Bond of Darkness (40 page)

She stirred—and whimpered, pushing awkwardly at him. But she hadn't screamed. There was hope.

Fill the room with the sound of your love, Jean-Marie had suggested. Even though he wasn't a smooth talker like the heraldo, Ethan needed to learn now.

"Steve, you are my life. Uh, the most beautiful, wonderful cop in the world." He nuzzled her cheek, making the words into a soft hum to sink into her bones. "The best shooter, the most fabulous partner."

He kissed the sweet spot behind her ear. "Darling, darling Stephanie Amanda."

She thrashed, shoving against him, and tried to roll away. Well, she'd never enjoyed being called Stephanie.

He gathered her into his arms and sat upright on the bed in the lotus position. Then he swept her legs around him and draped her arms over his shoulders. Her head lolled back and she swayed slightly, but she wasn't fighting.

Better. Maybe she recognized his scent, which he'd now rubbed so thoroughly across her skin. His blood was lightly smeared across her jawbone.

"Beloved Steve," he crooned again, strengthening his voice. "My darling lady of the star and wheel."

He kissed her throat, scraping his fangs gently down the long tendon. He repeated the caress, in memory of all the times she'd begged for more—and she moaned, arching up against him.

He stilled, hope running sweet and hot through his veins. She had enough sense to ask for more?

"Steve, honey," he purred and happily cherished her again. But now her nipples rubbed his chest, as intrigued as her voice.

For the first time, his cock stirred, as if scenting the potential for pure pleasure instead of necessity.

He shifted his hands lower, to support her back, and happily nuzzled and licked and kissed his way over and along her shoulders and breast. Every inch, every curve, every vein, the sweet circles of her areolas, the hardening buds of her nipples…

Perhaps he was teaching her his scent, or learning the entirely different taste of her skin.

But the way she shivered and groaned and clutched at him, wordless in a way she'd never been, yet entirely clear about her needs—made his heart pound and his skin tighten with crackling heat. Her scent was sweet and rich, more fascinating than a small-batch bourbon.

Was she acting out of pure reflex? Were there any thoughts behind those tightly closed eyes? How could he know, when hunger was ravaging his own ability to ask?

He nipped at her collarbone, daring to push his tough cop a little further. A tiny drop of blood welled up, making him remember his hija's fragility. He jerked away, his heart pounding.

"More, Ethan!" she growled and yanked him back to her.

Ethan? She'd already recognized him, despite La Lujuria's insanity.

"Steve, sweetheart!" He crushed her in his arms and kissed her, splitting his lip further and sending more blood into her mouth.

She moaned deep in her throat and clung closer, growing wilder and wilder for him, whether it was taste or touch or scent. Her hands roamed him ceaselessly, as if simply shaping his body could bring her satisfaction. She rubbed herself over him, shaping every plane and curve and line of her lithe body to match his and shuddering when she came into contact with his blood or sweat—or the pre-come seeping from his cock.

Bones weren't made to support hunger like his, nor nerves steady enough to keep thoughts flowing. Flames lashed through his skin wherever she touched. Lust sparked and danced, feeding the great wellspring of joy building at the base of his spine. It drummed through every bone, guided every touch, hummed in every pulse, rocked in his hips.

Steve, Steve, Steve…

He caught her closer and rolled onto their sides, lifting her legs over his arms. For the first time he could see her eyes, in the room's very slight illumination.

She blinked up at him for an instant, caught in that helpless position. "Ethan, please." Her hands ran up his arms and pulled him down.

Trust, perfect trust. Thank God.

He shifted slightly, finding her with a creador's sure instinct, and entered.
Beloved Steve
, he crooned.

Oh yes, Ethan
, she sighed.

Mind-to-mind at last—and control fled. He thrust hard, riding her like the madman she'd made him. She answered him eagerly, voraciously, locking her ankles behind his back, her nails drawing blood from his shoulders. Her cunt was hot and wet, sucking him in, perfect.

Passion hummed through his bones, while joy drummed at the base of his spine. Life was good, better than marvelous. It was time, while he could still control himself.

Ethan rolled her on top of him, then shaped a single claw and slashed his jugular deep for her. Fire ran through his veins, seeking to bind her. He immediately arched his throat, sending the crimson spray fountaining out.

"Ah, darling, my blood burns for you," she murmured—and bent, avidly seeking the flow.

A spasm rocked him, locking every bone and muscle. His eyes flew open and he gaped at her, shocked beyond words.

She was too young a cachorra to have any blood to spare in the bedroom. How could hers burn—or was she feeling his? Could she trust him enough to catch all of his emotions and sensations, like a cónyuge? Would anything make him happier?

She gripped his shoulders and held on hard, clinging to him like life itself. She drank him down eagerly—and she orgasmed, rippling around him like a Fourth of July fireworks display.

Joy, ah such joy
, she cried, echoing his emotions.

The final proof she could become his cónyuge snapped his control. He climaxed, screaming his throat raw and uniting his mind voice with hers, their bodies utterly entwined amid the silk sheets.

AUSTIN COMMANDERY. THE NEXT NIGHT

"
Por Dios
, Emilio, cannot the news shows find anything else to talk about?" Rafael exclaimed. He and Grania had come to talk to the armorers about replenishing their supplies and stayed to spend the night relaxing with his vampiros. He'd not expected to find one of their favorite gathering places tuned to only one show, which had taken over the ten o'clock news.

The TV room was crowded with vampiros and compañeros, lounging on the many leather recliners and couches or seated on the floor. Every wall was covered with monitors, which could cumulatively cover dozens of different sports events. Yet every one was showing the same blue velvet curtain, set of flags, and batch of grinning politicians on a dais, no matter what language the unseen commentator was urgently hissing.

"
¡Maldita sea
, give me the remote and I'll look!" he growled.

Emilio flipped the plastic lump over his head without looking. Somebody gasped but Rafael simply caught it, still muttering. He began to rapidly scroll through channels, his thumb working the keys with the easy skill of long practice. The largest screen whirred and flickered desperately to keep up—but the same damn blue curtain kept showing up at the top.

Lars, Rafael's most trusted spy, drifted into the TV room from the billiards room, pool cue in hand. Several men silently made room for him against the wall, leaving him isolated as ever. Rafael frowned but said nothing for now.

Emilio tilted his head against his chair back to watch Rafael. "If you want to try the Brazilian channel, their camera is far off to the side, which gives them a different view," he offered, in an overly polite tone. "You can even see something other than politicians, such as a few lawmen. That Ranger captain is there, for example."

Who looked exhausted and grave, under that officially impassive demeanor. Pity they couldn't tell him yet Steve was well.

"In that case, we might as well watch it, too," Rafael acknowledged and glanced around. The largest two recliners were immediately vacated but Grania waved off one offer, choosing instead to sit on Rafael's lap.

He contentedly wrapped his arm around her, wondering how soon he could find their quarters. Duty said he should be worrying about all those prosaico police who were still investigating Devol's bandolerismo and their killings. But surely cleaning up such items could wait until tomorrow.

"Texas governor hasn't been sleeping much," Rough Bear commented.

"But he does look happy to stand with the Louisiana governor," Emilio agreed. "Plus those U.S. district attorneys."

Two top federal prosecutors, plus the Texas and Louisiana executives? Rafael sat bolt upright, murmuring an apology to his darling.

"I now turn the mike over to the Texas governor." The eldest district attorney stepped back from the mike, immediately replaced by one of Rafael's old friends—who he hadn't spoken to lately. What the hell was going on?

"As you know, our great states have lately been troubled by some murders."

The commentators immediately became totally silent except for the text simultaneously scrolling along the bottom in a dozen languages.

"We have reason to believe El Gallinazo was responsible, thanks to the experimental date rape drug he was dumping in our states. Two days ago, the Rangers"—At least he didn't credit us!—"killed him along the border near Gilbert's Crossing."

The curtain was yanked back, revealing a stack of stained crates almost ten feet wide and almost as high. Beside it stood an easel, holding a poster of a once well-dressed man, now bloated and ugly in death. El Gallinazo.

The room gasped—and exploded into an orgy of brilliant white light from flashbulbs.

"We captured these crates with his convoy," the Louisiana governor announced, her dulcet tones somehow managing to quickly reduce the room's clamor into schoolboy folly and ultimately silence. "A preliminary analysis has already confirmed this drug is capable of causing the deaths we sadly experienced."

"Our friends in Mexico raided and destroyed his factory yesterday, which was the only place in the world that could manufacture it." The district attorney had recovered the mike. "They have burned all the stockpiles there, and we will destroy these. El Gallinazo's chemist died in the convoy, ending any chance of recreating this drug."

"We now invite you to return to your daily lives, to go out among your friends again." The Texas governor's voice was vibrant and confident. "We ask you to remember the little people whose businesses have been hurt in the past few weeks—the restaurants, the nightclubs…"

Mute buttons were punched around the room, silencing the platitudes.

"Well now, isn't that just too convenient for words," Grania drawled.

"They'll never prove they're wrong," Emilio pointed out.

"And they'll never prove they're right," retorted the scientist and veterinarian.

"We don't need them to have a perfect answer,
querida
," Rafael soothed her. "They only need enough to keep them quiet."

"And the people have been terrified so long they should be glad for an excuse to settle down." He could almost hear the cogs in her fine brain working, while she considered all aspects of the politicians' pablum.

His men began to shake themselves into action, preparatory to leaving the room. Emilio caught Lars just before he disappeared and the two left together, talking quietly about China.

"Did you have anything to do with this explanation,
dearest)"
she asked, turning to face him.

"
¡Por Dios, no
! Neither its creation nor its acceptance. But it will last longer because I didn't."

"Since it's more detailed and originated with more people, rather than being as a single vision into one person's mind."

"
Precisamente
." He beamed at her. She would be a deadly warrior on Texas's behalf in the coming centuries, using her fine intelligence like a lance. "I doubt either O'Malley or Gorshkov did, either. Gorshkov loathes politicians; he took Trenton rather than Manhattan because there are fewer to be found there."

"And O'Malley's a California patron so he has good ties to the media, giving him the ability to create the basic idea—but not the law enforcement connections to polish the story."

"
St
." He kissed her hand. "Do you want to keep discussing political secrets in a room full of leather chairs,
mi corazón
? Or can we continue this privately, where I can also sing of how your beauty drives men wild,
mi vida
?"

She blushed adorably, the hot color mantling her cheek until it blended with her fiery hair's silk.
Dios me salve
, she'd always have the ability to do that.