by Jessica Lee
“Arran? Hello…” Gabrielle’s voice crashed through the thrall of his fantasy. He shook his head and blinked. “Are you coming in or not?” In faded jeans and a tight navy T-shirt that hugged the curves of her bust, Gabrielle stood there, holding the door open. Oh yeah, he was coming, all right. But that would have to wait till later.
Dropping his hold on the door frame, he stepped into the foyer. “You got any coffee?” He kept moving toward the back of the apartment where he assumed the kitchen was.
“Yes, I do. But wait a minute. I have to tell you something first.” He slowed and glanced over his shoulder.
“Can’t you tell me in the kitchen? I ran out at my place.” He wheeled his head back around toward the kitchen, and his boots slammed to a halt. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Logan stood in the kitchen doorway and raised a mug to his lips. A smug grin turned up one corner of his mouth as he lowered his hand and then propped his shoulder against the arched entrance.
“He’s here because he hadn’t heard from me and was making sure I was okay.” Gabrielle’s voice came up on Arran from behind.
“I think he can tell you’re just fine,” Arran said, raking her with his gaze as she moved past. He cut his eyes back to Logan. “So why the hell are you still here?”
Fire blazed once around the pupils of Logan’s eyes, then receded before he spoke. “I think you know why I’m still here. You care to share why the Enclave is the last to know about your find?”
Arran unplanted his feet and continued his path into the kitchen, following the roasted bean scent of the coffee to its source. He grabbed a mug and poured. Logan could fucking wait for his answer. He needed his dose of caffeine. Not that it did any damn good to increase his energy or improve his mood. He drank it because he liked the taste and… Why the hell not? He brought the cup up and took one long sip, then eased around and rested his back against the counter.
“As I recall, I don’t fucking report to the Enclave anymore,” Arran said, keeping his face an impassive mask. He could almost hear the enamel grinding under the tension Logan had generated in the hard set of his jaw. One second, the other warrior was on the opposite side of the table, the next, he was six inches from Arran’s face. “Nice blur job, highlander. Wanna race?”
“Christ, you’re such a fucking bastard. I never understood why Kenric brought you on board.”
“That makes two of us.” Arran brought his free hand up and shoved it into Logan’s chest. “Now get the hell out of my face.” Logan stumbled back.
“Wrong move, vampire,” Logan roared and lunged. One hand seized Arran’s throat.
In the background, Gabrielle yelled. But Arran didn’t have time to decipher her words. His adrenaline had kicked in, and it worked a hell of a lot better than Wheaties as the breakfast of champions.
Swinging his arm up, he knocked Logan’s hand away. He grabbed Logan by the shirt and yanked him close. They bumped breastbones, putting Arran nose to nose with Logan’s face. “You want a piece of me?”
“Like yesterday.” Logan curled his upper lip back, flashing his fangs.
“Are you sure of that?” Arran growled, showing Logan a set of his own pearly whites. “Have you forgotten the last time you and me did this dance? I didn’t kill you then, but now…” Arran allowed his gaze to leave Logan’s, and it slid over Gabrielle, who now stood to his left, looking as if she were about two seconds from jumping between them.
Logan jerked loose from Arran’s hold. A blur of knuckles whizzed by Arran’s left eye and collided with his jaw. The shock wave radiated through his head like a Mack truck slamming into a Prius. And Arran’s face was the hybrid. The taste of his own blood exploded over his tongue.
Arran cranked his head back around. Logan worked the fingers of his right hand open and closed. Yeah, I bet they hurt like a motherfucker. Bastard. Rubbing his jaw, he tested the hinge. Nothing seemed broken. “You feel better now?”
Logan shot him a glare filled with bitter venom.
“I sure hope so, highlander, because that’s the last time you get to touch me and walk away alive.”
He sensed the attack before Logan ever moved. The twitch in his face, the flex of the muscle in his forearm, all telegraphed Logan wasn’t going to back down.
The dark-haired warrior went for the blade at his back.
Arran grabbed the one at his thigh.
Gabrielle screamed.
Logan came for Arran’s throat, his blade aimed straight for the carotid. He ducked and rolled, crashing into one of the kitchen chairs. It careened across the floor and slammed into the fridge. Logan spun. Arran jerked his second dagger from its sleeve. He reared his hand back, ready to launch it into his target. Logan charged. Arran swung. Someone stepped between them. Arran froze mid-release, his hand trembling with the effort to hold on to the hilt.
“Motherfucker—Are you insane?”
Gabrielle stood between them. He’d almost killed her. A thick layer of nausea bloomed inside his gut as he lowered his dagger, going for the sleeve at his thigh—and missed. On the second try, he sheathed the blade. Christ. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this shaken.
“I’m sorry, it’s just—”
Arran grabbed her, cutting off her explanation. He didn’t ask permission. At that moment, he didn’t care if she liked it or not. He had to feel her heart beating next to his. Now.
Her body was the complete opposite of his. Soft and warm in all the places he was hard and cold. He could spend an eternity basking in the heat of her embrace. And have it not be enough. Shit, he was such a dreamer. Dreams were better left to humans who didn’t have a fucking clue that their worst nightmare stood on the other side of their window looking in. Waiting.
“I’m okay,” she whispered in his ear, snatching his mind back from the dark place in his head he’d climbed into. “You didn’t hurt me. I just wanted you both to stop before someone got hurt…or worse.”
“She said she’s fine, Arran. I think you can let her go now,” Logan said, his words coming out in a tight clip.
He gave Gabrielle another squeeze, half tempted to keep her in his arms, if for nothing more than the pleasure of pissing off the other vampire a bit more.
“As nice as this is,” she began, sounding like she’d been running uphill. “I’d love just a tad more oxygen, if you don’t mind.”
Arran released her and jumped back. “Damn, I didn’t realize I was holding you that tight.”
A sweet smile bloomed on her face. One that kicked hard, smack dab in the center of his chest. Who would have thought that a woman’s smile possessed more power to bring a man to his knees than another male’s fist?
“You have nothing to apologize for. It was nice.”
A groan, coming from Logan’s direction, filled the room. But it didn’t detract from the black-velvet-and-lace caress of Gabrielle’s words. They skated along his skin and slid home on the backside of his cock. He swallowed a moan. If her voice had this effect on his dick, he could only imagine the impact of her lips…and tongue. Fuck. He had to find something else to focus on. The doorbell rang. Thank God.
“That must be them.” Logan headed in the direction of the door.
Arran grasped Gabrielle’s arm before she could follow. “Who the hell are ‘them’?” She glanced toward the front of the house, then back at Arran.
“The rest of the Enclave,” she muttered.
He drew back his hand, releasing her to join Logan at the door. Of course, it was the remaining few warriors of the Enclave. He should have known Logan wouldn’t have kept his mouth shut and let Arran settle the score with his former partner. Suicide mission or not, this had been his party, and the invitation had only been for two.
His fingernails lengthened and curved into claws. In his primal state, he yearned to barrel into the other room, snarling and snapping his way through the other warriors, forcing them out of Gabrielle’s sister’s home. His skin prickled with the need to m
ark and defend his territory. And he wasn’t only referring to Markus. He followed her backside with his gaze as she headed out of the kitchen. Her hips rocked, and her ass filled the rear of her jeans with delicious perfection. The desire to claim her rode him like a never-ending buzz. Hell, no. It wasn’t all about the fight with his former partner. His territory just walked into the other room. He rolled his shoulders, attempting to loosen the muscles that felt like boulders sitting at the base of his neck.
Arran strode out of the kitchen and followed the familiar voices of Kenric, Emily, Guerin, and Logan to the den. He stopped at the doorway. All heads swung in his direction. Damn. His heart galloped in his chest. As much as he wanted to bitch and complain about them stomping all over his territory, he didn’t realize how much he… Ah, hell. Shit. It was good to see their faces again. He clenched his fist, putting a tight rein on his emotions.
Kenric broke from the group first and met him at the door. He reached out with his palm open. “Arran. I’m glad to see you’re well.” Arran clasped the master’s hand and shook. From the other side of the room, Emily’s warm smile radiated in their direction. Her pleasure at seeing him with the Enclave was evident.
“Yes, it’s good to see you too,” Arran said and slipped his hand from Kenric’s.
“So, you’ve run across Markus and Marguerite.” Power radiated from the Master of the Enclave. Arran had almost forgotten how it felt to work with a master. He was literally a force that reached inside you and wanted—no, demanded—obedience. “I should have been informed you’d found them,” he said, then turned, working the leather of his glove between his fingers, and joined the other warriors.
Arran moved farther into the room. “Like I said the day I left. Markus was my partner, my responsibility. My right to get a piece of him first.”
The low growl that rolled from Kenric would’ve made children shake under their covers and piss in their beds. But Arran hadn’t been a child in a long time, and he already knew about the monsters that roamed the dark. Hell, he was one.
“That is not your call, Arran!” The Master’s image blurred, and then he was in Arran’s face. “You know what they did to the Enclave. And to my mate, for God’s sake. If anyone has a right to a piece of someone’s ass, it’s me.”
“Kenric.” Gabrielle’s voice cut through the tension in the room. His hard glare jumped from Arran to Gabrielle, and he softened. “We’re all here now. And tonight’s the night we’ve been waiting for. I think every one of us in this room has their own reason for wanting a piece of Marguerite and Markus.”
“That’s something we need to talk about,” Arran said and shifted his position to face Gabrielle.
“What do you mean, ‘we need to talk’?” Gabrielle propped her hands on her hips. Her eyes darkened, and her brows lowered, giving him a sexy as hell, I-dare-you look. God knew, he did love a dare. Too bad this wasn’t the time or place, or he’d show her who would win that bet.
“You’re not going tonight, Gabrielle.”
“Like hell.” Gabrielle hands dropped from her hips and curled into fists. “Watch me, vampire.” She uncoiled one hand and marched toward him until her index finger jammed into his chest. “My sister could be mixed up in the heart of this mess, and I’ll be damned if you”—she indicated the other warriors in the room with a brisk wave of her hand—“or anyone else in this room is going to keep me from Wicked Ways tonight.”
He snatched her hand with his and drew her to him. Her tawny-colored eyes glowed with determination…and something else simmered just beneath the surface. And it made his blood hot. “This is too dangerous. You will not be coming with me.”
“Arran MacLain, you don’t own me,” she spat, looking like she was about to take a bite out of his ass. He didn’t know whether to kiss her or leash her. Truth be told, he’d always been fond of the latter fantasy, and he’d do what he had to in order to keep her out of that club tonight.
“Break it up, you two.” Guerin stepped between them, pushing them apart. “You can have your lovers’ quarrel some other time.”
“We’re not lovers,” Arran and Gabrielle snapped in chorus.
Guerin ping-ponged a glance between them, then shrugged. “Whatever you say. What we need to be doing right now is deciding our plan for tonight.” He stepped in front of Arran. “And before you say another word, I think Elle needs to be with us.”
“What? Guerin, I—”
“Listen,” Guerin interjected and cut him off. “Her sister is missing. She doesn’t have to be inside the club, but we’re all going to need to be wired tonight, and that includes her. She’s our expert with the technology. And if anything comes up about her sister, Elle should be there.”
Arran’s right hand curled into a tight fist. Damn. He didn’t like this, didn’t want her anywhere near Markus and his minions. And no doubt, Markus would be there. He wouldn’t be able to resist. But he wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t show up by himself.
“She won’t be alone, Arran,” Emily stated, and Kenric’s head snapped in his mate’s direction, a look of surprise and frustration on his face. “She’ll be with us,” she added. “You know how we feel about her. She’s Enclave, not to mention she’s my friend.” Emily looked from one warrior to the other, then to Gabrielle. “And we protect what’s ours.”
Arran didn’t miss the expression of pride blooming across the Master’s face. In his head, he knew everyone in the room would lay down their life to protect Gabrielle. But unease simmered at a low boil inside his stomach. He would be in the club while she waited outside…without him. The unyielding glare coming off Gabrielle declared he’d better learn to like it. He shook his head. The woman was going to drive him insane.
“Fine. Let’s do this.”
“Good,” Guerin said. “One more thing.” Arran cocked his head in Guerin’s direction. “What’s up with the black shit in your hair?” His face screwed up as if he’d smelled something bad. “And all that crazy shit around your eyes? You look like the fucking son of Dracula.”
“Fuck you.” Arran flipped him the middle finger. The rest of the room erupted in laughter.
Gabrielle grabbed Guerin by the arm, heading further into the room with the rest of the Enclave. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll fill you in on the scene at Wicked Ways.”
Chapter Ten
It had to be Arran MacLain. No one else would dare send a message demanding Markus’s presence in such a manner. And the message had said it came from a friend. Only one male had ever held anything resembling that role: Arran.
Markus materialized, with Alexandria at his side, outside the back entrance of Wicked Ways. Seconds later, two additional vampire minions phased in behind them. Two others were already in position at the door, having scouted the area for threats prior to their arrival. Markus reached over and took Alexandria by the hand. Despite her recent feed, her palm still felt cool, an unfortunate side effect of his deep control over her mind. His constant dampening presence over her free will slowed her metabolism, making even her circulation sluggish.
The minion opened the door to the club, and they glided toward the pulsation of the music and the red glow of the interior lights. It was dangerous having Alexandria here, knowing that Arran more than likely waited to remove his head. But it was even more dangerous to leave her behind and unprotected from the whims of Marguerite and Enrique. Besides, Arran was too damn moral to kill an innocent female. Especially one he would immediately be able to detect was under Markus’s mental control.
Enrique… He shuddered at the memory of the few hours they’d spent together. Markus despised being forced to fuck anyone. Especially when they weren’t his type. And Enrique wasn’t his type. But it had been necessary. His gaze caressed the woman beside him. She was his type. But she was untouchable.
Even though his control had taken away her fire, Markus could still feel the occasional rebellion inside her mind. He smiled. She never gave up.
He’d found a red leather stra
pless dress for her to wear tonight. With the blue-black shimmer of her hair swaying at the curve of her ass and the fishnet hose hugging her long legs, Alexandria was a walking red flag to his brain. When she moved in the tight little number, his dick was a bull ready to charge.
With his hand pressed firmly to Alexandria’s back, he led her through the back hall, past the restrooms, and into the club. They pushed through a sea of black-and-red clad bodies drowning their minds in alcohol and burning out their brain cells on lines of white powder. Music thumped in his chest. Marilyn Manson’s “If I Was Your Vampire” wailed over the sound system, and the lyrics pierced his eardrums. He wanted to chuckle at the naïveté of the human race. Pulling up to the bar, he motioned for Alexandria to take one of the stools. She pushed up onto the seat, her gaze never straying from his face. He reached over and stroked her cheek. She didn’t respond, didn’t blink. He wished he could touch her without the control of his mind, and she would look at him with something more than the blank stare she gave him now. He sighed and pulled himself away from her empty expression.
The bartender who’d delivered the last two messages approached him. Markus leaned into the bar. “Have you seen the man who sent the message?”
“I only know of his description, according to Jean-Claude. And I haven’t seen anyone that matches it yet.”
Stepping back from the bar, Markus grumbled. Shit. He scanned the room, making eye contact with the four minions who’d spread out amongst the crowd. Each one gave a negative shake of his head. None of them had noticed a damn thing either.
This was either going to be the dumbest thing he’d ever done, coming out with only a handful of backup, or the most satisfying as he put an end to Arran and the Enclave’s endless hunt for his blood. He knew MacLain, though, and had a feeling the message had been from him alone. His former partner was like Markus; he enjoyed the solitary hunt. Markus was gambling with his life, but in his gut, he was confident Arran wanted to take him out personally.
