“Fuck yeah,” Pedro whispered on a breath.
Lucas didn’t go down on a guy often, but for Pedro…carefully and gently he suckled the engorged cock, which grew even harder with every pull. It didn’t take Pedro long to come, ejaculating for an eternity.
Lucas stood up and examined the vampire, whose shoulders sloped, loose. Pedro hopped up to sit on the counter and pulled Lucas into his arms.
For what felt like a long while, Lucas let Pedro hold him. Then his stomach growled, echoing in the small room. “What time is it?”
“It was about eight when I found you watching the television.” Pedro feathered a kiss on Lucas’s temple. “You missed dinner and cocktails don’t count. Lena tried out a special recipe with truffles—smelled like stinky feet, but the humans raved.”
Lucas chuckled, shaking his head with amusement.
Pedro nuzzled his neck. “You have to eat, if I am going to take your blood.”
The self-preservation masked an expression of care, so Lucas conceded. “I’ll get something soon. Lena keeps late plates labeled in the fridge.”
“I forgot about that. How did I forget so fast?” Pedro spoke into his hair, the breath making it stir.
“Because it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m your late plate now.” Lucas closed his eyes, his face pressed against his vampire lover’s chest.
Pedro took a deep breath and held it. “So, how is this going to work between us? I’m not the same anymore. I can’t let you fuck me. It feels…submissive.”
That was exactly how Lucas had felt bent over the sink. “Are you saying it didn’t feel that way before?”
“Yeah, pretty much. It was just about getting off. I could switch back and forth. But now…”
Lucas ran a gentle hand up and down Pedro’s spine. “I guess there’s a lot of blow jobs in our future. Foreplay forever.”
“That sucks.”
For the first time he could remember, Lucas laughed from his gut and it felt good. “Yep. It sure does.”
Chapter 12
KOS INSISTED LENA STAY the night in his room and then retreated before she could mount a counter argument.
Neither his fear of love, nor her grief, were enough to wipe away his desire. His erection throbbed, a dull ache growing sharper. For the very first time since Andre turned him into a vampire, he sympathized with Pedro about the cruel limitation of their species. Who cared about the sun? He needed relief by his own hand, but he could try all night long, and none would come. In an empty guest room, he stepped into a shower and twisted only the cold-water tap.
What if he kept her? The question whispered through his mind—the serpent tempting Eve in the garden couldn’t have been half as seductive.
No woman had ever caused him to doubt his conviction. Could Lena be the exception? Could the love sparking between them last when his mother and Andre’s had failed?
Frigid water ran over his head, raising up goose bumps and stinging his skin. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine a future with her, but he couldn’t picture it. All that came to mind were images from the day of his mother’s suicide.
Piercing screams had shattered the windows of their house on Šolta. Kos had followed the cries to where Andre knelt next to Mila’s lifeless body, still lying in cold bathwater pink with blood. The metallic smell was pungent even to his human nose. Face to face with her corpse, he wasn’t surprised. Her misery had shrouded their home, a palpable suffering…
Had Kos secretly expected her to take her life? The thought made his gut sink with remorse.
In the days that followed, as Kos overheard the servants chatting, or shared dinner with Bel, or watched Andre in the vineyards, he noticed the lightness. The atmosphere of the household shifted, free of the oppressive weight of the unhappy marriage. It shamed him to be relieved by his mother’s death, but the freedom was undeniable. And it taught him an invaluable lesson—there was a flaw in the fabric of the universe—love simply could not survive the demands of a vampire’s eternal bond.
More than a century later, his skin burned under the cold water pouring over his painful gooseflesh in the shower at Kaštel. He wiped a soapy hand over his flaccid cock. The long-buried memory had done the trick. He turned off the tap and reached for a towel. Once he was dry, he wrapped it around his waist and met his own gray eyes in the bathroom mirror.
He’d made a vow, dripped his own human blood onto Mila’s grave and promised never to do to a woman what Andre had done to Mila. Not that he blamed Andre. His father had been undyingly solicitous to her, which proved love could not last. Ever. The icy water’s chill had seeped into his bones, and he shivered.
Showered, changed, and newly re-committed to vampire bachelorhood, Kos needed someplace to spend the night. Going out on patrol with Bel’s crew of mercenary vampires no longer appealed. He needed sympathetic company. It was a long shot, but he went down to the cellar, hoping to find his father in his office. The two had played cards there nearly every night for decades before Zoey had arrived.
Halfway through the cellar, the sound of Andre and Zoey bickering reached him. They argued over how much Susan enjoyed her bite. A little tension about whom Zoey fed from? Hopefully it wasn’t already the beginning of their inevitable end.
Kos was about to scuff his feet against the stone floor to warn them he approached when Andre called out. “Just come in already.”
Inside his dark office, Andre leaned against his desk, holding Zoey snugly by the waist and staking his claim that she belonged to him and not the sexy lesbians of his household.
Kos swallowed a surge of irrational jealousy. “Did you question the kid?”
“You mean the Hunter.” Andre’s jaw muscles bulged.
“Yeah. The Hunter kid.”
“His name’s Leo.” Zoey extricated herself from Andre’s grip and dropped into a chair.
Were they conspiring to annoy Kos with this argumentative nonsense? He sucked in a calming breath. “Because of his yellow eyes?”
She shrugged. “Because it’s his name.”
Andre took the seat next to Zoey. “From our interview, I ascertained the boy Hunter knows absolutely nothing. I did not have to get aggressive. He is rather frightened.”
Relief washed over Kos, taking with it some of his sadness. “So that’s it? We just keep him locked up?”
Andre nodded. “For now.”
Good. Kos could broach the real reason he’d come to find them. “You two up for Uno?”
“What about Lena?” Zoey sat up straight in her chair. “I thought you had…plans.”
Kos could also speak in euphemisms, and carefully too, so that the emptiness he felt stayed out his voice. “Our plans fell through.”
Two sets of eyes scrutinized him for too long.
Finally, Zoey spoke. “We could play Uno. Or, if you’d like to see me hand your father his own ass, we could play poker.”
Nice. If she could deliver on that promise, his night would get a lot better.
“Five card draw?” He shuffled the always-ready deck of cards.
“Texas hold’em,” Zoey replied, clearing space off the coffee table.
It was Andre’s worst game—it was the only version of poker at which he couldn’t dominate. Although against Kos, he still won.
Andre poured them wine. “Woman, if it were possible, you would be the death of me.”
“Come on—Kos needs company.” She flashed Andre a smile.
His father’s heart sped up, pounding out a loud and fast rhythm in Kos’s ear.
Another wave of jealousy rolled over Kos, and he reminded himself their happiness would come to an end. In the wave’s aftermath, mild irritation lingered. Kos picked up his cards and chided them. “Cut out the flirting and focus on the game. You offered to keep me company. There will be no sneaking upstairs between hands.”
Chapter 13
ETHAN JERKED AWAKE, his phone blaring from the nightstand. The clock read three a.m. Grasping the phone, he slipped on
pajama bottoms and sprinted into the kitchen so Gwen wouldn’t hear the conversation.
“What the fuck are you thinking calling me at this hour?” he hissed at Rob Caroli.
“Marasović has my son.”
Frustration gripped Ethan so hard he shuddered. “What?”
“Looks like Leo planned a little operation on his own. Hijacked a truck of wine bottles, but got himself captured.” Caroli had the deeply resonant voice of a radio announcer, although it could not cover his innate gruffness.
“Leo?” That twit wasn’t older than seventeen, the puniest of all the Hunter initiates who had come on the Marasović operation to earn their sun daggers.
“I want to attack the estate again. I’ve got everyone on alert.”
“No.”
Caroli coughed into the phone—the sound of someone choking back an insult. Excellent. Ethan had their respect, or at least their obedience.
“There’s something else,” Caroli rumbled.
“What?” Ethan barked.
“I just spoke to Derek. Apparently, Marasović is throwing a party for a new wine.”
“Wine?” That detail tickled something in Ethan’s brain, where a theory had taken root. They had hired Zoey for the purpose of launching a wine…
“They’re calling it Blood Vine.” A lilt in Caroli’s baritone hinted he thought the name significant.
“Blood Vine is it?”
“And that name got me thinking, Bennett. And I remember crystal clear when we tossed our rockets and Molotov cocktails at Kaštel, that shield wrapped the house real snug. But not the vines.”
“Yes, I recall the same thing.” He rapped his knuckles on the countertop twice. Could it be so easy? “I’ll be on the first flight. Don’t start without me.” Ethan pulled his thumb back from the phone’s screen just before ending the call. “Caroli?”
“Yeah?”
“You realize we’re not going to save your son?”
The phone line crackled in the brief pause before Caroli replied, “The little shit got what he asked for.”
Ethan analyzed the other Hunter’s tone. The man’s fury seemed to far outweigh his grief. That zealous dedication was precisely what Ethan loved about his tribe. Lord, how he wanted it under his control.
“But we can’t let the vampires get away with harming him.” Caroli’s words vibrated with vehemence straight into Ethan’s bones—an oddly pleasurable sensation.
“Fair enough. Have you given any thought how to destroy an entire vineyard?”
“Napalm.”
A surprised laugh erupted from Ethan before he could contain it. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, I’ll round some up tomorrow. I know a guy.”
“Well, Caroli, I admit I am impressed.” Ethan ended the call and rolled his shoulders, suddenly full of anticipatory energy for the coming events. At the bottom of his telephone screen, a red circle caught his eye. A new email, from Leo Caroli. Was he still alive? Could this be a message from Marasović?
Ethan rushed to open the message. The email said nothing about being captured, but it nonetheless contained very interesting information. Ethan scribbled the name Mason Kearney on a piece of paper. He needed the address of this vampire. He would put his assistant Justine on it in the morning. That woman could find out anything about anyone.
Upstairs, Gwen was still sprawled in his bed. She’d been quite a surprise. She fucked like a hellcat. In the throes of doing her from behind, as hard as she’d begged him, he’d let his mask of normalcy slip. He’d slapped her haunches like she was not a hellcat but some domesticated animal to be ridden. She went crazy—thrashing, growing wetter, begging. Yes, her begging had driven him wild.
He had spanked her so hard welts formed on her buttocks and thighs. It was the sight of those red marks that took him over the edge, and right before he came, he pulled out to ejaculate on her raw flesh. She whimpered until his hot spurts hit her and she cried out her own climax.
She’d collapsed on her belly, and after attempting a roll, winced and left her abused backside pointing in the air. Knowing he had caused her pain brought him even more pleasure. And then she had looked over her shoulder at him and said, “More.”
At the top of the stairs, he slid quietly into the room. The visceral memories of the night tumbled through his mind, shooting blood into his dick once again. She stirred, and rolled onto her back, silently spreading her legs. He strode to the bed, dropped his pants, and penetrated her without ceremony. At the force of his entrance, her grunt turned into a groan of pleasure. He pinched both her nipples as hard as he could. She writhed under him, and he loved it. Tomorrow he would look for some clamps in the garage. Tomorrow…
He stopped mid-thrust.
What would he do with her?
She whimpered, squeezing her hands over his, pleading for more of what he had to give.
Grabbing her hips, he resumed pounding into her small, hungry body. A black leather bag came to mind, full of blades, pliers, clamps—his tool kit, containing all the instruments he had used to torture his brother’s fag Pedro. It was safely locked away in his apartment in San Francisco. Gwen might like it. Or it might cross even her line. Beneath him, she was pinching her own nipples now, arching up to meet his thrusts.
A fantasy of her pretty face truly afraid brought on his orgasm, his body tingling with strange pleasure. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. When he could speak again he announced his decision.
“Tomorrow we’re going to San Francisco.”
Her eyebrows drew together. In the dark room, there was just enough light to show that tears striped her red face. Strands of her chestnut hair were matted to her forehead and she wiped them off with the back of her hand. There was something so broken in her stare—broken like Zoey. His over-used dick miraculously twitched again.
She sniffed and then nodded.
A heavy wave of satisfaction crashed over him. He collapsed and the next thing he knew, the room had filled with the gray light of dawn. He showered, and when he stepped out of the bathroom, Gwen was no longer in the bed. A page torn from her notebook lay in her place.
Finally.
She’d scribbled a portion of her translation, annotated with her notes. On the top it read, I think you earned this. He felt rather triumphant about his performance himself, but was too curious about the translation to dwell on it.
The Day Walkers lived according to the ways of Dela-Malkh. (This is one name for the sun deity of the ancient Caucuses.) Their eyes shone with Dela-Malkh's light. (Look in the mirror.) When the Night Walkers came, they drank death. (Blood?) Dela-Malkh hated the Night Walkers. They drank the death of Dela-Malkh's people. They were unclean. (Death was considered unclean by many ancient cultures.)
Dela-Malkh punished them with his flames and banished them to the darkness. But at Night they came to the Children of the Day. They brought shame on the Children with their teeth (fangs?) and their bodies. The Children of the Day were enslaved to the power of Night Walkers. The Day Walkers warned their children: Dela-Malkh will punish you.
But the Night Walkers drank death and stole Dela-Malkh's light. The blood of the Children of the Day made them strong. Dela-Malkh lost his power over the Night Walkers. They could walk in the Day and the Night. (Do you suppose your blood has this power?)
The answer hardly mattered. The mere possibility would be Ethan’s greatest weapon. First Marasović, then the whole world. Blood pumped oxygen into Ethan’s brain so fast he became dizzy, could barely contain his excite—
A shrill scream rang out from downstairs. Gwen.
Was there an intruder? He rushed toward the sound of her wail.
In the far corner of the kitchen, she sat with her head folded over her splayed legs, sobbing onto the tile floor. She gripped the piece of paper where he’d scrawled a name—Mason Kearney.
He shook her, but she wouldn’t speak. He slapped her. Still, she only gasped and returned to the hysterical keening. Like a sharp bla
de slicing through the chaos came the instinct to hit her, not out of anger, but because she needed it. He punched her, full on the mouth. She went rigid, and her eyes focused on him even as her hand pressed to her bleeding lip.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
She held his gaze for a long second. “If we’re getting on a plane, best not to batter my face.”
In that moment, he understood her submission was not a weakness. It would be very difficult to bully the information from her. An interesting challenge. He took the paper with the vampire’s name from her, folding it carefully and placing it next to his keys.
She was practically catatonic as they prepared for the trip and drove the rental car to the airport. In no time, they were airborne. Under the plane, a patchwork quilt of Midwestern states passed by, each one home to countless Hunters in search of vampires. Soon, those throngs of hateful humans would be Ethan’s very own golden-eyed army, his to command.
Ethan grazed his thumb over Gwen’s puffy lip, a split down its center freshly scabbed over. “You have a very pretty mouth.”
She met his eye silently, her expression guarded. Who the hell was this Mason Kearney?
Her reaction did explain why she’d so easily accepted the existence of vampires—apparently, she knew one.
The flight attendant set complimentary champagne on their trays. Gwen flinched when she took a sip. The bubbles probably stung when they hit that sliver of raw flesh.
With the length of his finger, he caressed the back of her hand. “I will get this secret out of you. I’m very good at getting information.”
“I have no doubt you are.” She leaned closer to him, even though her tone was chilly.
He pretended to sip his champagne, hoping to encourage her to do the same. It might loosen her tongue. “Do you know where he lives?”
Justine hadn’t been able to turn up the slightest evidence of a Mason Kearney in legal records besides one who had died in an automobile accident in 1928. Probably the vampire—they were good at faking these things. But, still, Justine had found no address.
Inching even closer, Gwen whispered. “Are you going to kill him?”
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