Demon Night (30 page)

Savi's fingers froze above the keyboard. “Jane's? As in, your sister who is employed by Legion? Did she use this for work?”

Charlie hesitated until she met Ethan's eyes over Savi's arms. “Yes. Sometimes. It was her backup system for when she forgot her other computer at the lab.”

“Oh my god.” Savi's fangs were gleaming with her enormous, laughing smile. “Can I have it? I'll take off all of your files and settings and put them in a new one. A better one.”

“But Jane deleted all of her…” Charlie trailed off when Savi shook her head.

“There's a chance I can recover some of it.”

“Oh. Well, okay then, I guess—”

“Yes!” Savi grabbed Charlie's face and smashed their lips together in a quick, cool kiss. Stunned, Charlie watched the computer disappear from the table and the other woman practically dance back to her desk.

Jake looked from Charlie to Savi, who was already plugging wires into the laptop. “Can you do that again, please? I'm sure her contribution deserves more than one kiss.”

Ethan took her hand, tugged her to her feet. “As Charlie apparently can't do her work tonight, I reckon I'll show her how grateful we are by familiarizing her with the warehouse,” he said. “And maybe taking her for a ride over the city before I head back on up to Seattle.”

“And Drifter wins again,” Savi chuckled.

 

By the time Charlie had finished brushing the wind out of her hair, Ethan had switched the small bed for the one from her apartment, set up her stereo on the desk, and placed her shelves of CDs along the wall.

He was moving the roses to her nightstand as she came out of the bathroom, and he turned his head, his gaze running her length. It stopped her in her tracks, and she lost her voice yet again. Perhaps it was for the best, this time. There was only one thought in her head, and only one thing she might have said.

Good Lord, but she was hopelessly in love with him.

It didn't seem so light this time, but a weight held over her head, waiting to drop onto her shoulders. But it was still clean, still bright, and amid everything else, something good that she desperately wanted to hang on to.

Except she'd never been good at judging when hanging on became a chokehold—or a death grip. He was solid, and it was so easy to rely on him, especially when he seemed so determined to help her adjust.

But it would have been nice if he needed something, or if he'd asked for something in return.

And she was uncertain about expressing her gratitude; he hadn't wanted it before. But it was the only thing she had to offer.

“Ethan.” It sounded rougher than normal, so she swallowed to ease the dryness in her mouth and throat.

He raised his brows in question, moving from beside the bed to tower over her. “Miss Charlie?”

“I just wanted to say that I know I've been resentful of…” The bloodlust. Having no control over her life. Losing so much with a couple of swallows of Henderson's blood. “Of parts of what happened to me, and angry, especially with Jane—and kind of self-absorbed with all of that.”

His brows drew in; the corners of his mouth pulled down. “Charlie—”

She shook her head, dropped her gaze to his chest. “But I wanted to make sure that I said thank you for saving my life, and for doing all of this.” She indicated the room with a sweep of her hand. “And also that I hope you don't feel any guilt about not being able to get to me until after Henderson had taken my blood. Because if you hadn't been around I'd still be a vampire by now, but dependent on Sammael—and he'd probably have me locked up somewhere, I guess.”

“I reckon.” Ethan tipped her chin up with a touch of his fingers. His eyes were solemn. “I wish it had gone differently, Charlie. But if you're resentful and angry, you've good reason to be—and if you think your reaction has been irrational or that you've put a burden on me, you unthink it.”

She shifted her feet. “I just wish there was some way I could repay you. For saving me—and for the rest.” She darted a glance at the door to the hallway. Her knees had cracked the wood when she'd jumped on him; further down, he'd splintered a plank by banging his head against it. “For feeding me, because it couldn't have been easy.”

“It wasn't a hardship, either. You don't owe me for it, and I sure in blazes don't want anything from you in payment,” Ethan said softly. His lips curved slightly. “Except maybe a story now and then.”

That wasn't anything; it didn't take any effort. But she bit back the reply that leapt to her tongue:
I want you to need something from me, too
. It would have sounded too pleading, too pathetic.

“That's easy enough,” she said instead, but she thought her smile was probably wan, so she dipped her head. He was close, and she desperately wanted to touch him. She settled for reaching out, sliding his left suspender between her thumb and fingers. “And when we sleep together—”

She broke off when his taut abdomen turned to steel beneath the backs of her fingers. She glanced up, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring down at the floor, the muscles in his jaw bunched.

“Ethan?”

His response was as tight as his body. “Is that the kind of man you think I am?”

She blinked quickly, her eyes searching his face. “What kind?”

“Using the bed in trade for blood.”

It took her another second. Then her fingers curled hard around the leather strap before she forced her hand open and stepped back. Not far; the room was too small, and her shoulders came up against the wall.

“No,” she said evenly, though hurt and anger were singing within her. “But
you
must think I'm the kind of woman who'd trade sex for blood, or it wouldn't have occurred to you that I was insulting you like that.”

His head jerked up, and he stared into her face for a long moment. “No,” he said finally. “I don't think that. I didn't get that far into considering it. I reckon I just heard you jump from repaying me to sleeping with me, and made a jump of my own.”

“Oh,” she said, trying to decide what that meant. Except when he was joking, she'd only known Ethan to be particular in his replies, working everything through before he answered. But if he'd been so stung by the first conclusion he'd drawn that he hadn't tried to go deeper…well, she didn't know
exactly
what it meant, but it felt pretty damn good. She couldn't stop the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. “Okay.”

Ethan's brow was furrowed, as if he had thought about his reaction and come away just as surprised as she had. “All right. Suppose then you tell me what you were jumping to?”

“The opposite, actually. That even though you say I don't owe you anything, I still feel…like a leech.”

His jaw tightened at that, but he didn't respond except to nod.

“So I want them to be separate, so that it doesn't seem—
to me
—like I'm trading sex for blood. Because if that's the only thing I'm giving you back…” She spread her hands and dropped them to her sides again. “I just don't know how they wouldn't get mixed up.”

“That would be just fine, Charlie, save for one thing.” Ethan stepped forward, cupping her cheeks. He tipped her head back and held her gaze as he said, “You're a vampire now. They
are
mixed up and they always will be. When you're feeding, I can prevent us having sex, but not the bloodlust that makes us want it so bad. And when I bed you, you won't be able to finish without blood. You can use yours instead of mine, and control when you'll let yourself go, but it'll always be there with us.”

She searched his eyes. He was laying it out straight for her, but she wasn't certain she understood the last part. It seemed unbelievable. “Are you saying that I can't have an orgasm without it?”

He leaned in, his voice lowering. “I'm saying that I could work at you for hours, and it won't matter how much you beg or moan, how fast or slow we go, whether I use my fingers or my mouth, or if you take me as deep as you can. Without blood, you'd just stay riled up.”

She was suddenly breathless. “But I can control it?”

“Yes.”

At least it was
something
she could choose, then. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. She reached up and brushed her thumb over the scar on his lip. “Ethan,” she said huskily, and watched as desire flared in his eyes. “I think I'm in too close.”

“That's a damn shame.” He slid his hands back to palm the wall beside her head. “I reckon you ain't got no choice but to kiss me, then.”

“No choice,” she agreed. “You probably shouldn't move, because I don't have much practice.”

He closed his eyes, his lips curving beneath her thumb. “I'll stand real still.”

She eyed the six inches between her and those lips; Ethan was already leaning in a little—just not far enough. But his arms were braced on either side of her…and she was incredibly strong now.

Her hands curved over his shoulders. Lifting her own weight was nothing, and he didn't seem to feel it either. She wrapped her legs high on his waist so that her feet weren't dangling above the floor.

Ethan was solid and hot between her thighs, the wall hard against her back.

His breathing quickened. She held her mouth close to his, let his exhalations brush her skin. His lashes cast short spiked shadows below his eyes, and she thought it would be so easy to lose herself in the play of light and dark across his face. Until her gaze fell to his mouth, and looking wasn't enough.

She trailed her tongue across the width of his bottom lip, then lifted her head and waited.

Ethan squinted one eye open. “That was just plain mean—”

Her mouth caught his. He tensed, his hands fisting in her hair, holding her in place. The pressure increased between her legs and against her back as he leaned into the kiss.

Then he offered her the lead, his lips softening.

Practice.
But it didn't feel like it; her mouth learned his too easily, as if she'd been doing it this way forever—or as if she had been made to kiss him with fangs. His tongue teased their sharp tips, and she felt the echo of that caress in her nipples and her sex, in the sensitive bud pressed tight against his abdomen.

And losing herself in this came easily, too. The inside of his mouth was slick and hot. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as she licked deep. Her fangs clicked against his teeth, and she shivered with pleasure.

Ethan released her hair, and it tumbled heavy over her shoulder. His big palm curved down her waist, then burned a line of fire beneath her shirt hem to her breast.

Her lips left his, and she let her head fall back when his heated fingers circled the taut flesh.

His voice was harsh. “Do we stop, Charlie?”

The choice was hers. But she couldn't focus long enough to work it over, to think; he was dropping openmouthed kisses into the hollow of her throat, his thumb dragging roughly across her nipple. Just the gentle flexing of his stomach muscles threatened to make her lose control, and he was all around her, surrounding her. So much texture, so much heat.

“I don't know,” she gasped.

Ethan stilled. Then his mouth captured hers with scorching need before he released her and stepped away. She sagged against the wall, her senses on fire, her knees weak.

Ethan half-turned, ran his hand over his face. “All right then.” His chest heaved. “All right. I'd best go, Miss Charlie, because I shouldn't make this decision for you.”

She swallowed past the sudden knot in her throat and straightened up. “I wasn't relying on you to make the decision. I'm just being slow.”

“Hell and damnation, Charlie, that's not what I—” His eyes closed. “I'm just tempted to make you want me so bad you
can't
say no.”

She thought a weak, needy part of her wanted that, too—but of course he wouldn't take her choice that way.

And she was too grateful and frustrated and mixed up to respond.

Ethan released a long sigh, met her eyes again. “I ought to get up to Seattle before dawn, anyway. You need anything before I head out?”

You.
But that wasn't fair. He had work to do and she had…to sleep. Eventually.

“No,” she said. “I'll be okay.”

Fuzzy, in less than a day. There were a million other mysteries that ought to have been pressing on his mind harder than Charlie's face when he'd walked out her door. But instead of puzzling over the nephilim, instead of planning how he'd approach Manny, Ethan spent most of the flight back to Seattle remembering how good she'd felt against him, and wondering how a woman could want anything so much and still not take what he'd been offering.

She didn't like to need something so bad; but she wouldn't be needing it if she had it. And God knew he'd have done anything to give it to her, make certain she'd want for nothing, if she'd just let him provide it.

Hell. One hundred and fifty years old, and he still couldn't comprehend some women. And it just figured he'd go and fall for a difficult one.

Difficult…but she sure was a comfortable fit. She'd gotten under his skin and itched something terrible, but he didn't reckon he'd ever been so easy with someone, so eager to spend time in her company, so anxious to please her.

He shook his head as he flew in over Manny's building. Fuzzy
and
smitten. He was like to get himself killed soon.

Vladimir and Katya had lived on the second floor, and their rich furnishings had been a better indication of their long life and history than the stark garage below. A glance through the garage windows confirmed that it had been cleaned out. Manny had likely sold the equipment, which would account for all the new sparklies the vampire had been sporting the last time they'd met up.

A woman's screech split the predawn quiet. Ethan palmed his sword, but he wasn't expecting trouble. That had been more pissed off than afraid, and Manny's girls were…something else.

There were difficult women, and then there was Cora and Angie.

Cora opened the door at his knock, cocked her hip. “Hiya, Drifter.”

“Miss Cora,” he returned, thankful that she'd dressed her lips with a smile. It gave him something safe to look at, considering that she wasn't wearing anything else. “I don't suppose—”

Two bare-assed figures dashed through the foyer, then out through another room. Well, hell—that wasn't something Ethan saw every day. Angie was after Manny with a butcher's knife.

Cora turned to look, twisting a lock of black hair around her finger, a gleam of pleasure in her eyes. “He called her a whore while he was feeding from her.”

Ethan took a moment to debate whether he should let Angie have at the vampire. Manny had been their pimp before he'd transformed them, and Ethan reckoned the only reason they were with Manny was to make his life hell.

Ethan was inclined to let them—but if Angie cut out Manny's heart, that wouldn't help Ethan discover why Brandt might have visited Vladimir and Katya.

Reluctantly, Ethan headed in after the screeching woman. Angie didn't fight once he got ahold of her in the parlor, just turned around and snuggled in close.

Damnation. That likely wasn't going to get Manny to open up any, either.

But Manny didn't look jealous as much as he did relieved. “Thanks, Drifter. The crazy-ass bitch doesn't know her place.”

Ethan let her go.

Angie took one step and burst into laughter when Manny cringed back, his hands over his genitals. She turned, her auburn hair falling like a curtain across her shoulder. “You smell like a vampire, Drifter. Anyone we know?”

“I don't imagine so, Miss Angie. She's just been turned.”

Cora slipped into a silk robe, but didn't bother to tie it before sinking onto one of the elegant sofas and resting her right foot up on the cushions. “Word is you slew a handful of rogue vampires a few evenings back. That have anything to do with it?”

Ethan had no idea how word spread when there hadn't been anyone but him, Sammael, and the nephil as witnesses—but it always seemed to spread, right quick. “Yes'm.”

Angie slid onto the sofa alongside Cora, pillowed her cheek on the other woman's ample belly. “You see, Manny, that's what you should be doing. I could get excited if I was with someone who acts like a leader instead of just calling himself one.”

Ethan suppressed his grin; these women could work Manny over better than his fists could, but it wouldn't do Ethan good if it clammed Manny up. “I ain't much of one, Miss Angie. I'm just doing my job,” Ethan said before he turned to Manny. “I got a few questions about Vladimir and Katya, and you'll need to be warning your community about a new kind of demon in town. He wears black feathered wings, and he's targeting vampires.”

Manny's brow creased. “Why?”

“Don't rightly know—except that he killed one of those rogues, turning her upside down and slashing her throat open to drain her. And he'd have gone after another last night.” Ethan frowned; Manny's thumb had begun working the ring around his middle finger, and the vampire was darting uneasy glances at the two women. “That sound familiar to you, Manny?”

Manny clenched his teeth, his brows shooting skyward as he gestured with his head to a door leading out of the room. Cora and Angie didn't take his hint to leave, and a moment later, Ethan was fighting back impatience and following the vampire into the kitchen.

If the bastard hadn't been naked, Ethan might have already been laying into him, but he sure as hell didn't feel like starting off his day by touching anything Manny had on display. Instead, he just stopped in the middle of the room and breathed slow and long. The counters weren't needed for food preparation, and either Cora or Angie had filled them with long rows of flower beds. The room smelled of sweet perfume and rich potting soil.

Manny put the spell up at the door, then sucked the blood from his finger, his mouth in a sullen frown. “Drifter, man, why you gotta do that? Coming here asking about Vladimir and Katya, then letting Cora and Angie know it wasn't me that killed them.”

Ethan didn't let his surprise show. He'd suspected Manny hadn't slain the couple, but he hadn't thought it was connected to the nephilim. Letting his instincts guide him, Ethan hardened his voice and said, “So you wasn't ever going to tell me that's how you found them—tortured and bled out?”

His mouth twisting, Manny walked over to a flower bed and snapped off the head of a tulip. “For ten years I was their enforcer, always doing what they asked, and coming home to, ‘You're the strongest, Manny, why don't we live in a place like that?' You know what that does to a man, Drifter?”

Apparently, it made him whine a whole lot. “You found them here?”

Manny pointed to the corner of the kitchen. “Right over there.”

“Anything out of place? Broken?”

“This table knocked over. If I hadn't smelled the blood, I wouldn't have realized anything was wrong until I was on them.”

It must have killed them quickly, then. No time to fight. And the kitchen was situated in the center of the house. Had the nephil shape-shifted to be let in, and come after them then? “But you never saw it.”

“No.” Manny hesitated. “You gonna tell the girls?”

Ethan figured they'd always known. Not what had killed Katya and Vladimir, just that it hadn't been Manny—and the brief conversation they'd had outside the kitchen likely clued them in on the
what
, too. “No. But you tell them if they encounter something they ain't sure about, they should get off the streets and behind the spell as quick as they can.”

“All right.” Manny nodded. “That all?”

“No.” Ethan pulled a picture of Mark Brandt in from his cache. “You seen this one anytime in the last year?”

Manny studied it, shook his head. “No.”

Ethan replaced the photo with the senator's. “What about him?”

Nervousness spilled from Manny's psyche before he began blocking hard. “Yeah. A few times, talking to Vladimir.”

“When?”

“About six months ago. Then he stopped coming around.”

Ethan's eyes narrowed. “You listen in on any of those conversations, Manny?”

“Yeah,” the vampire said, and though Manny wasn't moving, everything about him seemed twitchy as hell. “Mostly they talked about letting people know about us. And whether Katya and Vladimir would be willing to be the proof humans might need if the senator went public. He kept saying people deserved to know the truth.”

Maybe so, but it'd likely unleash a commotion unlike people had ever seen. “Did they agree with him?”

Manny hesitated. “No. And he stopped coming around after that.”

Something wasn't sitting right here. Ethan didn't think Manny was lying—but he wasn't telling the whole truth, either.

“You know if money changed hands, Manny?”

“I don't know anything about that.”

Ethan would have wagered
that
was a flat-out lie. “If it did, maybe as an incentive for Vladimir to help the senator out, you know of any reason he wouldn't have given it back?”

“Jesus, man—maybe Vladimir sold the guy some blood or something.”

Maybe, but that didn't sit right, either. If Vladimir hadn't agreed exposure would be good for the vampire community, then he wouldn't have been giving the senator evidence.

Manny edged toward the door. “Drifter, man—I can feel the sun coming.”

Ethan clenched his jaw in frustration, then nodded. “Go on then.”

He watched the vampire scamper away. He'd take a few seconds to look around, but three months of living would have erased most of the evidence of the encounter with the nephil. He eyed the phone on the wall, then shook his head, frowning. San Francisco was just far enough south that the sun rose a couple of minutes later than in Seattle, but there wasn't enough time to call Charlie and make sure she'd settled in before the daysleep hit.

In any case, the one thing that'd settle Charlie more than any other was if he tracked down Jane, saw how she was getting on. There'd likely be a record of a hotel stay under her or Sammael's name, as she wouldn't be returning to the burned out house.

Then he'd best be on to Caelum, for another long drift and searching through the Scrolls before he headed back to San Francisco.

He frowned up at the sky as he left Manny's house. The sun was just coming up, and he was already looking forward to sunset. He sure couldn't go long without thinking of her, without wanting to hear her. Already, he was planning his day around when he'd be seeing her again.

And that sounded awful similar to something Charlie wouldn't want, something that might have her chewing her arm off to escape.

He'd best be careful not to spook her; God knew, he'd rather chew off his own arm than send her running.

 

The Gate to Caelum lay pretty much in a direct line between Seattle and San Francisco. Though Ethan usually kept over the ocean when making the long flight between the two cities—the better to keep from being seen—he veered inland to a forest clearing just outside of Ashland, Oregon.

Though invisible, the Gate was a hum in his blood, and he could clearly sense its shape and position with a psychic probe. He dove through the shadows, and moved instantly from air rich with moisture, the scent of pine and dark soil, into Caelum's bright and dry atmosphere.

The sun shone against white marble, dazzling his eyes until he blinked and adjusted. Ethan swooped back up, above the tiled courtyards, skimming over a brilliant smooth dome. Caelum's library was housed in an enormous temple near the center of the city.

Scarce few Guardians walked below, and Ethan was the only one in the sky. Just fifteen years before, Caelum had been teeming with life; not so since the Ascension, when thousands of Guardians had chosen to move on to their afterlife.

Most of those that remained in service—particularly the novices—had drawn in close to one another. And as they'd suddenly been without mentors, many Guardians had taken on one or two of the novices for training, knitting the groups even more tightly.

Now that Castleford had taken over a good chunk of their training, it had loosened up. But not much—and Ethan reckoned not one Guardian who'd been in Caelum after the Ascension would ever forget the sudden, terrible silence that had fallen over the city.

It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, his gut twist, just thinking of it.

And there were some it had hit worse than others.

He found Alice standing motionless in a long aisle of gleaming marble shelves, her arms crossed and her head tilted back as if she was looking for something on one of the higher rows. There wasn't a bit about the archivist that wasn't sharp—not her brown hair in its severe braid or the tall, thin figure that she'd wreathed in black. Her appearance hadn't changed any since the Ascension, but her manner had. Whereas once Alice had moved with the elegance of a dancer, now she reminded Ethan of a many-jointed spider—and he could easily imagine her creeping around inside the Archives. And he didn't know if she was aware that the novices had taken to calling her the Black Widow, but he figured she was—and that she didn't care much.