to her, and pretty much all the rest of the time, too.
Vincent was on the phone when she walked over to the bed, his dark eyes lifting to meet hers. He was talking to Michael, but he pulled the covers back and patted the mattress next to him in invitation. Was there a woman alive who could resist that? Lana smiled at the exaggerated look of seduction he was giving her. Because, really, a naked Vincent was all the temptation she needed.
Before joining him, she checked the load on her Sig and left it within easy reach on the side table. Vincent didn’t think Enrique knew where they were, not yet anyway, but she wasn’t taking any chances. If someone came through that door, she was going to assume they were up to no good and react accordingly.
Just for good measure, she tucked a knife under her pillow before sliding beneath the cool sheets.
Vincent disconnected and tossed the cell phone on his side table. He pulled her into the curve of his hard, muscular, and unbelievably gorgeous body.
“Michael says hi.”
“What else does he say?” she asked, turning to face him and rubbing an appreciative hand over the firm planes of his chest.
“He’ll get the plane in the air as soon as he can after sunset tomorrow. Jerry and the others asked to come with him. They want revenge.”
Lana frowned. “Carolyn, too? Is that wise?”
Vincent shrugged. “She has the right to be in on the kill. I left it up to Mikey, but he tells me she can handle it.”
“You say they want revenge, but you need to be the one who kills Enrique in order to take over his territory, right?”
“That’s right. But I’ll need people at my back, vampires I can trust and draw on for strength if I need it. I know I can take Enrique, but I don’t fool myself by thinking it will be easy. He’s powerful and he’s ruthless. And he also knows I’m coming. He’ll be ready for me.”
Lana frowned. “This is dangerous,” she said slowly. Her eyes widened and she stared at him in stunned realization. “He could kill you!”
Vincent hugged her tightly, wrapping both arms around her. “I won’t die, querida. I’m stronger than Enrique.”
“But you said he’ll be ready, and he won’t play fair. How do you know—?”
“Lana.” He claimed her mouth in a slow, luscious kiss that left her nerves tingling all the way down to her toes. “I’m not going to lose,” he whispered against her lips. “I know Enrique. And I know his tricks. I can do this.”
Lana nodded wordlessly, but she was more terrified than she’d ever been. She’d faced down desperate fugitives and murderous drug dealers, but nothing had ever scared her as much as the idea of Vincent confronting Enrique. What if he died? What would she do then?
She closed her eyes against the awful image of Vincent’s bloody body lying on the floor while his killer crowed in victory. She pushed that image as deep into her mind as it could go, not wanting Vincent to catch even a hint of it. The last thing he needed going into the fight of his life was her fears for him.
“So, Mexico City tomorrow night then?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
“Mexico City,” he confirmed. Then he put a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to go somewhere safe, somewhere—”
“Not a chance,” she interrupted.
Vincent sighed. “This isn’t a game, Lana,” he said, more serious than she’d ever seen him.
“I’m aware of—”
“I know you’re smart and capable, and I’ve seen your courage, but this . . . this will be like nothing you’ve ever witnessed. Enrique will do anything, anything, to win this. You saw what he did to Carolyn. He’ll do even worse to you, because you’re human; you’ll mean nothing to him. But you matter to me, and he’ll use you if he can.”
“Are you trying to scare me? You think I’ll run home if—”
“You should be scared. But the only thing I care about is that you live. If I thought you’d run home, I’d do whatever it took to make that happen. But I know you won’t go.”
“Damn straight.”
Vincent gave her a crooked smile. “Why not?”
Lana turned away, making a show of plumping her pillow, shoving it behind her as she sat up. “Because I care about you,” she said, intentionally not looking at him, not wanting him to see the truth in her eyes.
“You care about me.”
She swallowed and nodded. “We’re partners. We’ve been in this together from the beginning. I need to see it through.”
“Partners.”
Why did he keep repeating everything she said?
Vincent tilted his head, studying her. “Is that what you—?”
Lana pushed the covers down, suddenly hot all over. She needed him to stop talking. “What time is it?”
She went to roll out of the bed, but Vincent snagged her with an arm around her waist, pulling her back and sliding a knee between her thighs where Lana knew he’d find her wet and ready all over again.
“The time is too late,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “But feel free to use my body for your pleasure after I’m asleep, partner.”
Lana slapped his chest. “I can’t believe you said that. I would never—”
Vincent hummed wordlessly, and she could feel his lips smiling against her skin.
He lifted his head. “Kiss me, querida. It’s almost time.”
Lana gave in to what she wanted, stretching up to touch her mouth to his, feeling the soft brush of his beard on her skin. “Sweet dreams,” she whispered.
“Will you be in them?” he mumbled, and then like a child sliding into his favorite position, Vincent rolled over onto his belly and was gone.
Lana stroked her fingers gently over the smooth expanse of his back, and then over to his arm where she outlined the Mayan god of his tattoo. Placing her lips on the sun god’s smiling face, she offered a silent prayer to the ancient deity, asking him to protect the child of his worshippers, hoping as she did that the fickle god was listening.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MICHAEL WAS WAITING when Lana and Vincent arrived at Guadalajara’s international airport the next day. Vincent steered the somewhat scratched and battered SUV into the private hangar, then waited until the big doors had closed behind him before stepping out to greet his lieutenant.
Lana stood on the running board, watching over the top of the SUV as the two men, two vampires, embraced. Vince
nt had told her the link between a vampire and his Sire was the closest bond two vamps could have. She hadn’t known what that meant until this moment, when she saw Michael’s reaction to Vincent, the instant comprehension on his face of what Vincent had been through, all of the emotional turmoil and the anger. There was genuine love between them, something she knew Vincent would never experience with his own Sire. Certainly not from Enrique who had usurped Xuan’s rightful place, and not from Xuan Ignacio either. He’d abdicated that role without a care for what it would mean to Vincent.
Vincent and Michael broke apart, thumping each other’s backs hard enough to break bone in a human, as the rest of the team gradually appeared from behind the private jet. Jerry and Salvio were there, along with Zárate and Ortega who’d been with them when they’d rescued Carolyn. Her heart constricted with unaccustomed tenderness when she saw that the two big, vamp fighters had Carolyn between them. They weren’t being obvious about it, but it was plain, to her anyway, that they were keeping an eagle eye out for anyone who might mean Carolyn harm.
Lana considered her sudden and irritating tendency toward squishy emotion. If this was what falling in love did to a person, it was no surprise she’d never done it before.
Even as she had that thought, Vincent smiled at her over his shoulder and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling back. More squishy emotion. He held out a hand in her direction, and she forced herself to stroll over to him slowly.
“Lana,” Michael said, greeting her. “My Sire tells me you’re joining us in Mexico City. What’s your weapon status? Do you need ammo, any additional guns? I understand you like knives?”
Lana blinked in surprise. She’d half-expected Vincent’s lieutenant to try to talk him out of letting her come along, maybe even try to dissuade her directly.
“I’m good on weapons,” she told him slowly. “But I could use some 9mm ammo, whatever has the most stopping power. Vampires are a little harder to kill.”
Michael nodded. “You’ll have to talk to Cynthia Leighton when this is over, or maybe Lucas’s mate, what’s her name?” he asked, directing the comment at Vincent before supplying his own answer. “Kathryn Hunter. I always thought that was a particularly suitable name for an FBI agent,” he added with a smile.
“Or a vampire lord’s mate,” Vincent agreed, grinning.
Michael nodded amiably, then turned back to Lana and the topic at hand. “Unfortunately, we don’t have either of those experts here tonight, so for now—”
“For now, we’ll try to avoid gunfights,” Vincent interjected. “My challenge is for Enrique, no one else.”
“But you know he’s not sitting around, waiting politely for you to show up. He’ll try to stop you before you get there,” Michael commented.
“That’s why we’re going to move fast. We’ll fly to Mexico City tonight, set up in the condo, and talk to friends. Tomorrow night, we go directly to Enrique’s HQ. Once I’m in the villa, he’ll be hard-pressed to do anything but accept the challenge. If he sets his guards on me then, it will make him look weak. He can’t afford that.”
Michael didn’t look happy, but he nodded. “I hate this, but you’re right.”
“Have faith, Mikey,” Vincent said, grabbing the younger vamp’s shoulder. “I can take him.”
“I know. And you know I’ll be at your back when you do.”
Michael shifted his gaze to something over Vincent’s shoulder just as a deep voice said, “We would also like to be there for you, my lord.”
Lana turned with Vincent and saw Ortega and Zárate going down on their knees. “We would swear our fealty if you’ll have us,” Ortega said.
Vincent’s hand tightened briefly around Lana’s hip before he released her to shrug off his jacket and toss it onto the hood of the SUV. Rolling up the sleeve on his T-shirt, he went to lift his wrist to his fangs, but Lana got there first, handing him the wickedly sharp Spyderco knife from her pocket.
Vincent’s dark eyes warmed with emotion. “Thank you, querida.”
“Hey, mi navaja es su navaja.” My knife is your knife.
Vincent flashed her a quick grin before his expression shifted and he regarded the two vampires kneeling before him.
“Richard Ortega,” he said, addressing the vampire who’d spoken, “Do you come to me of your own free will and desire?”
Ortega met Vincent’s gaze directly and said, “I do, my lord.”
“And is this what you truly desire?” Vincent asked solemnly.
“It is my truest desire,” Ortega responded, his eyes still locked with Vincent’s.
Vincent nodded, then popped Lana’s black, steel blade open and cut his arm vertically from wrist to forearm. Blood welled immediately, dripping down his arm and coating his hand and fingers.
“Then drink, Richard Ortega, and be mine,” he said and held his wrist out to Ortega, whose eyes closed in something close to ecstasy as he inhaled the coppery fragrance of Vincent’s blood. He seemed to hold his breath for a moment, as if trapping the scent within his sinuses, savoring the rich aroma. Then his eyes flashed open, gleaming redly in the dim light, and he put his mouth to Vincent’s wrist and drank.
Lana had seen the process before, with Jerry and the others, but that had been different somehow. It had been in the midst of a crisis, a battlefield commitment rather than this slow, ritualized ceremony. Even having seen it before, she’d had to bite down on her reaction to Vincent slicing up his own arm that way. Especially when the blood started to flow. She knew how sharp her knife was, how deep it would have cut. But Vincent hadn’t even winced. Another vampire thing, she guessed. Never show pain. Or maybe he’d simply done it so often that the nerves were destroyed. She made a note to ask him later, when the troops weren’t around to hear his answer. There were appearances to be maintained, after all.
She stood by patiently while Ortega finished drinking, and then while Vincent went through the same ritual with Zárate. After that, things moved along swiftly. The SUV was emptied out—Vincent assured her someone would be back for the vehicle later—and everyone piled onto the jet.
The flight to Mexico City was short, just over an hour. Vincent and Michael spent much of that time discussing logistics. Vincent already had allies in Mexico City, vampires who were prepared to swear to him as soon as he landed. Apparently, the more vamps Vincent had behind him when he confronted Enrique, the stronger he’d be, since he could draw power from his supporters as he fought. Some sort of metaphysical vampire magic. Ugh. She groaned inwardly. She didn’t believe in magic, or at least she never had before she met Vincent. But she had to admit that a lot of what went on with vamps couldn’t be explained any other way. At least not by her.
The minute they landed in Mexico City, Vincent’s supporters made themselves known. Five long, black SUVs with the requisite tinted windows were waiting in a private hangar, with a number of vamps lined up in front of them, almost like soldiers standing at attention. And, like soldiers, they were all carrying guns—HK MP5s, with a sidearm thrown in here and there.
Those were the first vampires she’d seen carrying guns. Obviously, something had changed.
Lana disembarked with Vincent, but went to grab her duffel from the pile of luggage, while he crossed directly to his line of supporters and made a point of greeting each of them personally. Lana stood back and watched, half-expecting a mass blood ritual to cement the relationship between Vincent and this new group. She was thankful to see that wouldn’t be the case. At least for now. Maybe they’d do a group bloodletting later, she thought with an inward grimace.
Despite the greeting committee, the vamps didn’t linger at the airport. Vincent’s pilots shut down the jet and, surprisingly, joined the rest of the vamps in piling into the SUVs and speeding off into the night. Lana felt a little like she was in a movie, with the security types all talking into what s
he guessed were Bluetooth devices, while she and Vincent were hustled into the middle seat of one of the SUVs. A vamp she didn’t know took the wheel, and Michael sat up front in the passenger seat.
Lana didn’t know Mexico City. Most of the fugitives she pursued stuck closer to the U.S. border. So she had no idea which district or suburb of the city they ended up in when the convoy finally pulled to a stop.
She peered out the window curiously while Vincent’s new security people spilled out of the other vehicles and ran around checking things out. They were in front of a four-story residence complex, presumably the condo Vincent had referred to earlier. The building was on a large lot, which permitted a substantial setback from its neighbors. Gardens and trees filled the space, and a curved walkway led to a glass front door. Each of the four levels had a balcony along the side facing the street, and on every balcony were pots and flower boxes overflowing with color under discreetly-placed accent lighting. It was pretty, although it sure didn’t look much like the stereotypical vampire lair. On the other hand, one could easily miss the equally discreet security cameras at every turn. Just as one could mistake for decoration the heavy metal shutters over each door and window, shutters she had no doubt descended daily at sunrise, sealing the vampires in and the humans out.
Vincent’s vamps surrounded them as they exited the SUV, and Vincent held her hand as they were escorted directly into the building. She saw the entrance to an underground parking garage to one side and wondered why they hadn’t entered that way—it would seem to offer more coverage, and hence more security. But then she saw a whole new greeting committee waiting for them in the lobby, and she understood. One didn’t make a grand entrance via the garage door.
Once inside, Vincent was drawn away to greet his supporters, which left Lana with plenty of time to look around. She was surprised to see that the lobby looked like it belonged in an office building rather than a condo. She also noted that no one seemed to be around except vampires. Where were the other tenants? What did they think about having a vampire setting up headquarters in their building, about his security taking over the way they did?
Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8) Page 32
