Drake the Defender

by Rhiannon Neeley

  “Why?”

  She slid her hand in the other pants pocket. “You sure don’t act very worried about being arrested for murder, Mr. Raven.”

  “It’s Drake. And I’m not worried. You just don’t know the whole story.”

  Grace blinked, her fingers grazing the waistband of his pants. “Are you willing to let me question you?”

  “Maybe.” He took a step closer.

  Her fingers slid into his waistband. She could feel the taut muscles of his stomach.

  “There are a lot of things we could do if you’d just finish searching me.”

  His eyes reminded her so much of smooth whiskey that slides down your throat like silk and when it reaches your tummy, turns to burning coals that warms your whole body from the inside out. That’s exactly what he was doing to her right now.

  “Finish,” he said, his voice low.

  Grace slid one hand down the front of his pants, inside the waistband. Her fingers hesitated as her knuckles brushed against soft hair, her fingertips grazing the hot, taut skin of his cock.

  “Go on,” he whispered, his eyes darkening.

  She slid her hand lower, telling herself that she shouldn’t be doing this. It was wrong. As his hard cock slid up along her palm and on to her wrist, Grace felt her juices begin to flow, dampening her panties to the point of wet. Her breasts tingled, nipples tightened. The pure naughtiness of what she was doing came over her like a drug, one she hadn’t realized that she craved. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. The hand that delved deeper into his pants was slick with sweat. Her fingers nimbly tickled his flesh all the way to the base of his cock, then she wrapped her fingers around it, the leather pants, soft as a glove, stretching to accommodate her movements. She felt the pulse of his blood through the veins of his engorged member. Slowly, her fingers wrapped as far around his thickness as they could and moved them up its length in a leisurely stroke, knowing that she shouldn’t be doing this but unable to stop.

  “Mmmm,” Drake murmured, his eyes closing for a second.

  Grace licked her lips. Sweat trickled between her breasts, making them ache to be touched. She withdrew her hand from his pants, clenching her fingers into a fist.

  Drake opened his eyes. “Take these cuffs off.”

  Grace pulled the key out of her pocket and started to move behind him.

  “No,” he said. “Stand in front of me. Unlock them while you stand in front of me.”

  Grace felt a quivering low in her belly. This was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Her mind and her need warred within her as she took a step closer and slid her arms around his waist to his back. She drew in a swift breath when her breasts came in contact with his chest, her belly with the bulge in the front of his pants. Grace fumbled with the key, her hands slick.

  “Relax,” he breathed into her ear.

  She got the key in the lock of one cuff and turned it. The cuff snapped open. Drake shook his hand free. She unlocked the other one. Drake whipped his hand, catching the cuffs in his palm. He shoved them into his back pocket.

  Grace started to step back.

  Before she knew it, Drake’s arms were around her.

  Then, his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that burned all the way to her soul. For an instant, Grace’s hand touched the butt of her gun but it didn’t linger. Her hands slid around his neck as if they belonged there. He tasted of coffee, a rich mellow flavor. Drake’s hands moved to cup her ass, pressing her into him, his tongue snaked into her mouth. Grace moaned, a sense of want filling her to the brim.

  Drake withdrew his tongue from her mouth, then traced her lips with its tip. “You like danger,” he said, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. He began to move her backward. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be wearing that uniform.” He moved her back another step. “Am I dangerous enough for you?”

  Grace felt the table that sat along the wall against the back of her legs. “I … I can’t do this,” she said, placing her hands on his chest.

  He leaned forward, his movement causing her to lean back, putting her off balance. Drake placed his hands on the table top, one on each side of her, pinning her.

  “I can see in your eyes that there’s a wild thing inside you. It’s clawing to be released from its cage,” he said, his voice low and throaty.

  Grace felt little rushes of electricity running from her toes all the way up her body. He was dangerous. With his shock of black hair and those melting eyes. Those sharp fangs sheathed behind his full lips. He was an animal, waiting to attack. Grace had always been in control—in her life, in her work, in her relationships but her world was a mass of complications now. She’d lost control of it and was struggling to get it back.

  Just once, she’d like to relinquish control to someone. Just once to be—submissive.

  But not now.

  “Look,” Grace said, pushing against his chest, “you are … very tempting but—.”

  Drake straightened and took a step back. “It’s okay,” he said. “I can see your position.”

  Grace breathed an unexpected sigh of relief. She was surprised that he had not pushed her resolve. It only would have taken a gentle shove and she would have given in to his advances. Easily. But Grace had crossed the line and she knew it. Now she was going to have to backpedal and hope that he didn’t mention how thorough her search had been.

  Drake paced in front of her, his strides lithe and silent. A wild animal in a cage.

  “Drake—about what just happened here,” she said, squaring her shoulders, trying to get back into cop-mode.

  He stopped his pacing. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. But—.”

  Grace stiffened. Here it comes, she thought.

  “—after I prove to you that I didn’t murder anyone,” he continued, stepping closer. “You have to finish what you started.”

  Looking up at his handsome face, Grace could already feel herself falling. “I hope you can prove you’re innocent,” she said. “I really do.”

  * * * *

  Anthony Barack stood at the edge of the clearing, letting the rain soak him to the skin, while he watched the one man that had been left to guard the bodies. The bodies had been covered with a tarp, though Barack sincerely doubted it would help. When a vampire had been seared by the sun like those two had, the ash of the body was so fine it was nothing more than dust. The rain would either wash them away or they would just melt into the ground. Not like the other body he had discovered further down the mountain. Whoever had destroyed that vampire had taken the time to set it on fire, then kick dirt and ash over it. The bones were there, but with the lack of undead flesh the sun was no longer able to generate the heat required to turn them to ash. Another vampire had been dispatched inside the mine. That one had been completely bathed in fire until there was nothing left except a minute amount of bone shards. Barack knew that it had been a vampire from the scent. He felt nothing for the loss of those of his kind. He didn’t know them, was not linked to them in any way.

  Barack’s Clutch had been destroyed sometime ago. He did not wish for another. He roamed alone now. Taking his pleasure in his wolf form, he practiced the game of the hunt. There had been no desire to shift back to his human form.

  Until he had seen the woman called Grace.

  His desire for a companion began anew. If only he could have her.

  The man they had left under a makeshift tarp shelter of his own, guarding the bodies made of ash, was a weakling in Barack’s eyes. It was hard for him to admit that he himself had once been human. Humans were so fragile. Barack had sought out a vampire to turn him. He had loved the life for a time. He had learned so many things over the centuries that he felt his mind could not possibly hold anything more.

  But love—he had only touched it twice in his life and both times it had escaped him.

  This time, he would secure the life mate that he coveted.

  But he doubted that he could do it in wolf form.

  The man hiding from the r
ain beneath the tarp was large by human standards. He would make a satisfying meal. Barack had not tasted the rich blood of a human for a time, subsisting on animals wild and domesticated while he traveled. It was easier that way. It usually didn’t draw attention to oneself. Well—except for a few nights ago when he had taken down a cow and was caught in the act. Men had hunted him for that but Barack was good at the chase.

  Thunder rumbled, rolling over the mountain. The rain fell in sheets. With his uncanny night vision, Barack saw his prey duck from the roar of the thunder.

  Barack stepped out into the clearing, padding through the wet grass. He hoped that the man’s clothes would at least come close to fitting him.

  Barack fought the urge to shift.

  Then … he would find her.

  * * * *

  Drake blinked when the lights came back on. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the bars of the cell, arms propped on his bent knees. He had to keep his distance from Grace, otherwise he would touch her. And the next time, he didn’t think he could stop himself again.

  “Finally,” Grace said. She rose from the chair that she had plopped down in. “I’m going to put you in the cell now.”

  Drake looked over his shoulder into the cell. There was a quilt on one of the bunks. “Hey, this kind of reminds me of Mayberry.”

  “Well, I’m not Andy Taylor so get up and step inside please.”

  Drake pushed up off the floor. “I know you’re not Sheriff Taylor. You don’t look like him at all.” He tried a stab at levity but it didn’t look like it was working. What she looked like right now was tired and all business, but damn if she didn’t look good.

  “Inside,” she said, swinging the door to the cell open.

  Drake stepped through. She closed the door behind him.

  The entrance door slammed open and banged against the wall. A woman with odd maroon hair appeared in the doorway, gun level and looking mean as hell. “Sheriff—you alright in here?”

  Drake looked the woman over. “She sure doesn’t look like Barney Fife, either.”

  The woman gave him an evil look.

  “Lower your weapon, Dot. The prisoner is under control,” Grace said.

  Dot did as she was told, tucking the gun into what looked like a brand new holster. She sauntered up to the bars and peered in at Drake like she was looking at an insect. “This the killer?”

  Drake couldn’t help himself. He smiled widely, flashing his fangs. “Hi there.”

  Dot’s eyes popped and she jumped back. “Holy Moses, we got us a vampire.”

  Drake’s smile dimmed a notch when he saw the look on Grace’s face. She’s considering the idea, he thought. “You don’t think I’m a vampire, do you?” he asked.

  Grace blinked. “No. Of course not.” She shook her head. “Vampires are a myth. A fairy-tale.”

  “But look at his fangs!” Dot said, grabbing Grace’s arm.

  Oh, great, Drake thought.

  “Let go of me, Dot. His teeth are not an issue,” she said. Grace met his eyes. Drake saw something, some flicker of emotion pass over her face, then it was gone. “Vampires don’t exist,” Grace said.

  Drake sighed. Not only was he going to have to prove he didn’t commit murder, he was going to have to convince her that vampires really did exist and that he was not one of them. It was not going to be easy.

  Another thing that wasn’t going to be easy was getting the taste of her off of his mind so he could get this hard-on to die. His pants were so tight it was really getting to him.

  “I’ve got an awful lot of paperwork to do and another crime scene to secure,” Grace said, approaching the bars. “Are you sure you don’t want to speak to a lawyer?”

  “I’d rather talk to you,” he said.

  “Is he gonna confess?” Dot chimed in.

  Drake looked down into Grace’s gorgeous blue eyes and said, “Privately.”

  He watched as she struggled to swallow, her cheeks blushing prettily. He’d never seen a cop blush before.

  “I’ll be back in an hour or so, then we’ll talk,” she said.

  Grace moved away and grabbed Dot by the arm. “We’ve got work to do.” They headed for the door.

  “Hey!” Drake called out. “What about my phone call?”

  Grace threw him a look. “You’ll get that when I get back.”

  Then they were through the door and gone.

  Drake walked to the bunk and dropped down on top of the quilt. This was one phone call he dreaded. He’d told his family he was only going away for a few days, just to see if he and Grace could make some sort of connection and here it is, not even twenty-four hours later, he’s in jail for murder. Not to mention that the murder he was in jail for was his own screw up for not disposing of the vampire’s bodies as he should have.

  His cousin John, the head of the Unkindness of Ravens, was not going to be pleased.

  “Judas Priest,” Drake said, throwing an arm across his eyes.

  What a mess.

  Chapter Four

  “Okay, here’s what I want done,” Grace said, entering her office. Dot followed closely behind. Grace opened her bottom desk drawer where she kept her purse and started rummaging through it. “First, get somebody to tow that black sedan of his from Joe’s to here. Put it inside the back fence and lock it up.”

  “Gotcha,” Dot said.

  Grace’s heart soared. There was a candy bar hiding in the bottom of her purse. She ripped it open with her teeth, then took a bite. Chocolate melted on her tongue, making her stomach grouse at the wait. “Next,” she said as she chewed, “see if we can get someone to compare the molds of the tire treads found up at the old mine road to the tires on his car.”

  “What else?”

  Grace grabbed a battery out of the charger on top of the filing cabinet and switched it for the dead one in her radio. “Don’t let anyone search the inside of the car until I get back. Call my house and tell them that I won’t be home for supper.” She started out of the office.

  “Rogue won’t be happy,” Dot warned.

  Grace grit her teeth. “Well, he’ll just have to get over it. I’ve got a job to do.” She left her office.

  Grace shoved through the outer door and into the rain. It was dark early, thanks to the storm.

  She had another body up there on Salt Lick.

  She wanted to get a look at it.

  And shake the feeling of unadulterated lust that still nagged her from being pinned against that table by Drake Raven.

  Maybe the sight of another body would cool her desire. She had to do something.

  A Sheriff could not be attracted to a murderer.

  * * * *

  Barack drank his fill from the man. The blood warmed him, electrifying his body, bringing him back to the semblance of life again. There was nothing better than rich human blood to make his heart beat strong and healthy. Almost like it had as a mortal.

  The rain was slowing to a fine mist now. Barack shook, throwing water from his pelt. He padded over to where the bodies had been covered with a tarp. He could tell that there was no sense looking underneath. A rivulet of gray, water-soaked ash ran from under the edge of the tarp and down the hillside. The bodies were washing away. By morning, all that would be left was a gray water puddle.

  Barack sniffed the air. Instead of washing away the odors, the rain had intensified their scents. The ground was warm enough that, with the rain adding to the humidity, a mist was beginning to rise. Barack would use it to cloak himself. He padded back to his kill.

  His prey would not need the clothes he wore. Barack needed to shift into his human form, then he could remove the clothing without using his teeth to rip them from the body.

  Barack concentrated. His bones began to ‘pop’ and realign. His skin shifted. He felt pain but he shrugged it off. Within minutes, he stood as a man in the clearing. He tilted his head from side to side, stretching. He had been a wolf too long. It was time he staked his claim to a mate as a m
an.

  This woman, Grace, was his chosen one.

  Barack began the process of removing the clothes from his kill. He didn’t like the idea of wearing a policeman’s uniform—too obvious since he had just quenched his thirst with one—but these would have to do until he found other attire.

  As he dressed, he searched for her scent. His nose was not as keen when he was in his human form but it was still more sensitive than any human. As he buttoned the last button on a shirt that would barely span his chest, Barack homed in on her distinct aroma.

  He began to track her.

  * * * *

  Grace couldn’t believe it.

  A third body—killed in a very weird way. She stood beside Harry, shining a flashlight down on the makeshift grave. “Okay,” she said, “we’ve got another victim. There are similarities—the head was obviously severed and that piece of wood in its chest could be the remains of a stake like we found in the others.”

  “Kind of hard to tell with this one. You can see where fire burned it,” Harry said, pointing a flashlight beam at it. “The other stakes didn’t have burn marks on them, strange as it may sound.”

  Grace frowned. Whatever had burned the other two bodies had to have had intense heat to reduce them to nothing but ash, though she couldn’t explain why the stakes hadn’t burned. This one you could tell that someone had set it on fire. “Let’s get the State Fire Marshall up here and see if he can figure out what was used to light this one up,” Grace said.

  She looked around. “Where’s Arnie?”

  “I left him up at the other scene. Keep the nosey ones away.” Harry flicked off his light. “I wonder how much damage this rain has done to the evidence,” he said.

  “I think I’ll go check on Arnie,” Grace said, turning away. “Station somebody here too, then go down and search that black sedan for me. It should be in the back lot by the time you get there.”

  “Hey, Grace, I just thought of something,” Harry said.

  Grace turned back and parked her hand on her hip. Lord, she was tired. And hungry. “What is it, Harry?”

  “You know, the way these bodies have been mutilated kind’a reminds me of something.”