Demon Night (37 page)

“Can you use that with your Gift? Project it somehow?”

He looked away from her, toward the open door. “Let's see.”

The percussion wave hit her, and she gripped his hand to steady herself. A discordant, jagged noise accompanied it; Ethan, projecting—though she could barely hear him beneath the sharp sound.

He lifted her and walked them forward, reached out. His fingers stopped on a plane even with the line of the door, curling as they hit the shield. He shook his head, and the noise faded.

“It wasn't the same as Jake's,” Charlie said. “It was too forced, and had too much interference.”

Ethan's chest heaved with his sigh, and he turned to lean his shoulder against the invisible shield, as if trying to stare down the symbols scratched into the door frame. Finally, she felt the press of his lips against the top of her hair. “All right then,” he said. “I can't sing, but you can, so we'll try that. Only project it as hard as you can directly into my blood, Charlie, so I don't interfere with it so much.”

His Gift pushed at her again, and she grinned against his wrist. “You're a stubborn man, Drifter.”

“Only because it feels so damn good when you're biting me like this—
Holyfuckingwhoreson
—”

He bent as if he'd been kicked in the stomach, his arm around her waist nearly crushing her, forcing her to curl with him.

Crimson ran over his skin as she tore her mouth away. “Ethan? Eth—”

“Harder, Charlie.” His voice was ragged against her ear. “Bite me, and send it to me harder and louder.”

Blood dripped to the floor beside her feet. Not from his wrist; that was forming a different puddle. Panic and fear rattled her teeth. “Ethan—”

“Miss Charlie.”
He straightened them up, settled heavily against the shield again. “Now, goddammit.”

Anger replaced the fear. She bit, and filled herself with the sound before imagining it exploding past her lips.

And then they were falling, Ethan's weight smashing her into the floor. His harsh swearing rent the air as he rolled, pulled her over him.

Stunned, Charlie looked up. They were inside the communications room. A tiny click caught her attention; Jake's toothpick, bouncing against the floor. His mouth was hanging open.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, and glanced down at Ethan.

Her heart stopped. She scrambled off him, kneeled next to his head. Blood trailed from his ears; a smear under his nose told her he'd already wiped some away.

“Oh, my God.” Her hands shook. “Ethan?”

He smiled, squinted his eyes open. The whites were shot through with red, but the blotches of crimson were shrinking as the broken vessels healed. “You've got one hell of a voice, Miss Charlie. I'm pretty sure you busted my eardrums from inside.”

“And you had an audience,” Jake said, and pointed at the door.

Charlie looked. Outside the room, a group of Guardians and vampires had gathered, their faces reflecting the shock that she felt.

Ethan lifted his head. “I can't hear them.”

“The spell's still up,” Jake said. “But it wasn't just you that came through. How did Charlie get in here?”

With a groan, Ethan propped himself up on his elbows, and didn't seem in a hurry to move out of his reclining position. His gaze roamed her face. “You all right?”

She nodded. “You?”

“Mighty fine.” His eyebrows pulled in tight. “I reckon the blood maybe tied us together. That's the only way I can figure the both of us matching, becoming that key. My Gift going into you, the noise you was making going into me.”

“What kind of noise?” Jake asked.

Ethan sat the rest of the way up, climbed to his feet. “It was your psychic scent. Which says to me that the psychic energy in the blood powers the symbols somehow or another—like a current through an electromagnetic lock. And it also occurs to me that's maybe why we have to cut our fingers open each time we set the spell. When the blood ain't from a living source, nothing much happens.”

He moved in front of the door, his head tilting as he examined the symbols.

Charlie ran what he'd just said over in her head, waiting for it to make sense. “You mean, you think that the blood on those symbols is still living—carrying that psychic energy? Even though it's not in a body anymore?”

Ethan slowly nodded. “That's what I'm wondering, and I reckon we can discover whether it is awful easy.”

Yet there was no way to measure it; if there was, the possibility of Legion replicating a food source might not be so farfetched.

Charlie shook her head. “But how can you…oh. Oh. Well, licking a door is kind of perverted, but okay.”

Ethan stepped aside as she approached the door frame. She had to stand on her toes. The scent of the blood was incredible; the door frame was flavorless—except for the three drops that sang across her tongue.

The excited voices of the Guardians swept inside the room. Charlie turned, and nodded. “Just like Jake.”

 

Only thirty minutes remained before sunrise when Charlie finally got back to her room. She headed straight for the restroom, running through her nightly routine as quickly as she could.

She was yanking on her shortest nightgown when Ethan stepped through the door. He hurriedly closed it, activated the spell, and Charlie grinned as she finished shimmying into the wisp of lace. “Did it work?”

Ethan shook his head, his amber gaze sweeping her from hair to toes. “Mackenzie felt my Gift well enough, and the difference when we ran it over the spell, but he couldn't give me anything to open it with.” He stalked across the room, his jacket and boots vanishing. “And he said I tasted like the dust that lies in the coffin of dying dreams. But I imagine that was only because Becca was watching, and his dream was of sexing me.”

Charlie edged toward the bed. “So it was…hot?”

His uneven smile had her heart racing. He began unbuttoning his shirt. “You jealous, Charlie?”

“No.”
Yes.
She and Ethan had practiced several times after that first success; each attempt had been easier. But when the inevitable suggestion that Ethan try it with another vampire had come, Charlie had used the first excuse she could think of to escape. “But like I said downstairs, it's almost dawn. So I'm in a hurry, and I was hoping he warmed you up for me.”

His amusement rumbled through the small room. Her eyes followed the trail of dark hair that led from his chest to his stomach, and lower. He was very obviously warmed up, and she decided that there nothing sexier in the world than a half-dressed, fully aroused, and laughing Ethan.

When she felt the mattress against the back of her thighs, she turned, bent over the bed, and lifted up on her tiptoes.

His laughter stopped. “God Almighty, Charlie.”

“I warmed myself up before you got here,” she said huskily. “So you don't have to waste time getting me ready.”

“That's a damn fool thing to say.” His fingers traced fire up the insides of her thighs. Her eyes closed, and she swayed forward, her hands clenching in her sheets. “Every moment
not
touching you is what's a waste.”

And she was already wet, but he still used his mouth, until she was grinding and twisting against his tongue. He braced his hands on the bed as he slowly pushed into her, not touching her except for that heated, stretching penetration.

But that was all he took slowly. His harsh groans were punctuated by raw, erotic descriptions of her sex, his cock, her breasts and lips. Her legs shook. The pulse in his wrist beat a rapid pace.

His tanned skin was smooth, unmarked.

“Where did he bite you?” It ripped from her before she knew it had risen, but once it did she couldn't stop its refrain. “
Where
, Ethan?”

His right hand slid toward her mouth, and she lunged toward it, gripping his forearm as she sank her fangs into his wrist. Ethan made a low noise behind her, a moan, a growl, and then he was lifting her left knee onto the bed and reaching around her hip, his fingers delving, stroking. She came apart, and Ethan turned her, his eyes never leaving hers as he filled her again, slowly, slowly until he shuddered over, into her.

She still drank, and he carefully pulled her with him to the center of the bed, watching her face.

His voice was soft as he pushed her hair back. “Will you try to send me something now?”

She'd been trying. A song, a note. But he apparently hadn't gotten them, so she ventured what she'd wanted to tell him.
I love you.

His expression didn't change. A lick cleaned the puncture wounds, and she shifted around, spooned against him. “You didn't hear me?”

“No. Some nosferatu-born vampires can hear thoughts when they're feeding, but so far as I know, no Guardian receives thoughts or sounds—only images.” He pushed his knee between her thighs; his opposite foot thumped against wood. “It may be it's only with the focus of the Gift.”

“Will your bed fit in here? You have permission to take anything of mine, if you need space—” She suddenly fell about an inch before sinking into his mattress. His deep sigh of relief had her rolling forward onto her stomach, laughing into the pillow that had landed with her. She turned her head, met his eyes.

“I was jealous,” she admitted.

He looked as if he was trying not to appear pleased with himself. “Hell, Charlie—it'd sure put me out if you went to someone else, so I reckon it's only fair.”

She was suddenly feeling pleased with herself, as well. Her smile pressed against her fangs, and she arched a brow. “Fair? I hit mean and low.”

“That you did. It was awful dirty.”

“Yeah, well, speaking of dirty, you apparently really like words that start with ‘P.' Pretty, plump, pink, pus—”

“You hush, Miss Charlie.”

“And ‘F.' I must say, you fraternize really well, Ethan.” She wriggled back against him to the sound of his laughter, let her hearing fill with the metronome beat of his heart. After picking up the rhythm, she let it fade, and wondered quietly, “What will it mean—what we did tonight?”

“I don't rightly know. Breaking through the spell will be real handy, but unless I can figure a way to hear sound and blood like you do, it won't be practical except in the most critical situations.”

“Because you'll have to take me along?” she asked, and he made a sound of assent.

“You fight pretty well, Charlie, but ‘critical' would probably mean demons and nosferatu. And I'd sure hate to see you hurt.”

“I'd like to help as much as I can, though.” She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes until sunrise. How frustrating—and frightening—that no matter what she did, she'd be asleep as soon as the sun came up. “But I guess I couldn't even go during the day.”

“Maybe not. Though if we teleported you halfway around the world, you'd wake up fast enough.”

“I should wear more than this to bed, then.” She watched a minute tick by. “Do you think they'll be able to use the symbols to provide vampires with living blood?”

His long silence was only broken by his movement. He pulled her in tight; his arm was a heavy, wonderful heat around her waist.

Finally, he said against her temple, “I'm not certain of that either, Charlie. The way I see it, it's a matter of practicality again. Even if they figure a way to use the symbols and keep the blood living in a container, there's still got to be a blood source, and artificial blood won't have that energy. Guardians and vampires could donate their blood, but it wouldn't add up to much; leastwise, not much relative to how many vampires there are. So maybe it could be used when a vampire has no other choice or the animal blood has run them down; but there just wouldn't be enough blood to support everyone.”

Her throat felt thick, but she turned around, smiled down at him before resting her head against his shoulder. “Thank you for donating yours.”

“Hell, Charlie. If we're being all grateful with each other, I ought to thank you for blowing my ears out. That goddamn spell has been troubling me for a year now.”

The tightness in her chest eased. “I've got about two minutes until I fall asleep,” she said. “I intend to spend them kissing you.” Anything else would be a waste of time.

“Well,” Ethan said. “All right then.”

Charlie was facing the clock when she woke. Seven fifty-five—less than half an hour after sunset.

And not as tired as she'd been the previous night, or as sore. Ethan's big body was behind her, and the heat of him warmed her through his clothes.

She turned, searched out his solemn gaze. “Have you been waiting long?”

He shook his head. “Just a few minutes before sunset. Good dreams this time?”

“Yes.” Erotic, full of music, blood, screams of ecstasy. And Ethan.

The tips of his fingers traced over her cheek; his eyes and voice were soft. “You hungry?”

“No. I think I had enough for a week last night,” she said.

He didn't return her smile, and seemed to hesitate for a moment before he said, “All right. We don't have to feed right away, Miss Charlie. But you dropped a little weight—just a bit—while you slept.”

A trickle of dread burned like molten lead into her belly. She studied his face, tried to figure out what he wasn't saying. She couldn't—but she remembered his reaction the night before…his insistence that she feed right away.

She swallowed hard. “How bad was it yesterday?”

“You were skinny.” He held her gaze. “This is better; it's six, maybe seven pounds.”

Better.
Like she was recovering? “Am I sick?”

“I don't rightly know. It's something similar to what happens with vampires who were forced into the change. The sleeping late, the weight loss. You feeling weak?”

“A little tired, maybe. But I don't know what I'm supposed to feel like.” She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. Her breaths came hard. “What happens to them?”

Ethan's jacket sleeves were coarse against her skin as he slid his arms around her. “Some of them decide they want to live, and get better; some of them don't.”

“I want to live. Oh, God, how I want to.” The sheet tore beneath her fingers. “I chose to drink the blood because I wanted to. So why do I need to get better, and how am I already doing it?”

So she could do it faster.

“I ain't certain.” His arms tightened. “I don't mean to scare you—but I thought I ought to lay it out.”

“Why didn't you tell me last night?” It came out harshly, and he took a long moment before answering.

“Well, I reckon my head wasn't on all that straight. If it had been, I'd have been thinking about how you'd do everything you could to put yourself together. And I figured I was to blame, resisting you like I was; your feedings ought not to have hurt so much.”

She forced her fingers to still, held them clenched between her breasts. Deliberately slowed her breathing until the panic slipped away. “The feeding
is
a lot better. And that makes it…easier to be like this.”

“Like this—?” He stiffened briefly, then shook his head and said, “A vampire.”

“Yes. But if that was the only way I could live, Ethan, I'd have taken feedings like that forever.” She let out a long sigh, allowed herself to relax against his chest. “Okay. I'm better than I was?”

“Yes.”

She smoothed her palm over his forearm. “I don't…I don't think I want to feed right away, though.”

“Well, this conversation ain't exactly how I'd choose to warm you up for sexing,” he said, and she smiled, shaking her head in agreement. His chest lifted behind her as he drew in a deep breath. “And I've taken a real powerful liking to you, Miss Charlie. So knowing that you're feeling poorly ain't inspiring lustful urges in me, neither.”

She pressed her lips together, watched her fingers stroke his sleeve's rough weave. A real powerful liking. It wasn't the all-consuming love she wished he felt, but it was
something
. And maybe, with time, he would let it become more.

They had time. She knew Ethan would stay as long as she needed him, and she'd always need to feed. They already had a strong connection in and out of bed; surely that would deepen, until he wasn't staying because of
her
need, and it wasn't just liking and lust.

And coming from Ethan, liking and lust were more than just something; they meant more than she could possibly say.

Still, the ache in her chest didn't immediately go away, and she only trusted herself to lower her head and press a kiss against his hand, before patting his forearm and making a move toward the edge of the bed.

She desperately needed to talk to Jane.

Awkwardly, she stood, tugging the tiny nightgown into place. Ethan was frowning down at his hand, braced with his fingers spread against the mattress, his jaw set.

“Do you mind if I call Jane by myself tonight?”

He didn't look up. “That's just fine, Miss Charlie.”

“I won't mention anything about the spell or the blood—”

She blinked; Ethan was standing now. He'd gotten off the bed so swiftly, she hadn't seen his movement.

“I didn't figure you would.” He slid his thumbs into his suspenders, cocked his head toward the door. “We've got a game set up, and I'll be there until Castleford and Lilith come back around ten. So if you need anything—” He broke off, and his gaze searched her face before he said slowly, “But you won't, will you?”

She held her hands still at her sides, tried not to fidget as she studied him. His voice had that hollow note she'd heard once before, but his expression was firm, his eyes were as intense as ever. Everything about him looked just as strong.

And she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being slow, not
getting
something—but she had no idea what. “I should be okay. Are you?”

He nodded as he turned toward the door. “I'm right dandy, Miss Charlie.”

 

She
was
okay, but Charlie thought she was on the shitty side of it as she walked though the common area, heading for the stairs and the communications room.

Her gaze searched out Ethan at the poker table; his face was as blank as it had been in her room, but an uneven smile flashed across his lips when he glanced up, met her eyes.

Then his brows lowered in a severe frown, and he tossed his cards to the table, shaking his head. Across the table from him, Jake leaned forward and scraped a huge pile of poker chips back to his side, laughing hard and in a tone that suggested his humor was at Ethan's expense.

“You distracted me, Miss Charlie,” Ethan called out as cards whizzed across the table, Pim dealing them almost faster than Charlie could follow. “I had them going until you showed up looking so damn pretty.”

That pulled a smile from her, but she had no idea what to say in response. And though she'd intended to go straight downstairs, she found herself walking to his side instead.

He rose to his feet. “You planning to stay a minute?”

“A few seconds, maybe,” she said, her eyes widening as she took in the action around the table. This wasn't anything like the slow play he'd taught her in his truck. Cards were flying from Pim's hands, the players were turning them over against the felt, the pile of chips in the center of the table was growing, all at an incredible rate—and no one was speaking a word.

But it wasn't silent. A heavy psychic hum surrounded the table; now and then Charlie heard a note flutter up. And their hands were constantly moving—on their cards, but also what must have been a sign language.

A chair appeared behind Charlie's legs, and she sank into it.

“I'm out this one,” Ethan said before turning to her. “Now, you're throwing everyone off, wondering so hard what in blazes we're doing.” He shook his head when she began to apologize. “Far as I'm concerned, it's good for them. They need a psychic distraction now and then.”

She watched for another second, feeling dizzy. “I can barely keep up.”

“Mackenzie and Savi said the same thing, first day. You'll get it, eventually.” He caught her gaze. “You're all vampires—Savi's faster, but even she ain't as fast as a Guardian.”

Jake snorted. “That's why she cheats.”

“The aim of this game is cheating.” Ethan glanced over at Jake, then back at Charlie. “He's sore she took him for a bundle by counting cards. When we're playing blackjack, we deal from ten decks to stop some of that, but Savi's brain is something else.”

Charlie's brain was still stuck on the first part. “You're
supposed
to cheat?”

Ethan nodded. “Cheat, bluff, steal cards from the deck, pull an ace in from your cache—if you can get it past five of us without being caught, it means you've done something right. When you came in, I was holding just about nothing, but was doing real well until I saw you and my shields fell a bit.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“That's a lie, Miss Charlie.”

She grinned. “Sorry you didn't call me pretty until
after
you'd won.”

“Well, so am I, then.”

Her smile slipped when his focus shifted to her mouth, his eyes like sun-warmed honey, and she felt the slow lick of bloodlust.

She cleared her throat and turned back to the table. “So you're trying to block, and feel out the other players' hands at the same time,” she said as she attempted to track the movement of cards. And it wasn't just the psychic awareness, she thought; they were obviously forced to think quickly, to constantly adjust, to look for any way to gain an advantage. Her brow furrowed. “Is it a training exercise?”

Play stopped dead. Five Guardians looked at her as if she'd said a baby was ugly, and Charlie sat back, eyeing each of them warily.

“Whoa boy, Charlie,” Jake said. “We're trying very hard to pretend we aren't
always
in Guardian boot camp.”

There was just enough humor in his reply that her discomfort faded. Ethan leaned in toward her, tilting his head as if he intended to share a secret.

“They're feeling a bit cooped up,” he whispered. The lines beside his eyes were etched deep with his silent laughter.

The game started again, but this time with a thread of conversation that Charlie could follow taking place above the nonverbal one they were still signing with their hands.

“I should have become a vampire,” Pim said. “At least they can leave.”

Jake threw a chip into the center of the table. “You might be getting out earlier than you think. I've just been given parole.”

“I reckon it's more like probation,” Ethan said. “You'll still be here a good part of it.”

Jake folded his cards. “I'm going to eat a hamburger next week,” he announced.

“No, you ain't,” Ethan said, but no one seemed to hear him above the sounds of jealousy running around the table.

“Freedom,” Pim sighed. “No tiny rooms.”

“No scheduled workouts,” another said.

Ethan shook his head, and made a gesture with his hand. He was dealt in a second later. “No crybaby novices.”

“You don't get to eat?” Charlie asked. “I know you don't
have
to, but you aren't allowed to?”

The corner of Ethan's mouth quirked. “Each one of these novices has slunk out for something in the past week.” He added over the denials that rose, “They're just whining.”

“It's prison, Charlie,” Pim said. “We don't get to fly out to the desert and—” There was a thump under the table, and she winced, glaring at Jake. “—learn to hog-tie cows.”

A muscle was flexing in Ethan's jaw. “Pim, you'd best—”

“No, it's okay,” Charlie quickly said. Pim's tone was too good-natured to cause her any real embarrassment, but judging by the hard stare Ethan was leveling at the other Guardian, he was ready to go across the table. “I understand the frustration. And I'm kind of relieved it's not just me, because it was my first thought when we got here, too.”

“That you'd like to learn to rope cattle?” Jake asked, and his smile seemed to urge her into a story.

But this wasn't a tale that Charlie wanted to spend any time on, so she simply said, “No, the feeling of it—the fence outside, the processing through security. The little rooms and the common area.” She shrugged when the psychic hum disappeared, and play slowed to a crawl. “You know.”

But something was wrong. Pim looked at her, and hesitated before she said, “I wasn't really—” She bit her lip. “We don't
really
think that, Charlie. Drifter's right that we're just whining for the sake—”

“Shut it, novice.” Ethan's voice had the crack of a whip, and Charlie flinched back from it, got to her feet. Ethan slowly stood, his skin pale, the edges of his mouth white.

Oh, God. Sick mortification balled in her stomach. The words came in a desperate rush. “I don't think that now—and I
never
thought you were bringing me in to a prison. It was just the appearance that reminded me of it, that first impression,” Charlie said, but his expression remained taut, and she had to close her eyes against the burning in them. She'd insulted him, soiled the help that he'd given her—and she didn't know how to fix it. “I need to go call Jane.”