by L. D. Rose
Dax dropped backward, landing in the sand as a wave crashed onto shore, foam sweeping in around him. Remaining where he laid, he wheezed, blood flowing freely from his nostrils, the sharp tang of copper drifting in the briny air. Cindel fell back into stance, panting heavily, quelling the violent urge to pounce on him. She was suddenly grateful for having fed on his processed supply.
As she shook the ache from her hand, the demon who’d possessed her vanished, the vague sense of dissociation fading, drawing her back to reality as the volume on the rest of the world amplified. Guilt overwhelmed her as he climbed to his feet, doubling over while he coughed and hacked up blood. He was soaked to the bone, his dark hair matted to his forehead, his bloodstained T-shirt molding to every hard line on his muscular torso.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted, but he held up a hand. Folding an arm over his head, he pulled off his shirt from behind and pressed it against his face. He stood, revealing his sculpted body, nipples taut around his piercings and skin shrouded with goosebumps.
He leveled his now luminous blue eyes with her as he wiped off the blood. When he dropped the fabric away, he smiled, rivulets of crimson dribbling unchecked from his nose.
“Couldn’t have been more perfect,” he shouted over the ocean’s roar, letting out a whoop. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He chucked the shirt in the air, lifting his hands with praise. The tainted fabric billowed into the water behind him, lost to the sea. “I knew you had it in you.”
Laughter and pride bubbled up inside her, a sensation so foreign it was almost frightening. A rush of exhilaration flooded her nerves, a joy she hadn’t felt in decades, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
“You let me win,” she accused without breaking her stance.
He grinned, wiping at the blood with the back of his forearm, the flow easing up. “Maybe I did. A little.”
She kicked the next wave as it rolled in, splashing him. “Spare me your mercy, Knight!”
His brows shot up, his expression both surprised and pleased. “Oh, so you’re a tough girl now, huh?” He fell into position again, ankle-deep in freezing water, curling a come-hither finger at her. “Bring it on.”
A thrill of anticipation and desire spiked her bloodstream, her smile widening.
I could get used to this.
~ ~ ~
“What are you eating?”
Dax scarfed the last of his PB&J sandwich before washing it down with milk from a wine glass. “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Milk.” He tilted the Riedel at her then took another sip.
She glanced at the milk before her eyes settled on his mouth. “It’s white.”
He licked his lips self-consciously, hoping he wasn’t sporting a milk moustache or peanut butter all over his face. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. Stay classy, Dax. “It’s supposed to be.”
Her lips twitched, her black diamond eyes shining. She definitely had a thing for watching him eat. Her raven hair was damp from the salt water, slicked back behind her ears, her creamy skin glowing beneath the single chandelier bulb. She leaned on her arm, head propped on her hand, looking relaxed. Content. She’d removed her gray zip-up hoodie, exposing a turquoise ribbed tank top that hugged her in all the right places. Sans bra, her breasts were gorgeous, full, nipples straining against the cotton as if screaming, “look at me!”
And he sure as hell looked.
She’d done extremely well for her initial training session. No one had ever busted his nose the first time around, and he still felt a little tender from the blow. After the incident, he taught her some kicks and simulated more attacks with her, grabbing her from behind and locking her limbs into certain positions. He showed her how to escape them, to use an attacker’s weight against them, where to find the nerves and pressure points to aim for, and how to quickly take down an assailant. They would repeat the same scenarios tomorrow to check how much she retained.
They’d goofed off. A lot. Laughed. Teased. Touched. Flirted. And for a long time, he forgot he was training a vampire.
A huge mistake in and of itself.
He forced himself to look at her face, shadows intimately wrapped around them. The last time they’d sat across the table like this, he’d aimed a gun at her forehead.
And that was, what, fucking yesterday?
The corner of her mouth lifted, as if she’d read his mind. Maybe she had. “That tattoo on your belly . . . what does it mean?”
He glanced down at himself, caught a bit off-guard by the question. The twin mermaids encircling his navel dove into his pants, arching their backs in a sphere around each other. Both were redheads, topless, and donning long green tails. She couldn’t see them now that he was seated, but she’d obviously noticed them before.
He smirked behind the wine glass, downing the last of the milk before setting it on the table. “I’m a big fan of The Little Mermaid.”
Her brow pinched. “Do you like fairytales?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“They don’t all end happily. In fact, most of them don’t.”
“I know. They mirror reality perfectly.”
She frowned, but her interest was piqued. “What about the one on your back?”
The Great White between his shoulder blades, rearing its head and baring its bladed jaws. The one he’d nicknamed Bruce, a la Finding Nemo. “It’s a shark.”
“Clearly. Why a shark?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Aren’t sharks supposed to be fragile?”
He bristled, raising a brow. “Do I look fragile to you?”
Her lips curved, seduction with an edge of humor. Fucking sexy as hell. “No, I guess not.” She pointed at his shoulder. “And that one?”
He looked at the slashed black markings, twelve in all, with every fifth line slicing through the last four. “Ah, well,” he wavered, idly rubbing a palm over his deltoid. “It’s the amount of times I’ve died.”
Her jaw went slack. “What?”
“My heart has stopped thirteen times. I haven’t had a chance to add another notch yet.”
“You’ve died thirteen times?” She looked impressed and a bit incredulous.
“What can I say, I’m hard to kill.” And I have a heart condition. “Or at least, I don’t stay dead anyway.”
“How do you do that?”
“Well, it’s not just me. If it weren’t for my brother . . .” he trailed off, the hand of reason clenching his gut in alarm. Too much information. He backtracked. “I get a lot of help.”
She must’ve sensed his U-turn, her eyes penetrating him. “Is he a healer?”
Time to shut it down. “You ask too many questions.”
She shrugged. “I’m curious.” Then she reached across the table, taking his warm hand in her cool one. Her black-lacquered thumb feathered the tattoos on his knuckles, her touch setting his nerves alight. “What about these?”
His defective heart hammered, jacking up the pace as their eyes locked on each other. No lure this time; this was honest-to-God lust. “What about it?”
She traced the inked letters with her fingertips, PAIN etched on his right, LOVE on his left, a letter for each knuckle with the exception of his thumbs. “What do they mean?”
My right hand kills while the left picks up the pieces. Swallowing hard, he murmured, “Nothing.”
Sensing his tension, she released him, smiling with a vulnerability that made him want to drag her against him and kiss her. “I like them. Words are my favorite. Even the simplest words reveal so much.”
Change the subject before you do something stupid.
Bracing his elbows on the table, he leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers. She looked far more beautiful without make-up on. “Do you remember anythi
ng about who you were? Before you turned?”
Her smile instantly vanished. “No.”
“Nothing at all?”
She shook her head, straightening and putting space between them, her face shuttering like a storefront in a hurricane. “I don’t remember anything.”
“Not even who turned you?”
Her eyes cooled to black ice. “No.”
“Who are you protecting, Cindy? Because they obviously don’t care about you.”
“I’m protecting no one,” she snapped abruptly, a burst of anger that took him aback. “You said it yourself, I’ve been abandoned. Why would I protect anyone who abandons me?”
Touché.
Dax eased off. Her expression went tight as she looked away, down at the floor. She rubbed her arms, hugging herself. The sun would rise soon and maybe she felt its warning.
Or maybe she felt something else entirely.
“You can sleep in the bedroom,” he said. “I’ll stay down here for the day.”
And he’d deal with the rest of the nightmare upstairs later.
The offer brought her attention back to him, her eyes widening slightly. “You don’t have to—”
“I can’t sleep in there anyway.” He waved her off before she finished. “The drapes are just as heavy as down here and I can throw a few blankets over the curtain rods. You should be fine, but I wouldn’t wander around. I can’t promise every room will lack sunlight.”
Like Maddy’s room.
She nodded. Better than tying her up. At least, that’s what he told himself. “Thank you,” she murmured.
He stood, pushing the chair in, wood scraping tile. His body tingled from the impending sunrise, the sensation heating his blood and warming his skin. “C’mon, let’s get you upstairs before the warden shows up. You can shower but make it quick.”
She followed suit, grabbing her hoodie on top of the kitchen isle. He motioned for her to go first, uncomfortable with having anyone at his back, vampire or not. Trailing her up the stairs, he watched every step she took, every move in those skintight leggings, every sway of her hips. When they arrived in the hallway, she slowed as they passed Maddy’s room, sparing a melancholy glance at the cheerful sign.
Dax, on the other hand, couldn’t stand to look at it.
While she showered, he secured the master bedroom, casting fleece blankets over the tall windows. He removed his gear and every weapon he’d stashed—both of his SIGs on the nightstand, the KA-BAR beneath the pillow, the duffel bag packed with an arsenal under the bed. He unloaded it all in the living room, and as he strode by Maddy’s door with the remainder of his things, he tore the drawing off in a single swipe, the heartrending vision of a kid’s skeleton forever stamped into his gray matter.
And as he hit the final step at the bottom of the stairwell, the shower turned off.
Good. No way was he going back up there now.
Because he no longer trusted himself to behave this time, lure or not.
NINE
“I don’t know where she is,” the little bastard squealed, blood spraying from his mouth. “I have nothing else to tell you!”
Jacques leaned forward, gaze drilling into Victor’s beady eyes. “Did you whore her out like the rest of your broads? Force her to hustle for you to feed your fucking skag addiction?” He straightened, anger a living, breathing devil fuming beneath his skin. “Tear out his last fang.”
“No, please—” The begging died in a series of wet gurgles and shrieks as one of Jacques’ men shoved rusty pliers into the junkie’s mouth with relish, ripping out Victor’s last intact canine. The rest of his teeth lay scattered on the concrete floor in puddles of congealed blood.
Next was his tongue.
But first, his kneecaps.
Jacques pulled his nine from his hip and pushed the muzzle against Victor’s knee. They’d hogtied the scumbag to a chair with tungsten chains, trapping him in his own dilapidated basement. The decrepit seaside Newport mansion he’d managed to infest had once been an old convent, ironic considering it now contained a brothel packed with vampire trash and drug addicts.
The search for Cindel led Jacques to this rathole, and he still couldn’t grasp the notion that she might’ve lived in this dump for all these years.
“The vampiress you sold to Enzo. What was her name?”
“Cindy,” Victor spewed, the word whistling through his missing incisors. “She called herself Cindy.”
Jacques nearly ground his molars into pulp at the nickname. “And where did you find her?”
“Providence. Holed up in the Capitol building.”
A refined granite facility, much like the one she’d fled. She’d always returned to what was familiar. “Did she tell you where she came from? How she got there?”
“No.” Another pitiful whine.
Fucking pathetic.
“She was starved so I gave her blood and a place to stay. I don’t know anything about her, she doesn’t talk to anyone.”
“But she’s beautiful, isn’t she? A great addition to your hoard of sluts. Did you fuck her? Use her?” Rage drove Jacques to yank the trigger and Victor howled in agony as a bullet exploded through his knee in a burst of blood and bone.
“I protected her,” Victor cried, his bruised face so swollen it was barely recognizable. “She would’ve never survived without me.” Fury blazed in his pain-ridden eyes, flames flickering in their black depths. “I never touched her, I don’t touch any of them.”
“Oh, so now you’re a savior? Fuck you, you junkie piece of shit.”
Jacques blew out his other knee. Another wail of suffering, the sweetest symphony to his ears.
“You think you’re a fucking gangster, running the show in this worthless sewer? You have no idea what you’re up against, connard. Your boys are dead, every last one of them rotting outside this shithole. Your girls are cowering in their cells, and we’re going to take them and burn this dump to the ground.” Jacques drew his switchblade with a flick of his wrist, silver glinting in the murky light from the basement windows. “Your pitiful reign ends now.”
Panic flooded Victor’s eyes as a Temhota soldier grabbed him by his greasy forehead and stubbled jaw, forcing his bloodied mouth open. The bastard yelped, pleading and struggling frantically, and it only fueled Jacques on, an endless darkness yawning inside him.
He smiled slowly, savoring the thought of stripping Victor of his identity—the very essence of what made him vampire—his ability to feed, to taste. And just as he prepared to carve into the scumbag’s face, pressure expanded inside Jacques’ temple, the powerful pulse of a sire’s incoming call.
Cursing, Jacques rested the knife on Victor’s quivering lips and answered the summons, the open connection tingling across his scalp and raising the fine hairs at the back of his neck.
Ah, I see you’re busy. Caldre’s deep British timbre reverberated through Jacques’ skull. Very nice, might I add.
I don’t seek your approval. Jacques pressed the edge of the blade harder into Victor’s flesh until it bubbled red, until the bastard started writhing again. What do you want?
I want him, actually. Victor. He may prove useful, seeing as he’s slithered around the underbelly of my territory for quite some time.
He’s mine. Jacques almost growled out loud. He deserves to be slaughtered.
True, but you remember our agreement. The girl and the hybrid are yours, but this insect belongs to me. And besides, you wouldn’t want Alek to discover our little secret, would you? A low, resonant chuckle from the Lord of Boston. I’m sure he’d be none too pleased.
Jacques gnashed his teeth as he drew back on the knife. Victor’s wide eyes brimmed with confusion and the Temhota soldier tilted his head curiously. Your threats don’t instill confidence in
your word, Ballard.
I’m not here to offer you faith, Montague. Pray to your god for that. A deal is a deal. I want Victor. And his broads. All of them. His army is yours to dispose of. My men will arrive within the hour to stake my claim. Then you may raze whatever you desire.
Frustration kindled in Jacques’ chest. I need to ensure Cindel isn’t among them. You’ll take no one until I do.
Fine. Screen them if you must. But inform your men to keep their paws off. We all know your bloodline isn’t famous for its self-control.
Jacques hesitated, his hand flexing on the stiletto, wrestling with the impulse to reap his vengeance or obey Ballard until he found Cindel.
If she still lives, she’s yours, Jacques. I promise you that. Don’t worry about Victor, he’ll get what he deserves. And you’ll be granted safe passage in my land. You can even have the convent if you’d like. The note of amusement in the sire’s tone was unmistakable. The views are breathtaking.
Tamping down his dissatisfaction, Jacques stepped back, retracting the blade with a snap of his wrist. “We’re giving him to Ballard,” he answered the soldier’s unspoken question.
Fear visibly seized Victor in its grip, stiffening his sinews and pumping from his pores in sour waves. “No! Please, don’t,” he burbled. “Kill me, just kill me then. You don’t need me anymore.”
Jacques narrowed his eyes at the sudden one-eighty. Interesting how the vampire feared his own sire more than a foreign power’s general. “Gather the remaining females. Bring them to the lobby. I need to confirm Cindel isn’t among them.”
The soldier nodded, vacillating for a beat before he took off with determination in his step.
“She isn’t here, I swear it!” The desperation clinging to Victor’s voice was palpable.
