Vampires! A Bundle of Bloodsuckers (18 page)

When he became aware that she was moving toward him, her guitar case in one hand and a beat-up briefcase in the other, he stood. She wore a baggy, worn-out leather jacket covered with various motorcycle gang symbols. He studied the ancient garment and raised his eyebrows. It looked like something dragged out of some Hell’s Angel’s attic.

“This is my dad’s jacket,” Tempest offered, obviously reading his elevated eyebrows. “He got it from Jim Morrison back in the day. I have a superstitious thing about wearing it when I start a new gig. It brings me luck.” She smiled. “And apparently it brings me studly sex partners, too.”

“That sounds like quite a club: the studly sex partners.” He laughed. “I intend to distinguish myself from the pack. Perhaps you’ll create a new title for me.”

Malveaux lifted his coat from the seat of the booth and slipped it on. He grinned and took her hand, raised it to his lips, and then kissed her palm gently. Staring into her eyes, he allowed himself to transmit only a slight hypnotic effect. He licked down her index finger, and then sucked it into his mouth, circling it with his tongue. Then he pulled her finger out of his mouth, released her hand, and let it drift back down to her side.

Tempest took a deep breath and blew it out loudly. “Jesus. If you’re gonna do stuff like that, we’re not going to make it to the car.”

“Speaking of the car, why don’t you wait here a moment and let me bring my ride closer to the door?” He kissed her cheek, buttoned his coat for appearances sake, and lifted the collar around his neck. He enjoyed behaving like a mortal who worried about being cold. Walking quickly through the entryway, he pushed out into the snowstorm.

It hadn’t occurred to Malveaux when he parked earlier that he might have company in his car. He’d only visited this neighborhood to feed and find a little sexual relief. His unexpectedly increasing sexual need had over-ridden his distaste for spending any extra time there, beyond what was required to do his job. He’d been more concerned about concealing his presence than about finding a convenient spot for his silver Jaguar, so the car was hidden in the underground parking lot of a business associate several blocks away. He knew it was ridiculous for a vampire to be so fixated on a human gadget, but he found cars, especially the fast, sleek ones, irresistible. There hadn’t been such wondrous toys when he’d been alive. Malveaux moved with preternatural speed and arrived at the car’s location in only a few seconds. He revved up the engine of his prized transportation, threw some newspapers off the passenger seat, and guided the purring cat out onto the snow-clogged road. The snow was no match for the Jag’s traction.

He pulled up in front of the bar, left the motor running and dashed inside to help Tempest carry her things out to the car. Even before he reentered the club, he could hear her arguing with the drummer of her band. Amused, he waited as she stomped past him. A “fuck you” reverberated off the walls as Tempest slammed out the door into the storm. He smiled at how well suited she was for her name.

After they were both settled in the Jag, Malveaux asked, “Is there a problem?” Not that he really cared what she had going on with the other musician, but he wanted to avoid any unnecessary complications. If the drummer was a disgruntled boyfriend who might follow them, things could get messy. He didn’t want any witnesses to what was about to happen.

“No. No problem. Stan just gets jealous once in a while. He’s a sweet guy, but nothing serious is ever going to happen between us. He’s like a brother to me.”

Malveaux knew, from scanning her memories earlier, that she’d been having very enthusiastic sex with the “brother” for years. He slanted a look at her. “Hmm. I’d guess the relationship is pretty incestuous, if he’s like a brother.”

Tempest hooted out a laugh. “Busted.”

They drove slowly through the deserted street, making fresh tire tracks in the virgin snow, the only sound the whoosh of the windshield wipers. After a couple of minutes, Tempest shifted in her seat to face Malveaux. “Stan thinks you’re ‘Family,’ one of the mob guys.”

“Does he, now?”

“Are you?”

“Does it make a difference to you? To our sexual agenda for the night?”

“No.” She was quiet for a moment, and then laughed. “It doesn’t make a difference, but I always like to know whose brains I’m screwing out.”

“Let me put your mind at ease.” He gave her a warm smile. “There’s a lot about me I can’t tell you, and I often work for people with whom I wouldn’t socialize, but I’m not a Family member. Are you okay with screwing a mystery man?”

She slid her hand across his lap until it found his warm bulge. “Mystery men are my favorites. Especially mystery men who can stay hard in minus-ten-degree weather. I thought that was a physical impossibility. I can’t wait to see what else you can do with this thing.”

He lowered his voice. “I look forward to showing you.”

She wiped the fog off the passenger side window with her palm, and scanned the area. “Where are we going?”

“Since we’re close, I thought we’d go to one of the new hotels that just opened downtown. How about the Winstead Tower? I hear the soundproofing is state of the art.”

“Soundproofing, eh? Should I ask what kinds of noises you make when you fuck?”

“Actually, I’m relatively quiet, but my partners tend to have screaming orgasms.”

“Jesus. Drive faster, will you?”

* * *

The Roxy Theater had been built in the oldest part of Detroit during the 1920s. Surrounded by other architecturally spectacular buildings, at one time it had been a world-class performance venue. The art deco masterpiece had been designed inside and out by Arturo Landau, that era’s reigning king of colorful geometric forms, and it was a sought-after destination for the wealthy for many years. Like much of the city, the beauty of the building had been obliterated by human stupidity and shortsightedness.

Quade stood at a window in what was left of the Roxy’s ornate penthouse, staring out at the blizzard pounding the usually filthy streets. The white coating seemed to cleanse the city of its human contamination. The bleak scenery matched his mood. He’d expected his take-over of Detroit to be well under way by now. Surely, it would be child’s play to infiltrate a crime-ridden area like the inner city, where his vampires could blend in with the other killers who’d been using it for their meal tickets. Who knew the greedy human idiots would be so hard to dislodge? Like cockroaches. The fools didn’t even know they were up against immortals. They couldn’t possibly know. Success with humans could always be assured if one never overestimated their IQs. Like lambs to the slaughter, their refusal to open their minds to dark possibilities foretold their doom. After all, everyone knew there were no such things as vampires. He laughed, and then sobered. Wasn’t it bad enough that he had to deal with mortal mobsters? What the fuck was The Assassin doing here?

The door opened behind him, and he turned, irritated. “Well? Did you find any sign of Malveaux? Did the trackers return yet?”

The messenger crept into the room. Quade didn’t have to read the lesser vampire’s mind. He could tell by the supplicant’s demeanor that he wouldn’t care for the answer. “No, Master. There’s no word about Malveaux or the trackers. We’ve sent out reinforcements, but the storm is making the situation more difficult.”

Quade turned back to the window and snarled. “Find them. Or else.” He knew the stories about the one they called The Assassin. If even half of the tales were true, he was in trouble.

The click of the door closing echoed through the heavy silence.

T
empest didn’t usually enjoy driving on snow-covered roads. All that slipping and sliding made her feel like she was out of control, and she didn’t ever like feeling out of control. But Malveaux seemed to be as good at driving as she hoped he was at everything else. She kept her hand on his cock during the whole drive over, and the damn thing just seemed to get harder and bigger. She couldn’t wait to meet it in person.

They pulled up in front of the fancy, new hotel, and various staff members converged on them from the lobby. The valet rushed over to the driver’s side of the car, took the keys from Malveaux, then drove away into the bowels of the building. A doorman dressed in an elaborate, military-type uniform, carrying an open umbrella, scurried over to shield Malveaux from the frigid onslaught. He managed to sneer at Tempest’s leather jacket while acting the perfect ass-kisser for Malveaux’s benefit, the umbrella conveniently too small to accommodate her. If the doorman had been a dog, he would’ve been whimpering and showing his belly, hoping Malveaux would give him some of those tasty green paper treats.

The doorman scowled at her as he ferried them through the ornate glass doors into the high-tech lobby. Normally, she would have said something to shock him, but she was having such a good time that she decided just to ignore him and his snobbery.

The hotel was gorgeous. The ornate lobby stretched out forever, its marble floors gleaming in the soft light provided by tasteful chandeliers. High-quality couches and chairs bunched in clusters, creating cozy respites from the harsh urban landscape outside.

It was interesting to watch Malveaux work the room. She wasn’t sure she bought his story about not being a mob guy because he certainly had everyone on the hotel staff jumping. They just couldn’t do whatever he wanted quickly enough. He managed to talk the hotel into giving them a room on one of the floors that hadn’t been officially opened yet. For maximum privacy, he said. The staff seemed to be nervous, or something. A hyper Tony Soprano kind of reaction. He certainly used his gorgeous eyes to good advantage.

After checking in and making it clear that they didn’t need to be escorted to their room on the twentieth floor, they stepped into the soft-lit elevator, finally alone.

“Come to Mama, big boy.” Tempest leaped up, wrapped her legs around Malveaux’s hips, and looped her arms around his neck. She heard him make what might have been an amused sound, before his mouth was covered with hers. Holding her weight easily, she felt him slide one hand under her ass, while the other stroked the back of her head. She moaned as they deepened the kiss, mouths yielding and tongues exploring. He tasted so good.

She didn’t notice when the elevator stopped, and the doors silently parted, but Malveaux obviously did. He walked into the hallway, still carrying her, and headed toward their room. The thick carpet muted the sound of his steps. He paused in front of a door, used the key card he still managed to have in his hand, and effortlessly opened it.

“Holy shit.”

She’d had sex in some interesting places – a few of which reminded her that she hadn’t always used the best judgment when there was an orgasm in the offing – but never in a luxurious room like this. Actually, it wasn’t a room. It was a suite. One helluva fancy set-up.

She unwound her limbs from Malveaux and landed on her feet with a bounce on white, deep pile carpet. Her arms spread wide, she spun in a circle, laughing.

“You really know how to show a girl a good time.” She danced around the large living room, noticing all the amenities. Not only was there a fully stocked, marble-topped bar in the corner, but a bottle of champagne sat iced in a bucket next to the couch. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had bubbly. No doubt, she’d probably never had the expensive kind somebody like Malveaux would order. She glided over to the champagne, and then turned toward her quiet host, expecting to find him smiling at her. Instead, she was surprised by the serious expression on his face. For lack of a better word, he looked
hungry
. His eyes were locked on hers, their brilliant blue sparkling like lasers.

“Whoa. That’s one intense look you’re giving me, fella. I bet I know exactly what you want.” She dropped her father’s jacket on the floor, and stalked over to Malveaux.

* * *

“Master, the silver Jaguar. It’s been found.”

Quade jerked his head, following the movement of the pale, slender vampire who’d burst into the room. He leapt up to stand in front of the quivering messenger, and smiled. “Are you sure it’s his?”

“Yes, Master. Our source is dependable.”

Quade threw back his head and laughed.

M
alveaux watched the tantalizing female cross the room, her slender hips undulating in his direction, and felt his cock stiffen even more painfully against the zipper of his pants. The musky scent of her arousal flooded his nostrils, and his fangs throbbed inside his gums, aching to be released.

He’d always had a potent libido, even when he was human, and he was used to the physical sensation of managing a raging hard-on that seemed to have a life of its own. But over the past few months, his sexual drive, or more specifically, his frantic need to bury his cock in any willing or unwilling pussy, had taken a turn toward obsession. The evidence for the truth of the legend was piling up, and he’d begun searching for the perfect thrall – the most yielding sexual servant – to service him for as long as he found her interesting. It was clear that he needed to sire his first “child.” He hadn’t been completely conscious of his quest, but the subtle programming imparted by his vampire “parent” had thrust him on a relentless mission to establish his own “family.” He understood now that resistance was useless. He needed to create as badly as he needed blood to survive.

The human female aroused him to frightening levels. He had a strong urge to rip his pants off, jump on her, pin her to the floor, and ram his cock into her hot pussy until she screamed. Then to bleed what was left of her.

He watched Tempest pull her thin, pink tank top languidly over her head, exposing surprisingly large, full breasts tipped with rosy nipples. Her skin glowed ivory in the soft light. She stood in front of him, palmed her tits, and lifted them up to him, as if making a sacred offering. An offering he had no intention of refusing.

“Yes, indeed. I do know what you want,” Tempest whispered.

He held himself back, caging his raging inner beast, almost drowning in the exquisite torture of anticipation while she rubbed her nipples against the front of his coat. He wanted to jam his fingers up inside her, to ravage her, to spread her legs wide and fill her with his aching cock. But he waited, letting it build, postponing the ecstasy he knew would come.