Behind him, he heard a sharp yip from Buster, and he grinned evilly when he realized the dog had heard him. Serves the little prick right.
His radar pinpointed the movement of someone in the otherwise abandoned building to his right. Heart thudding in the stranger’s chest. Harsh breathing. An attempt to muffle the sound. Someone on the run, who didn’t want to be found. Intrigued, Mikhail changed direction and headed for the building.
A shattered pane of glass allowed him easy access through the back door. Once inside, he could hear the ragged breath of an out-of-shape runner—definitely not the jogger. Mikhail drifted noiselessly through the building, drawn to the heat emanating off the person in hiding. His cock started to lift and fill. This was what he’d been craving. The thrill of the hunt.
It was not difficult at all to float soundlessly in behind his intended victim. A streetlamp cast a thin beam of light through dirty windows, but the shadows were deep and there were plenty of places to hide. His prey was so intent on whoever was pursuing him that he had no thought for danger from any other source. Mikhail could smell the stink of drugs and alcohol on him; and a part of him was repelled, but only a part. No one would miss this guy.
The prey crouched down and fumbled a weapon out from under his jacket. The prey briefly leaned his head against some crates, steadying himself for the arrival of some unknown pursuer.
This could get interesting. Two for the price of one.
Mikhail heard the pursuer before his intended victim did. Which was not surprising. The newcomer’s cautious stealth was no match for Mikhail’s superior hearing. When the prey became aware of the approach of second man, he did his best to quiet his breathing. Mikhail licked his lips in anticipation, enjoying the irony of the little drama playing out before him.
The second man stepped into the room and hesitated, listening hard to the silence. Another hunter. Mikhail opened his mouth again and emitted a sharp pulse of sound. It bounced off the pursuer and reflected back at Mikhail, giving him a perfect silhouette of the man who stood in the doorway.
It was too dark to make out details such as hair color and skin tone, but Mikhail now knew that the pursuer was over six feet in height and had the lean, wiry strength of a runner or a downhill skier. Despite having followed the prey at a run, he could control his breathing. He also had a gun, which he held in front of him with the ease of long experience. Excitement flared in Mikhail at the same time that regret blossomed. Here was someone at last who truly interested him. What a pity it seemed to waste that on a single meal.
The tension in the room grew, as the whole world seemed to hold its breath. The man in the doorway didn’t move, standing with his head cocked to one side as he listened intently for any sound coming from the room. Mikhail approved of his wariness.
In the distance, there was a small scurry of sound, and the man turned his head in that direction.
Mikhail felt the odd urge to warn him. It’s just a rat—your target is here. For a second, it seemed as though the man had heard Mikhail’s thoughts, for he turned his head sharply back toward the room. The noise in the other part of the building repeated itself, smaller this time. The man decided to investigate. He was in the act of turning away when the prey shot him.
The sound ripped through the building. Mikhail slapped his hands over his ears with a silent howl of pain and bared his teeth at the prey. The man in the doorway spun with the impact of the bullet, slamming into the frame before sagging slowly to the floor. His gun dropped to the floor beside him with a clatter. He ended up like a limp Raggedy-Andy, propped up by the doorframe, with his legs splayed out in front of him.
The prey laughed, stepping out from behind the crates into the light streaming in through the windows. “You stupid bastard,” he said, moving steadily toward the fallen man, his weapon trained on his victim. He clearly intended to use it again. “Always the mother-fucking hero, right, Detective Conner? You really should’ve waited for your backup. Maybe they’ll put that on your tombstone.”
“It’s called an ‘epitaph’.”
Only someone with Mikhail’s hearing could have made out the words that Conner spoke. He could hear the blood behind them as well, frothing into the lungs. He could smell the fresh blood in the air. It had spattered against the wall. It was soaking through Conner’s clothing. Like a fire consuming dry kindling, his hunger roared through him, demanding that he take his fill. Now. Now. It rang in his ears. His fangs elongated and he swallowed hard.
He stepped out of the shadows, moving steadily toward the prey until finally, the dumb animal had the sense to realize he was not alone.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snapped, wheeling the gun around to point it at Mikhail.
“Death,” Mikhail answered simply.
He preferred to meet his prey face on. You could learn a lot about the nature of a person by the way he met death face to face. It pissed him off that this prey had fired upon Conner as he was leaving, when he was no longer a serious threat.
Predictably, the prey reacted badly to Mikhail’s stalking approach. He opened fire on Mikhail, emptying his clip. Mikhail kept advancing steadily, ignoring the pain ringing in his eardrums, until he was standing within arm’s length of the prey, who was foolishly pressing the trigger of his gun. It made only a clicking sound.
“Now who’s the stupid bastard?” Mikhail asked before he swept the gun out of the prey’s hand and launched himself at his neck. His quarry let out a scream that changed into a drowning gurgle as Mikhail clamped down with his teeth, fingers digging in to the prey’s shoulders, pressing down as the man struggled and jerked beneath his grip.
The prey’s blood was sour in his mouth, tainted with the chemicals he’d been abusing and the hatred in his soul. Mikhail was beyond caring; the need to feed overwhelmed all thought. He ground his teeth against the man’s neck, until the deep, pulsing well of fluid was tapped. Using the weight of his body, he pinned the man against the wall, thrusting up against him as he partook his fill in great, sucking pulls. His anger consumed him with a burning rage as he rutted against the prey. He savaged his victim’s neck without finesse, no thought of seduction or taking of his own pleasure now.
The prey punched and scratched at first, desperation lending him unexpected strength. His arms began to flail, however, until at last he crumpled up, as limp as used tissue. Mikhail let him drop to the floor in a boneless heap, still furious, and still unsatisfied. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and resisted the urge to spit.
Conner leaned against the doorframe where he had fallen, in a beam of cold light. He didn’t move at Mikhail’s approach, and by the raspy rattle of each labored breath, Mikhail knew he was near death. He met Mikhail’s gaze with a faint gleam of resignation in his eyes. Mikhail knew he should take his fill while he could, and put Conner out of his misery at the same time. A true humanitarian, that’s what you are.
“Not my night,” Conner said. He shifted his head ever so slightly to look up at Mikhail. Remarkably, he smiled, his teeth stained with his own blood. Something inside Mikhail twisted at the sight. He found it amazingly hot and unbearably sad at the same time. Shoving away the flicker of sympathy, he saw that he had clenched his fists. He forced his hands to relax.
He knelt on one knee beside Conner, his coat spreading out around him like the flow of a robe.
“You what I think you are?” Conner spoke with great deliberation, like a man who’d had too much to drink and was determined to speak with precision.
“Yes.” Mikhail saw no point in lying to Conner. He deserved that much.
Unbelievably, Conner tried to laugh. It turned into a choking cough, which caused Mikhail to reach out and steady Conner with a hand on one shoulder.
“What’s so funny?” Mikhail asked, when the coughing fit didn’t kill Conner outright.
“No paperwork.” The grin was there and gone between one breath and the next.
Mikhail felt the slackening in the firm muscle beneath his h
and, and the coolness of approaching death. He came to a decision. Shifting his position until he was on his knees, straddling Conner’s thighs, Mikhail leaned in.
“Do you want to be immortal?” He let his words ghost over Conner’s skin, his lips so close he could feel the bristle of Connor’s unshaven jaw.
“Don’t play… with your food,” Connor managed before his eyes closed.
Mikhail sank his teeth into Conner’s neck. Even though he was dying, Conner arched up into him at the contact, thrusting his chest forward. Mikhail took the opportunity to snake his arms up behind Conner’s shoulders and pull him closer, into a full body hug. Teeth met their target as Mikhail sank into Conner’s jugular. He had to pull hard just to get a sluggish flow into his mouth.
Thin as it was, the taste of Conner’s blood was like a vintage Cabernet after the cheapness of the prey. It went to his head, causing a rush of heat to pour over him. A light sweat dampened the small of his back. Mikhail rocked his pelvis against Conner’s increasingly limp form, consciously opening the tips of his fangs as he did so. A sense of urgency overtook him. Too late. You’re going to be too late. The tension ratcheted up within in him. He ground his cock against Conner, thrusting harder and faster. He could feel it firing every nerve ending in his body. When his orgasm finally came, it was almost a relief.
Blood flowed out of his fangs and into Conner’s body. Mikhail shuddered when he felt Conner tremble beneath him. Conner’s shaky exhalation of breath sounded as though he was coming too. Sex and death. Not all that different. Mikhail’s cock throbbed and pulsed, aftershocks causing him to quiver uncontrollably. Beneath his grip, Conner’s muscles grew taut again. Conner cried out—and Mikhail could hear that the sound was no longer wet. Conner tensed as though to throw Mikhail off of him, even as Mikhail felt the firm hardness of Conner’s shaft pushing against him now.
He pulled his teeth out of Conner, feeling an unprecedented sense of loss at doing so. There was just enough light to see that Conner’s pupils were dilated; the only warning Mikhail got was that Conner’s nostrils flared a second before he made his move.
He grabbed Mikhail by the back of the head and pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Though he should have been sated, excitement coiled deep within Mikhail. This was no victim, his for the taking. This was an equal; someone he could respect. Conner was giving every bit as much as he’d taken, controlling the kiss with an angry passion that made it all the more exciting.
That is, until Conner suddenly flinched, and pulled back with a curse. He reached up and touched his mouth incredulously. “Fangs?” he asked. “I have fangs now? Already?”
Mikhail thought about shifting off of Conner. Etiquette in these situations suggested that he probably should. Screw etiquette. He stayed were he was, resting his weight across Conner’s thighs. “You’ll get used to them,” he said with a small shrug.
Conner let his head fall back against the doorjamb with a small thud. “I’ll get used to them, he says.” He fixed a distinctly pissed off look at Mikhail. “Anything else you’d like to share with me before, oh, I don’t know, say, dawn? Anything important I might need to know?”
“You’re not dead. It was close, and you know it. Dawn’s a long way away,” Mikhail said, shifting his weight subtly against Conner. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
“Well, fuck me,” Conner said, trying to come to grips with the fact that, apparently, he was now a vampire.
“That was the general idea,” Mikhail murmured, leaning in for another kiss. Beneath his lips, Mikhail could feel Conner’s smile.
Friends, Not Food by Julia Talbot
“If you would just…”
“No.”
“But, Dane.”
“No.”
Dane Reese rolled his eyes. Sometimes it sucked to be the only non-bloodsucker or bitey fiend in the house. It meant everyone was always espousing the benefits of being a creature of the night and trying to get him to join one camp or the other. The vamps kept telling him he ought to be one of them, with his flaxen hair and blue eyes. The ‘weres kept saying he had great wolf instincts.
Who in the hell used words like flaxen in this day and age, anyway? The same weirdoes who wore lots of silver jewelry and purple velvet. ‘Weres tended to want to pet his hair more than they talked about it.
Lindsey, who was a sweet and lovely vampire, and who had great boobs, crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re so stubborn. It could be so much fun.”
Raising a brow, he stared at her over the top of his Kindle reader, which he had to admit was not as effective as staring over the top of some tome of forgotten lore. He stifled the urge to call her “Lenore”, even though her dripping with pentacles and lace look made it damned near impossible.
“I told you, honey. Not. Interested. Flattered, but no.”
She all but stamped her delicate little foot, the heel of her granny boot creaking dangerously. “Damn it, Dane!”
“Leave him alone.”
That deep voice never failed to send shivers of joy down his spine. It had a growly edge, and belonged to the hottest werewolf Dane had ever seen, and he’d seen a lot of them since he’d moved into the House. Rye was a mountain of a man with almost-black hair and brown eyes flecked with gold, and if Dane thought of joining any camp, it was Rye’s.
“Hey, Rye. How’s it going?”
“Fine. Stop trying to eat the roommate, Linds. Go find food somewhere else.”
“I only wanted a little,” Lindsey said, pouting at him for a moment. Then tossed her head and flounced out of the room, her heart-shaped ass swaying hard enough that both he and Rye tilted their heads to watch her go. At least she was leaving, which was a minor miracle. Rye was undeniably the alpha in their weird little coven, and everyone pretty much followed his iron rule. Thank God.
Dane smiled his thanks. “So, what’s up in wolf-ville today?”
“Oh, the usual. Chasing my tail, eating rabbits.” Rye grinned back, settling next to him on the couch, one shoulder almost touching his. “Lindsey giving you trouble?”
“Nah. Not really. I think she wants in my pants more than anything, but she keeps saying she just wants one bite.”
“I can’t blame her.”
Dane blinked, not sure what part Rye was referring to. “For what?”
“Wanting to get into your pants.” Rye gave him a once-over the likes of which Dane had never seen from this particular man. It made his cock start to firm up, his nipples going hard, all in a rush that left him clenching his teeth.
“Really?” His voice broke, but he figured he had reason to be surprised. Ever since he’d answered the ad for, “Roommate Wanted. Private room, kitchen access, must be a night owl,” every one of his five roommates had come on to him – or tried to bite him—except for Rye. Rye stood up for his right to be a perishable non-food item, but Dane had no idea the man was interested in him. None at all, and Rye was the one person Dane had thought about. A lot.
“Hell, yes. You think I let you move in because of your references? The fact that you’ve shot everyone in the house down makes you even hotter.”
Well, hell. Dane tried to breathe, but it was hard with Rye’s fingers sliding along the back of the couch to touch his neck lightly. He bit back a moan, goose bumps rising on his arms.
“You’ve never…”
“Nope.” Short nails raked his nape lightly, Rye giving him just enough sensation to tease him. “You always seemed to feel like vamps and werewolves had a communicable disease, not a gift, so I left it alone. I’m not one to go where I’m not wanted.”
“They why now?” He set his Kindle aside, turning to face Rye, not sure whether he should lean back against the mesmerizing touch, or if he should lean forward toward that hot, hot mouth, which looked imminently kissable.
“Because I’ve seen your reading material lately.” Rye nodded toward the discarded Kindle, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Lycanthropy for Beginners. How to Engage Your Wolf Totem. You’ve
been trying to hide it on that e-reader, but you’ve decided you’re interested.”
Dane’s cheeks heated almost painfully. He’d been reading up on that so he could figure out what made Rye tick, not so much because he wanted to know what it was like to be a werewolf. Oh, sure, he’d thought about what it would be like to be a ‘were, but he’d really given more attention to what it would take to fuck one.
Watching him carefully, Rye petted him, stroking his shoulder, the base of his skull, the touches gentle but insistent. “Now I’ve embarrassed you.”
“Well, sure you have. I mean, I’ve been living here, what, a year and a half? It’s not what you think. The reading material, I mean.”
“No? Well, damn. Here I was thinking you wanted to get into my pants.” Rye squeezed his shoulder a little on the last word, the air suddenly charged with anticipation.
Dane gulped air, trying to get his lungs to stop seizing up. “I do. I mean, that’s what this is all about.” He waved a hand vaguely at the e-book reader. “It’s not, you know. I don’t want you to bite me or anything.”
“Oh, but that’s part of the fun.” The growl in Rye’s voice deepened, becoming something almost dangerous. It made every hair on Dane’s body stand up and take notice, made his cock really push at his zipper.
“Not if I suddenly have to worry about fleas.” He couldn’t help it. The thought of not being entirely human anymore terrified him. Knowing that the things that go bump in the night were real and becoming one of them were two entirely different things. Fascination and repulsion were close bedfellows. For Rye, though, he could see doing it, and that was even more scary.
Rye leaned close, close enough that each eyelash and bit of beard stubble were clearly visible. His breath fanned Dane’s cheek, warm and smelling of peppermint. “It would only take one bite, Dane. You’d love it. Everyone says you have great instincts. They’re right. I would never push, though. I just want to have sex with you.”
Just One Bite Volume 6 Page 4
