Stryke (New Vampire Disorder Book 4)

by Marie Johnston

  “He says he possessed Mitchell.”

  Silence. The four vampires stared at her in shock. They’d known Mitchell. He’d been a part of their team because of her. Like her, her friends hadn’t suspected anything.

  “How could you do that without us knowing?” Demetrius spoke what the rest were thinking, what Zoey had been wondering since Stryke had spilled his guts. “I thought second-tiers weren’t strong enough to possess vampires, and Mitchell was a prime.”

  Stryke shrugged. “Most of us aren’t strong enough. Sometimes, it just takes knowing the limits of our strength.”

  “That’s a shitty answer,” Rourke said.

  Stryke’s gaze slid to Rourke, his expression a mask of calm. Everything about him read like he was taking a Sunday stroll, no stress, unhurried, no big that he was nude. “I’m an energy demon and I’m not young. I’ve had more than enough time to learn my strength and,” he glanced at Zoey, “read other’s weaknesses.”

  Had she been Mitchell’s weakness? A lump formed in her throat. He wouldn’t have been undercover with her at Sigma if she hadn’t been so damn dedicated to her mission, to overthrowing the Vampire Council.

  “What do you think, Zoey?” Demetrius asked.

  She met Stryke’s violet gaze. The black flecks within seemed to move, sometimes slow and mesmerizing, sometimes fast and frantic, like now. He was worried about what she’d say.

  She wished she could lie, but it’d do them no good. “I think it’s plausible.”

  “He helped Fyra, after he turned her into Rancor,” Bishop growled.

  The text. Zoey had puzzled over why she’d been notified that Fyra was in danger from one of the Circle. And there was no denying the feeling of being…pursued wasn’t the right word. Anticipation? Like someone was coming for her, monitoring her activities. Now that Stryke was here, she no longer had the sensation.

  Demetrius holstered his firearm, but his movements were far from relaxed. “He’s been feeding us breadcrumbs, but it’s been for his own purposes.”

  “My only focus has been Zoey’s safety. Has been since I met her.”

  Her brows rose, along with her teams’. Stryke had just admitted she was all he cared about. Hell of a thing.

  A tap on the other side of the door interrupted them.

  “He-ey,” Fyra called from the other side. “Is this a bad time?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she strolled out with an armload of black clothing, her flame-red hair stark against the lack of color.

  “I know how weird you all are about nudity in this realm, so I brought my dear, dear fiend some sweats.” Fyra smiled at her play on words. “You boys seem to have these in surplus around here.” She handed her stash to Zoey to give to Stryke.

  Humor played over Stryke’s lips, but the look in his eyes was serious. He tossed the sweatshirt back to Fyra and stepped into the pants.

  Zoey sucked in a breath. Through his thick, wavy, deep-brown hair, she hadn’t noticed his horns. Tucked into his hair, they sprouted just behind his hairline and curved around his head. Did they straighten? Could he fight with them? What did they feel like?

  Hellfire, they should disgust her. They did the very opposite.

  Stryke’s hot gaze met hers, as if he knew what she was thinking, or feeling at the very least.

  She needed a drink—a shot of schnapps in her Gatorade.

  Stryke straightened and crossed his arms, waiting.

  Zoey looked to Demetrius. While they both sat on the TriSpecies Synod to rule their people, she deferred to him when it came to their team. He’d led from the beginning, and even after the Synod had requested—demanded—he take an advisory role, he was still their leader. Technically, she, too, had only an advisory role, but she couldn’t advise if she didn’t participate in the mission. At least that was the excuse she often used.

  It was the most she’d toed any line. Her place as D’s second and her seat on the Synod had saved her from a slow death of depression and loneliness. She wouldn’t risk her place for anything, even a handsome demon and his supposed bond.

  There were only two ways out of a bond. One was to bond to someone else, but her true mate had already come along and perished. The other was to kill Stryke.

  Chapter Four

  Stryke waited. Zoey wasn’t jumping to his defense, no surprise, but her rigid body language said she was uncomfortable about something. The others were too honorable to kill him but were torn because it was the easy answer.

  “Is it true, Fyra?” Bishop’s deep voice broke the silence. “Could this male have possessed Zoey’s mate, a prime vampire, and bonded to her without her knowing?”

  “It’s Zoey? I knew it. I knew you had good taste, Stryke. Umm…” she pursed her lips, “possessing a prime is a helluva thing. I mean, I couldn’t do it, but maybe in like a hundred years I could, when I’m more powerful. Only thanks to Stryke, because he pointed out I had energy demon in my heritage and it was making my fire wacky.”

  “I didn’t control her mate,” Stryke interjected. He could’ve, but they were right. Mitchell had been a prime and his strong bloodlines could’ve overpowered Stryke or at the very least notified him something was wrong, at which point he’d have given Stryke the boot.

  If the male hadn’t been so conflicted about Zoey and her mission, Stryke wouldn’t have had a shot.

  “As for Zoey not knowing,” Fyra continued, “easy-peasy. A little nip, a murmur of dedication.” Her face screwed up. “Didn’t you notice the sulfur taint to the blood?”

  Zoey’s jaw ground down. Stryke could imagine how the extremely private female hated talking about her most intimate moments in front of all her friends.

  “No, I didn’t,” she said, like she’d disappointed herself.

  Stryke stepped in with a little Possession 101. “Most demons barge into a host, try to take over. There’s varying levels. I can be subtle; many others can’t.”

  A cloud of hatred bloomed off the vampire with the dirty-blond hair and surfer-boy clothing.

  Creed.

  Stryke’s lips curled in a snarl that he quickly covered. Zoey might’ve fucked him, but the male would have a fight on his hands if he thought that gave him any claim to her heart.

  Stryke’s frustration crested and he pushed forward. “Look, Zoey’s in danger. Hypna knows about the bond and is after her.”

  Fyra growled. “That heinous hag is not going to touch my friend. I will fry Hypna’s contemptuous ass. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll rain napalm down on her head.”

  Zoey stepped forward and addressed Demetrius. “I was attacked tonight. Three second-tiers and Hypna in a prime’s body. I killed all the hosts and almost got sucked into hell, but…” She jerked her head toward Stryke.

  “She got knocked out in the tussle.” Stryke cocked a brow toward Zoey, whose cheeks pinked with embarrassment at how she’d blacked out. “I saved her.”

  “That’s why I missed the Synod meeting, because he,” she slanted a glare at him, “captured me.”

  Demetrius stabbed a hand through his hair. “We’re not going to get ahead of the Circle if we’re taking them on one by one with our own personal drama.”

  Stryke happened to agree. Destroy one demon and so many more were waiting to take its place. The thirteen ruling demons on the Circle were no different. “Hypna’s targeted me for breeding.”

  Fyra gasped. “Bollocks! And when you couldn’t impregnate her, she totally outed you.”

  He nodded grimly and didn’t miss Zoey’s sharp look. A flare of jealously? Territoriality? Stryke would revel in it if being with Hypna hadn’t been such torture.

  A female’s voice drifted over the intercom. “Bonds keep demons abstinent?”

  “That’s my mate asking,” Demetrius clarified. “She’s our expert on demon lore and if you don’t talk, we won’t be afraid to fire at will. Prove you’re not here only for yourself.”

  Stryke snorted. He never did anything for himself. He had always been f
armed out for his abilities, and he’d drifted through life with his give-a-shit meter on zero. Until Zoey. Since then, everything had been for her, for getting back to her without his underworld baggage following him.

  He rolled a shoulder. “Not all bonds can prevent sexual culmination. As long as energy is involved, I can manipulate many things. When an energy demon bonds, the connection strictly controls our ability to reproduce. Otherwise, we’d be pimped out left and right for our coveted powers. However, we can still…especially with Hypna’s venom.”

  Fyra nodded. “She’s a walking roofie.”

  Zoey’s eyes narrowed and murderous intent rolled off her. Was it directed at him or Hypna? He never felt hope, but Zoey’s reaction made him come close.

  Demetrius flicked his gaze at the rest of his team and they lowered their weapons. “Who took Rancor’s spot?”

  Stryke had no issues sharing information. All of it would serve to protect Zoey. “Quution. He barely ascended. As an energy demon, his powers are as coveted as they are feared. But a few zaps, and he was the last demon standing. Then he targeted Hypna.”

  Fyra sucked in a breath, and Stryke inclined his head. “Indeed, it was an uneasy day in the underworld when he ascended.” As if Hypna hadn’t been after him before, she’d redoubled her efforts. Because high on power, Quution had more sinister plans for her. He wanted her for himself, and nothing scared Hypna more than being under another demon’s control and enduring what she doled out to others.

  Fyra filled in the details for the others. “If she could birth Stryke’s young, she could sacrifice the child and absorb its powers. Fight Quution with her own energy. What. A. Bitch. Child sacrifices aren’t even allowed in the underworld. Otherwise, all demons would breed constantly and fight over the young.”

  Stryke agreed. More fury wafted off Zoey. A good sign.

  “You can see the incredible danger Zoey’s in,” he said to Demetrius. “A child that’s half energy and half Hypna’s atrocious nature would be a windfall of power. And”—he addressed Zoey regretfully—“you’re in the way.”

  Creed spoke for the first time. “We’d solve so many problems if we killed you.”

  “And yet it still wouldn’t make Zoey fall for you,” Stryke shot back.

  A shocked gasp rippled through the group.

  Zoey pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, that’s awkward. As much fun as I’m having running through the details of the hit out on me, here’s what my plans are: continue doing my damn job protecting the supernatural creatures of this realm. D, you and I need to talk about what we’re going to tell the Synod. Otherwise, I’m going inside.” She took a step toward the building.

  “Come with us.” Demetrius motioned to Stryke.

  “I don’t think so.” Stryke flashed back to Lee’s place with a smirk. Because he had Zoey’s pack and she wasn’t going to let her Gatorade go. Sure, she could get more, but she’d come after him. All he had to do was wait.

  ***

  Zoey swore with the rest of her team when Stryke vanished. She almost stormed inside, but then she remembered—her motherfucking backpack. She didn’t dare stockpile her juice or she’d have to explain that it might be more than a habit. If her teammates discovered she had special needs, they’d bench her. Her prime blood was powerful, and she’d even fed them her vein before but only when she could replenish her salts. What if they didn’t keep her out of the field but then refused to take her sustenance when they really needed it?

  No. Nope. She’d come this far hiding her deficiency.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told Demetrius and flashed back to the house.

  “No—” The rest of D’s words were cut off.

  She’d have to face Stryke alone; her money was in that damn pack. And he’d stashed her SUV somewhere. Stryke was an unexpected mess, but she’d clean up what she could.

  She appeared outside of the window she’d fled through. She stomped through the snow to the back door, where she spotted their tracks from earlier. Smaller ones from the human, and larger, heavier ones from Stryke, who’d also been carrying her at the time.

  A draft wafted over her and she spun.

  Rourke stood with an unreadable expression. “What are you doing?”

  Not all vampires could follow on the coattails of a flash, but Rourke could and had.

  “Getting my shit from Stryke. I’ll drive the SUV back.” She gestured to where the tracks ran behind a shed. “I don’t think Stryke will try to detain me if he wants us to think he’s really after my best interests.”

  Why’d that set a pleasing simmer in her insides? She hadn’t been looked after since Mitchell.

  “I’ll wait. It seems that when you all get bonded to a demon, rational thought becomes overrated.” His tone was flat, but a muscle pulsed in his jaw.

  As if Rourke had been rational when his female, Grace, had been possessed. Actually, he had. Angry and betrayed, but he hadn’t turned on the team. Bishop had ditched them all to pursue Fyra, intent on “taking care of it” himself.

  “Good idea.” And it was. Rourke had her back, like he should. Because she should’ve planned out her backpack retrieval with her team. “I’ll be right out.”

  She turned to face the door and her eyes narrowed. Stryke leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his well-defined chest, his washboard abs peeking out from underneath. His biceps bulged, and since she sensed no tension from him, he wasn’t even trying to look bulked up. His gaze tracked her and he didn’t move when she approached. He glanced at Rourke and back at her.

  “Need your pack?” There was that lace of humor again, but there was no trace of it on his face.

  “You knew I’d be back for it, and the vehicle.”

  “Which one are you really after?”

  “All of it,” she said tersely.

  He chuckled and turned to walk toward the room she’d been in. He’d given her his back. She worried her lower lip with a fang. Was she that transparent, or was he that confident he could thwart an attack from her?

  She sensed the human in the house, but Stryke must’ve hidden him.

  Interesting. He seemed almost protective of his host. She ripped her gaze off Stryke’s broad shoulders and studied the place. Ornate, but outdated. Floral patterns reigned supreme in the furniture and decor. The smell was almost stale but like it’d been freshened recently. Fresh paint tickled her nose, and as they passed an empty room, she peeked in. Wallpaper hung from spots where it hadn’t been fully removed. The house was being updated.

  They approached the room her stuff was in.

  “You wait out here,” she said.

  A low rumble resonated from him. Was he laughing at her again?

  “Why, Zohana? Worried I’ll accost you, or that you’ll accost me?”

  She glared at him but didn’t reply. Then she patted her bun like it was a talisman for strength. And it was, in a way. Just like her black tactical clothing and weapons reminded her she had a job to do.

  He entered the room and stepped to the side. She marched in, slung her bag over her back, and tried to leave.

  He stood in the doorway.

  “Move,” she said between clenched teeth.

  “What are you going to do about Hypna? She’ll be back.”

  “We’ll take care of her like we did Malachim. Like we did Bita. Like we did Rancor.”

  “May I remind you that only one of those is actually dead? And a more conniving demon took Rancor’s place. Malachim will be back. Bita will be back. They’ll finish sulking and seek a new host.” He crossed his arms again, and like before, it drew her gaze to his chest. “Too many primes are bitter about the way your new government is stripping them of money and power. They can’t corrupt the Synod like they could the Vampire Council. It’s getting easier and easier for one of the Circle to possess a prime. Pretty soon, they’ll line up to compete for one of the thirteen to cross into them.”

  Zoey’s mood soured the more he spoke. It was easier
to think about taking on one Circle member at a time, and since demons were so selfish and disorganized, the group didn’t pose a huge threat themselves. But the magnificent bastard was right. They’d be back and her team was ill prepared to take on more than one at a time.

  “Noted.” She attempted to elbow him aside.

  He used her proximity to his advantage and encircled her with his arms.

  She was about to demand an explanation, but the words froze because in order to speak to him, she had to tilt her head back. She was a tall female, almost six feet in her boots, but he was several inches taller, even barefoot.

  He dipped his head down. Her eyes flared, then drifted shut when his warm lips touched hers.

  A growl resonated deep in his chest, vibrating into hers. She didn’t mean to increase the pressure of the kiss, but his smoky-campfire scent assaulted her and the sensual sizzle when their skin touched was addicting. Her tongue swept out, and deep down she knew his salty skin would sate her craving.

  Oh, his taste. With her need for extra salt, she’d always loved cured meat, and he was like a smorgasbord of the stuff. A huge slab for her to feast on. She could lick every inch of him.

  His arms tightened around her and his shaft prodded her belly.

  Oh, the size of him. Big all over.

  He swept his tongue out to meet hers. Her hands, which she’d kept tucked to her sides to prevent herself from doing something stupid—like touching him with bare skin—splayed over his shoulders.

  He was so warm under her hands, his skin much softer than she’d expected from his swarthy good looks.

  Who was whimpering? Hellfire, was that her? Yes, because she wanted more, harder, deeper.

  Their tongues tangled and the bastard scraped her fangs with his tongue. A dab of rich blood landed on her tongue. Her body soaked it up, greedy for more. She fed from others as little as possible. Feeding was what had brought her and Creed together, and it’d been so nice to just share something with someone again that she’d started sleeping with him. But it’d left her unfulfilled. Not like this kiss.