Ven ground his teeth, the image of those strands, along with about one hundred thousand others cascading down Amy’s naked back flooding into his mind all too easily. His fingers had been buried in those strands a little less than ten hours ago.
He wiped at his mouth with his hand, his fangs digging into his top lip as he did so. “Shit.”
Dropping into a crouch, he touched his fingers to the smear of blood and he lifted his hand to his nose.
The distinct scent of the other vampire threaded into his nostrils, played over his preternaturally developed olfactory bulb. It filtered through the hypersensitive cells; traveled over the olfactory nerves until, with barely a moment of time passing, he recognized the source.
Raziel. The lowlife scum vampire who frequented The Pleasure Pussy and fed from the hookers and tourists too stupid not to linger near dark alleys. The vampire who always seemed to turn up wherever Ven was, even once at the cliff beach.
Cold anger and guilt rolled through him. If he’d not been so freaked out this morning, if he’d not fled Amy like a rabid dog with its tail between its legs, he would have recognized the bastard’s scent and done something about it. Like tear the lowlife dickhead a new arse-hole before ramming a piano leg through his chest. Or better still, a cricket bat.
He bit back a growl, silencing the enraged entity within his core.
Christ, what did he do? The bastard had Amy and it was all his bloody fault.
Does he have her, or has he fed from her? Drained her of life and dumped her body somewhere? Worse still, has he turned her?
Ven ground his teeth. He didn’t like the possible answers to any of those questions.
Okay, then how about this one? How did Raziel get here during daylight? How did he survive the sun?
Jesus, maybe he wasn’t so unique after all? Frustration and worry fighting with his guilt and anger, he pulled in a long breath—and for the first time since entering the bathroom detected the faint taste of burnt flesh on the air.
He took another breath, a deeper breath, narrowing his senses onto the telltale odor. The taste and smell of barbequed white meat flowed into his nose and a cold grin pulled at his lips. The lowlife dickhead got singed pretty bad getting his skinny, pale arse over here. Pretty bad indeed.
Ven’s lips curled away from his teeth. “Good.”
Straightening to his feet, he ran his gaze over the small bathroom, searching for anything that would tell him something. Apart from the blood smear, urine, strands of hair and Raziel stench, there was nothing.
Letting out a harsh sigh, Ven dropped his head into his hands and raked his nails through his hair, scratching lines of hot pain in his scalp. Bloody hell. How was he going to find Amy? How was he going to save her?
If there is anything left to save.
He drove his nails into his scalp. “Shut up.”
Closing his eyes, he forced the calmness to flow through his body again. He needed to get to Amy. Wherever she was, he needed to find her. If Raziel was with her, all the better.
Drawing the sweet, innocent scent of Amy’s blood into his lungs, he formed an image of her in his mind. Concentrated.
And opened his eyes in hell.
Or something close to it.
“Aaah, Steven Owen Watkins.”
He spun about, his stare locking immediately on the skinny man in the black suit he’d met at the beach. Pestilence grinned down at him from a throne made of bones, the hideous piece of furniture raised on a dais illuminated by what appeared to a thousand flickering candles.
“You’ve caused me quite a few problems over the years, Steven.” Pestilence gave him a stern shake of the head, his grin stretching wider. “More than one attempt to end your brother’s existence has been foiled by you.”
Ven raised his eyebrows. “Foiled?” He snorted, folding his arms across his chest, keeping the rage boiling through him under tenuous control. The entity inside him, the force that had replaced his demon radiated furious purpose, but what that purpose was, Ven still could not fathom. “Foiled? You sure you want to go with foiled? Surely thwarted is a better word in this context. I mean, if I have prevented you from killing my kid brother all these years you’d have to be feeling pretty bloody frustrated by now. And really, the word foiled is just so melodramatic.” He shook his head, scanning the room as he did so from the corners of his eyes, tasting the air for any sign of Amy.
Maybe…
He uncrossed his arms and shoved them into the pockets of his jeans, baring his fangs at Pestilence in a cold smile. “Sounds to me like you just weren’t good enough.”
The man’s eyes bulged. He leapt from his throne, lunging at Ven in a blur of screaming rage. But Ven was faster. He met Pestilence halfway, sinking his claws into the demon’s skinny neck and shoulders, driving him backward. Backward. Back into the depraved piece of furniture. Ramming him against the bone seat with driving force.
“You made a mistake trying to kill my brother,” he growled into Pestilence’s pain-contorted face, grinding his bony shoulders into the throne’s backrest. “And now I’m going to—”
“Ven.”
Amy’s terrified scream punched through Ven’s ice-cold fury. He froze, staring into Pestilence’s suddenly smug face.
“Foiled again, Steven?” Pestilence laughed, the sound high and haughty. “Or should that be thwarted?” With barely a shift in his subjugated position, he planted his palms on Ven’s chest and pushed.
Ven was flung backward, arching through the air before crashing to the floor on his shoulder. He slid across the granite floor at a wild, out-of-control speed, coming to rest at two pairs of feet. One pair booted, one pair bare.
“Ven,” Amy cried again, the overpowering stench of her fear and blood pouring into his nose.
“If it isn’t the surfboard-riding vampire.” Raziel chuckled. “You smell hungry.”
He raised his leg and smashed his booted heel down into Ven’s chest.
Absolute agony erupted through Ven. He snatched out at Raziel’s ankle, hooking his growing claws into the vampire’s leg through course denim and tough leather. “I’m going to tear you apart,” he ground out, struggling to escape Raziel’s brutal stomp.
But with every ounce of energy he expelled, the monstrous hunger he’d denied for too long grew stronger. He writhed under Raziel’s boot, drawing on the entity within to come to the surface, to consume him and destroy the vampire who’d brought Amy to this hellish place. The only thing that consumed him however, was his hunger. Sucking him of his strength, of the entity’s strength. Draining him. Draining them both.
A wave of sick giddiness rolled over him and he let out an enraged roar, the sound weak even to his own ears. Forcing his starving body to obey—come on, damn it—he sank his claws harder into Raziel’s ankle, fighting another crushing wave of lightheadedness. “Let…Amy…”
The vampire laughed, his clawed fingers closing tighter around Amy’s throat. Her blood oozed between his fingers, and as Ven looked up at him through a smoky curtain of grey starvation, he dropped his head to her neck, extended his long tongue from between his thin lips and licked the bright red liquid from his knuckles. “It seems we have something in common, doesn’t it.” His eyes flared violent yellow. “Thanks for neglecting her, by the way. If you hadn’t missed a feed or two, she never would have gone looking for another vamp to sate her appetites.” He flashed a smile at Ven, Amy’s blood painting his lips and gums bright red.
Ven stared at him from the floor, his hunger devouring him from the inside. He struggled with Raziel’s pining hold one more time, trying to escape the booted foot grinding into his breastbone, but to no avail. His stare rolled to Amy and he moaned, the sight of her fear sucking what little strength there was left in him. Oh, Jesus, baby, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…
“You see, Steven,” Pestilence said, arising from his throne. “You are correct. I did make the mistake of trying to kill your brother all these years.” He crossed the distance be
tween them and lowered himself into a crouch beside Ven, studying him with glowing eyes. “What I should have done is exactly what I did today.” He grabbed Ven’s chin, increasing the pressure of his grip until Ven’s jaws began to separate. “Bring the older brother to me so the younger brother will follow.” He smiled, tracing Ven’s parted lips with cold fingertips. “Simple really. Use the Cure’s weakness against him.”
His smile grew wider and, eyes glowing a sick yellow light, he plunged his fingers into Ven’s mouth.
Chapter Thirteen
Patrick sat in the armchair, his face stunned. He kept opening his mouth, as if knowing he should say something, but not having a clue what that something should be.
He stared at Fred, hands hanging between his knees, eyes wide, and shook his head. “No.”
She frowned at him. “What do you mean, no?”
He shook his head again. “I can’t be…Ven can’t be…” He held out his hands to her, as if the claim she’d just made rested on his palms and she could just take it away. “Our parents were not… Shit, I don’t even think we were baptized. I went surfing most Sundays.” He dropped his hands and shook his head one more time. “No.”
“Blood doesn’t lie, Patrick.”
He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again.
Fred bit back a sigh. His unspoken response had floated through her mind like so many other times, but this time she’d not only heard the words of his thought—But you might—she’d felt the confused torment behind them. He still didn’t trust her. Not enough to believe her without hesitation, at least. She didn’t blame him for being angry. What she’d laid on his shoulders was huge, bigger than huge, gigantic, gargantuan, but she needed him to deal with it and move on. Quickly. Her spine was itching so badly she was beginning to feel like a flea-ridden mutt.
They were running out of time.
Whatever Pestilence was up to, he was about to do it.
She looked down at the Australian lifeguard. Come on, Patrick.
He sat motionless, head bowed, shoulders slumped.
Fred suppressed the urge to fidget. She would help him deal with the enormity of his bloodline later, after the upcoming confrontation with Pestilence, when they had all the time in the world, but she needed him to be with her now. To be the sarcastic, determined, stubborn bastard she’d fallen in love with.
Finally admitting it, Fred?
She scrunched up her face and balled her fists. Yes, she was. She’d fallen in love with the guy, damn it, but just as Patrick needed to come to terms with who he was later, she would deal with her feelings for him after this whole shit fight was done. Until then, all that mattered was getting him ready. Really ready.
She fixed the back of his head with a hard stare. Come on, Patrick. Please.
For an eternity, he didn’t move, and then Fred heard a ragged sigh.
“Fuck it,” Patrick said, pressing his hands to his knees and pushing himself from the chair. He looked at her with unreadable green eyes, a wry lopsided grin playing with his lips. “If I’m going to die, it may as well be saving mankind.”
Relief swept through her. She laughed before she could stop herself, closing the minute space between them with one step and smoothing her hands up his back. “So, does this mean we can recommence your training now?”
He rolled his eyes and slid his own hands down her back to grip her arse, tugging her hips harder to his. “What? You didn’t get enough the last time?”
She gave him a grin, touching the tip of her tongue to her top front teeth, letting him see her fangs. “We were interrupted last time.”
Patrick cocked his head to the side, his eyes shining with a light Fred could only describe as merriment. “Wait, we are talking about my ‘training’ aren’t we?”
She chuckled and pressed her sex to his groin. “I tell you what. When you finish kicking Pestilence’s butt from here to the lowest level of hell, I’ll let you tie me up and do whatever you like to my body. Is that a deal?”
The sudden spasm of his cock and his quick intake of breath told Fred it was very much a deal. He didn’t need to seal it with a kiss. But that didn’t stop her from stopping him when he captured her lips with his and did just that.
She slid her hands up his shoulders and tangled her fists in his hair, the cool strands like spun silk in her gasp. They didn’t have time for this. Not at all, but she sensed in Patrick the need to take this moment. He was the most amazing human she’d ever met, a human with more internal strength than all the entities she’d ever known. A being of immense power still untapped and unrealized. A being more at home on the water than in the Realm where he belonged.
A man faced with something no mere mortal should.
She would no more deny him this last moment of pleasure than she would deny him water to slake his thirst.
Parting her lips, she plunged her tongue into his mouth, tracing the edge of his lips, his teeth.
He groaned, gripping her arse harder, yanking her closer to his body. A fire roared through him. Fred could feel it heating her own blood and existence. She returned his groan with a soft whimper, the sound turning into a moan when he removed one hand from her butt to place it on her breast.
His fingers teased her nipple, pinching its puckered tip. She moaned again, ribbons of exquisite tension unfurling through her body. Her breasts grew heavy, swollen with pleasure. Her pussy grew wet and thick with anticipation. She deepened their kiss, arching her back to grant Patrick greater access to her breasts even as she ground the curve of her sex against the rigid length of his erection.
Oh, God, yes. This feels so good…so good…this woman…she is… Oh, God…I love…
The frenzied thought threaded through Fred’s own pleasure-clouded mind, feeding the inferno rapidly building in her core. She dragged her mouth from his, letting his lips burn over her neck, her jaw, up to her ear and back down. His tongue touched the curve of her shoulder and she realized she was naked. Wonderfully naked.
Patrick raised his head, staring down into her face with smoldering eyes, the hand on her ass squeezing tight, the one cupping her breast massaging with infinite care. “Jesus, you are gorgeous.”
She smiled, rolling her hips so her exposed mons stroked the impressive length of his boxer-short-covered erection. “I’m not sure you can say that anymore.”
His eyebrows rose, even as he captured her nipple again with his fingertips. “What? You are gorgeous.”
She chuckled, her sex flooding with liquid joy at his words, and carnal heat at his touch. “You know what I mean.”
A mischievous light flared in his eyes and he lowered his head to her neck. “The beauty of family,” he murmured, his voice caressing her flesh in soft little whispers of warm air, “is that you don’t have to change who you are.”
As if to prove his point, he pinched her nipple between his fingers and bit her neck with ungentle force.
Explosive pleasure rolled through her. She cried out, thrusting her hips forward. He chuckled into her neck, twisting her nipple, flicking it, pinching it until she cried out again, all the while charting a wicked path along the line of her shoulder with his teeth and lips.
Fred’s sex constricted, pulses of wet need gripping the memory of Patrick’s cock. By the Powers, she wanted him inside her. They were almost out of time, but she wanted him inside her. Thrusting. Pumping. Stretching her to the limit. Claiming her completely. Possessing her utterly.
She raked her hands down his back, letting her nails become claws as she did so, scoring lines into his flesh until she reached the waistline of his boxers.
His cock twitched, jabbing into her belly as she slipped her hands past the elastic band and gripped his arse.
Oh, yes…on fire…I’m on fire. This feels like…
She squeezed his ass cheeks, rolling her head to the side and leaning slightly away from him. He knew what she wanted. His lips traveled over her collarbone, his back bending as he moved his mouth, in
tiny nibbles, down her chest to the fullness of her other breast.
Oh, Jesus…she tastes so good. I never want this to end.
She closed her eyes, Patrick’s thoughts heating her pleasure as much as his mouth and teeth and tongue and fingers. She agreed with him. She never wanted this to end. She never wanted to be apart from him. He was her future, her past, her eternity.
Unless Pestilence—
Patrick’s lips closed over her nipple, destroying the terrifying, unwanted thought.
She cried out. “Yes!”
He sucked on the puckered tip. Hard. Pain exploded in her breast. Blissful pain that flooded her sex with cream and stole her breath. She gasped, sinking her claws into his ass cheeks.
Patrick’s teeth sank into her nipple in reply and she bucked, her body shuddering as a sharp, abrupt orgasm rocked her.
She whimpered, feeling her juices wet her thighs.
“You taste so good,” he growled against her breast, the utterance sending gentle vibrations through its swollen weight.
Her still-throbbing sex constricted and she pressed her thighs together, the tiny nub of her clit a button of sheer, agonizing rapture.
He moved his mouth from her nipple, back up her neck, along her ear to her jaw. “I want to taste you everywhere.”
He didn’t give her time to respond. The hand on her breast moved down her body, over her ribcage, down the curve of her hip. Her pulse quickened and she shifted, breaking the contact between their hips just enough to slide her hand from Patrick’s ass to his cock. Its long, thick heat filled her grip, just as his fingers delved between her thighs and parted the folds of her pussy.
“Oh, yes.” Fred bucked, ramming her hips forward. He stroked the pad of his fingertip over her clit, once, twice. She shivered, waves of concentrated pleasure rippling through her. “Yes.”
“My sentiment exactly,” he said, the words leaving his lips in a ragged breath. His cock jerked in her fist, its steel length seeming to grow even as she held it.
Death, The Vamp and His Brother Page 21
