A Wicked Night (Creatures of Darkness 2): A Coraline Conwell Novel (8 page)

He let out a harsh breath. Then an odd tingling sensation rolled over his collarbone. He traced it with his finger, finding the skin there smooth, yet unusually warm, almost hot to the touch. He focused the rearview mirror on his neck, seeing nothing out of sorts. Righting the mirror, he dismissed the anomaly.

Moments later, he pulled up to Wicked Wares. The lights were off. A quick check of the door confirmed that Saraphine had locked up for the night.

To be sure, he stood quietly, listening for any sign that she might still be within, that she might be in trouble. A raised heart beat? Muffled voices?

Nothing.

All was quiet.

If Cora wasn’t counting on him, he’d wash his hands of Saraphine and head right back to the cabin. He had a feeling she’d need comfort after dealing with whatever Knox was putting her through. He wished he could be there for her now, but it was probably best this way. As much as he abhorred the entire situation, they were going to be stuck with Knox until his bond with Cora faded, and they all needed to figure out how to co-habitat without wanting to kill each other.

Knox had better be behaving himself.

Mace caught the faintest remnants of Saraphine’s scent leading to the north. He followed it. Several blocks later, he found the end of the trail: a local restaurant called The Pork and Bone.

Through the window, he spotted Saraphine sitting across from that suspicious fellow from earlier. They were both smiling, full drinks in hand, leaning toward each other in companionable conversation.

Maybe they had been wrong about the boy. Could he be nothing more than a young man interested in a beautiful young woman?

Still, he should at least caution Saraphine.

——

“…so I hid the vial under my bed, but when Gran came in, the smell must have been like a solid wall of stink. I was so stubborn though. I played dumb when she asked about it.” Sara laughed, enjoying Devon’s tiny amused grin. “But then the vial started bubbling over and oozed out from under the bed—a big ole sticky pile of spell-gone-bad.”

“You sound like you were a little terror.” Devon sipped his beer.

“
Was
?” She winked.

He nearly spit out his drink.

She snickered. It had been a while since she’d had such a good time. She actually thought her lips might crack from smiling. Apparently the best prescription for the blues was the attention of a charming, sex-on-a-stick hottie. Who knew?

“I’ve been doing all the talking. I’m sorry. Tell me something about yourself.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “You’re a witch, aren’t you? That’s how you know all that stuff about vampires, right?”

He’d actually given her a lot to think about in that regard. More precisely, a plan.

There was a hardness to Devon that engrossed her. Like her, he seemed to be an outcast. A loner. His steely gaze suggested a life on the fringe. The tightening of his lips every so often when he clearly wanted to join her in her reverie indicated he was unused to setting them free from their natural frown. And his long, graceful fingers, currently cupped into a diamond shape over the table, revealed a calculating persona.

Perhaps he was just nervous, checking his responses so as to impress her. How cute would that be?

“A terror
and
a detective?” he replied.

She smiled coyly, then chirped, “Surprises is me.”

His grin sent a flutter through her stomach, even though it clashed with his ever-serious eyes. She stifled a ridiculously girlish giggle by bringing her drink to her lips. What was this? Her third drink? Fourth? Devon had already downed five at least.

She nearly choked when she spotted Mace across the room beating a path toward them. The scheme she had concocted, with a little help from Devon, made her suddenly nervous. What if the vampire had overheard?

When Mace reached them, his tone was as stern as his visage. “Saraphine, may I speak to you in private?”

“Uh…” She glanced at Devon, unsure. His illegible expression was of no help. “Sure.”

After only another moment’s hesitation, she stood and followed Mace outside.

“What’s up? Is everything okay with Cora?” she inquired, hoping Mace attributed the nervousness in her voice to concern.

“She’s fine. She’s back at the cottage. The talisman you gave her seems to be working. But she wanted me to come here and warn you to be careful around that man you’re with. He could be dangerous. You know she has people after her, and—”

Sara bristled. “Oh, come on. Not everything is about Cora! Devon is a nice guy, and he’s interested in me, not her. Tell her to watch out for herself and stay out of my business. We’re not BFFs.”

With that, she pivoted around and marched back into the restaurant.

After she huffed back into her seat, she noticed Devon’s shoulders under the dark leather jacket were now bunched. He had a cell phone in his right hand as though it had just been in use.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Sorry, Sara, but I need to run. Something’s come up.” He stood, not even giving her a moment to absorb before he headed toward the exit.

“Oh, alright,” she called after him. “I’ll…uh, see you around, I guess.”

He flicked his hand back in a halfhearted wave, and then was gone.

A little stunned, Sara sat quietly for a time, staring after him, bewildered.

“’Scuse me, love.” Maud, their waitress and part-owner of The Pork and Bone strode up with the bill in hand and placed it in front of Sara. “No rush, sweetie. I’ll take that whenever you’re ready.”

——

Cora was in their room upstairs when Mace found her.

As best she could she tried to block her myriad feelings: confusion, guilt, self-directed deprecation, and many other volatile emotions that bobbed in between, some of which she didn’t even want to acknowledge.

“Are you alright?” He sat on the edge of the bed where she’d been hibernating ever since Knox had relinquished his
command
.

She nodded. “I’m fine. It wasn’t as bad as expected.” A feeble smile followed. “He only bit me.”

That was the grade-school version. She refused to divulge the depravity-fueled desire Knox had somehow inspired in her. She rejected it with everything in her.

“He didn’t harm you or…take liberties?”

“No. He kept his promise not to hurt me.”

She’d been surprised when Knox had only taken sustenance from her, betraying but a single groan against her flesh before releasing her and returning to watch his kung fu flick. Only now did she realize Knox had never promised
not
to take her. He could have. She’d been all too willing once the drug of his bite had taken effect.

She averted her gaze from Mace. Ashamed.

His strong hand moved to her chin, guiding her to look at him once more.

“Don’t,” he said. “I understand the temptation of a vampire’s bite. I was once human myself, after all. You can’t blame yourself for what it made you feel.”

But could she blame herself for what she
still
felt? Desire continued to pulse inside her. Torment her. Not as strongly as those times when she’d imbibed too much vamp blood, but equally maddening. She worried there was something inside her growing out of her control, something insatiable, carnal, lascivious. Something that had always been there, but that she had managed to suppress—like a socially unacceptable tick.

“It hasn’t lingered like this before,” she admitted, not entirely sure how far back she was referring to. A shiver punctuated her statement.

His brow displayed only the slightest surprise before he schooled his features. “Then let me care for you.”

He stretched his large body next to hers and ducked his head to kiss her. She greeted his lips with a burst of desperation she didn’t realize had been so tightly constrained. Her hands reached up to run her fingers through his smooth, chocolate-colored hair. Her legs wrapped his waist. Her mouth molded to his as she heaved in harsh breaths.

Her mental walls crashed, and the entirety of her need exploded outward.

Mace gasped and pulled away. He studied her with a combination of shock, curiosity, and the most beautiful, unadulterated lust—then something like realization flowed into the mix and his expression faltered.

Before she could ask what he was thinking, his lips claimed hers, this time more demanding. Extreme cravings overwhelmed her again, and she was ripping at Mace’s shirt.

He shrugged out of it to thwart her from tearing it to pieces. His pants followed. Her clothes were disposed of just as quickly.

Then the blissful warmth of skin on skin.

She luxuriated in the feel of his lean muscles moving under her fingertips, and she explored without reservations: his shoulders, his well-defined chest, his delicious abs.

As he kissed her harder, masculine hands caressed her outer thighs and backside. A form of insanity nearly threatened to overtake her when his heavy member teased her core.

“Please,” she heard herself begging. “I need you now.”

“I find it impossible to deny you, Cora, but I should be helping you to control this, not urging you on.” His lips trailing softly along her jaw toward the crook of her neck belied his perplexing words.

Why did he sound so reluctant?

And why in the hell should she temper her desire for him? She was exactly where she wanted to be, doing exactly what she wanted to be doing.

Her nails scoured his back when he nipped her neck, coaxing him to continue.

He didn’t disappoint.

He rolled over her, pressing her back into the mattress, then forced her arms up above her head. “You want me to lose control?”

She grinned mischievously.

“Oh, that smile. You don’t play fair, love.”

The next day, Cora tried to reach out to Saraphine. She’d borrowed Mace’s phone and found a spot outside to be alone.

“Wicked Wares,” Saraphine’s lilting voice answered on the third ring. “Your one-stop shop for all things awesome. How may I be of service?”

“Hey Saraphine, I’m just calling to—”

“Cora?”

“Yeah, I was worried—”

“Unless you’re ready to hand over Knox, we have nothing to talk about. And I don’t need your concern.”

Click.

O-kay.
That didn’t go as well as expected. Mace had said she’d been surly the night before, but Cora had hoped she’d be open to conversation.

She let out a sigh and lowered Mace’s phone to her lap, aimlessly flipping it around in her grip. Then she recalled Knox mentioning photos of her on the very device in her hand.

Curious, she navigated to his photo album. Her image in profile popped on screen. She swiped to the next one, similar to the first. Then the next, and the next. All of them taken from various angles, various distances. Some of them were so close she couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t noticed Mace before meeting him that day at the hotel.

She stood and began to pace, scrolling through the endless snapshots. She recognized many of the backdrops as places she used to frequent. Almost always, she had a look about her that could only be described as melancholic or maybe defeat. She didn’t recall being so sad, but her expression declared otherwise.

In one of the pictures, Cora was attached to the arm of a man that stood out of frame, cut off at the shoulder. He wore a debonair looking suit. Most likely the arm belonged to Winston, however, she was the focal point. Wasn’t Mace supposed to have been tailing both of them? Where were the pictures of Winston? All Mace ever caught of him was a body part off camera, a leg, a shoulder, an arm. If he was fully in the picture, he was across the room, fuzzy, and still a bit out of frame, or blurred in the background, walking away from Cora. But she was always in focus.

She came to the last picture in the bunch and blushed.

This was the only image Mace had taken of her with her knowledge. It had been the day after he’d given her his blood in order to save her life, subsequently bonding with her in the process.

She’d been fresh from a shower, hair damp, and had just mounted the motorcycle he’d stolen to expedite their escape from someone who had rammed them off the road.

She recalled thinking he’d snapped the picture because of how out of sorts she’d looked, kind of as a joke, but the image was actually quite…beautiful.

“That’s my favorite one.”

She jumped.

At some point Knox had silently crept up behind her.

“As far as pathetically obsessed compositions go,” he added.

She started to turn, but Knox stayed her by the shoulders. “Walk forward and put your hands on that tree trunk.”

She swallowed.
This is my life now.

She pocketed the phone and did as asked, feeling the roughness of the bark under her palms.

Knox wasted no time. Slipping his fingers though her hair, he bared her neck and bit through her flesh.

She gasped, unprepared for the shock of pleasure the raked her. His first pull already had her on the edge. His second tipped her over completely. Her nails dug into the bark, sending scraps of it to the ground.

Before Knox pulled away, he reached into her pocket. Another release crashed like a breaking wave.

Then he extracted his fangs along with the phone and whispered next to her ear, “Be mindful of Mace. Obsessions like his can addle the brain. Say cheese.”

The flash went off. He’d made to get them both in the shot. She groused out a disgruntled sound and grabbed for the phone. Knox held it just out of reach, looking up at the screen, examining his work.

“We make a nice pair, especially with that lovely flush in your cheeks.”

“You son of a bitch. Give it to me.”

He grinned devilishly. “Naughty witch. What kind of deviant do you take me for? I’m not so easy as that. Oh, you mean the phone. Be more specific next time. Everything that passes through those lovely lips of yours tends to sound dirty.”

He lowered the phone and she snatched it, glowering.

He let out a husky chuckle and then walked away. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that she allowed herself to look at the picture. Knox had a self-satisfied half grin, and damn her for thinking it sexy. She looked as though she’d orgasmed five times beforehand.

She tapped the trash icon.

Delete.

——

Cora hadn’t left the cottage for several weeks. She was starting to go mad from boredom, pacing the house like a wild animal, even though her days had been eventful enough.

To her endless relief, Knox had moved into the underground compound. Where, exactly, she didn’t know. Didn’t care.

Their
arrangement
was precarious. Some days he’d take her blood two or three times throughout, others she’d not see him at all. When she did, she was always caught by surprise, which she guessed was by his design. He seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to finding her alone.

She had no idea how to handle him. But at least she was meeting his demands with a kind of quiet dignity.

He would always approach her from behind, like a wolf to prey. Yet, instead of pouncing, he’d announce himself, usually with some kind of gibe.

“You still trying to learn that drivel?” he’d said one morning when he caught her reading her witchcraft books—after everything, she was more determined now than ever to learn how to wield magic properly. Unfortunately, her only reading material consisted of a pocket book—Quick Spells for the Witch on the Go—and a slightly larger book called A Witch’s Guide to Demons, Vampires, and Other Supernatural Entities that read more like an encyclopedia than a training manual. Surprisingly, Wraiths were not among the entries so she was rereading the section on spirits and ghouls.

She replied to Knox with a hostile glance and then turned her attention back to the book, hoping he’d leave, but she knew he wouldn’t. Not till he got what he wanted.

“Thought you’d be giving that up after you nearly lost your soul. Not bright, sweets, but if you’re determined to destroy yourself, who am I to stand in the way?”

Then his roguish smile had dropped to a hungry mien. A signal things were about to get serious.

“Stand up and clasp your hands in front of you.”

He liked to make sure her hands were occupied, on the wall, gripping the banister, fastened together. After a time, she deduced why. Sadira, and even Saraphine, had required the use of their hands when directing powerful defensive magic. So, in a sense, he was tying her hands.

He didn’t blindfold her like before. She suspected he’d only done it that first time to unnerve her. To make her blood rush, and increase his pleasure in taking it. Or maybe just to see how far he could push it.

He moved up behind her. Her head cocked to the side to give him access. She hadn’t realized she’d done it of her own volition till Knox’s subsequent pause. She gleaned he was as surprised as she was by her actions.

Conditioned response.

In another encounter with Knox a few days later, he found her in the kitchen, plating a slice of pie. The sun was low in the sky, allowing golden light to wash over the room.

“Seems we’re of a similar mind,” he said. “I have a right craving for something sweet and sinful. How ’bout you take a bite before I do.”

Sometimes his comments were at Mace’s expense.

“The dolt’s not very attentive,
cher
. You really should train him better.”

On the contrary, Mace was being very attentive. As attentive as he could be under the circumstances. Even though he continued to work for Trent, helping in the investigation of their missing comrade, Brayden, every night he would make her feel downright cherished. She got the impression it was his way of making up for the situation with Knox, and, well, everything else.

Cora rarely refuted Knox’s derision, mostly because she suspected he was just baiting her. He’d hinted at penalization if she didn’t follow his orders to the T. A thinly veiled, lustful glint in his eye made her wonder if that was exactly what he was hoping for.

Luckily, his
orders
had been fairly benign thus far. Essentially, he’d make a show of dominance, bite her, take her blood into him, but, to her amazement, his treatment never neared the roughness he’d exhibited in the past, or as physically invasive.

Perhaps Mace had spoken to him, made a threat or somehow managed to redefine the parameters of the agreement. Whatever the reason, with each new encounter, she’d be a little less afraid. A little more eager—to just get it over with. It was almost turning into a clockwork procedure.

It was clear Mace wasn’t happy about the arrangement. Who could blame him? However, he was mollified by the fact that Knox kept his promise not to hurt her. That didn’t keep her from worrying over how long this delicate accord would last. Hence, the reinforced dedication to the study of witchcraft.

Unfortunately, without a proficient teacher, her education was the equivalent of wandering the woods blindfolded, trying to find the sun. There might be small glimpses of light, but she felt bound to the darkness.

As the new dynamic settled into routine, Cora began to detect things that had previously gone unnoticed. Such as Mace’s evasiveness when confronted with some of her questions. Particularly about Sadira, as well as his confounding loyalty to Knox.

“Who is Sadira, really?” She’d asked one afternoon when they’d converged in the kitchen. “And what did Sadira do to the Morrigans?”

“She cursed them a long time ago,” he replied. “I don’t know the details, but they hadn’t survived it.”

She’d gathered that much. And she’d had so many more questions that it had escaped her notice he hadn’t answered the first of the two.

“Sadira had said she wanted revenge. Against who? And why?”

“Vampires, I guess. Who knows for sure? She was always a little crazy.”

“How do you know her?”

He hesitated. “Can’t really say I knew her. I had only met her once, briefly.”

Cora sighed, disappointed in the lack of information. “She said she was bound to Knox. How? When? For how long?”

Mace averted his gaze, and she almost thought she caught a hint of shame roll off him. “You’ll have to ask Knox.” Then he kissed her and said, “Sorry love, I have to get back to work.”

He turned and ducked through the secret panel that led to the underground compound.

She headed upstairs and sat down on her bed cross-legged.

Why was he being so secretive?

But his evasiveness wasn’t what worried her most.

After informing Mace one morning that she was headed out for a stroll around the cottage before breakfast, she had hastened back to their room for a sweater to shield against the unexpected chill in the air. The bathroom door had been cracked an inch. She hadn’t meant to peek in on him, but movement in the sink’s mirror had drawn her attention. Mace’s body was twisted awkwardly as he pressed the plunger of a syringe that was stuck into his hip.

She recalled him bargaining her blood to Knox for a
dose
of something, but he’d refused to explain what it was for.

Was he ill and didn’t wish to worry her?

She sighed and leaned back against the headboard.

Aside from all that, he kept his calls to Trent confidential, always exiting the room when his cell rang.

She gathered her spell book and flipped to a page she’d earmarked—a spell she was curious about called Access to the Realm of Dreams—hoping it would distract her from her worries.

It didn’t.

Why would Mace not speak freely in front of her? It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what was going on with his investigation. They were searching for a vampire named Brayden. It was the whole reason she was in this mess. Somehow Winston hade gotten a hold of his blood and had been sneaking it to Cora as a test of its authenticity—and to make sure it wasn’t tainted or harmful to his clients—before he sold it on the black market.