And the types of people who become vigilantes...
I'll have to explore later. But there's something there. A link I'm not catching.
“How am I supposed to trust you if you won't even bother sharing anything?” Richard flings up his hands in disgust, before politely asking if he can borrow some of my whisky. I let him, of course. I don't see myself drinking much of it. Tarren follows to grab several shots as well, and Richard stonily hands him the bottle, not wanting to pour for the other shifter.
He's taking this way too hard. I wonder what my mother would think of these people if she saw them now. I sometimes wonder if my parents would like them. If they didn't know what they shifted into. Tarren with his clan tattoo upon his arm. Richard with his upon his chest. Displaying the creatures they shift into.
I can almost hear my mother's voice now. Don't hang out with shifters. They'll lure you away and they'll eat you!
Maybe some will. In those illegal Hunts I've seen, it doesn’t end pretty.
Tarren continues to hedge on his words, preferring either to change the subject, or to smirk in that annoying way. But something's not adding up.
I take the words Tarren's said and examine them carefully. Something I'm missing.
“I was just thinking, Tarren,” I say, and draw their attention to me again, rather than their current mocking of my less than stellar cuisine choice, “why would you go after someone who is neither in your territory, or a lead to Janus? Why would you refuse to message us about this, and not turn up at the airport?”
“Come on,” Tarren says, his smile starting to crack into irritation, “it's not a big deal if I don't turn up at the airport.”
A throb in my heart makes me steel up against him. “Are you sure about that?” I stare at him, all fury and embarrassment at the same time. I'm little more than a small girl trying to stand up to a monster. The shifters can overpower me in every way. Yet the adrenalin coaxes me on. “Maybe it's not a big deal, but it is a deal when you make a promise and then break it. For some random thug?”
The color of his eyes seems to shift. His muscles tense. “Perhaps I should come back here another time, if this is the reception I can expect. I've already told you to drop it. Stop.”
“Tarren!” I step in front of him, heart hammering furiously. “It won't be a big deal if you just explain. I'll understand, then. But you can't expect me to be satisfied with you strolling in and acting like nothing's wrong when you know you fucked up here.”
“I didn't. Fuck. Up.” He makes a movement, as if to grab me, and Richard tenses, ready to intervene.
There's a kind of Mexican stand-off between us, as we gauge each other's reactions. Our muscles are tight, and Richard looks strange.
Aroused, even. And yeah. He's already halfway there. Tarren, almost hissing fury, switches his gaze, and now sees Richard.
“Are you getting turned on by the idea that we might fight?”
“Fuck off,” Richard says, neck flushing an ugly crimson.
The atmosphere breaks. I begin to laugh, and Tarren's following suit.
“Damn, Richard, I can't believe you, getting turned on like that...”
“Ah, for fuck's sake.” Richard takes the entire whisky bottle, which is about half full, and begins to glug it. He removes it and wipes his mouth. “Not like I can control what my body decides is hot, right?”
Before the mood takes a turn into more pleasant, hair tingling territory, I make a last effort. “Please, Tarren. I want to know. If whoever you took out wasn't important to a cause, then maybe it was important to you, right?”
The dark-haired shifter regards me for a moment. Perhaps warring inside in whether he should open to me or not. To us. Hopefully I've said the right thing.
Eventually, he says, “Maybe in time. But not now. But you're right that it's something important to me.”
More important than me? I want to think, but I know that's an absurd thought. We don't know each other that well.
“Okay.” I don't push any further.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. Now, remember... if you ever need a job that can earn you some good, hard dollars, you know where to find me.”
Richard lets out a little growl at this statement, clearly not amused. “Stop trying to whore her out in front of me. She's not going to go for that.”
I'm not sure what the power play is between these two at times, but I have to say I'm starting to think that they're mutually incompatible. Maybe we bonded well in the couple of sex sessions in the past, but...
It's damn sexy all the same. Feeling and tasting their danger. The fragrance of testosterone in the air, and perhaps the silent grinding of egos. Thinking about them, thinking about previous sessions gets me turned on. Sending heat rising to the surface of my cheeks, from my core and through my throat. Imagine being taken right now in my new place, by the both of them. Imagine experiencing that, going through the motions until the orgasm hits and melts me into a puddle.
As if sensing my mood, Richard gives me a long stare, before idly moving to my side and running his hand along my arms. It's enough to get me instantly turned on, feeling his smooth fingers caressing me. Obviously, since he’s struggling with his own arousal, that doesn’t help much, either. At this rate, we’ll both be pinging off each other until we pop.
Tarren won’t want to be a bystander, either. A whisper of air caresses my neck. Eyes fluttering shut, I sink into the sensation, sink into the shivers that tussle over my body. Before long, it’s escalating. One moment, I’m here – the next, we end up heading towards the bedroom, wanting a better place to bite into our desires. Richard grips me hard, working at my clothes, his breathing rough and frantic, as if he can’t wait to get me undressed. Tarren’s stripping by the side, a rather evil smile upon his features, amber eyes glittering in desire. Truthfully, I’ve been waiting for this, longing to feel them against me again, to be dominated, to be fought between two alphas. Clothes off at last, I let out a yelp as Richard scoops me up, and I feel his cock jutting against my ass as he does so. Oh my. He places me on the bed, almost crazed with lust, and I admire his toned, slender body for a moment, even as I become painfully aware of just how aroused I am. Body’s in a fever, the inside of my thighs are slick with fluid – more than I thought possible. The effect these two have on me. Tarren’s brewing a storm over there, and his hand reaches for Richard, as if contesting me.
Personally, I don’t care who might enter me first, but they certainly seem to, and there’s some squaring of shoulders, even a growl, as if the dragons lurking under their skins want to burst to the surface. Might ruin the mood a bit if one or both of them shifted. I’m happy to sex it up with male anatomy. Not so much with lizard.
Some sort of silent compromise finally reaches them. I experience a small stab of fear when I think they plan to enter me without condoms – don’t want any complications in my near future – before Tarren conjures up two condoms. I say conjured, but he’d clearly been keeping spare ones nearby, and I hadn’t actually thought to purchase any from the store. Stupid of me. Should always be prepared for whatever circumstances might occur. Heard too many tales of guys bluffing their way into condomless sex – doesn’t feel good, don’t have any… must do that later – the thoughts dribble out of my mind as Richard, condom now on, plunges into me with a sharp thrust.
My back crushes into the soft duvet, and there’s only a faint creak as his hands splay on either side of my head, and he enters me with such force that I move a few millimetres up. With a grunt and shudder of breath, he continues to thrust inside, hard, so our bodies shift together, his balls slap me in a wonderfully decadent, sinful motion. I don’t know why that image seems to burn in my brain like a fever, that he’s driving into me so hard that I can feel everything, hear everything, and I whimper and moan, clawing at his back, encouraging him to go faster.
Feels good – but not good enough for me to come. That thought teases my mind. Probably why I like it so hard, because I’m
not sure if I can actually orgasm by penetration. Tarren’s by the side, working his cock, no condom on it yet. I can’t put it into my mouth, though the thought races through my mind like wildfire – simply because the thrusts of Richard’s body will likely end up in a nasty accident for Tarren. Have to resist the urge to giggle at this thought, and quickly lose myself in the thrill of sensation, smell, sound and touch again. Richard’s mouth tastes of smoke and sweetness all at once – it’s strange, but compelling. He twitches above me, stiffening, and I know he’s finally come. The second he removes himself from me, Tarren’s there.
“Scream for me,” he hisses in my ear, slotting on his condom before taking me hard. I gasp and whimper, before allowing my voice to evolve into screams, yelling for him to go harder, faster, to fuck me senseless until I’m nothing but feeling and floating bliss. He doesn’t go as fast as Richard – giving Richard the chance to sneak in some clitoral stimulation.
It’s too much. I can barely contain my excitement, the building pressure in my stomach and legs. My mind focuses on that area, urging the orgasm to come, though it’s not instant. My insides ache in a wonderfully sore and sweet way, having been thoroughly pounded by two virile males.
Everything’s vibrating inside me now, stretched to breaking point. Slender fingers on my clit, Tarren moving slowly inside me, propping himself high as if he’s doing push-ups to give Richard more room to stimulate me. Honestly, I want them both inside me at the same time. I’ve never tried that way before, but the idea enflames me, makes me want to hiss at Richard to take me – but I’m unable to control the rest of my reactions as I eventually shake loose, careening out of control and letting out a wordless yell of ecstasy as the orgasm rips through me. Richard’s fingers are still slipping along my wet clit, quickly turning from sensitive to hypersensitive – it’s already attempting to retreat from his touch. I think Richard wants to continue, to force my body to give up another orgasm – but Tarren removes himself, gently telling Richard to stop.
Reluctantly, he does so, and the naked men clamber together into bed with me. Part of me wants them to continue. The other part’s glad they chose to stop, as I’m not sure I could have endured much more.
Maybe my sexual exercise needs some work.
“That was a nice home breaking,” I purr to them, relaxing into my pillows with a dreamy sensation floating through me.
“Did you expect anything less?” Tarren responds, real mirth in his voice. Again, I find myself looking at him, curious. Big tough guy but has a sensitive side to him. Perhaps even more sensitive than Richard. A guy who has a strange tattoo over his heart. It looks like an oblong circle attached to a triangle. Abstract.
Richard, though, appears gentler at first glance, and rougher with the sex when he goes for it. It’s such an odd contrast. Tough outside, gooey inside, verses soft outside, iron inside. Richard gets up once, wanting a smoke before sleep, before he clambers back in, and snuggles right up.
Sandwiched between them, they murmur sleepily for a bit, as if they’ve taken a truckload of soporific drugs, and then quickly turn to soft breaths and slumber. I try to sleep as well, feeling a little bit amused and amazed at how fast they manage it.
Eventually, I extricate myself from the bed. I have that sweet ache between my thighs, that warm glow to my body, but there's something nagging at my mind.
The Profile on Tarren's past. I have an idea of who Richard is. His mother died giving birth to Tomas, but he remembers enough of her to love her. Authoritarian father, immensely respected figure in the community, and one of the founding fathers of Animusa. Hard enough to wrap my head around, that someone from back then is still alive today. A difficult thing for Richard to live up to. There isn't the opportunities for people now that existed back then – not unless we hop into spacecraft and make it to another planet.
As for Tarren, he doesn't talk about parents. Seems like the foster care system likely vomited him out of the pavement, so I guess he's had the tough as nails upbringing. Not showing weakness.
Maybe that's why he doesn't want to talk about something like this. Because it shows weakness.
I casually press my hands against the glass panel that leads to a small balcony outside. Not planning to open it – might make too much noise. City lights are twinkling, with silhouetted high-rise buildings painted against a dark, starless sky. Lone stragglers on the streets.
My new home, perhaps. This unfamiliar world with shifters. With deaths happening right under my feet, as people fight and die for dollars, for the chance to live longer, hunting a target who likely is a victim of trafficking.
I wouldn't feel safe walking alone at night here. The chill ripples up and down my spine and swells in my gut until the only way I can expel it is through a deep, shuddering exhale.
Finally, wrenching myself away from the sight, I head over to Tarren's sleeveless leather jacket. Must be proud of his arms. Proud of intimidating others with the patterns upon them. This is what I want to do.
Hopefully he's not awake right now. If I'm right, if there's something important to him, perhaps he carries a memory. People wear their tokens close to their heart. Side pockets, nothing. Checking, I find inner pockets, left and right. Right has a credit card. Left has something oval on a chain.
Steady... I forget how to breathe as I pull it out, hoping I'm not going to make it rattle, or that it's not going to catch. Now that I see it in full, my heart plummets.
A locket.
Meaning there's something in the locket that's close to his heart – literally. Since he positioned it in such a way to be so. My hands shake as I fumble to unclasp the locket. Hoping I don't break it. Praying – little more – there.
Inside, and I move into the bathroom to turn on the light and get a better look, is a picture of a child. A girl. Chubby cheeks, grinning with that wild abandon that only children seem to have. Dark eyes, dark hair. A cherub for sure, wearing what looks like the hint of a red summer dress, though I can only see the thick straps on her shoulders and the straight cut across her collarbone.
His daughter? Someone he knows? My heart sinks lower, as I consider the implications of this. No mention of her at all. Not even the hiss of breath that says he's got someone around. There was no one at his house, either. I have a horrible, inescapable feeling that this girl might be dead.
The catalyst for who he is today.
Who are you? I clip it back together, uneasy, returning the locket back into the inner slit of his jacket.
I'm scared to go back into the bedroom, now, in case I see his eyes open, judging me. So I simply go and spread myself out on the sofa. Lying on my back, staring at the ceiling. Painting a story of that locket. But the only person who can tell me is Tarren Vale, and his lips are as sealed as the grave.
Tarren
I don’t see what good it’ll serve to tell them anything about my past. Not without getting some sanctimonious bullshit about how I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. Can’t afford to be stopped. Can’t afford to be interrupted.
Of course, they’re both knocking at my door. Trying to sneak in and discover what’s lurking behind my mask.
But not until all her killers are dead. I can’t ever rest until that result’s obtained.
Would have been nice to stay with the both of them for longer, but now, I’ve got other things to handle. On top of Janus Stronghand trying to set spies on Emma and Richard, which makes me think Emma must be the target – an immune’s a pretty juicy thing to seize, after all – I’ve been hearing some rumors about an eastern European shifter working on their own Hunt just on the outskirts of Animusa. Nothing concrete – they’re keeping it under wraps. Nothing unusual in shipping manifests or trade routes. Which suggests they’re finding another way to sneak past.
Which suggests they probably have some of those irritating shifters working for them. Djinni. They can form portals. We don’t have djinni in North America – they’re only found in a small region in the Gulf.
It’s not the priority I want to handle, but I certainly can’t ignore the information that’s piling up.
Might need to hire two agents from Europe as well. Get them back here for a few years, work with them to keep things stable.
Since I suspect that even if I find the last of those disgusting killers, I’ll have my work cut out handling Janus Stronghand and whoever else is quibbling in our side of the map.
My lead takes me over to Calthus, which is a small town out of Animusa’s grasp, with big stretches of farmland and woodlands. Incidentally, where a lot of Animusa’s food is sourced from. Doesn’t take me long – I organize a backpack for my clothes, change into my dragon form, and have the backpack dangling in my talons as I fly over. We have safe changing spots for dragon shifters on high perches as obviously, dragons are rather large creatures.
Now back in my clothes, I head straight to one of my little establishments, again catering to the demand for night life and paid escorts. My informant of the day, a Tim Matthews, is watching a baseball match on his phone with an empty tankard next to him. He’s a coyote shifter with strong Native American ancestry, and it shows in the shape of his cheeks and jaw. He could slug you one as well in human form, less so in coyote, which would mainly be used for slinking around or escaping.
“About time,” Tim says, standing up to shake my hand. “Things are starting to get tense here. You want to speak or go somewhere else…?”
“The corner.” I beckon him over, passing a passive bartender who clearly seems to be playing games on her phone, and sit comfortably, where we’re sure to not be heard by the sparse customers in the place. “Okay, so what news have you got, that you couldn’t tell me about over the phone?”
“You don’t know how easy it is to tap phones,” Tim says. “Especially with some of them eastern shifters. They have ways of tracing calls that don’t require technology. I was there in Kazakhstan once. Had one of them reading out messages from the air, repeating conversations word for word. They had these little antennae that picked up everything…”
Seducing Two Serial Killers Page 13
