Dark Cravings (2 page)

Hollow. Weighty. The gross thud of something hitting the
ground echoed. Panic sped my pace. The threat of yet another death made me
sick. The unnecessary carnage of hapless humans was why I remained a hunter.
Despite, or maybe because of my current condition, I couldn’t ignore the fact
that I’d been bred to protect and serve. Humans, the poor bastards, had no idea
how dangerous the night could be.

I rounded the corner and skid to a stop in the damp grass.
The pack of feral dogs lifted their black and gray muzzles from what looked
like a pig. One at a time, they snarled and bared their canines. Blood and
saliva dripped to the ground. Hackles rose.

Gunfire exploded behind me and I jumped. The dogs scattered,
leaving their kill behind.

The scent of death filled the air and tickled my nose more
powerfully than Brimstone. My appetite was disgustingly roused. Killing blood,
animal or not, had a different taste—it was potent with fear.

The unmistakable click of a cocking gun jarred me out of my
trance. Micah and his fucking firearms. What self-respecting hunter brought a
shotgun to kill a vampire anyway? I’d been raised old school, with stakes and
knives. Micah and his younger brother, Elijah, had undergone a more progressive
training regime. I suspected it had something to do with their father’s
influence. Daddy wouldn’t want his sons getting their hands dirty.

I spun to face Micah, eyed the sawed-off shotgun pointed at
my nose. “I told you to leave that monstrosity in the car.”

“Funny. I must have missed the memo where you took over Roy’s
job. I don’t take orders from you.” Micah paused and gave his gun a fond once-over.
He looked at his weapon like a man looked at a naked woman.

“Besides,” he continued. “What’s wrong with Ramona? She
saved your ass from being eaten by wolves.”

“I kill demons and vampires for a living, a few dogs don’t
scare me. Wait.” I help up my hand. “You named your gun?” I couldn’t keep the
incredulity out of my voice.

His grin was slow, cocky. “Babe, I sleep with it.”

“That’s not the only thing you sleep with,” I grumbled and
fought not to ask how his dates enjoyed waking up to cold metal. He probably
didn’t stick around long enough to ask them.

“You did know we were trailing a pack of vamps, right?” I
asked in a slow voice that one might use to explain something to a child. “Guns
in those kinds of situations aren’t very helpful. We’ve argued about this a
million times.”

“Oh come on. What’s wrong with blowing their heads off?
Quicker, just as effective. I’ve got Brimstone and silver in these shells.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me the big bad hunter is
afraid to get his hands dirty.”

It was times like this, me looking up at him with a serious
crick in my neck, that I realized just how tall he was or how wide and muscular
his shoulders were. Micah was a little over six feet and that gave him at least
ten inches on me. Everything about him made me feel delicate. The feeling was
not warm or fuzzy.

I looked him over, a frown pulling at the corners of my
mouth. I took in the scuffed, dark leather of his jacket. The coat wasn’t
tight, not like the long-sleeved black shirt he wore under it, but it wasn’t
oversized. Once again captivated, I let my eyes find their way to his jeans.
Did they have to hug him just the right way? I stopped appraising him at his
boots and let my head tilt to the side until my hair, almost the same shade as
my black leather sleeve, rested on my forearm. Somewhere beneath all that
fitted clothing I knew he’d tucked away a stake, two Brimstone butterfly blades
and a semi-automatic handgun. I’d watched him do it out of the corner of my eye
as I’d strapped on my own weapons. How’d I miss the sawed-off shotgun? Son of a
bitch.

“Where in the hell did you hide that thing?” The words came
out before I could stop myself.

His smirk blossomed into a full-blown smile that, I swear to
god, reflected the stars in his eyes. Bastard. He’d outwitted me and I’d just
confirmed it with my stupid question. Would it really be a bad idea if I took
Ramona and hit him over the head with it? The jerk was so thickheaded I’d
probably damage the gun more than him. If I hurt Micah, Roy would be pissed and
his father would probably cut off my head. I was on shaky ground with the
agency as it was.

Micah chuckled as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. We
hadn’t known each other long enough for him to read me so well.

“I’ll tell you this,” he said as his laughter faded. “The
bulge in my pants wasn’t because I was happy to see you.”

A nest of hornets swarmed inside my stomach. The feelings he
brought out in me were too reminiscent of Julian breaking my heart into a
thousand, million pieces. Angry. Vicious. Stinging. I wouldn’t go there, not
again. No more ill-fated romances for me, thanks. The deep inhale of cold air I
took was supposed to calm me. It had the opposite consequence. Micah’s rich,
masculine scent filled my lungs much like the blood had. He was all leather and
spice and everything nice. Under all those scents, though, was the hint of soap—my
soap.

I had a consuming image of Micah showering, of him dragging
my bar of soap over the rigid planes of his body. In my mind’s eye I watched
suds roll in slow motion down his well-toned stomach. We trained together every
day. We hunted together every night. Roy threatened to disown me if I didn’t.
Over the last few months, seeing Micah shirtless and sweaty had become part of
my day-to-day. Sure, he had his own apartment, but he spent so much time at my
house he might as well live there. After the first week I knew every line,
freckle and scar on his body. Some might call it obsessive. I called it having
an attention to detail. I can’t help it if I’m overly observant.

A snarl echoed inside my head.
You’re mine.
Mine
,
Ella. I made you, taught you the pleasures of flesh and blood.

When Julian used my name, as opposed to the Swedish
endearment
min älskling
, “my darling”, I knew he was well and truly
pissed. It had taken me almost two years to learn the art of shielding Julian
from my thoughts. After seven, I’d damn near perfected it. That was, until
Micah had marched into town like he owned the place and shattered the perfect
bubble I’d created around myself.

I sent a mental fuck-you-stay-out-of-my-business and slammed
my shields in my sire’s face. My mental protection came in the form of a heavy
metal wall with no door, no windows and no cracks. The fortress was
impenetrable. In the next breath the only person in my head was me.

If only getting rid of Micah could be so easy. The last few
months had brought too many sleepless nights. The man struck every nerve, and
not the good ones. I shouldn’t be so attracted to him.

When had I become so infatuated?

I decided to blame my nonsensical desire for him on
inactivity. With Micah camped out in my town for god only knew how long, demon
and vampire activity was practically nonexistent. So was my morale. I needed to
kill something. Or get laid…

Sex wasn’t an option. Not with Micah. We spent our time
between physical and verbal sparring matches. We couldn’t agree on anything,
from which station to tune the radio to, to which cemetery we’d go hunting in
first. We fought about the weather. We fought about the lack of weather.
Sometimes we even managed to fight about fighting.

I shook my head and brought my focus back to the
conversation.

“Of course you weren’t happy to see me. I disgust you.” I pointed
to my teeth, let the fangs slide out, and gave him an innocent smile. It was
near impossible to look demure with gleaming fangs pressed against your lower
lip. I think I nailed it. “So, tell me, the hard-on you got earlier today when
I let you pin me to the mat was what?”

Color rushed to his cheeks and it sent an unexpected jolt
through me. I’d just broken a cardinal rule. I’d mentioned the unmentionable.
Sparring, it turned out, was a lot like sex. Every grunt, every pant, every
moan of exertion tightened something inside me until I was ready to explode
from the inside out. The tension built and grew until I was breathless.

It was hard not to react when an attractive, half-naked,
broad-shouldered man had you pinned to the ground with your wrists above your
head, stretching you out beneath him. For all of Micah’s faults he’d never, not
once, mentioned how I trembled against him. How my nipples hardened under his
gaze or how my ass gyrated of its own accord against the impressive bulge of
his hard cock when he had me pressed face first against a wall. For two people
who had as much animosity as we did, it was a dangerous game we played.

Micah’s stance shifted. I watched the muscle beneath the
shadow of hair on his jaw twitch. It was silly how a little bit of facial hair
could make a man look so…reckless.

“You call that a hard-on? Please. Your sire must not have
been much in the man department. Oh wait!” The slap of his hand against his
forehead rang out. “I forgot. He wasn’t a man at all. He was a dead,
bloodsucking leech.”

“Ah,” I seethed. “You’re this close,” I pinched my fingers
together, “to my fangs in your throat. Don’t talk to me about Julian and don’t
get cocky because you got in one good punch earlier. I will hurt you. Then
again, maybe that’s what gets you hot.”

Standing in the middle of a haunted eighteenth-century
cemetery yelling at each other wasn’t the smartest thing either of us had done.
Nothing attracted bloodthirsty demons like anger and lust. Micah stalked to me
and the air around him fled away like frightened roaches in a spotlight. I,
however, was not a scared little bug. Tilting my chin up, I met his eyes dead-on.
My heart pounded and all the pent-up sexual tension inside me smoldered in my
veins. The need to tear into his flesh, to taste his blood, was unbearable.

“You don’t have what it takes to turn me on. Sorry, babe,
parasites don’t do it for me.”

I was going to kill him. “I. Am. Not. A. Parasite. I don’t
drink blood and you damn well know it. The Shadow Agency made me swear an oath.
I’ve never gone back on my promise.”

Oh, but I wanted to drink blood. I wanted it so bad it
burned my throat just to think about it. How good it would feel splashing
thickly over my tongue, sliding down my throat.

Despite every sense screaming at me to run away, I stepped
across the three dull, countersank headstones between us. Out of control didn’t
begin to describe how I felt. My gaze dropped from his eyes to the upturned
collar on his jacket. The cuff hid the vein in his throat I knew throbbed with
the rush of blood. His eyes narrowed and darkened as if he was reading my mind,
sensing my desire. The shadows in his gaze weren’t fear. I’d never met anyone
whose emotions were tied so directly to the ever-changing shade of their irises.
Just like that, Micah checked out and the predator inside him checked in. Too
bad for both of us, his predator brought out mine.

Energy pulsed around us, drew us closer. The wind howled
through the pumpkin-orange leaves on the ground, picking them up, swirling them
around our bodies and tickling my calves. Before I knew what I was doing, I
slid my fingers down the front of his cotton shirt. My gaze followed their
trail until I heard the sharp hitch in his breath. I flicked my eyes up to meet
his.
Fire.
He grabbed my arm, tugged, and slammed me against his chest.
The air whooshed out of me. One inch at a time, he dragged me up until the tips
of our noses touched.

Micah’s gaze darted from my eyes to my mouth. Instinct
forced my tongue against my lower lip, moistening it. He exhaled sharply and
the warmth of his breath caressed my parted lips, danced along my now fully
extended fangs. The next five seconds that passed had to have been the longest
in my entire life. He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t yell at me. No. He let go of my
arm so abruptly I crashed to the pile of leaves with a crunch. It was only then
I was able to release the breath that had been stuck in my chest. Slow, steady,
the beast inside him retreated into the darkness. The image reminded me of a
hulking tiger fading into the jungle.

His lips curved, not a smile but a baring of teeth, as he
watched me pull myself to my feet. Micah didn’t try to help me up. Smart man.
If he had, consequences be damned, I might have killed him.

I wiped the bits of rust-colored leaves from my black cargo
pants and glared at him. He glared right back.

“You want me,” he said.

I was opening my mouth, more than ready to tell him all the
reasons why I didn’t want him, when something flickered in the distance. What
caught my attention wasn’t a figure but more a crackling of energy. Wind began
to swirl around us. My skin tightened until goose bumps raised the fine hairs
on my arms. A portal that allowed demons from other dimensions to cross into
ours had just been ripped open. The pungent scent of Brimstone burned my nose.

Micah and I snapped into mirrored fighting stances. It was
another sign we’d spent a little bit too much time training together.

I concentrated on the darkness and shoved my senses in front
of me without an ounce of finesse. Things came at me in a bumpy rush, almost
too overwhelming to process. The stench of decay was more than I could stomach.
But there on the horizon, I fixated on an old mausoleum and let the scent of
sulfur and death fade into the background. The stone walls of the crypt were
cracked and covered in a layer of green ivy. To the right of the edifice was an
angelic statue, the white marble turned ivory with age. Between the two, a
thick layer of opaque fog hugged the ground as it rolled into view. The haze
crept closer, billowing and pulsing with every consuming inch.

Humidity weighted the air. My skin grew clammy, my clothes
clinging. The temperature went from almost freezing to smoldering. Steam curled
from the ground to thicken the approaching fog.