by Tl Reeve
“Would you perhaps have a copy of Homer’s Odyssey anywhere in this library?” Clara glanced over her shoulder at Jonah.
“Do we?” Jonah cocked a brow at Emmitt.
“We do,” Emmitt replied, moving over to the wall furthest from the window and searching till he found what he was looking for. He then removed a leather-bound book.
Before he could even make it back to Clara, Ezra snatched the book from his hands and then handed it to her friend, who’d taken it without even addressing the surly werewolf.
“Why the Odyssey?” Emmitt inquired of her friend.
“It has many references to necromantic rituals. I thought it might be helpful since I believe it is a necromancer who has called up the horde and activated the ley lines,” she stated before she opened the book. “Most of these rituals are performed around a fire pit after dark at cemeteries or in mausoleums. The rites last for hours and include the drinking of blood from sacrificial animals.”
“Vampires?” Donovan declared.
Clara shook her head, not bothering to look up from her search of the book. “Drinking of blood does not equate to a vampire. During the Middle Ages those who were necromancers were usually male Christian clericals who used specific recipes and recited specific prayers to the gods of the underworld. It is my thought, maybe, whoever is responsible is relying on the old ways. We should continue searching the local cemeteries. I am almost positive we’d find hints of the ceremonies, at least one if not more. One is never too careful.”
“What type of clue might he have left behind?” Jonah questioned.
“It could be a great many things.” Clara closed the book.
“Like what, witch?” Ezra demanded.
Her friend frowned, finally seeming to notice the surly attitude of the man standing in front of her.
“We could find magic circles, wands, or talismans around grave sites anywhere near a body that has been buried within the last twelve months.” Clara cleared her throat and took a moment. “We might also find more…morbid acts, since raising the dead can be a messy business.”
“Do we honestly want to take advice from a witch?” Ezra reached out, grabbing the book from Clara’s hands.
“This witch, as you have repeatedly called her, has at least given us a place to start,” Annabelle countered.
“I have a detailed map of the city, with every cemetery in and around London,” Charlie announced, his mechanized voice echoing through the room.
All eyes turned to look at the automaton, his silver and copper body glimmering in the gas lit room.
“That sounds bloody morbid, if you ask me,” Mr. Tinnin interjected. “I like it.”
They all ignored him.
“I asked him to gather the information for me,” Norah stated with a shrug. “It seemed like a good resource to have when we are tasked with hunting monsters every night.”
“Can you return to your home and gather those maps?” Jonah asked.
“Of course, sir. It would be no problem.” Charlie nodded.
“I’ll go with him,” Emmitt stated.
“As will I,” Norah said.
“It might be a good idea for me to go along also,” Clara said. Her automaton arm hissed as the wheels and springs moved when she closed the book within her pewter fist.
“You’re staying here,” Ezra declared; his tone dictated he’d accept nothing less than Clara’s complete submission on the matter.
He obviously did not know her friend very well. Clara had a mind of her own and would let no man or wolf, for that matter, tell her what she could or could not do.
“If you wish,” Clara said softly.
Her friend’s acquiescence of Ezra’s demand that she stay shocked Annabelle to her core.
She waited for Norah, Emmitt and Charlie to leave the library before she turned to her friend. “Are you all right?” Ezra, Jonah and the remaining team members stepped away, giving them a modicum of privacy.
“Yes. Why do you ask?” Clara muttered, her focus on Ezra.
“You seem off.”
“Off how?” Clara finally looked at her, a frown forming between her brows.
“You agreed with Ezra’s demands. It is not like you to give in so easily.”
“Oh.” Clara’s cheeks flushed pink. “It did not seem worth it to me to argue the point. Charlie, Norah and Mr. Enright are more than capable of going to the house. Adding another into the mix would be overkill. Do you not think?”
Annabelle shrugged. “I think it no longer matters what I think.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am not sure.” She hesitated. “I sense a change. A big one.” Annabelle rubbed at her arms as she shivered. “I will rest easier when we find the necromancer and rid London of the horde.”
“The change you feel may be your budding relationship with Jonah.” Clara dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you know what you are doing, Annabelle?”
“I am utterly clueless,” she admitted.
“Do you trust him?”
“He wants me,” she admitted.
“Not what I asked.”
“I know,” she said.
“Answer my question then. Do you trust him?” Clara pushed.
“Yes,” she admitted, with a lift of her chin. “He will not hurt me. I am sure of it.”
“I would think having him bite your neck will hurt.”
“Only if I do not want it.” She turned her head to look at Jonah, who continued to converse with his team.
“And?” Clara urged.
“I want it. Almost crave it. It’s become an addiction. I need it like I need my next breath,” she admitted.
“He fed from you. They gain sexual pleasure from it.”
“I am aware.”
“Will the hunter become the hunted?” Clara arched a brow, and the corner of her mouth tugged upward.
“I love sunrise,” she declared.
“I am sure Jonah did too, until he turned. He is a vampire, you must not forget that. Ever,” Clara warned.
“How could I ever forget? I am reminded of it every time he moves faster than my eyes can comprehend, or when he smiles, flashing his long canines or when he sleeps during the day and rises at sunset.”
“It will not matter to me if you take him to your bed or if he turns you. You are my friend, and I will support any decision you make in this matter.”
“What of the others?” Annabelle worried most about them.
Clara snorted, drawing Ezra’s attention, who watched them with his head cocked to the side. She wondered if, with his hearing, could he pick up their conversation?
“The others will follow you no matter what. You are our leader, you protect us.”
“And if he Jonah turns me and I become what we hunt?” she whispered.
“Jonah would not allow it. He would sacrifice himself before he allowed you to be one of the hunted. He will be a most excellent teacher in showing you how to control your needs.”
“You can assess this in just the few times you have been around him?”
“You would have to be blind not to see how protective he is of you. He is very attuned to your needs and aware of your every movement. Every breath. His back is to you, but I know if you left this room, he would know it and follow you. Making sure you were safe.”
“You sound surer than I do,” she stated.
“I want you happy, Annabelle. We all do. You have seen so much pain. So much death and destruction in your life. You deserve some happiness. I believe Jonah can provide you with it.” She grinned. “At least, I hope he can.”
10
By the following night, Dr. Brew had returned and assessed the body Mr. Tinnin retrieved. As suspected, like the last one, the body had been brought to life by magic and steam. The compulsion to attack and destroy had been threaded through the spell used to create their unlivable life.
Miss Clara and Jerome worked tirelessly together, trying to pinpoint where the bodies came
from, and who’d have the power to regenerate the dead. Though they understood a necromancer’s ability to resurrect the dead and control their every move, adding in the cog and steam mechanics would sustain life until they ceased to function. Long term, unless they found a way to stop the person behind this, the horde could continue with its compulsion to kill.
The woman, tragically, never had a chance. Severe bite wounds covered her body. What was left of her face rendered her unrecognizable. Dr. Brew had discovered a cutting-edge technology only used within the Metropolitan Police department, with varying success rates—if you could read it—fingerprints. According to the limited documentation of the procedure, each print was different; like a snowflake, no two were ever the same. However, with nothing to base the print on, gathering them would be inconsequential, leaving them empty handed.
Jonah slid from his bed and stood. Asking Annabelle to accompany him for his sleep was completely out of the question. She didn’t need to see his lifeless body lying prone without breath. He grabbed the empty bottle of elixir and frowned. When had he finished it?
As he spent more time with the vexing woman, he’d noticed his thirst for the real “thing,” had grown stronger. Last night, hearing the whisper of her thoughts, smelling her arousal as she’d fantasized about them, tore his resilience to shreds—or what had been left of it anyway. He’d left in a bluster and… apparently downed the bottle. Bloody hell.
He placed the empty reminder of what he’d become on the table, then went to his wardrobe to retrieve his clothes. Hunger gripped him, stabbing at his gut. His vision turned red seconds before a knock came at his door. Annabelle. Fear gripped him by the bollocks at her soft rap.
“Jonah,” she whispered. “Please let me in.”
Saliva pooled in his mouth. Her sweet scent coiled around him like a constrictor, ready to squeeze the rest of whatever life he had out of him. “I-I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He closed his eyes, willing himself to gain control over his natural inclination. He curled his hands into tight fists.
His beast rebelled, tearing at the shackles tethering his control.
She turned the knob and pushed inside. Stupid girl. He should take her to the floor, fuck her and drain her. Teach her a lesson for being so impertinent.
“You’re unwell.” Her worry-filled tone did nothing to push back the monster.
“Very. Please go before I do something we’ll regret.”
She stepped closer to him. “What is wrong?”
“I’m dangerous,” he lisped, his teeth elongating to the point of pain.
“Where is your serum?” She took another step toward him.
Her sweet intoxicating aroma suffocated him. Called him like a siren’s songs. He was drunk on her, and he’d not even sipped from her flesh. He curled his lip, unable to stop the wave of desire battering his system. She destroyed a little bit more of his control with each beat of her heart.
“Empty,” he growled. “Go now.”
Her spine stiffened and her postured straightened. “No.” Her gaze turned insolent. “You will not frighten me.”
“I should!” he roared. “I am holding on by a thread, Miss Craig. The only reason I haven’t torn into your neck and drained you is because I am fond of you, and I don’t wish to hurt you.”
“Where is your elixir, Jonah?” She kept her tone soft, gentle. It caressed the tattered bit of his conscience. Soothed the monster within.
“Gone. I drank it all.”
She stared at him. “All of it? Why?”
He stared at her. “Do you have to ask?”
“Because of me?” She frowned, shaking her head. “Of all the stupid, bloody things I have heard in my life. You confound me, Mr. McRae.” She closed the distance between them and swept her hair from her shoulder, exposing the long slender column of her neck. “Take.”
She offered herself up to him. A great sacrifice made without fear. He clenched his jaw. No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t treat her as a food source. His lips thinned as more of her fresh rosewater and lilac perfume wafted around him. The pulse at her throat throbbed with life. Do it. Take what she offers.
No. He couldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
His lips trembled at the force he used to withhold his basic urges. He turned from her and shot to the other side of the room. None of them were safe now. Not until this passed. Jonah wrapped himself in the shadows of the corner, willing her to leave him alone, to suffer in peace. Annabelle didn’t leave. She crossed the room to his bed and sat. She folded her hands on her lap, and surprisingly, found him in the darkness.
“I will not leave you this way, Jonah. Come, take what you need,” she pleaded. “Am I not your beloved?”
His body tightened further, ready to strike without warning. How easy it would be to join her. To sit beside her and bite her. His stomach cramped again and a whimper fell from him. He had to get to Jerome. The doctor would procure his tonic and after a glass or three, he’d be in tip top shape.
“Miss Craig, please.” He mustn’t do it. He had to keep his pledge to Omer. Never take from a human out of his prescribed time.
“Oh, for fuck sakes,” she huffed. “Come here, Jonah. You won’t hurt me.”
But he wanted to.
He wanted to hear her screams. He wanted to taste her blood on his tongue as he fucked her. Rutted inside her, spilling himself. “I will and I will enjoy it.”
She sighed. “So stubborn.”
He hissed, closing the distance separating them. One hand went to her forehead the other to her shoulder and he struck. His fangs pierced her neck, and the first drop of her blood filled his mouth. He tore at her clothes as he took pull after pull. Her taste went straight to his head before settling in his balls. “Is this what you want?” He ensnared her gaze. Her warm blood slid down his chin.
He wanted more.
Again, she turned her head, giving him a perfect view of the mark he left there. “You’re still hungry.”
He tore his clothes to shreds, trying to get naked. His cock stiffened to the point of pain. There’d be no stopping them tonight. She released him from his bindings. Allowed the vampire to run free with her.
“I am famished,” he murmured. “So ravenous.” He groaned, pushing her back to his bed.
She welcomed him between her legs. The slick heat of her sex against his tip had a shiver of anticipation sliding down his spine. “I see you Jonah, and I’m not afraid.”
Annabelle palmed his aching shaft and gave a tug. He flexed his hips, rocking into her hold while she stroked him. Every inch of his body came to life. His hearing became acute. His sense of smell heightened. Even his vision, though keen, became something more. He swore on Queen and country he saw Annabelle’s blood flow through her aroused form, teasing him.
She smelled of sweet copper, and ripe strawberries covered in sugar. Unable to take the hyper-awareness of their current situation, he pushed her hand aside, and grabbed himself. He moaned her name, pumping the engorged length. “I can’t be gentle.”
She arched a brow. Bloody hell, she’d kill him. He always realized it. She’d be his death, but when the corner of her mouth rose, and her blue-eyed gaze challenged him, he was lost. He filled her with one thrust, not stopping until he was bollocks deep within her. She cried out. The snug fit of her cunny squeezed him. He held himself completely still, relishing the rhythmic pull of her internal muscles.
He hissed when her fingernails dug into the sensitive flesh of his shoulders. She clung to him, seeking purchase as he retreated, then filled her once more. Rabid for her, he buried his face in her neck, licking and sucking on the mark he left there. The wet slap of their flesh coupled with the little sounds she made at the back of her throat, were manna for his soul. He fed off her pleasure while gaining his own from her willing body.
“Jonah,” she sobbed. Her back arched, her mouth sought his for a kiss.
He gave it willingly to her, tangling his tongue with hers. He pumped
his hips, mimicking the pace with his kiss. She moaned in his mouth and he drank it down. He scored her tongue and sucked from it, taking more of her blood. Sweet hell, nothing could compare to this moment with her.
“You are too trusting,” he muttered, spreading her thighs wider with his knee. He slid deeper inside of her. The pulse of her pussy threatened to unman him.
He grunted, lacing his fingers with hers, holding her in place while he took what he needed. Jonah rutted within her, grinding his groin against hers. Her wet sex seared his chilled flesh. He enjoyed this part. A step closer to feeling human. To being human. Sweat broke out on his brow. A drop of perspiration rolled down his spine.
“Bloody hell,” he groaned. He buried his face in her neck once more.
His thrusts became erratic, intensifying. His mouth watered. The ardor grew. The only thing he heard was the beat of Annabelle’s heart. It flooded his ears. Consumed him. Left him a salivating vampire, desperate for blood. Needing her lifeforce. Nothing else mattered.
He nuzzled the spot, then ran his tongue over the puncture marks. A rough growl passed his lips. Jonah palmed her hip, holding her still while he thrust over and over, growing more frantic. Her cries dissolved into sobs of bliss and need. He didn’t know where he found the will to continue this sensual assault of their senses, but he didn’t want to stop yet.
However, the more he smelled the delectable aroma, the need grew more intense. Clawed at him. Ripped him open. He bit down on her neck, his teeth popping through the skin, entering her vein. The first rivulet of blood over his tongue and down his throat snapped his body to attention. By the second, Annabelle climaxed. The hard, harsh pulse of her pussy milked his cock.
Jonah gave over to it as he drank from her. He throbbed deep within her passage, spending himself. After two more pulls, he licked the wound to her throat, starting the healing process. He laid his head upon her bosom, not willing to leave the warmth of her body.
