When it did, the vampire pressed the tips of his fingers to his eyelids. “Your friend is the child of the Morgan and the Lady?”
Benjamin slow-clapped. “Very good.”
Tzadkiel’s hands fell to his sides with a resounding thwack. “She does not use herbs and candles to aid her spells out of weakness then?”
“What? Nyx? Weak? Hell, no.” Benjamin scoffed at the idea of Nyx being anything other than a hundred percent competent. “Nyx could kick your ass into next week if…” He shook his head, realizing he’d nearly revealed her weakness. “Never mind.”
“If…she didn’t wear a transfiguration cuff,” Tzadkiel finished, completing the mental picture in a way Benjamin hadn’t anticipated.
“Shit.” Benjamin whirled. “You use that information and it’ll be the last thing you do.”
Tzadkiel’s chin lifted and he appeared to take in Benjamin’s house, beyond. “So the coven not only knows who you are, but where you live?”
“Another ten points to the genius. Yes, they keep an eye on me and come knocking from time to time. So far, they haven’t been able to locate Nyx because of that cuff. Thanks to you, I put all three of us in danger.” Benjamin strode up his walk and jammed the key into the lock. To his annoyance, Tzadkiel followed. “Get the fuck off my porch.”
If the witches showed up, he had a better chance of explaining the situation in a way that wouldn’t get him killed if his co-conspirator—instigator, really—wasn’t around. Especially if he sold out Tzadkiel in the process. Something he very much intended to do if it meant saving his own hide and decimating the vampires at the same time without harming Akito and Nyx.
Heavy hands landed on his shoulders and gripped hard. Clarity expelled from Benjamin in a rush. His knees went a little funny and his breath hitched as Tzadkiel spun him around. He struck out, but Tzadkiel captured his fist and slammed it to the clapboards behind him. Cane clenched in his right hand, Benjamin followed through with an uppercut to the vampire’s chin. This one connected with a satisfying crack that snapped back the vampire’s head.
Tzadkiel grabbed Benjamin’s fist and slammed it to the wall repeatedly, until Benjamin dropped the cane. The vampire pressed into him for long moments, saying nothing, doing nothing. Gradually, Benjamin became acutely aware of the seesawing of their breaths and the proximity of Tzadkiel’s hands over his, at either side of his head. He tried and failed to ignore the increasing pressure of his cock against Tzadkiel’s leg. Or was it the other way around?
“Did you have something to say?” Benjamin snarked. “Or are you trying to figure out how to let me go without getting a punch in the mouth?”
“I am not leaving you until this is finished.” The words were a mere whisper, so quiet Benjamin barely felt Tzadkiel breathe them across his ear.
Benjamin bit back a whimper. It was as if animosity’s passion were hardwired to his cock, programmed to give all the wrong signals at all the wrong times. He shouldn’t find this arousing in the least, and yet here they were with the evidence of his body’s traitorous reaction nudging up against the vampire’s thigh.
Keeping his attention focused over Tzadkiel’s shoulder, Benjamin growled out his frustration. “I fucking hate you for making me hard.”
Shock trilled from Tzadkiel’s fingers to Benjamin’s wrists, the spasm betraying the vampire’s reaction to the bald-faced admission. Leaning in so their cheeks pressed close, Tzadkiel breathed deep and slid his palm from Benjamin’s wrist, down his forearm to his biceps, and then his chest.
Benjamin scarcely dared breathe as Tzadkiel’s splayed palm traveled down the placket of his jeans. Finding the ridge of Benjamin’s erection, the vampire didn’t stroke or move, he merely pressed against Benjamin’s shaft until Benjamin moaned and turned his head to greet the vampire’s kiss.
Chapter 14
Benjamin turned his head, and Tzadkiel stepped away. Heat skated over his skin where his and the hunter’s bodies had met. Stubble—both Benjamin’s and his own—had rasped along his jaw, bringing the nerve endings to life. Oh, he’d wanted that kiss, but he enjoyed his enemy’s discomfiture more. After a night of defeats, Tzadkiel claimed this small victory for himself.
The hunter gaped at him, mouth open. Tzadkiel scooped up the man’s cane and held it out. Mouth snapping shut, Benjamin snatched for the cane and then turned away to insert the key in the front door lock with a violence that spoke of the things he’d like to do with a knife and Tzadkiel’s midsection. The door stuck, and Benjamin kicked it open with a vicious curse. It swung wide, hinges protesting.
Tzadkiel stepped into the foyer after Benjamin and closed the door. This time, entering the house felt different—less like crossing into the past, and more like writing a new chapter. Tzadkiel looked around with fresh eyes, noting the homey touches—an afghan on the overstuffed sofa, and braille books on a low table nearby. The walls needed a coat of paint, and the furniture a good dusting; but gone were the jars of organs and other vile specimens the uncle had kept. In their place were floral arrangements that almost masked the penny-sharp scent of damp decay emanating from the basement.
“Did your friends bring you the flowers?” Tzadkiel traced one buttery petal as Benjamin propped his cane on the coat tree.
“I get them from Haymarket,” Benjamin said, moving toward the stairs.
“I haven’t been there in years,” Tzadkiel offered, following, then felt stupid.
Of course he hadn’t. He’d been in a hole under Boston, struggling to survive. Nostalgia was an ache widened by memory and time. So many early mornings, before sunup, he and his brothers had slipped out to enjoy the mist off the ocean as it mingled with the scents of fresh fish and produce while the vendors at Haymarket unpacked their stalls.
In his bedroom, Benjamin’s steps slowed as he crossed to the dresser. He ran a hand along its acorn carvings, then seemed to catch sight of himself in the mirror above. Abruptly, he moved to the window, discarding his coat at the foot of the bed as he passed. He pushed the drapes to one side and peered out, seeming mesmerized by the snow dervishes beyond the glass. Tzadkiel toggled the light switch by the door, and the window abruptly reflected Benjamin’s visage back at himself. The hunter whirled.
“You don’t approve of your reflection?” Tzadkiel asked.
A shrug accompanied Benjamin’s headshake. “It doesn’t match.”
Tzadkiel propped his shoulder against the doorframe. “How so?”
“I don’t picture things like sighted people do, but I sense things. For lack of a better way to put it, I had a sense of what I looked like.” Benjamin ran one finger over his deepest scar. “I knew these were here, but my imagination didn’t match the visual.”
Curiosity pulled Tzadkiel’s brows together. “What did you think you would look like?”
Benjamin remained silent so long that Tzadkiel thought perhaps he wouldn’t answer. In the thoughtful countenance of the man in this unguarded moment, stripped of anger, the hunter resembled the boy he’d once been more than he had in the past two days. Tzadkiel didn’t mean to pry. Not really. A man needed to talk of such hurts, or the scars would freeze him from healing. Why he wanted Benjamin Fuller to heal, Tzadkiel couldn’t and didn’t examine. He only knew it was the right thing to do.
Finally, Benjamin lifted his head. “I imagined they looked strong.”
“I see,” Tzadkiel answered simply.
So the boy wanted to be a warrior. Well, it took more than a few brawls and murders to make a man a hero.
Benjamin lifted his hands to his shirt placket. He breathed deep and began flicking the buttons one by one through their holes. From across the room, Tzadkiel felt the hunter’s regard move over him, as the primal part of his brain recognized the threat of this man’s attention. Straightening, Tzadkiel brushed off the warning and instead moved into the room. He closed the door and leaned back.
“This was my uncle’s room.” Finished with his shirt, Benjamin jerked the drapes closed again so they
brushed the floor in a swirl of velvet. “I never saw it when he was alive.”
“He didn’t allow you in here?” Tzadkiel played the hunter’s game, making conversation while his eyes devoured every inch of revealed flesh. Just because he hated the man didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the pleasure the sight of his body afforded.
“No.” Benjamin shook his head, turning. “Mine was down the hall. I was only allowed in there.”
“You lived here? With him?” Tzadkiel frowned, confused. He’d thought Benjamin’s parents lived elsewhere with their offspring.
“I stayed here a lot.” Hip propped on the bed’s carved footboard, Benjamin tilted his chin down so he appeared to regard the floor. “I never loved him, you know. My uncle. He beat me. I still have scars. Or I did. They’re tats now.” Benjamin skimmed fingertips beneath his open shirt in a self-conscious gesture and lifted his head. “I can still feel them underneath the ink.”
Tzadkiel’s stomach turned. He remembered injuring Benjamin, the feel of the boy’s limp body in his arms, and blanched. To hurt a child was the height of cowardice.
“I’m not telling you for sympathy,” Benjamin continued. “I’m telling you because I don’t want you to think I hate you just for what you did to my family.” Lifting his hand, Benjamin removed his sunglasses and tossed them on the bed behind him. “Or for this,” he said, tracing the sunken scars over his eyes.
Remaining silent, Tzadkiel crossed his arms over his chest and heard Benjamin out. Tzadkiel supposed he owed the boy Benjamin had once been this much, though the man he’d become deserved little.
“Hate reminds me why I’m doing this—to protect my friends.” Benjamin stepped forward, shrugging off his shirt as he crossed the room to where Tzadkiel stood. “Hate makes me strong…and I’ve never hated like I hate you.”
Tzadkiel laughed, a quiet puff of breath that ended in an equally small nod. He smirked, unable to keep the bitter contempt from his face.
“Go ahead. Laugh.” Benjamin ran a black-painted fingernail down Tzadkiel’s chest, ending at the band of the leather trousers. “It’ll keep you from seeing me coming.”
The smile fell from Tzadkiel’s face, extinguished along with the light of his humor, sardonic or otherwise. He remained still, not trusting himself to speak or move, lest he snap the upstart hunter in two.
“I promise you. I’ll fight you until you’re dead or I’m dead.” The hunter leaned in so his lips brushed Tzadkiel’s ear. “But fear of you will never rule me again.”
Tzadkiel’s jaw flexed, an involuntary movement Benjamin undoubtedly felt. Either not registering the mood of the moment, or not caring, Benjamin reached for the placket of Tzadkiel’s trousers. The hunter tugged hard at the top button, jostling Tzadkiel’s hips. Anger and lust roared as Benjamin lowered to his knees. Warm fingers pulled Tzadkiel from the trousers’ tight confines.
“You want to fuck me? Fine. Let’s fuck,” Benjamin said.
Each hard consonant went straight to Tzadkiel’s cock, overwhelming anger with arousal. His head fell back against the door and he gripped Benjamin’s shoulders. The hunter’s breath whispered across Tzadkiel’s shaft.
His nemesis paused, focusing upward. “Just don’t mistake my being on my knees for anything but a chance to make you let down your guard so I can stab you in the back.”
Tzadkiel blinked open his eyes, his brain slowly coming online. The hunter went to his feet and Tzadkiel dipped his gaze to the man’s now-naked chest. His attention lingered over silver bars piercing nipples that puckered to sharp points. The metal would click against Tzadkiel’s teeth if he tasted the skin there. But it was the tattoos that riveted him as he tucked himself away.
“Hunter born…” Tzadkiel murmured, tracing one finger lightly over the words that scrolled over Benjamin’s left rib, then gave equal attention to the right. “Hunter bred…”
Slowly, so as not to startle, Tzadkiel combed the curls back from Benjamin’s face and wound them in his fist. Benjamin’s lips parted and his breath quickened, the shallow rhythm matching the thrum of Tzadkiel’s pulse.
Tzadkiel yanked the hunter’s head back. Benjamin gasped, his pulse leaping under the goosebumps dotting his skin. The scent of terror, sharp and bright, called to Tzadkiel, whetting his predator-drive. Heat and heaviness permeated the air, forming a fist that worked at Tzadkiel’s arousal until he didn’t know whether he was seducer or seduced.
Benjamin, panting, remained stock-still, fear pulsing off him in fragrant waves. “Go ahead. Bite me. It’ll be the last fucking thing you do.”
A hint of freshly crushed sage called to Tzadkiel from the hunter’s veins. Hunger licked at his control, peeling back the layers of his humanity to expose the vampire beneath. Mesmerized by the curve of plump vein over graceful muscle, he dipped his head, intent on nipping and suckling. Just to bring the blood closer to the skin. Where he could taste it. Tzadkiel sampled the tang of sweat on pale skin. Benjamin jerked, then became a weight against the band of Tzadkiel’s arm.
“You confuse hatred with strength.” An ache bloomed where Tzadkiel’s fangs should have been. It had been so long…Too long…“No matter your protestations to the contrary, it’s fear that rules you. Fear, of me. Fear of this.”
Benjamin tilted his head, driving Tzadkiel’s ardor higher. Through dint of will and the grace of the gods alone, Tzadkiel refrained from giving in to the hunter’s silent plea. He didn’t know which he relished more: the idea of tasting the man’s blood, or of driving Benjamin slowly mad with frustrated arousal.
“Lie to yourself if you must, Benjamin.” He nipped with his incisors, testing the supple skin. “No man who hates, as you say you do, offers to get down on his knees.” The part of Tzadkiel that could still reason uttered the hard truth. “He goes there out of fear and desperation.” He lifted his head and traced one finger down Benjamin’s cheek and followed the motion with a languorous lick. “Or because he wants to, damn the consequences and forget his scars.”
Benjamin froze mid-arch. “Stop.”
The command was barely audible over the pounding rush of Tzadkiel’s ardor. He skimmed fingers down Benjamin’s solar plexus, past the arrogant tattoos, and just beneath the constriction of too-tight denim. He reveled in hunger and dominance, heady with the power of both.
“There is no bravery in hate.” Tzadkiel palmed Benjamin’s aroused length. “Only in kneeling to that which frightens you most.”
Benjamin inhaled deep and pushed at Tzadkiel’s chest.
Tzadkiel tightened his hold on the hunter’s sex and dipped toward a thundering carotid.
“I said stop!” Benjamin’s elbow met Tzadkiel’s midsection.
Tzadkiel stumbled backward with a breathy ooph. Spinning, Benjamin followed through with a jab to Tzadkiel’s jaw and ended with a blade pressed neatly to Tzadkiel’s throat.
“Get out of my room,” the hunter snarled.
Where the man had gotten the knife, Tzadkiel had no clue, but the weapon, held with precise pressure, left little opportunity for argument. With a careful backward step, hands raised in surrender, Tzadkiel left the room. Benjamin might have won this skirmish, but they both knew he had little chance of winning the war.
Chapter 15
Benjamin should have been able to sleep. One illegally procured Xanax had relaxed him enough that he’d ceased his agitated pacing. Alone, in the dark, however, the monsters still waltzed in the shadows of his mind. And who could blame them with such a fertile playground? The past hours were a confused jumble of sight and sound and scent. An overabundance of stimuli and experience with which his overloaded brain hardly knew how to cope.
Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed three a.m.
The witching hour…Nyx…Akito…
Rolling, Benjamin punched his pillow and settled onto his back, thumping his head. He sat up, covers falling to his waist, and rubbed his hands over his face. Automatically, he tested the scars that thickened near the ridge of bone where cheek and sock
et met. He remembered the conversation with Tzadkiel about his appearance, and dropped his hand as if acid were still there to burn his fingertips.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. Bare toes padding the floor, he searched for and found his slippers. He grabbed his robe from its place over the bedpost and shrugged into its comfortable, well-worn weight. Tying the belt, he made his way to the hall and down the stairs. It wasn’t until he’d hit the landing halfway between the first and second floors that he realized he could see the grandfather clock. Washed in a royal purple hue, its hulking case squatted as it always had near the front door.
Tzadkiel’s earthy musk—something between cedar and smoke—teased his nose. The intermittent rustle of turning pages was the only sound other than the clock and the hum of the furnace. Crackling and the flicker of another sort of glow said the vampire had lit a fire in the fireplace.
Benjamin hesitated, foot hovering over the next stair. Did he want a drink badly enough to face Tzadkiel again so soon? And was it really the promise of alcohol’s sweet oblivion that had compelled him to leave his bed? His pulse point still thrummed with awareness from Tzadkiel’s suckles and nips.
Almost reverently, he touched the tender spot on his neck. The bruised nerve endings resonated, their subtle notes a warning of the price he’d likely pay for passion were he to tempt the vampire again. Tongue darting, Benjamin moistened his lips. The ache from Tzadkiel’s rough handling was nothing compared to the one Benjamin had dealt with in other parts of his anatomy while in the shower. In his mind’s eye, he had knelt at Tzadkiel’s feet, servicing the vampire as rough fingers controlled speed, angle, and access with tugs at his hair.
Arousal disturbed the freshly turned earth of Benjamin’s fantasies, and his breath quickened. His fingers trailed absently to the belt of his robe.
“Do you intend to stand out there until dawn, or did you wish to speak with me?” Tzadkiel’s voice, now returned to its dispassionate, icy calm, drifted to Benjamin from the library.
Surrender the Dark Page 13
