Dead After Dark (31 page)

“Excellent.” Her father actually rubbed his hands. “Now we won’t even have to wait through the training of another Aspirant for our Harrier.”

She was as powerful as her father. How odd. And that changed everything. “Don’t think I’m going to be your emotionless instrument of revenge, Father. I’m staying here with Drew, and now I am almost certain there is nothing you can do about it.”

He snorted in derision. “Humans are not worth the abandonment of your true purpose, Freya. What can they understand of the scope of our existence? They do not even live long enough to become wise.”

In some ways that was the best thing he could have said. All became clear to Freya in that moment. “There is a wisdom of the heart that you have lost, Father. Or maybe you never had it.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She looked past her father to where Drew was struggling to stand. “Drew is already wiser than you are, for all your age. I only hope I can learn from him.”

Her father looked back to Drew. Did he see the softness in Drew’s eyes? Would he recognize it for what it was? Freya was fairly certain it was love.

When her father snapped his head back to her, he said, “Remember the Rules, Freya.” She smiled. He recognized
the look, all right. And he knew what she intended. She did intend it, though she couldn’t name the moment she had decided.

Drew was standing now, his feet apart. Lord, but he was magnificent. “A father has to let his daughter go, Rubius. Even if she makes mistakes. Your mistake was that you never learned that.” Freya was proud of him.

And wonder of wonders, she saw her father look away. Was he ashamed? He took a breath and let it out of his massive chest. Maybe the fact that he recognized the look in Drew’s eyes meant something. “You must have loved someone, Father, or been loved.”

He didn’t acknowledge anything. He looked at her. “Had it occurred to you that I might want you by me because I missed you as well as needed you? If you want to see me, you will know where to find me. I’ll find another way to make Harriers.”

The whirl of blackness engulfed him in mere seconds, much faster than she had ever been able to muster. He was . . . gone.

She turned to Drew. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, and ran his hand through his hair, half laughing. “You have one scary father, my love.” He shot a glance her way. “How do you feel?”

The smile that welled up in her brought a threat of tears with it. “Good.” She shrugged, trying to make light of the fullness she felt inside. “Maybe . . . whole.”

His eyes widened in memory. “You . . . you were quite amazing.”

“I amazed myself. That was a demonstration of a Harrier’s powers, in case you’re interested.”

“I love a young lady whom I can truly call accomplished.”

But did he? “Having second thoughts now that you know who I really am and have seen my very scary father?”

“I always knew who you really were, if you did not. And
I think your father loves you in his very frightening way.” He stepped in to her. They stood a handbreadth apart, not touching, the surface tension of attraction and hesitance in perfect balance. “And no, no second thoughts. You should have asked if I’m afraid.”

“Are you?”

“Oh, yes. But you’ll be there, won’t you?”

Warmth suffused her. She reached up and slipped one hand around his neck under the curls at his nape. “I will, Drew Carlowe. And do you want this?”

“I do, Freya Rozonczy.”

She smiled and felt the tears spill over and course down her cheeks. That was not her last name. To her knowledge she had no last name. But it was fitting she acknowledge that, for all his faults, she was her father’s daughter. And she was her own person, too, for the first time. Drew led her back to the bed, climbed up and pulled her up beside him. He lay back, his strong body even now calling to the core of her. She asked for power, enough to run out her fangs. Her eyes would be glowing faintly red. She let him see the teeth extend. He must have no illusions. “There is no going back.”

He pulled her close and kissed her, running his tongue over her fangs. “Then let us go forward.” She felt his erection rising against her thigh. She throbbed in response.

He turned his head toward her and raised his chin, exposing the artery in his neck. But she wanted this to be special, sacred even. She reached down and caressed his cock. He was fully aroused now. So was she. She kissed her way from the pulse in his throat to the place directly under his jaw. “Not yet,” she whispered. Her breasts rubbed against his chest hair. He rolled her to her back. She spread her knees. She wanted him to impale her, plunge himself inside. He positioned his cock and she pulled his buttocks into her. The sweet sensation of being filled possessed her. He moved in and out with controlled intensity. Sensation built and she did
not want to stop it, prolong it, or deviate from its inevitable course. She turned the tables after a while and rolled him on his back. She straddled his hips and rocked up and down, back and forth. He groaned. She bit her lips, licking them. The saliva would keep the wounds from healing immediately, but there wasn’t much time.

He bared his throat again.

She took a breath. She was about to baptize her newfound self by an act her father would find repugnant but that she was sure was very right. Drew’s trust as he exposed himself to her would not go unreturned. She bit down, gently, rocking against his cock. He moaned, but she didn’t think it was from the slight pain of the twin wounds she had inflicted. He was hard and needing inside her. The copper tang of thick life filled her mouth. She could feel the blood on her lips mingle with his. For better or worse, it was done. She sucked lightly, caressing his shoulder as he thrust inside her. She could feel his release building. Her own was moments away. The sweet sensation of sucking at him even as they raced toward orgasm in some complex and most intimate exchange of fluids, body to body, soul to soul, enveloped her. Her world thrust outward, blood and semen and her own wild juices mingling in chaotic abandon as Drew exploded inside her. They slumped together, Drew crushing her to his chest. She felt her lips heal as though the cuts there had never been.

“The blood is the life, my love,” she said.

“For both of us,” he whispered.

by

Dianna Love

This story is dedicated to my mother-in-law Jane O’Hern who gave me my first romance novel many years ago, and my hero as well when I married her only child.

My deep appreciation goes to Sherrilyn Kenyon for her friendship and endless support. I want to thank Caren Johnson for placing this story and Monique Patterson for being a fabulous editor. Thanks also to Maureen Hardegree who as an early reader gave me great feedback. Thanks so much to all those who have supported my writing, to name a few—James and Terri Love, Jim and Mary Buckham, Walt and Cindy Lumpkin, Gail and Dave Akins, Bart and Hope Williams, Bill Gayton, Joanne and Hank Shaw, Mae Nunn, Annie Oortman, Darlene Buchholz, Donna Browning, Debby Giusti, Jacqui Sue Ping, the RBLs, GRW members and all of you—the READERS—who allow me to write these stories. Please visit my website at
www.AuthorDiannaLove.com
and I love to hear from readers at [email protected].

Most of all, thanks to my incredible husband and hero, Karl Snell, who makes it possible for me to pursue my dreams.

Where are you, Ekkbar? Show yourself so I can send you back to the flames of hell that birthed you
.

Trey McCree raised his head and visually swept the room filled with Goth partiers out for some early action on the night after Halloween. He telepathically listened to snippets of conversation from the partygoers’ private thoughts as well.

Hey, loosen up, babe. . . . I want a man tonight. . . . What a loser. . . .

When the woman he followed moved again, Trey pushed ahead through the tangled mass of patrons decked out in sinister black outfits, bloodred accessories, and silver studs pierced through some interesting places. Most of the clientele visited in cozy corners on several levels, but that still left a packed dance floor of writhing bodies. Unconcerned over blending in with nose rings and scary hair, Trey had donned black jeans, a matching long-sleeved turtleneck, and a leather jacket.

He was here for one reason.

The Black Fairy nightclub in a renovated midtown Atlanta warehouse near a historical cemetery had piqued the interest of a woman he was
not
letting out of his sight—Sasha Armand.

Not with Ekkbar visiting this millennium.

Calf-high black boots pranced twenty feet away, a silver cross-and-skull zipper pull at her boot cuff flicking with each sexy step. The liquid movement of Sasha’s derriere swayed erotically in time with the pulsing music, reminding Trey of why he couldn’t stay in Atlanta beyond this week. Temptation was easier resisted from a distance.

Sasha was better off without him anyhow,
if
she’d stay out of trouble, dammit.

A wave of dark energy rippled through the room. Trey’s skin pricked with warning. He slowed, immediately on alert. He surveyed the crowd for Ekkbar, but the eight-hundred-year-old servant of a Kujoo warlord melded with the jumble of noise before Trey could detect him.

Ekkbar had almost exposed himself. He was a dimwit, but a lethal one to an unprotected human like Sasha.

As a strong empathic, Trey avoided crowds until learning how to filter telepathic noise to prevent sensory overload. He now closed the gateway to his mind within a blink, watching.

That flash of metaphysical energy had either been Ekkbar catching Sasha’s hunter scent or another otherworldly entity who
could
recognize Trey’s physical signature as a Belador warrior. There was no way the magician had picked up on his presence. Unlike the Hindu warlord’s elite Kujoo soldiers, Ekkbar didn’t possess combat powers necessary to detect a Belador. But he
was
a magician who could hurt a human woman.

Sasha paused across the room, swiveling her head left. Blue, green, and pink lights shimmered along the straight
black hair pouring across her shoulders and back. She narrowed her eyes at something and then blinked. A thick ruffle of lashes kissed her cheek before she continued on.

Trey had kissed that same cheek when she wore tattered jeans and a ponytail that fit with her girl-next-door smile. Maybe if she’d kissed him like just
any
girl next door they might not have ended up in his bed having explosive sex, or on his back porch at midnight with her homemade whip cream, or . . . damn, he’d never forget the night at the lake with water cascading over her moon-kissed body when he lifted her high in the air.

He’d come close to reconsidering his future as a Belador right then. But he hadn’t and couldn’t change the past now.

Careful not to let her catch sight of him, Trey moved forward again, breathing the bitter smell of incense mixed with hot skin damp from dancing. He had to figure out what to do about Ekkbar without creating a disaster. Since accepting his destiny, Trey had been warned against ever engaging the warlord cursed to live beneath Mount Meru. A river of blood had been spilled once centuries ago when Beladors faced off against the Kujoo. Since then both had upheld an unwritten truce.

If he disturbed the fragile peace between the two, he’d open the gates to a war like none before.

Leave it to a woman to ruin a two-week sabbatical from his contract work with VIPER—Vigilant International Protectors Elite Regiment—where he defended this world against supernatural predators. Gathering intel on Sasha had been a major pain in the butt since he’d been forced to use conventional methods. Any other time, he’d just read a person’s thoughts, but he’d never been able to read Sasha’s mind and had no idea why not since he refused to ask other Beladors. No warrior ever admitted a deficiency to another one.

Tapping her phone line worked, but the only inkling Trey had gotten into this fiasco had been when Sasha left a message
on her home phone for her sister that she was out working and hoped to locate Ekkbar at the Black Fairy tonight.

A tall blond female in an outfit that would bring the devil himself to heel stepped in front of Trey, blocking his path. She eyed him like a new soul to devour. His gaze danced over the very revealing red and black lace jumpsuit sending his mind to search her thoughts out of natural curiosity.

No words. Just erotic images of what she envisioned doing . . . to him . . . naked . . . tied to a bed.

He snapped his mind shut, smiled politely, and sidestepped her, then glanced ahead to make sure Sasha remained in sight.

When had she morphed her business from researching family ancestries to becoming a private eye? Who had hired her to find a creature that should still be living beneath a mountain?

A roar on the dance floor drew his attention. When he turned back to track Sasha the crowd had swallowed her. He stretched up, searching. No Sasha. His palms dampened, something he rarely experienced during an op, but those missions didn’t involve a defenseless woman facing a monster.

Heart pounding sharply with each thump of the music’s concussive base, Trey rushed forward, parting the sea of macabre costumes. He reached the far side of the wide room just as a pair of thigh-high boots with a dangly zipper pull headed through a hallway then out the rear door. He could move fast as light when necessary, but not in public without good cause. At the back exit, he caught the bouncer monitoring activity distracted and blitzed past in a rush of air.

Outside, Trey stepped onto an empty back street and took a breath of fresh air, enjoying the brisk late October chill. He caught a familiar tap of footsteps clipping along the sidewalk in the direction of the cemetery.

Next to woods where rapes had occurred in the past.

Where the hell was Sasha going?

Moving cautiously now, he tuned his senses to his surroundings. Survival in his unusual line of work depended on always being prepared. A half-block down, Trey stopped next to the cemetery, trying to pick up the sound of her steps again. He felt another body taut with animosity move into his zone, the area ten feet away. Trey spun around, hands flowing together into a bladelike move that would take off a man’s head.