Blood Captive: A Paranormal Vampire Romance (Vampire Huntress Chronicles Book 2)

by Jessica Wayne

  Then, I glance up at him. He’s moved his hands—but only to grip the wooden posts of his bedframe. He’s watching me intently, his bright blue gaze even brighter now.

  Power surges beneath his skin—I can feel it seeping into my body—filling my soul, and I bask in it as I slip my fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts, teasing slowly as I lower them. Straddling his legs, I reach beneath him and tug the soft fabric down.

  “Rainey,” he chokes out as I grip him, squeezing lightly.

  “Shhh. No talking.” With a grin, I lean down and cover him with my mouth.

  “Fuuuck, Rainey,” he chokes out. The wooden headboard creaks, and I draw him further into my mouth, squeezing the base of his dick with my hand as I pleasure him with my mouth, attempting to show him a fraction of what I feel every time he touches me.

  Elijah is one of the most powerful vampires in existence, and knowing I own him gives me a surge of power adrenaline can’t even touch.

  The wood cracks, splitting, and Elijah rips the two posts off, tossing them to the side and moving to new ones. I release him, standing on top of his mattress and staring down as I slide my panties down and kick them to the floor.

  Desperation kicking in, I drop to my knees, straddling him. His hands move to my hips as I slide down on top of him. He fills me, completely and totally invading my every sense as I begin to move, giving us both a well-deserved distraction from the craziness of what we’ve been going through.

  I’m on top less than a second before he flips us over and covers me, taking my mouth with his as he fucks me mercilessly—relentlessly driving into my body and sending waves of pleasure through my body so strong they overtake every sense.

  His eyes are nearly black when they meet mine, his pupils dilated, fangs descended as he fights for control over the animal inside of him.

  I should be afraid, given his earlier admission, but I’m not, because I know without a single doubt—Elijah won’t hurt me. Tilting my head to the side, I offer my throat to him as he drives into me, thrust after delicious thrust. His gaze drops to my throat, but he doesn’t lean down.

  The orgasm shoots through my body, and I cry out, arching up into him. Elijah’s eyes close, and he pumps his hips, again and again, draining every ounce of pleasure from my body. He growls and stills, his dick pulsing inside of me with the force of his own release, and when he finally opens his eyes again—the blue is back.

  “I blame you,” Elijah says as he walks into the kitchen an hour later, carrying the broken remnants of his headboard.

  I turn toward him, eyebrow raised. “My fault?”

  “You wouldn’t let me do anything else with my hands.”

  Laughter fills the room, a sound I haven’t heard myself make in quite some time. He does that for me—the entire world could be burning down around us—and he would bring me joy.

  Hell, in a way, it is.

  My phone rings before I can reply, and I hold it up to my ear as Elijah sets the posts down on my counter. “Hey, Ramirez, what’s up?”

  “We have a bad one,” he says, voice tight.

  “How bad?”

  “Pretty damn bad. I’ll text you the address.”

  “I’m on my way.” I end the call. “And just like that, this momentary happiness is replaced with death.”

  “What is it?”

  “Murder scene.” My phone dings, so I check the address Ramirez sent me. “Shit, that’s a fairly close one.”

  “How close?”

  “Few blocks.” Shoving my cell into the pocket of my jeans, I walk past Elijah and down the hall into my side of his closet. “What are you going to do today?” I ask as I slip into my shoulder holster then open the drawer to the nightstand and slide my service weapon into the holster.

  After retrieving my badge from the same drawer, I slip it over my neck.

  “Research,” he answers behind me.

  I nod. “Call me if you find anything?”

  “Of course.” I step toward him, and he leans down to kiss me. “Don’t do anything stupid,” I whisper against his lips.

  “Same for you.”

  The drive to the house took less time than scanning my bike for explosives, something I do regularly ever since the parking garage incident, so by the time I get there, Ramirez is already inside. Officers have hung yellow crime scene tape around the porch and set up a barrier for the onlookers trying to sneak a peek.

  I’ve never understood the need some people seem to have for seeing death. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen more than my fair share, but I could go the rest of my damned life without witnessing another crime scene.

  Those two months of peace and sex Elijah promised me are looking more and more alluring with each passing day. Maybe I’ll just quit my job, and we can turn those two months into decades.

  Shaking my head, I climb the steps and duck beneath the tape. Ramirez stands in a doorway just inside, his back to me.

  “Hey,” I greet as I walk down the hall. He turns to me, his face contorted in silent rage.

  “Astor,” he says, stepping to the side so I can walk into the living room. Three women are sprawled out, face up. They’re pale, their eyes frozen open, staring up at the ceiling. One—a petite brunette—has a large wound in her chest, about three inches based on what I’m seeing.

  The other two don’t have any wounds that I can see—though both have blood dripping from their nose and mouth.

  “Any clue what killed them?” I ask, pulling on gloves and kneeling beside the body.

  He shakes his head.

  “I won’t know until I get them back,” the M.E. says.

  I glance over to where she stands beside a three wick pillar candle that’s perched perfectly on the coffee table. It’s not in a stand, just standing, the white wax a direct contrast with the dark mahogany of the tabletop.

  “That’s a little strange,” I comment as I search the room for an empty candlestick holder. It doesn’t take long to find the silver stand sitting on top of the mantle.

  “There was no forced entry,” Ramirez tells me. “Neighbor saw the door open this morning and came in to check on the woman who lived here.”

  “Which one?”

  He points to the redhead. “Cliona McCarthy. Twenty-seven, has lived here for two years. She runs an herbal tea shop downtown.”

  “The other two her roommates?”

  “No. Mal Piper,” he says, pointing to the brunette. “And Diana Bawles.” He gestures to the blonde beside her. “Both are twenty-seven just like McCarthy.”

  “Friends?”

  “That’s what it’s looking like. Their families have been notified and are meeting us at the station.”

  I get to my feet, dread settling into the pit of my stomach as I turn in a slow circle around the room. Celtic art covers the walls—much like the high-rise apartment where Ramirez and I were attacked.

  But this feels different. Other than the candle and the pool of blood near the hall, there’s nothing out of place. A vase bearing a Celtic love knot still sits on the TV stand, the throw pillows still neatly organized on the couch.

  Either the attacker was able to take all three women out at once, or there were more than one. Otherwise, something would have gotten messed up in the shuffle as they tried to escape.

  My gaze catches something tucked into a cushion of the couch, so I walk over and kneel, retrieving a cell phone.

  “Got a cell phone over here,” I tell Ramirez. He appears behind me as I hit the power button to bring the screen to life.

  “Damned face scanner.”

  I walk over to the women on the couch and lean over the redhead first. The phone unlocks, so I straighten and hold it up.

  “Good first guess.”

  Shrugging, I open her text messages and feel all the color leave my face as I stare down at the single sentence texted to her from a contact labeled Mal.

  Mal: I saw the crows.

  18

  Rainey

  Quic
kly, I make my way up the steps to the bed and breakfast, adrenaline still pumping from the crime scene I left less than an hour ago.

  Aoife said the downfall starts with dead witches.

  Well, I’ve got a hell of a lot of them now. Five—six if you include the one that attacked Elijah—in two days.

  That can’t be a coincidence despite the fact that they were killed in different ways. Lucy McClough is my next stop; that bitch has a hell of a lot of rage coming her way, but the cop in me would like to be armed with as much information as possible before I confront her.

  And I should probably take Elijah along to make sure I don’t kill first then try to ask questions.

  The haze of the glamour seeps into my brain as I reach for the doorknob. I shake my head, trying to remember why I was here.

  Aoife. I’m here to see Aoife.

  A comically large blue butterfly flaps its glittery wings beside me, and I gape at it. “No fucking way you’re real,” I blurt out as the door opens before me.

  Aoife smiles out. “Come in, Rainey.”

  With one last look at the butterfly, I push over the threshold and breathe a sigh of relief when the haze dissipates, leaving me standing in a meadow, faced off with a fae.

  So really, the blue butterfly that looked as though it belonged in Alice in Wonderland was a bit more believable.

  “What can I do for you?” Aoife asks as she walks barefoot over soft green grass scattered with bright blooms. The sky overhead (the one that should be roof) is clear today, the air around me fresh and clean.

  Maybe I’m Alice, and this is, in fact, Wonderland.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  Curious, she turns, cocking her head to the side as she stands in the center of the room. “What is it?”

  “More dead witches.”

  She pales and shakes her head. “It’s happening, Rainey.”

  “What is happening? Tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “The darkness is rising.”

  You are shrouded in darkness. Stella’s words choose that exact moment to run through my memory. No fucking way that’s a coincidence. But for the first time, I wonder something I probably should have been smart enough to realize from the beginning—did I unleash this upon the world when I opened that box back in Salem?

  “What do you know about it? Does it have anything to do with the Lunar Divide?”

  “The Lunar Divide?” she asks, a crease forming between her brows.

  “You don’t know about it? I thought you knew everything.”

  “My visions are mere flashes of images,” she explains. “And to be truthful, they can be open for interpretation.”

  “Then what does that mean for the darkness?”

  Thunder booms overhead as her face contorts to anger. “It’s coming, Rainey, and it will destroy all supernaturals.”

  “Not the humans?”

  “They will not see it coming,” she says sadly. “They will be nothing but collateral damage in the darkness’s revenge.”

  “Revenge?”

  “I don’t know anything else.” She shakes her head as the storm brewing overhead clears and the room brightens once more. “Can I get you some tea?”

  I nod, needing a mild breather. The dead witches. The box. The fucking bounty on my head. It’s all connected…it has to be. “Do you know anything about the Immortal Council?”

  She nods. “I fear it’s not much, though.” Carrying two mugs of steaming tea over, she kneels by the tree stump and beckons for me to join her. I do, dropping to my knees, and accept the drink she offers me. “I know that the immortals created multiple councils to govern themselves.”

  “Do the fae have anything to do with it?”

  She laughs. “Oh no, the fae want nothing to do with the supernaturals.”

  “Then why did they create them in the first place?”

  “Truthfully? Out of boredom. They enjoy toying with this side of the veil, planting seeds and watching what comes of them.”

  “So the original witch?”

  “She was the first, and they were very pleased with the new world she created. Adding the supernaturals gave them endless entertainment.”

  “What the hell do you bastards do over there? What do your leaders think of this? They just allow it? Like some twisted version of watching a gladiator fight in a ring?”

  “We have no leaders. The fae coexist as long as it suits them. Each is in charge of their own actions.”

  “There’s no punishment?”

  She shakes her head.

  “That makes a shit-ton of sense then.” Without risk, there would only be pure chaos. Without punishment, there would be no order. No fucking wonder the bastards do whatever the hell they want. “What happens to the fae? If this darkness rises?”

  Her expression shifts, and I wonder if I’m getting a glimpse of the woman that she used to be. Before the fae magic altered her. “We will perish. It is not just the supernaturals on this world who will be tracked. The darkness wishes for vengeance on us all.”

  “How does darkness seek vengeance? Is it a person?”

  She nods. “And I fear I know who it is.”

  “Who?”

  “The original witch is going to rise again.”

  I feel myself pale as the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. “The original witch? You think she’s back?”

  Aoife nods. “And she’s only just getting started.”

  Realization dawns on me. She would definitely be powerful enough to steal magic. “She’s been killing the witches.”

  “Yes. She needs their power so she can become strong enough to take on the enemies she wishes to destroy.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Elijah and me all of this before?”

  “Because I didn’t wish for him to know.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  She bites down on the inside of her cheek and sighs, lifting a finger to trace the porcelain of her cup. “Elijah is a warrior, Rainey. He always has been. And, despite what he believes, he has the heart of a hero. He will do anything he can to stop her, and he will die for it.” Her gaze lifts to mine. “I have seen it.”

  Her words slam into me, and even as I fear losing him, I know I can’t keep this secret. Doing so will only make things worse. “You still love him.” It’s not a question, I can see it.

  “A part of me will always love Elijah. But not in the way you think. I love the memories of the time we spent together, the possibility of how different my life could have been had I survived the night we were attacked. But I do not yearn for him.” She reaches over and covers my hand with hers. “I hope you do not view me as a threat.”

  I rip my hand away. “No. Because I trust what Elijah and I have. And I believe you know that if you hurt him again—in any way—I’ll kill you.”

  Threatening a fae is definitely going on the list of stupid things I’ve done. Thankfully, she smiles and nods. “I understand, Hunter. I will not harm Elijah. You are good for him, and he for you.”

  I nod. “He keeps me grounded,” I tell her.

  “You keep him rooted in his true nature. Elijah is a good man, vampire or not. I’ve seen him do more good than he will ever recall. Don’t let him lose that—not even for a second.”

  “I won’t,” I promise. After a brief moment of silence, I clear my throat. “Do you sense anything about me?”

  She cocks her head to the side and closes her eyes. The air shifts around me, a slight breeze lifting the strands of hair off my neck and sending them flittering about my face. A bird chirps from a nearby tree, and soon, raindrops begin to fall.

  They’re small at first, tiny droplets that I can barely feel on my skin. But soon, the drops grow larger. I start to stand, but Aoife reaches out and clamps a hand on my wrist, holding me in place. The drops continue to fall, seeping into my skin.

  A moment later, she opens her eyes. “I sense power within you, Rainey. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt.” />
  “You aren’t the first person to tell me that,” I retort dryly as I think back to what Elijah told me shortly after we met. “I’m an Astor, and apparently that makes me different.”

  “I would say so. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” She tips her cup up, then sets it back on the trunk. “Will you please tell me all you know of this Lunar Divide? I wish to decide whether I believe it’s connected.”

  After a deep breath, I tell Aoife damn near everything. It just spills from me—water from a dam—and the relief I feel at speaking everything out loud is so damned potent I wonder if I won’t float away as I’m no longer held down by the weight of it all.

  By the time I’m done, she knows about the murders of my parents, my grandmother, and my sister, as well as the times I’ve nearly been killed, Elijah’s role in my rescues, our trip to Salem, the fucking box, the near attempt on Elijah’s life, and what Stella told me. Hell, I even let her in on the events of the meeting with the shifter pack at Jane’s coffee shop.

  She’s silent the entire time, but I can see her process each and every word of what I’m telling her. It might be a foolish move, telling her everything, and to be completely honest, it’s something Delaney would have done—not me.

  I’ve always been a hell of a lot more wary of those I don’t know well—especially supernaturals.

  But I’ve also always believed that if you are going to fight on the same side—sharing information is crucial.

  “You believe it’s your sister trying to pull you through the veil?” she asks once I’m done.

  “I think it’s possible.”

  Her eyes narrow as she stares off into the distance.

  “You don’t think so?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Then who do you think it is?”

  “You said when you opened the box, it had power trapped inside.”

  I nod.

  “Yet you don’t know what is actually inside.”

  “No, we haven’t wanted to risk opening it again. Do you think you could tell what’s inside? Without opening it?”