Harlequin Nocturne September 2014 Bundle: Beyond the Moon\Immortal Obsession (13 page)

Her nipples ached for touch, and she tilted her head to feel the skim of her hair over them. Delirious skitters raced through her body and congregated at her core. She needed his touch, wanted it desperately.

Grasping the hair at his crown, she jerked his head back and tapped his mouth with a finger. “You hungry?”

He bit down on her finger and sucked it in. She craved that feeling at her breast. The man teased his tongue along the inside of her finger, a place that was surprisingly erogenous and that stirred up a throaty moan from her.

Bracketing his face with both hands, she lowered her breast to his mouth and pressed it to his lips. First contact of hot, wet tongue to her hard nipple bubbled up a cry of joy from Verity. “Yes!”

He suckled roughly and drew her in deep, teasing all sensation to her breast. Then it dashed out through her system and scurried into every inch of her being. She crushed him closer, guiding his rough attentions.

He did not disappoint, laving her nipple and then drawing his tongue around her breast, high upon its mound where she was so sensitive and in between them and beneath where he sucked hard at the skin and she suspected he'd brought the blood to the surface in a hickey.

“The other,” she gasped, head back and breasts thrust out. “Now.”

He bit, lips over his teeth, at her other breast while his fingers squeezed and massaged the wet nipple.

Breathing rapidly, Verity grasped at the air, landing her fingers in his hair and curling them behind his ears, where she followed the tickle of curls down to his neck.

Suddenly he grasped her and turned her to lie on her back across the ottoman. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she pulled him onto her. His cock, hard and hungry, pressed against her while his mouth paid her breasts due worship.

He kissed down the side of her breast, and there she caught her breath because the pressure of his lips, punctuated with an insistent sucking at her skin, drove her mad with desire.

So wet now, she rocked her hips, seeking to position his cock between her folds and rub against her clit. He sensed her endeavor, and—damn him—he tilted his hips away from hers.

Rook smirked against her breast and chuckled softly. “What happened to being patient?”

“Fuck that. I need you here.” She tugged his hand down to her crotch, and his finger slipped inside her. “Oh yes, and higher. Deeper.”

His mouth at her nipple, he grabbed his cock and rubbed it against her clit slowly, harder, then softer and faster. Perfect. He felt like iron hot from the forge, and Verity greedily pulled him down with her legs.

“Inside me,” she demanded. “All of you.”

He pushed up onto his hands above her and studied her face.

“What are you waiting for?” she pouted. “Now.”

“Please?”

“No, never please. Immediately. Roughly. Without permission, without asking, just—” She chuckled because she realized she was begging. “Fuck me.”

“Just wanted to hear you beg for it, sweetie.”

“I'm not your sweetie.”

“You sure as hell are not. You're my wicked witch.”

And he plunged his staff inside her, filling her with his thickness and length and slamming his hips in rapid thrusts that fed them both hungry sexneedlove.

Verity dug her fingers into the tufted velvet beneath her. She was right there, close to oblivion, and Rook's body shuddered above her, cluing her in that he was just as close to surrender.

He lunged and bit her breast softly, then sucked in the nipple, hard and deep, so wanting, as if to take all she had. And that pushed her to the peak.

Verity shouted a throaty cry of joy as Rook's thrusts slammed hard and forcefully against her. His shudders increased. He met the orgasm seconds after she had touched it. He let out an abbreviated growl. His arms that supported him above her shook, and the veins were thick and tight. Their bellies hugged, slick with sweat, and his cock pulsed inside her as she squeezed and worked him as the orgasm tightened then released their muscles in exquisite harmony.

“Thatwassofuckinggood,” he muttered and collapsed beside her.

Their separation tugged up one last twinge of orgasm as Verity's breasts and mons were exposed to the whispers of cool air. She reached down beside her and grasped his penis, gliding her palm over it, not wanting to completely lose the connection.

Rolling up against her and onto his side, Rook nuzzled into her neck and kissed her throat. “Love you, witch.”

Chapter 11

“I
know I asked once before, but this still is kind of weird for me. Oz knows about and/or is aware during sex?”

“He knows all,” Rook answered. Verity didn't want to hear that, but he was unwilling to lie about it. “He's present and not. It's hard to explain.”

“I didn't just engage in a
ménage a trois,
did I?”

“No.” He winced. “Kind of.”

I will refrain from comment
.

Rook smirked. Oz always commented on the woman's sexual prowess after a session of lovemaking. Some were too loud, others too weepy. And the demon hated the screamers.

You usually always have something to say, Oz,
he thought.

This time I got nothing. I…like her.

So did Rook.

So it was best to let her think it had been only the two of them. “He's oblivious right now,” Rook offered.

“Great.” No belief in that statement.

Hell, a man who harbored a demon within him gave new meaning to the term
voyeur
. Even he tried to zone out when Oz was with his wife, Winter.

Verity asked, “What time is it?”

“Nearing five. You have a show tonight?”

“Yes, I have to get to rehearsal. I should have left an hour ago.” She retrieved her clothing, spilled about the ottoman, and put it back on. “Can I return when I'm done performing?”

“I'll be out on the hunt.”

“Right. Then tomorrow?”

“I'd love to make breakfast for you.”

“You could spoil me, and I would let you. I do have to rush off. You see what you do to me? One look at you, and I fall to my knees.”

“I like you on your knees.”

“Anytime, lover.”

She hopped on one foot as she slid on a boot and then the other. She wobbled, and he caught her in his arms.

His cock was hard and ready to go, but much as he wanted to make love to her all evening, they both had work to do. And, to be honest, he needed some distance from the witch. He couldn't forget what he'd said as he'd fallen into the bliss of orgasm.
Love you, witch
.

Had she heard him say that? She hadn't brought it up. Most women would latch on to those words and never let them go.

Had he meant what he'd said? How could he? It had been uttered in a mindless moment.

“This guy is always willing and able,” she said, turning and grinding her derriere against his penis. “You may have some talent that the Demon Arts Troupe could utilize.”

“What, an endlessly hard cock?”

“We feature erotic acts on Sundays.”

“I don't think so.” He hugged her from behind, pressing his erection against the soft sweater skirt until he fit between her buttocks. “Mmm…” He kissed her below the earlobe. “I'll miss you tonight.”

“I suppose you'll be working all night?”

“I have to. I won't return home until I have a solid lead on Slater.”

“I wish I could help you with that. That vampire moves often. I don't have a clue where he could be hiding out.”

“I don't want you to get more involved than you already are. Besides, I've found a hideout for Zmaj. I'm staking it out tonight.”

He'd considered the bait notion King had mentioned. Then he'd dismissed it because he hadn't thought she'd agree. He didn't want to unnecessarily endanger Verity. But…

“If I could find the vampire who bit you, then he could lead me to Slater.”

“How to do that?”

“He would recognize you from the bite. Vamps can usually sense when one they've bitten is near. The bite bonds the victim to the vamp, in a way.”

“Yes, I know that. But the spell has removed the taint, so there is that.”

He kissed her again, unwilling to mention the idea of her as bait. If it occurred to her and she approved, she would have caught his little lure.

“You should get going,” he said. “Talk to you sooner rather than later.”

* * *

The lair harbored vampires, yet he saw no sign of the bald one. But as soon as Rook landed in the dark cave beneath the club, the vampires lunged for him—all at once.

He took out one immediately. Stake swinging, he slashed the air and on the return stroke took out another longtooth. Two grabbed him from behind, pinning his shoulders to the limestone walls. Another went for his neck—yet pulled back, his mouth bleeding from the blades.

Rook kicked him off and struggled with the others. He took a steel toe to his thigh. Bones shifted beneath his skin, but he didn't suspect a break. Still, the sudden pain brought him to his knees.

Time to fight or die.

* * *

After the show, Verity walked home as usual. The Metro was far enough away to make the walk about the same distance as catching a train. And although she should have at least taken a cab after her harrowing night being attacked by vampires, she hated sitting in the back of those smelly vehicles.

She was a big girl. She would not be forced to cower and shudder each time she went out into the world.

Unfortunately, now she felt as if she were being followed. It was a weird prickling heat that curled down the back of her neck and at her wrists—something she'd neglected to notice the night she'd been attacked. Because then she'd stupidly walked right into a pack of vamps, not even thinking as she turned the corner, “Hey, I should avoid that group of nasty-looking sneering men.”

Now she wasn't going to think twice and vacillate on whether or not she was making things up. Her home was still a long walk away, so she dashed inside a late-night bistro and took a chair by the window. Scanning the streets, she didn't see anyone who looked like a vampire or who may have been following her, but then again, it could be anyone.

Or she could be imagining things.

Tugging out her cell phone, she started to dial Rook's number, then paused. “Shoot. I need to get his number.”

Number or not, she didn't need to bother him every time the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. He was busy, hopefully stalking the vampires who could be following her. And a ringing phone could give him away to the enemy.

Her mother's voice rattled in her brain.

Don't trust any man
.
You can get yourself out of this bind.

Right. Bind getter-outer? Not so much lately. And she was beginning to trust Rook. Maybe a little?

It was time to take the next step. To move toward a future without fear. She wanted that. She just wasn't sure how to let go and simply allow it to come to her.

At the table next to her, the waitress delivered a steak and a bottle of wine to a rotund man. He cut into the bloody slab of meat and nodded his approval.

Verity usually gagged at the sight of such red meat oozing out pink juices, but now she sniffed the air. The scent was savory and strangely appealing, and as it grew stronger, it also grew less offensive. It smelled dark and—not horrible.

Clutching the fork from the place setting in front of her, she turned toward the man, and just as she almost brazenly stabbed at his plate, the waitress blocked her.

“Uh,
bonsoir,
” Verity said, trying to act nonchalant. She would order tea so they wouldn't rush her out.
“Thé noir, s'il vous plait.”

The waitress nodded and strolled away. Unaware she'd almost tried to snag his meal, the man consuming the meat actually grunted with pleasure.

Now disgusted by the gourmand's gustatory habits, Verity turned toward the window and swallowed. Clasping a hand over her throat, she closed her eyes. Had she been thinking the bloody meat appealing? Still the smell reached her table, and it was so…appetizing.

The horror of it made her clutch her gut. This was insane. Finding appeal in something so horrible could only mean one thing. The spell hadn't worked. If it had, she certainly wouldn't find bloody meat appetizing.

She closed her eyes.
No. You can't transform to vampire. That would be…

The worst. A terrible stigma among witches, not to mention unnatural and sickening. No witch would willingly welcome the vampire taint. It was everything the witches of the Light had protected themselves against for nearly a millennium.

Her spellcraft always succeeded. She used tried-and-true spells from the family grimoire. What could have possibly gone wrong?

No, she was overreacting. Maybe she was picking up on some kind of spice used in cooking the meat. She didn't find the blood appealing.

She glanced above the rooftop of the shop across the street. The moon was waxing but was five or six days from fullness. What little she knew about those bitten by vampires was that, as the moon neared fullness, the craving for blood became insurmountable. And those mortals who tried to withstand the hunger and make it past the full moon were known to go crazy. Literally. Fighting the incessant hunger took everything from them, including their sanity.

She wasn't a fighter; she was a performer. A lover. A witch who wanted to stay a witch. Nothing more. No fangs or unnatural cravings.

Smacking noises from the table next to her distracted her. A chunk of red meat speared on the fork looked like a delicious treat—

Verity swore under her breath.

She needed to perform the spell again.

* * *

Freddie Slater sat low in the driver's seat of the Mercedes-Benz just down the street from the bistro Verity had skipped into. He'd tracked her from the theater. She sat near a window, nervously tracing the street with her eyes. She couldn't see him through the darkened windows of the car.

He'd thought Clas had killed her. Idiot. That was the last time he put his trust in the burly bruiser. But the way Verity traced her neck with her fingertips did not go unnoticed. Had Clas's bite begun the transformation? How rich.

The witch he most loved to hate—and hated to love—would soon need blood to survive. Sweet revenge. And he hadn't even orchestrated it. He did like when the universe plopped surprises into his arms.

His cell phone rang, and after checking the screen, he decided to answer while keeping his focus on the bistro.

“What is it, Clas?”

“The hunter has found our lair beneath the club. He took out four of our tribe.”

“And where were you when all this was going down?”

“I, uh—didn't want to take a stake to the heart, man.”

“So you didn't attempt to help your fellow tribemates. What part of war don't you understand, Clas?”

“Uh, I've never really been in a war, boss.”

Slater rapped his fingers on the dashboard. He'd stake the idiot himself. “Why didn't you tell me the witch didn't die?”

“What?”

“The witch I sent you to kill. She's alive.”

“No, I bit her deep, man. Tore out her throat—”

Verity stepped outside the bistro, her head lifting as she took in the street up and down. Her long, pale neck was dusted by that impossible violet hair that he could still recall slipping over his skin.

“Her throat looks fine to me. We need to talk. Meet me at the mansion in an hour.”

Clas's protests continued. Slater hung up. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the wooden heart he hadn't been able to toss. It was always warm, and he liked to think it felt as warm as her skin. Also, it smelled like her. He'd licked it clean of blood.

“Bitch,” he muttered, pressing the heart to his nose to inhale. “Wait until you know what it's like to crave blood. Then you'll know how I felt when you turned me down.”

But he wouldn't go after her right now. He'd wait a few days, maybe even until the night of the full moon, so he could watch her fall, screaming and clawing, to the irresistible lure of vampirism.

Best to keep Clas safe until then. If the vamp took the stake before the full moon, the witch would not transform.

* * *

Rook returned to Order headquarters, stripped off his coat and the Kevlar vest and dropped them across his desk. The kick to his spine still ached, and he may have sprained a wrist. His leg bled, but with a few stitches he'd be fine. He had a surefire method to heal, but that would involve Verity's assistance. And right now, he was too wound up to consider seduction.

Catching the heels of his palms at his knees, he bent over and blew out a breath, shaking his head miserably.

“Where the hell is that bastard?”

How could one vampire be so slippery? He'd seen the bald vampire enter the lair with the other four. He'd been distracted by the others, but normally he could take on half a dozen or more if forced to it. Something was wrong with him. He wasn't up to par.

“Damn it!”

Stalking out of the office and down the hallway, he entered the gym and rushed the punching bag, beating it with his bare fists. Over and over he pounded his frustration into the sandbag until his knuckles bled, then he kicked it repeatedly until the leg wound began to bleed anew.

Pacing a wide circle around the room, he breathed in and out, seeking a tense calm and knowing he was only at his best when he reached a Zen state.

One bloody vampire kept giving him the slip.

“Fuck!”

He took out a stake from the hip holster and, compressing the paddles to release the tip, threw it toward the bamboo target set into the wall. It landed on the red center. He was still
en marque
. But he hadn't been out in the field.

Should he blame his failure on the fact that this was the first field job he'd taken in years? That would be too easy. He kept up with his training and worked out daily. He often went in the field with his trainees, so it wasn't as though he'd forgotten how to hunt. His reflexes were fine. His spirit was solid. His soul…

That is not what is distracting you, and you know it
.

He hadn't heard from Oz for hours. Not even a snarky comment after he and Verity had made love all afternoon.