Hunting Karoly (11 page)

“You’re welcome. Now fuck off.”

That’s no way to talk to someone who’s trying to help.

Even when he was nowhere near, he took my breath away. My skin, my whole spine, prickled with warning. Not just because I was communicating with a vampire, with
him
, strengthening whatever psychic bond we already shared, but because I wanted to believe him. Was I really so desperate that I needed to believe I’d mattered to him in Glasgow?

I said furiously, “I don’t need your help!”

Then why ask for it?

“I didn’t!”

You asked what else you could have done. I told you, blast it to pieces.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

Actually, you were.

Shite, was I? Scared all over again, not to say humiliated, I said firmly, “Bollocks. But I suppose you’re going to tell me how to blast it anyway?”

If you want to know.

“I don’t! Go away, Charlie—I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Didn’t I? Churning with memory, furious and ultra-aware, did I not feel more…
alive
than I had since he “killed” himself in Glasgow? Was there not already a damp patch on the sheet where my willful pussy had leaked its juices? Angrily, I pushed that aside. And realized he’d gone.

I searched warily around my mind. I was alone.

I closed my eyes. Why was he back? Looking for more amusement in his boring life? Another blood drink, a little more frantic sex with the vampire hunter who couldn’t bring herself to kill him? Who melted into a glob of liquid lust just at the sound of his telepathic voice. He must be wetting himself laughing.

Did vampires pee?

Oh bloody,
bloody
hell!

Throwing off the quilt, I scrambled into my pajamas and went to brush my teeth with unnecessary aggression. That done, I slid my back down the door until I sat on the bathroom floor with my knees under my chin.

“Charlie—were you there this evening? On that roof?”

What roof?

I hadn’t really expected an answer. I didn’t even know if I wanted one. It had only been an experiment to see if I could reach him, but his reply came back so fast, I knew he’d been listening for me.

I pushed my forehead into my hand, trying to focus. “Were you there? Did you see—feel?—that poltergeist?”

I know of it.

“You’re not giving much away, are you?” Of course he wasn’t. I was in the Centre now, surrounded by psychics far more powerful than I would ever be. I could bring them all down on him if I knew where he was.

No really, I could.

“Did I scare it off, or did Hilda?”

You did.

“But it hasn’t really gone, has it? It’s just sleeping.”

Don’t be so afraid of it. It has a tiny fraction of the power I do.

That didn’t help. I shivered. “I’m afraid of it,” I confessed. I didn’t mean to. The words just slid out of my head. “It tried to get into my mind.”

Of course it did. It’s the only way it can communicate or expand its power. That’s how you defeat it.

“By letting it into my mind? Are you nuts?”

Again, his laughter brushed against me and I began to ache. I couldn’t think about this now, nor ever. I had to focus on poltergeists.

Opinions vary. As for the poltergeist, you can shield your mind now. You’re much stronger.

Resisting the urge to preen, I asked, “How can I do both at once? Shield my mind and let it in?”

There are layers upon layers to your mind. The core you must protect at all costs. The outer layers, the ones you use to project and receive—those you may open. Then you can either blast it apart or compel it to blast itself.

I sat up straighter. “That’s not what Hilda said.”

Hilda is limited.

“Aren’t I?”

Not with me.

I stared at my hands. What did he mean by that? What the hell did I want him to mean? Focus!
“What exactly are you offering, Charlie?”

He shrugged. I’m sure he did.
I’ll—er—blast it for you. Or if you prefer, I’ll teach you to blast it yourself.

I didn’t doubt that he could do either. What bothered me was why. In a small, hard voice, I demanded, “In return for what?”

There was a pause. If I hadn’t felt him in my mind like some low-level, constant electrical charge, I’d have thought he’d buggered off again.

Nothing
, he said at last.
Yet
.

I bit my finger, trying to squash the jolting of my stomach, the inevitable, heated tingling below.
Yet
. Shamefully, I wanted to believe it had a sexual implication, but what did he really want from me? My blood? My silence, my cover so he could continue his depredations? My betrayal of my colleagues?

Christ, there were so many reasons for not doing this that I couldn’t even count them. Against which I had the terrified faces of Victor and his family. And a creeping, galloping excitement because he was with me again, if only in spirit. Although that should probably count as against too.

I bit harder, so that when I took the finger out of my mouth, I could see my own teeth marks. I was so going to regret this.

“All right, Charlie,” I said. “Show me.”

* * * * *

Early morning remedial classes with Hilda. Late night extra-curricular studies with Karoly. On top of which, as our efficiency and confidence grew, Zack, Sam and I were sent out increasingly often, usually with Hilda or Frank or one of the other more experienced operatives. It was a busy time for me and I should have been exhausted. Instead of which it came to me one afternoon as I walked down a sunny street with my fellow probationers, that I was almost happy.

But I didn’t want to think about that, or the inevitable mess I was getting myself into by this increasing debt to the vampire. Because I found he was right. I could separate the layers of my mind—leave some open and close others down. Under Karoly’s very different tuition, I learned to strengthen my own shields and better understand the power of my mind.

Not that I trusted him, of course. Not for one moment. How could I?

“Why are you doing this?” I asked him one night after he’d condescended to be pleased with my progress.

Because I can.

I supposed boredom was the curse of a long life. It certainly can’t have escaped his notice that the stronger I grew, the more able I would be to deal with him and his like. It was one of my desperately repeated justifications for what I was doing.

I lay back in bed. It was weird talking to him every night from there. Intimate. Almost like the pillow talk of lovers. Apart from the subject matter and the inconvenience of him being a vampire, of course. It was so tempting to touch myself to the arousing sound of his telepathic voice, to enjoy physical pleasure with the secret parts of my mind he’d taught me to hide.

Without him knowing, I could slide my hand inside my pajamas to hold my damp, aching pussy, slide my finger inside and move to the rhythm of his beautiful voice. I needed the comfort, the release and I wanted the pleasure so badly it amounted to desperation. But I wouldn’t let myself do it.

Not until after he’d gone. Then I’d be able to give in, as I always did, soothe my burning body with own hands, bring myself to orgasm and alleviate the unendurable need. Increasingly, I looked forward to that secret delight, indulging myself to the memory of his voice and my mind’s vivid visions of what we’d already done together in Glasgow. Though I didn’t forget the emptiness that always followed those dates with my own fingers, I couldn’t do without them either.

I could have his spiritual company, or I could have a little physical happiness. It was my unique torture not to be able to enjoy both at once, but of the two I was well aware which was the more dangerous.

I said firmly, “Good night, Charlie.”

Good night.

The electric tingle of his presence faded to nothing.

I gazed up at the ceiling, refusing to miss him, practicing what he’d taught me, wondering what lay in store for tomorrow. He never bothered me during the day, never distracted me from my work or studies. But stupidly, I found myself saving up little events from my day to tell him about, because only he would find them funny. Almost as if I was going home to a friend or a lover, instead of a shadowy and evil teacher.

I slid my hand inside my pajama trousers, reaching between my legs for a little secret bliss. I remembered his voice, imagined his presence. Clutching my breast with my free hand, I kneaded it desperately, rubbed faster at my clitoris to alleviate the hunger that never really left.

I couldn’t trust him. But I’d let him into my mind and inevitably, there were consequences.

* * * * *

The woods were quiet. I could sense the threat that lurked there, something huge and malevolent that I couldn’t fight on my own. Though I ran with increasing speed, I couldn’t escape it. My legs just wouldn’t move any quicker. My heart hammered with fear and then, just as I sensed its roar of triumph, I saw Karoly.

He stood under a tree in his antique kilt, his fair hair tied behind his head, glinting under the sun, which peeped between the heavy leaves. I stopped and stared at him, confused, trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea. He smiled at me, melting my bones even through the fear and I realized the threat had gone. It was afraid of Karoly.

He walked across the path of mud and fallen leaves, tall and lean, graceful as some predatory cat. His kilt swung around his thighs, fascinating me. He stood in front of me I saw that he no longer smiled. His green eyes were dark with lust, flecked with dancing gold as I’d seen them before.

Beyond all fear, I ached for him. I yearned for his ravishing mouth on my taut nipples, his sensitive hands all over me. Against everything I knew to be right or even sensible, I wanted his muscular arms around me and his body heavy on mine, inside me, giving me more of the astounding sex I’d tasted in Glasgow. My mouth was dry with longing, my pussy soaked and pulsing.

And he knew it. I could tell from his smug expression.

He took hold of my shirt and ripped. Two more tears and all my clothes fell about me in tatters.

I stood before him completely naked. His gaze burned me, seemed to tug on my anxious, distended nipples. Moisture flooded from my pussy, trickled down my trembling legs. Though I tried to cover myself, he paid that no attention. Instead, he unpinned his plaid and wound it around my naked body so that we stood wrapped in it together. Then he lowered his head and kissed my wondering mouth and I wanted him so badly that I let him. I tried not to kiss him back, but it didn’t matter. His lips and tongue and teeth were all-consuming.

His fingers worked between our bodies, loosening the kilt at his waist and pulling until I felt his naked skin on mine, his rigid cock against my stomach. With awe I realized we had never made love naked, that I’d never seen the full glory of his beautiful body.

Giving in to the new desire, I drew my mouth free and swayed back from him to look. God, he was amazing, his skin a warm gold, his body lean and muscled. I gazed from his broad shoulders down his powerful chest with its light scattering of blond hairs to his toned, flat stomach and the fine upstanding cock that I wanted inside me so badly I’d have sold my soul.

Perhaps I already had. Whatever, there was no going back now. I couldn’t have borne it. I had to touch him. With fresh wonder, I ran my hands over the lean, hard bones of his hips and around to his taut buttocks. I lifted my gaze back to his and he smiled, showing his sharp, pointed incisors. They should have warned me to back off, to run while I still could. Instead, they aroused me further. I wanted to feel them on my skin, all over my body.

I swayed closer ’til my breasts touched his naked chest and reached up for his mouth. When he gave it, I sucked on those wicked teeth, used my hands on his buttocks to press his cock hard against me. Parting my legs, I stood on tiptoe, trying to work it between my thighs. There couldn’t have been a clearer invitation.

He drew me to the ground with him, still kissing. The weight of his body ground against me, hard and thrilling. His hand caressed the length of my thigh, pushing my legs further apart. Then he slid his cock straight into my pussy. I felt every cold, hard, silken inch of him slipping over my muscles. He stroked back and forth in slow, melting thrusts until he reached the place I liked best. I was so aroused I began to come at once and at my first moan, he took his mouth from me and gazed avidly into my face instead.

I didn’t hide it from him. I let him see it all, every stage of the massive pleasure. He smiled, lustful, predatory, kneading my breast, rubbing his thumb sensuously across my hard, ultra-sensitive nipple, still slowly, sensuously pushing in and out of me. I thought the orgasm would go on forever. I wanted it to. Away from the world, from everyone but him and me wrapped in his warm plaid…

At last, he drew back so that only the very tip of his cock remained inside me. I could feel it pulsing at my entrance and knew he was on the verge of his own climax. If he chose to take it. Lost in my own helpless pleasure, yet desperate to feel his, I whispered, “Don’t stop. Keep fucking me… Please…”