Angel's Pain (6 page)

She tossed the bag in and hit the 30-second button. Then she looked around for glasses.

Reaper walked over from the other side of the room, a wineglass in each hand. “They were in the cabinet over there,” he said. “Here.”

“Two? I don't remember inviting you to join me.”

“I don't remember offering to leave.”

She pursed her lips, but opened the microwave when it beeped and removed the bag. Then she filled the two glasses. There was some blood left in the bag, so she downed hers quickly, then refilled her glass, which she set on a table near the bedroom door before knocking softly. “There's a drink out here for her, Roxy, when you're ready.”

“Thanks, Briar,” Roxy called.

Nodding, Briar turned, crossed the room and entered the bedroom she would be calling her own for as long as she was here. As she did, it crossed her mind that maybe it shouldn't be for very long. It might be better all around if she just left.

She stood just inside the doorway, examining the bedroom. The same color scheme as the room in between: cream and pine. French doors, sheer curtains, a balcony beyond with wrought-iron patio furniture, all curlicue vines and leaves. The bed was huge and soft-looking. Two doors set side by side must lead to a closet and a bathroom.

The place was incredible.

Too bad she couldn't stay long.

“You going to be all right?” Reaper asked.

“Yeah. I always am.” She waited for him to say goodnight and get the hell out. He didn't, though.

Finally she turned and faced him. “You hanging around for a reason?”

“Yeah.”

He held her eyes. And he didn't need to elaborate from there, because she felt it. A slowly building flame of desire flickering inside him. He'd been keeping it banked ever since the first and only time they'd had mind-blowing sex in a car on a city street. She'd done it to distract him and delay him, on Gregor's orders.

But that didn't mean she hadn't enjoyed it. And that had shocked her. She'd never had an orgasm with a man before that night.

“I could stay,” he said. “If you want me to.”

R
eaper watched the reactions cross her face one by one. There was surprise, a slight lifting of her lush, dark brows and a widening of her deep brown eyes. That reaction was brief, little more than a flash. It was followed quickly by those same eyes narrowing, the brows gathering close, a look of suspicion and perhaps even dislike.

“We're not going to start having sex on a regular basis, Reaper.”

He shrugged. “I didn't say anything about a regular basis.”

“The next thing you know, you'll be going cow eyed and sappy—like Jack is over the princess. It would make me puke.”

“I was offering sex, Briar, nothing more. If you're not interested, it's all the same to me. Just don't go to sleep with the idea that I'm going…what did you call it? Cow-eyed or sappy over you. You're not the type to inspire that sort of reaction in a man.”

She turned away as he watched her, and he wondered if his barb had stung her just a little. But that would imply that she had feelings, and she'd gone to great lengths to make sure everyone knew she had none.

“So you're just like every other man I've ever known, then. You just want to get laid.”

“If I just want to get laid, I'm a bastard. If I feel something for you, I'm a sap. I can't win with you, can I, Briar?”

“No. You can't. Why don't we leave it at that and call it good?”

“Fine.” He turned and stalked back into the suite's shared living room, then paused. “The truth is, I thought you could use a little relief. Despite your denials, I can see that you're worried about Crisa, frustrated by her sudden rebellion against you, drained by sharing her pain. A little distraction from all that, a little release, would do you a world of good.”

“Sounds remarkably sappy to me. As if you give a damn.”

He turned to see her standing in the bedroom doorway. “Not at all. I'm just a bastard who wants to get laid.”

She smiled just slightly. “That's better. Go find a pretty victim, Reaper. Take her by force, or make her submit by controlling her mind, drink her and fuck her and enjoy yourself.” Then she tipped her head to one side. “No doubt you'll top it off by making her forget it happened, or telling her to remember it as a pleasant, erotic dream.”

“Is that what
you
intend to do with what's left of the darkness?” he asked.

She met his eyes, and a spark of desire, unmistakable, flashed in hers. “Jealous?”

“Not in the least.”

“So are you going to take my advice, then?”

“No.”

“So it's
not
just sex you want. It's me.” She narrowed her eyes on him, curious now, rather than suspicious. “Why?”

Lifting his gaze, Reaper met her eyes. “Not because of anything sappy or emotional, don't worry on that score. Good night, Briar.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“Why, then?” she called after him.

He didn't answer, just opened the door and left the room.

Why?
The question plagued him all night. Why
did
he want her? Physical contact with others tended to make him extremely uncomfortable. It had for a long time. Ever since Rebecca…

No, he wasn't going to think about that, about
her
. She was off-limits. And yet, since he'd met Briar, Rebecca had been popping into his mind on a regular basis. More and more often, with more and more insistence. And it was getting harder, night by night, to keep the memories at bay.

He had an hour to get through before the day sleep would take him. As he retired to the room Topaz had deemed his, he noted the big-screen television and the stereo system, and knew both were bad ideas. Any program, any song, might contain the single word that would send him into a murderous rage, thanks to the brainwashing techniques of his old friends at the CIA. His misfits all knew what the trigger word was. Briar knew. They wouldn't utter it in his presence. But the television or radio might.

Gregor knew the trigger word, as well. The difference was that Gregor also knew the word that would bring him out of it again. That was information for which he could easily kill.

He undressed and sank into the bed, trusting the automatically darkening windows to keep him safe. Topaz wouldn't lie to him about something like that. He yanked out a cell phone from his pants pocket before dropping them back onto the floor beside the bed, deciding to kill the remaining time by trying to get a message to Eric Marquand.

Rhiannon answered on the first ring. “Hello, darling,” she purred. “I wondered when you'd get around to thanking me for my help on that little Mexican adventure.”

Reaper smiled slowly. Rhiannon wouldn't have needed caller ID to know who was calling. She was his maker. They shared a psychic bond that couldn't be stronger.

“Hello, Rhiannon. Thank you for your help on that little Mexican adventure.”

“Right. That's not why you're calling, though, is it?”

“No.”

“What do you need, Reaper? Has that bitch vampiress bitten you too hard?”

“If you're referring to Briar, no. She hasn't
bitten
me at all.”

“You are such a liar. You're doomed, you know. You stand no chance against her.”

“I'm not against her.”

“But you want to be.” She laughed softly, enjoying her torment of him. “I like her,” she said, when her laughter died.

“You're the only one, then,” he said.

“Oh, I don't think so. You like her, too.”

“I
want
to like her,” he admitted. “She's not making it easy.”

“She wouldn't. But there's Crisa. That one seems to adore her.”

“Not anymore.”

Rhiannon went silent. “What's happened?”

“Crisa is having debilitating headaches, hearing voices, seeing things. Briar gets the headaches when Crisa does. We don't know what's causing them.”

“Is it part of the girl's…condition?”

“I don't think so. She says not. And she's insisting there's a boy somewhere who needs her, who keeps calling out to her, and that she has to go to him. Briar forbade her, and Crisa defied her.”

“Really? That must have come as quite a shock to Briar.”

“Came as a shock to all of us.”

“Well, it would, wouldn't it? It's the first hint of a backbone the girl has shown.”

He nodded, sighed. “Do you think Eric Marquand might be able to help us figure out what's happening to Crisa?”

Rhiannon was silent for a moment. Reaper could hear her long nails rapping in steady rhythm on some surface. Finally she said, “I don't know for sure, of course. But I can't think of anyone who'd more likely be able to help. Where are you?”

“At Topaz's place, Emerald Isle, North Carolina.”

“I'll pass on your request,” she told him. “I'll phone you when I have his answer. Meanwhile…I have another answer for you.”

Reaper frowned. “An answer to what? I haven't asked a question.”

“Well, you must have, or I wouldn't have an answer screaming in my mind right now, would I? I don't know what the question is that's been plaguing you, darling, but I do know the words you need to hear right now.”

Closing his eyes, Reaper lowered his head. He knew damn well what question had been plaguing him.
Why was he so drawn to Briar?
But he didn't like opening himself up, revealing his weaknesses, his feelings, to anyone. Even Rhiannon.

“Shall I tell you?” she asked him.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course not. The answer is, because you think you can't hurt her.”

“Because I think I can't hurt her,” he repeated.

“Yes. That's it. Now, sate my burning curiosity and tell me, what was the question?”

“None of your business.”

“It's about that prickly bitch, isn't it?”

“It's nearly dawn, Rhiannon. I have to go. Good rest.”

“Stubborn prick,” she muttered. Then she hung up.

Reaper ended the call and set his cell phone on the nightstand. Then he lay down in the bed, pulled up the covers and waited for sleep to come, all the while trying not to replay his own question—and Rhiannon's answer—in his mind. He didn't need this, not now. Besides, he could already feel the day sleep pulling at him. His body grew heavy. His eyes fell closed. In his mind, he saw Briar, straddling him in that car, bouncing up and down on him, kissing and biting at him as she drove him toward the most shattering climax he'd ever experienced.

Thank God, he thought, that vampires didn't dream during the day sleep. Otherwise, he thought the memory of that one explosive encounter would haunt him until sundown.

 

She probably should have taken him up on it, Briar thought, as she examined her new digs with appreciation and ridicule warring for top spot in her mind. She took a long look at the giant Jacuzzi tub, the bottles of oils, scents, lotions and soaps that filled the shelves around it, the loofah and the candles, all of them with clean white wicks. She wondered if Topaz threw them all out and bought new ones every time one of the wicks was blackened by flame. How stupid was that? And what was with the towels? she wondered, as she tugged one off the rack. It was as big as a bedsheet. Who
needed
a towel that big?

For a moment she envisioned herself soaking in the giant Jacuzzi and making use of the girlie shit that surrounded her. Then, with a roll of her eyes, she opted for the stand-alone shower instead.

It was opulent enough all by itself. Corner-shaped and huge, with not one but three showerheads—so that she could wash, rinse and masturbate all at the same time, she guessed.

Nothing too good for the princess.

Briar made her shower quick, and tried really hard not to enjoy the pulsing pressure massaging her back and shoulders, though privately, she supposed she had to admit, it was nice.

Even so, she spent the entire time judging Topaz for her spending habits—not that she gave a damn, she told herself; she was simply keeping her thoughts from heading down the alley they really wanted to explore.

But it didn't work for long. There wasn't enough overindulgence in freakin' Buckingham Palace to keep her from thinking about that. About him.

Reaper.

He wanted something from her. He was up to something. She wasn't stupid enough to think men ever did anything for any other reason. And she thought he was a little bit beyond the caveman-level mentality. It wasn't just sex, like with her stepfather. That Neanderthal hadn't had another thought in his entire head. There'd been no motive, no scheme or scam or reason. Just beady eyes that were way too close together, and a serious death wish she had yet to fulfill.

It was on her list. Gregor first, though. Then Stepdaddy-dearest. And then she would move on through the rest of them. The pimps, the dealers, the Johns. All of them. They would pay.

She wasn't a lost, weak, homeless addict anymore. She was a vampire now. Thanks to Gregor. Ironic, that.

Reaper, though…he was different. Smart. Even halfway decent. So he wanted something, he had something to gain, besides a good time, by getting into her pants again. What was it?

She didn't know. And she wasn't going to figure it out in the time between her shower and sunrise, so she toweled off, slung the giant towel over the wide rack to dry and padded into the bedroom. She snagged a fleece bathrobe from a hook on the way. The thing was as soft as down, cream-colored, knee-length. She pulled it on, and, in spite of herself, hugged it around her a little bit. Then she headed through the living room and toward Crisa's door. It was closed, but the glass of blood she'd left on the table just this side of it was gone.

She moved closer, opened the door very quietly, just a little, and peeked inside.

Crisa lay in the bed, sound asleep, but uneasy. She twitched every few seconds, and her head kept moving from side to side. Roxy was still there, but she got up when she saw Briar peering in, crossed the room on tiptoe and joined her in the living room.

As she closed the door quietly behind her, she met Briar's eyes. “I don't like it.”

“No, neither do I.”

“It just doesn't make any damn sense. If she didn't hear voices or see things or get these headaches before, why now? What's changed?”

“I don't know. Maybe her damn Rey-Rey had her on some kind of medication that we don't know about. Something that kept all this shit under control.”

“What kind of medication would work on a vampire, Briar?”

“Only two that we know of. The tranquilizer, and that potion of Rhiannon's that lets us stay awake by day, and makes us meaner than hell and twice as jittery. But that doesn't mean there might not be more.”