by L. A. Banks
“I knew better than that,” he said between huge breaths, trying to push himself up on trembling arms. “I wouldn’t take you like that in this condition.”
He rolled her over onto her back so she was beneath him as he crouched above her on all fours. She kept her eyes closed tightly and knew he was studying the wound. Then a rough tongue gently licked the side of her neck, and she could hear a low rumbling purr of satisfaction come up from his chest. A gentle kiss touched her eyelids.
“You can look now,” he said, smiling. “I’m good . . . oh, yeah, I’m good, now.” He let his breath out on a heavy sigh. “You okay?”
She peeped at him, only opening one eye, and let her breath out slowly, thankful that he’d normalized. “Uh, huh.” It took her a moment to process what had just happened. “Where did that come from?”
He kissed her softly and chuckled, nipping her earlobe. “What can I say? A good hunt takes me there every time, and I was mad as hell at that bastard.” He drew away from her and gave her a sly glance as he dressed, and helped her to stand so she could pull down her skirt.
Her hands were shaking as she went to fetch her blade. She was careful to stoop to retrieve the dagger off the ground. His vibe was still thick and she just hoped that what she’d given him would be enough to send him home cool. Soon her team had to go on the road, and brotherman could not be acting like this around family.
“I’m good,” he said, casually, smiling slowly, watching her straighten her clothes. His eyes caught the moonlight, glistened gold, and followed her with feline concentration. “I’m going home. I promise. I’ll act right while you’re on tour, baby.”
She didn’t like the sound of his voice or the fact that she could still sense a repressed shape-shift just beneath his surface cool. It grated her. She knew how Carlos operated. Sure, he’d tell her the truth, but the double-meaning context was what was the lie. That old, I’ll-act-right-while-you’re-on-tour-baby, probably meant he’d promise to act right—real good, with every female in the hemisphere. She wanted to slap him.
She shook her head as she dusted off her top. The whole thing was ridiculous; she didn’t even have a purse, had used her blade for some seriously untoward mess, and had sex running down her leg. She could not go back to the compound like this.
Carlos smiled and let his gaze trail down her wet thigh. His eyes glittered gold but were slowly going red. “Come here,” he said in a husky tone and began to walk toward her. “I’ll get it off of you.”
She held up her hand. “Keep your panther tongue in your mouth! I am fine! Just stay on your side of the forest.”
“Aw, girl,” he murmured, his eyes amused as he watched her walk a wide berth around him. “Don’t be like that. Take it as a compliment.”
“What?” She was incredulous, but still staying away from him, no matter how good it felt. The experience was deep. Too deep at the moment.
“If you can pull that kind of reaction out of me . . . . You definitely are the one.” He leaned against a tree and closed his eyes with a satisfied smile.
She would not laugh. This was not funny. Nor would he seduce her again tonight. It was time to go home. She was making a squishing sound as she walked. All she could think of was the noses in her house . . . and if Big Mike heard this. Damali kept her eyes forward staring at nothing. They’d probably blot her name out of the huntress book for this one. None of the tacticals could ever touch the dagger until she died. Oh, the vibe off of that! The clerics couldn’t have it, either. This was so over the top. “I’m glad you’re cool, and I’m not exactly sure what just went down, but—”
“Wasn’t nothing,” he said, laughing as he followed behind her, then stretched like a big, lazy cat. “Relax. Every man’s got a little animal in him. Don’t you know that by now?”
Carlos stood outside the safe house, watching it while leaning against a tree. Choices. Being with her, after he came down, always made him think. He loved that about her as much as he hated it. But now that his body was somewhat satisfied, his mind could go to work.
There was no way to get the old men inside to understand what seductive choices he faced. On the one hand, if he stayed out in the world as a vampire, he’d continue to experience what he’d just felt tonight. Absolute, incredible fucking power. A woman in his arms who drove him to the brink of his own sanity. He closed his eyes and allowed remnants of those sensations to wash through him. Damn, he could still smell her on him.
This is what they didn’t understand. They kept telling him about the trinity of gifts from their world: hope, faith, love. Carlos shook his head. From his world the trinity was equally simplistic: feed to gain power—blood for the physical body, knowledge for the mind, human terror for dark spiritual strength; fight—to protect and to gain, absolute power being the relentless goal; and to fuck everything walking—the pleasure principle. Fuck a competitor out of a business deal, fuck a woman, fuck with somebody’s head . . . it didn’t matter. It was all about power. His kind were accomplished in knowledge about all the arts, history, science, all areas of information, because it allowed them to feed that never-sated power hunger, and fight better, and ohhh . . . yeah . . . fuck anything walking way better than the average man.
Problem was, Damali was fucking with his trinity, fusing it with hers. There were nights when he just wanted to simply fuck her, but wound up making love to her instead, or wanted to feed from her, but wound up hoping for the redemption of his soul and feeding her his dreams. And there were nights she got on his nerves so bad that he wanted to fight with her about her naive philosophies . . . then she’d tell him to have faith, would saunter up to him, and fuck him hard enough till he lost his mind. Then she’d demand something nowhere in a vampire’s nature—monogamy. Yeah, she was confusing, and was messing him up big time.
She’d done that tonight, and had trapped him by her three golden handcuffs . . . shackled him by his hope that she would never leave him, his faith in what they had together, and the fact that he loved her so much he never wanted to hurt her. That was absolute power. A novice had done that, had absolutely ruined him! He hadn’t allowed a woman to do that to him while alive, and now he was a vampire and had practically ceded all that he was?
It pissed him off. He paced hard just thinking about it. But the fact remained, his ass had come home, just because she’d asked him to, and he had honored her request—as if he were already married. No, uh-uh. There was too much out there in the world yet to see and do. He was young and strong and . . . shit, what was that call?
Carlos tilted his head and listened hard, and then shook it off. He needed to get back to the basics of what he was, because being all confused was a good way for a master to get staked. And that vibe running through his territory needed thorough investigation. For ten damned nights, Damali had kept him from that call—blocking it with her body, her mind, and her all-consuming spirit . . . but whatever was calling him now was definitely coming from the southern hemisphere—the same region where the killings were taking place.
For ten damned nights, ever since he’d completely healed, something out there had been pulling on his level-five capacities, making him almost want to give up human form altogether. Madness. Maybe he needed to go ahead and take that council seat, after all? He was out of control and could feel it, and there was nothing that frightened him more than that.
Then, on the other hand, if he went with the clerics—what? Either way, he was doomed. If he went with their plan, he’d get his soul back and die, probably after his seven years were completed. He’d have to give up every pleasure . . . be a spirit. What they were offering just didn’t work for him. Their offer was weak. Because what he wanted more than anything else was a for real second chance. That option wasn’t even on the table. And if he went with Hell’s option, Damali would never come to him again.
Carlos pushed away from a tree and swallowed hard and began walking deeper into the woods. Yeah, they told him to block the shot and watch out for her.
He had been crazy to take that bait. For one night, with her, hell yeah . . . But he also knew when he agreed that once with her would never be enough, and it was getting complicated now Real complicated.
He had messed around and fallen in love with this woman—had years ago. Just being with her sealed it, blew him away. And tonight she took him primal? He shook his head. Now he was really trapped by her spell. He had to do the right thing, or he’d never be able to look her in the eyes. Then again . . . maybe she’d never know? Carlos chuckled and let his breath out hard. That was bullshit, and he knew it. Women always knew—second sight was in their DNA, Neteru or not—especially when it came to another woman, or women, plural. Damn that call tonight was strong . . .
Still, it was easier not to have that complication and not be totally driven by the Neteru drug. Loving her was a whole lot more addictive and problematic. Was dangerous. That shit would make a man crash and burn.
He had longed for her to be able drop fang tonight . . . His heart sped at the thought. But, no, he couldn’t make her what he was, just for the pleasure of experiencing everything with her. The passion bites he had been giving her wouldn’t turn her. But what about the moment the first gray hair appeared on her head? He’d be tempted to turn her then. What if she got sick? Truth be told, he had no idea what it felt like to give someone eternal life. He couldn’t fathom the exchange that would go down if he gave it to Damali . . . He closed his eyes. He had to banish it from his mind; it was too tempting.
If he couldn’t bear the thought of her old or sick, was it any wonder that he had been mentally blocking her from finding out about what had gone down in Brazil? He had almost lost her in the vampire civil war and she was currently in no shape to deal with whatever was down there. So, until her powers were at full strength, he was keeping his ear to the ground. If activity flared up again, he’d either approach the guardians or go down there and handle it himself. But Damali was too precious to risk right now.
If he was going to have to handle some serious business in Brazil, then he could no longer avoid the other responsibilities pressing him. He had a council seat to consider, he needed to check the female vamps in his territory, he had borders to secure, and motherfuckers that needed to be organized into productive industry sectors. Sure he could cast temporary illusions to transform a room at will or could put some supernatural topspin on an engine, but he needed money to keep things running. Even vamps weren’t above needing good cash flow.
He also had a reputation to establish. He couldn’t hold anything if others thought he was dead, or worse . . . a punk. His territories would be in constant chaos and then the Vampire Council would have to step in. And that was unacceptable. So much hinged on him doing what needed to be done. And he couldn’t do it, sleeping on a monk’s cot.
Carlos put his head in his hands. It seemed that being dead hadn’t taken away the necessity of being a good businessman. It remained in the fabric of his soul. So far, every deal he had cut with the darkness had come up golden. But every deal he made pushed him further away from the light as well. A helpless anger filled him and he looked up at the sky and yelled, “What do you want from me?”
He waited. No answer. As expected. They didn’t have the answers to the tough questions—just wanted a brother to walk out on faith, no guarantees. Yeah, right. Some deal. Which made him wonder if the Light really made deals with people like him. A monster with only a few scraps of honor left to his name.
And he was a monster. Tonight had proven that. After the power rush he’d just experienced, how was he supposed to do Brazil and fight without a true feeding? If he took down one innocent, just one, then all bets were off. Even now he fought not to go into the safe house and do exactly that. Carlos scrambled farther away, found a place to sit on high rocks, and stared up at the stars.
What the Covenant wanted from him was obscene. He was what he was. His belly was full, but the need for human blood was making his hands tremble. And mercy, he’d almost lost it on his baby. If she only knew. His kind craved blood and fear, and when he’d smelled that on Damali, mixed with her heady scent . . . would only be a matter of time before he flat-lined her while fucking her to death. And she’d come to trust that he wouldn’t hurt her.
Suddenly he felt the need to move. He jumped rock formations, enjoying the power. That was the problem. The power was getting good to him, had always been good to him. He had loved the power of having her under him, panting. Loved the power of the race, of his control, even up until the moment he had crashed his car. And that scared him. Neteru or not, Damali was flesh and bone and living and irreplaceable. That’s what made humans complex—they were one of a kind and fragile.
And in Brazil the power possibilities would be extreme. Clubs with hot bodies, filled with adrenaline, drug-saturated blood, sexual arousal, all the good stuff, times thousands screaming his baby’s name if she did a concert there.
Real predators, like you don’t see in North America, would be luring him to the jungle to hunt in the dense heat. The night calls alone would seduce him to turn into something very scary that she might not like, but that he’d love, until he dropped her limp and sweaty body and got up off her.
Carlos closed his eyes. If he had to battle whatever was over there, he’d have to feed an army—and they weren’t going to do deer. Neither was he. Right there, his number would be up. Besting some local second-level was one thing, but if there was a serious international threat out there, he’d have to feed the way a vampire was supposed to feed.
And the worst part was, Damali would see that part of him that he’d managed to keep from her. His heart squeezed in terror when he thought of the horror that would fill her eyes. She would be disgusted that she had allowed one of the monsters to touch her, lie with her, love her. He had been caught up in her arms and no matter what happened, he would cherish that time with her.
Carlos turned into vapor and began drifting back to the safe house. He and Father Patrick needed to talk. He might have to say good-bye to that old man tonight.
“Well, what a surprise to have you home so early, Carlos,” Father Patrick said in a cheery tone. “Want to join us in some poker?”
Carlos shook his head. “No. I need a supply, and then I’m going back out.”
The monks looked at him.
“I’m going to Brazil and I need to go subterranean to raise an army, so don’t even start.”
Father Patrick abandoned his cards and stood, coming to Carlos’s side. “Son, it’s too dangerous for you to go underground again. You made your deal. Why do you have to go back? And . . . an army?”
“Need to investigate a few things. Need a squad.”
“Can’t it wait? If you go with other vampires and not our teams . . .”
Carlos shook his head no.
“At least let me contact Damali’s team for some stronger donations? We don’t have to tell her why.”
“No, forget it. It really doesn’t matter anyway. Besides, I don’t need to get used to the taste of her team’s blood. One shot of that was bad enough—got me looking sideways at Big Mike and Shabazz, as it is.”
“Hold it. A word. Me and you. In your lair, before you go?”
“Aw’ight.” Carlos brushed past the cleric and headed downstairs.
He was sitting on the edge of his cot, staring at the floor, when the cleric entered the room.
“I lived like this when I was a kid,” Carlos said in a quiet voice. “Raggedy, old, narrow bed, in a fucked-up, tiny room. I swore to God that as soon as I got old enough, I’d never go out like that again.” He looked up at Father Patrick and held his gaze. “I don’t expect you to understand because you took a vow of poverty, but I didn’t.”
The priest nodded. “I think I understand better than you know.”
Carlos was on his feet in seconds. “No! You don’t!” He snapped his fingers and instantly converted the room. “This is what a master vampire’s lair looks like.”
Father Patric
k put his hands behind his back and slowly walked around the converted room. “Impressive. I like the four-poster bed . . . candles add a nice touch . . . Did she like it?”
“Yeah,” Carlos said with a scowl, waving away the illusion. He sat on the cot, in frustration.
The cleric shrugged. “So?”
“So . . . so . . . I need to be able to do more. I need more juice in the human world.”
The priest just looked at him for a moment. “We get our juice, as you call it, from On High. I have the gift of second sight, but I don’t have any magical powers to confer, if that’s—”
“I know that. I wasn’t talking about that. Forget it. Stupid for even bringing it up. I wasn’t talking about fucking décor!”
Finding a wooden chair in the corner, Father Patrick brought it to the foot of the bed and sat down in front of Carlos.
“Son, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”
Carlos took in a deep inhale and shook his head. “I’m dead.”
The priest nodded.
Tears welled in Carlos’s eyes and he blinked them back in anger.
“I ain’t got no future.”
The priest said nothing.
“Ruined everything . . . can’t marry her, buy her a house, give her a kid, you know? Can’t protect her in Brazil like I’ll probably need to if she gets a wild vision to go—not without putting innocent people at risk . . . People who got what I want. Life. No matter how rich, no matter how poor, they ain’t dead. They got kids, and people to care about them if they die, you feel me?” Carlos looked at the wall, rather than at the priest. “I needed to explain some hard shit to her tonight, man. But I couldn’t. I haven’t told her, yet, what would happen to me if I don’t eat right after a battle. And if she saw it, it would break her heart.”
