Dark Hunger

by Rita Herron

  Narius just might be their demon.

  Quinton contemplated the odd aura he’d detected around Shayla Larue as he drove toward the zoo. His cell phone rang and he saw it was Vincent so he answered.

  “Listen, Quinton, I found something interesting. Reverend Narius didn’t exist until three years ago.”

  “What?”

  “I’m trying to find out more about him, but you should check him out.”

  “We’re on our way to do that now.” He hung up, and rubbed his hand over his mouth. The monks had taught him to trust in spirituality. Was Narius taking advantage of believers and faith seekers in order to steal souls for the dark side?

  Traffic thickened as they neared the zoo, and a flock of vultures lingered overhead, black monsters barely visible through the heavy fog. Surprisingly, they hadn’t frightened off the crowds of locals and tourists rushing to see the exhibits. The zoo housed more than thirteen hundred animals, everything from exotic white tigers to albino alligators.

  The wind tossed dry leaves around their feet as they walked to the gate, bought tickets and a program, then strolled through the zoo, looking for anyone suspicious and heading toward the tent where Narius was scheduled to speak.

  Children tackled the climbing wall and raced to ride the Endangered Species Carousel and the Swamp Train, while teens and adults alike lined up for the Safari Simulator. A special presentation with live alligators had drawn dozens of visitors. A voodoo priestess sat in the center of a stage not far away, surrounded by a display of various voodoo dolls and mojos, spinning tales of local legends and folklore.

  Vendors peddled treats—alligator on a stick, beignets, and heaping bowls of gumbo and Jambalaya—while crafters and souvenir vendors sold replicas of the animals in the zoo, T-shirts, hats, voodoo dolls and kits, along with Mardi Gras masks, beads, and books on ghosts and other mysterious creatures rumored to inhabit the swamp, especially the infamous loup-garou.

  Excitement from the festivities hummed through the crisp fall air, yet Quinton couldn’t shake the feeling of impending death.

  Tonight at midnight.

  At least most of these women and kids would be home by then.

  But where would the bomber attack? With the town’s festivities, any number of places could be targeted.

  Narius was supposed to speak at three at the zoo for the Swamp Festival. He planned to visit several hospitals, including a children’s ward, and he was to attend a charity fund-raiser in the evening, to help raise money to rebuild homes for the needy, which was scheduled to last until midnight. The shelters weren’t listed on his agenda, and with his packed schedule, Quinton didn’t see how he’d fit them in.

  He would follow him anyway, and if he was behind the bombings, he’d kill the SOB.

  They grabbed po’boys and took a seat at a picnic table across from the stage while the reverend spoke to the crowd.

  While he ate, Quinton thumbed through the program. “This is interesting. Dr. Wynn, the chief medical examiner from the Bureau, is here, too. It says that he grew up in New Orleans and contributed time and money to help the locals recoup after the hurricane.”

  Reverend Narius raised his hand, gesturing across the crowd. “Let’s turn to John 8:7: ‘He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.’ ”

  “Amen!” several people shouted.

  “Praise the Lord.”

  “Yes, we’re all sinners,” Reverend Narius said. “I, too, have walked on the side of sin. I, too, have given in to temptation with impure thoughts and actions.” His voice rose to a fever pitch. “But God sent Jesus to die on the cross so that we might receive forgiveness for our sins. I command you now to turn your life over to the Lord. Do so, and you will find redemption and walk into the land of immortality.”

  Quinton frowned, wondering what kind of immortality the reverend promised behind closed doors. Narius offered the benediction, then crossed the stage and descended the steps as applause rang out.

  Quinton and Annabelle waited until he’d woven through the throng, shaking hands and accepting praise, then approached. Why couldn’t people see his lack of sincerity?

  Narius’s smile faded. “Are you two following me?”

  “As a matter of fact, we did come to talk to you,” Annabelle said.

  Quinton cleared his throat. “Yes, Reverend. Mind telling us why you didn’t exist until three years ago?”

  Anger flared in Narius’s eyes, replacing his practiced smile, and he gestured for them to step aside behind the tent. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I have sources,” Quinton stated. “Very reliable sources.”

  The reverend leaned closer to them, his calm facade slipping. “Have you ever done something that you’ve regretted?” he asked in a low voice.

  Hell, yeah. Getting involved with Annabelle.

  But killing? No. The ones he’d eliminated deserved to suffer.

  “Well, I did,” he admitted quietly. “But three years ago, I was saved, and when I was reborn, I saw a chance to make a new life and help others. To do so, I needed to kill the person I was before.” His tone sounded grim. “That meant assuming a new name.”

  “Is that the only person you killed?” Quinton asked.

  Narius’s eyes narrowed in cold fury.

  “What did you do that was so bad?” Annabelle asked.

  “That’s between me and my Savior,” he said quietly. Then he turned and stalked away.

  Chapter Twenty

  Anger suffused Annabelle. Didn’t the reverend know that his secret only spiked her curiosity? That she wouldn’t stop until she discovered the truth?

  Just as she hadn’t backed down from Quinton in the beginning.

  Then everything had changed…

  But she wasn’t backing down from this bomber.

  “I’m surprised by the crowd at the festival,” Quinton said. “With the press alerting everyone about the bomber’s pattern, I expected more people to stay home.”

  “I guess they refuse to let terrorists frighten them into not living their lives. Besides,” she added, “we haven’t publicized the fact that New Orleans might be attacked tonight.”

  She watched a family of four strolling along, the father hoisting the toddler onto his shoulders, and her chest clenched as she recalled her own father doing the same.

  “Maybe we should issue some kind of warning tonight.”

  “That would only create panic. And if we’re wrong?”

  “We weren’t wrong about Charleston.”

  He sighed, looking weary.

  She gestured toward Narius, who was still shaking hands. “Shall we stay with the reverend?”

  “We have no other suspects,” he said through gritted teeth.

  And it was only a few hours until midnight.

  Somber, they headed to the car, and they trailed his limo to the children’s hospital while Annabelle checked the schedule of the day’s events.

  “The bars are all possibilities as targets, since they’re hosting celebrations. Or perhaps the jazz festival.”

  “We’ll stop by there and check it out,” Quinton said.

  Annabelle nodded. “My guess is that they’ll hit the big reception for the fund-raiser. It looks as if the reverend will be there. In fact, he’s being honored. And Dr. Wynn is attending, too.” She frowned. “Along with the governor, Dr. Gryphon, several wealthy donors, volunteers, social workers for the state, and some of the FEMA staff.”

  “You’re right, that may be the target,” Quinton said. “And if Narius is involved, he might have set it up so he’ll be present to watch. That’s not uncommon for serial killers.”

  He phoned Detective DeLang, and Annabelle listened while he discussed the security measures they’d implemented in the city for the night.

  Then he called the tech at Homeland Security. “Check that online support group for veterans again. See if you find anyone posting from New Orleans.”

  “I’ll get on it, b
ut it’ll take time,” the tech said.

  Quinton gritted his teeth. “Work as fast as you can. It could mean life or death.”

  When Quinton disconnected the call, they’d reached Woldenberg Park, where the jazz festival was being held. Vendors were in full swing offering local Cajun foods and beer. Already people were spread out on blankets, and the park was packed as the musicians began to play.

  Uniforms and plainclothes policemen were interspersed among the guests. Quinton struggled to read thoughts as they combed through the crowd.

  The scent of garbage rolled off one man, and Quinton paused by a park bench, but the minute he tapped into the man’s thoughts, he realized he was an undercover cop.

  “This place is covered. Let’s check out Bourbon Street and go into some of the clubs.”

  She nodded, and they returned to the car, the clock ticking.

  “We’ll need dress clothes for tonight,” she said quietly.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Right.”

  Before they stopped to shop, they visited several landmarks, including the House of Blues, the riverfront shops, and the French Market.

  Frustration nagged at Quinton as the time passed. At least in Charleston they’d had a name.

  Here, they had nothing.

  They stopped at a boutique in the shopping district where he purchased a suit, and she bought a little black dress and strappy sandals.

  Quinton drew inward, resorting to his professional persona. Shayla’s threat hung over him like a black cloud of doom.

  He phoned the tech again. “Do you have an update?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Can you check something else? Pull a list of all the people invited to this awards ceremony tonight, and see if anyone there is a veteran.”

  “Sure. I’ll get back to you.”

  He thanked him and hung up, then parked at the hotel, and they climbed out. In spite of logic telling him to keep his distance, that he needed to be clearheaded and focused tonight in order to ferret out this demon, Annabelle’s scent drove him crazy as they hurried to their rooms.

  He needed to expel the tension in his body so he would be free to focus.

  But the only way to do that was to have her. To touch her, taste her, work out his hunger for her.

  “I’ll go get dressed,” Annabelle said. She gave him a weary look, then hurried to the shower.

  As he heard the water start to run, thoughts of her naked body consumed him. He paced the room, trying to banish them, but when she emerged wearing that low-cut dress with the slit up her thigh, his cock hardened and desire shot through his balls.

  What if a demon did show tonight? What if the demon hurt Annabelle, and he failed to protect her?

  His blood turned hot, dark thoughts flowing through his mind, and he felt his evil side emerging.

  On the heels of that darkness, panic tore at him. He wouldn’t fail.

  He couldn’t.

  “Quinton, aren’t you going to change?” Annabelle asked.

  His gaze met hers, and he recognized the same fears he was feeling. She was anxious, wired, dreading the next few hours.

  Wondering if they’d survive.

  His body smoldered with lust, and her eyes flickered with heat, her breath raspy as he walked toward her. When he was only an inch away, he inhaled her sweet body, the slight hint of perfume she’d dotted on her neck, and his mouth watered.

  Wanting to soothe her nerves, he rubbed her arms with his hands, then leaned close to her ear and dragged in a breath. “I know how we could relieve some tension.”

  “How? Did you see a gym downstairs?” she said sweetly.

  He chuckled. Dammit, they might die tonight. He wanted her first.

  And it was just sex.

  He had his own agenda, and it didn’t involve having a personal long-term relationship with her.

  All physical. No commitment.

  She turned her back to him as if to dismiss him, but he brushed her hair back from her neck. Then he pressed his lips to her tender skin. “I want you, Annabelle, and I know you want me, too. I can feel it in the heat radiating off you.”

  “We can’t do this,” she whispered.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we have to concentrate.”

  “You’re distracting me from work. I can concentrate better when my mind isn’t full of wanting you.” He nipped at her earlobe, then placed his hands on her shoulders and kneaded the tightness from her muscles. She moaned as his fingers worked magic.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked hoarsely.

  “You know why, Annabelle. You feel the heat blazing between us just as I do.” He raked his fingers lower to her waist, then gripped her and slid his thigh between her legs, stroking her as he pulled her ass against his rock hard body.

  “God, Quinton,” she said in a pained voice, tinged with longing.

  He flipped her around and cupped her face between his big hands. His heart raced, his body aching.

  But fear seized him.

  Not only fear of losing her to this demon.

  But fear that if he did take her, he wouldn’t be able to walk away when it was over.

  The thought made him take a step back and release her.

  Annabelle swayed, dizzy with desire.

  But suddenly he pulled away. “You’re right. I should get ready.”

  A tormented look crossed his face, then he turned and went into the shower.

  She stood in stunned surprise, her body quivering with want, need, and unsated desire.

  She wanted Quinton. Had teetered on the edge of letting him have his way with her. Because her hunger for him was so strong she could no longer deny it.

  But having sex with him would only sate part of her.

  She wanted more. Something he couldn’t give her.

  Love.

  And that was the reason she couldn’t go to him.

  Besides, he had supernatural powers…

  She paced across the room, listening to the shower water run. To the sound of the wind outside.

  Her nerves on edge, she moved the curtain aside and looked out into the night, searching. Streetlights dotted the distant horizon; the sounds of Bourbon Street, traffic, jazz music, and partygoers filled the air. Moonlight bathed the street; stars glittered in the clear sky. It was a beautiful night.

  Too beautiful to die.

  But reality clawed at her. A monster—human or demon?—was preying on unsuspecting innocents, ready to kill more people. And she might be on his hit list.

  What if she died and never slept with Quinton?

  They’d been working for days to stop this killer, barely sleeping or eating or living themselves.

  What if she never felt his lips teasing her, kissing her, his fingers stroking her secret places. Secret places that begged for his hands and mouth.

  What if she never felt the power of his big body above her, filling her, holding her, making love to her?

  She closed her eyes, willing her rational side to return, to hold her libido in check, but instead, images of him lying naked on the bed pleasuring himself drifted to her, tormenting her. What if he was taking his own pleasure now in the shower?

  No… it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t get her all stirred up and achy, then leave her like this.

  Her body thrumming with tension, she opened the bathroom door. He had just stepped from the shower, and he stood naked and dripping wet, his corded muscles slick, his sex jutting forward, thick and heavy and pulsing with need.

  “I thought…”

  A slow smile curved his mouth. “That I took care of things?” He chuckled and gestured to his rigid cock. “No. I was hoping a cold shower would work. But nothing seems to work around you.”

  “Good.” Courage suddenly bolstered her, then she lifted her hands, unfastened the cocktail dress, and let it slide to the floor so she stood wearing only a pair of black lace thong panties.

  The stark need in Quinton’s sigh flamed her hu
nger.

  “You know I’m bad for you,” he said in a gruff voice. “That I’m not a good guy.”

  Defiance made her lift her chin. “I don’t care. We might die tonight.”

  “And?”

  “And I want to be with you,” she whispered. “I want you to make me feel alive.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Her gaze met his, and something hot and intense passed between them, a draw that she couldn’t deny any more than she could deny that she needed air to breathe.

  “I wanted to join you in the shower earlier,” he said in a gruff voice. “I can’t get you out of my head. The picture of you naked…”

  “I can’t erase the picture of you from my mind either,” she whispered.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “So you did watch?”

  A flush crept up her neck at the excited look in his eyes.

  Spurned by that thought, she lowered her gaze, perusing his body.

  Instant heat pulsed through her. He was the most gorgeous, virile man she’d ever met. A bad boy in every sense of the word.

  His gaze fell to her breasts, and her breath heaved in and out. “Touch yourself,” he said in a low, gruff voice that made her heat grow wet with need.

  She couldn’t resist his command. She had to obey.

  Her heart pounded as she lifted her hands and cupped her breasts. At the first touch, his breath hissed out. “More.”

  A tiny thrill raced through her, and she licked her finger, then circled her areole with it, stroking her nipple between her damp fingers. Her nipple budded to a stiff peak, and she imagined him closing his mouth over it, tugging the tip. Warm erotic sensations splintered through her, and she slid her other hand downward over her body, then between her thighs, teasing her clit. Desire surged through her.

  “Enough.” Hissing between his teeth, he suddenly shoved her hands away and cupped her breasts in his big hands, kneading them as he blatantly stared at her stiffening nipples.

  “God, you’re magnificent,” he murmured.

  Her chest rose and fell beneath his hands, her body craving more, aching for him as she never had for a man, her mind racing with unfulfilled fantasies. Erotic fantasies that she’d never considered before. Fantasies of him taking her against the wall, outside on the park bench. Of him tying her to his bed and making love to her until she thought she’d die from the torture.