Blood Lust (9 page)

Greta bent to retrieve the ritual knife. Her human eyes locked with Jaden’s cat eyes. Jaden looked from Simon to Greta, then back to Simon. Then she turned and ran off into the woods following the path Anthony had taken.

“I’ll do it,” Dayne said, holding out his hand for the knife.

Greta’s hand shook, and she gripped it more firmly. “No. It has to be me.”

Simon couldn’t continue living, and she wouldn’t let him die a quick death with her power coiled inside him. It wasn’t fair for him to take that to his grave. She bit her lip as she pressed the blade into his flesh. She took no joy in the act. There was nothing to be gained from orphaning herself but closure.

Simon screamed, thrashed, and begged, much less stoic even than she’d been. Greta forced herself to look away. She was tempted to snap his neck and end it, but she pressed on, unwilling to let him take any small victory to the afterlife.

It was still raining when the life slipped from her father. Dayne draped his coat over her shoulders and took her back to the cottage.

***

She looked so lost. She kept insisting he do the ritual. He should have told her no, but he knew she sought atonement for the blood she’d spilled. Or perhaps she still thought he planned something villainous and wanted to complete her induction into evil.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t need her blood anymore with Simon dead. He took it anyway, draining about a tablespoon’s worth into a small, clear vial. He opened a book, chanted, and felt the magic flare up and disperse.

He performed a spell to help the flowers in the garden grow better. With her blood, it was going to be quite the botanical extravaganza. She’d like it at least. He was deeply grateful for magical languages. It was the only thing preserving an ounce of his reputation.

The first thing Greta said after the magic faded was, “What about Charlee? She tried to help me cross the border.”

“She’s fine. Anthony wiped her memory last night.”

They stood staring at each other, and then she flung herself at him, raining kisses over his neck, forcing her tongue into his mouth. Her hands wandered down his back and over his ass. Her eyes glittered with need.

“Damn, woman, how many days does this go on?”

“Couple of weeks sometimes. Was in a cage. No pills.”

She reluctantly pushed herself away from him. Dayne could see the cogs turning furiously in her brain as she realized she didn’t have to stay with him; he wasn’t her only option. She turned to leave.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Dayne felt the possessiveness curl around him as he grabbed her hand and moved it back to his backside where she’d been kneading his flesh and practically dry humping him moments before. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“You really don’t have to do this.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” he repeated. He wasn’t sure what could be going through Greta’s mind to make her think sleeping with her was a chore. He knew how she felt about the cycle, and he was sorry she hadn’t taken her pill in time. He should have thought of it before they’d started the ritual.

Gift horse.

He scooped her up and carried her up the winding staircase. “Your room or mine?”

“Yours,” she murmured against his neck.

Dayne took her upstairs and made love to her.

***

Greta woke to birds chirping outside the window and a distinct desire to shift and go chase after them. She felt sore from the previous night’s fight and . . . other events.

Her pills were on the nightstand with a bottle of water. She swallowed one down.

Dayne’s back was to her, and he was curled in a ball like a large, old, and well-preserved squirrel. She wanted to curl her body around his and go back to sleep; let him wake her later. But she couldn’t. She was sure she’d been a nice diversion, but he’d only agreed to let her stay until after the full moon, and she wasn’t about to show her naiveté by hoping for more. She was twenty-eight, not eighteen. It wasn’t as if he’d professed undying love.

The sorcerer’s hand closed over her wrist. “Good kitties don’t run away,” his sleep-filled voice rumbled.

Greta gave him a questioning look.

“Stay.”

“I thought you said just until after the moon?”

Practically every sexual encounter they’d had had amounted to pity sex. She couldn’t handle further pity or possible rejection. She’d become stupidly attached to him.

“You might need me to keep you safe,” he hedged.

Greta bristled and jerked her arm away. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need your goodwill. Thanks anyway.”

Dayne chuckled and let his hand come to rest lightly on her thigh. “Yes, I saw that in action last night when you were tied down to an altar like the star of a B movie, complete with heaving breasts.”

“I was not heaving. And anyway, you just came to rescue me because you needed my blood. What was the spell for anyway?” She hoped it wasn’t for something world-ending.

“Oh, please. It was a huge hassle rescuing you. If I just needed blood, I could have taken one of the morbidly rubbernecking gawkers standing on the sidelines in the woods. Please stay.”

“I don’t need a man.”

He scooted up behind her and trailed kisses over the back of her neck. “Didn’t say you did. But I’m a very old man, and I now know the joys of having a pet around the house. Though in hindsight, seeing how well you listen, I should have gotten a dog.”

Greta smacked him on the arm. Dayne pulled her back and flipped them so he was straddling her. He planted a long, slow kiss on her lips. “Now, stay. You took your pill, right?”

“Yes?”

“Good. I’d like to make love again without you thinking I’m doing it out of some twisted mercy. If you want me without the heat interfering, that is.”

His hands started to stroke over her flesh and she relaxed and allowed her legs to fall open. A contented purr began to rumble through her chest. This was how Greta became kept.

PART TWO: CLAIMED

Earlier that night

Anthony Burgess crouched outside a circle of flames wondering if anything was worth this much drama. An ally had asked a favor. Could Anthony be persuaded to drink and siphon drugs from the woman he loved? Sure. He wasn’t doing anything else exciting that night. Why not?

Between himself and Dayne, they’d killed most of the remaining werecat tribe. Dayne had used magic while Anthony had snapped necks, as well as sampled a few for himself. He listened as the sorcerer chanted and the sky opened to let rain pour down, dampening the flames and making his passage to the center of the circle safe.

“It’s safe now,” Dayne said.

Anthony rolled his eyes. He wanted to say, No shit, but the retort died a quick death on his lips as he took in the dark-haired beauty chained to the stone slab. A feral grin lit his face when he recognized the captive as Greta from the bookstore.

He ignored the bickering between Dayne and the man who’d taken her for sacrifice. The life was slipping from Dayne’s true love as Anthony looked on.

She was dressed in a long, white gown, though she wasn’t a virgin, and they were at least a thousand miles from the nearest convenient volcano. Thin cuts marred her otherwise perfect tan flesh, and he could feel the power pulsing out of her. He’d wanted her blood for a long time now.

“Looks like I get a taste after all,” he said with a leer.

“Oh, this is a great plan. Vampires are entirely untrustworthy. He’ll take too much.”

Anthony turned and raised a brow at the villain of the piece. Dayne had trapped him in a band of energy, but he wouldn’t shut the hell up.

“Shut the hell up,” Dayne said. Then to Anthony, “Do it.”

As if he had to be invited. Nothing could keep him from the therian’s potent blood flowing out under the full moon.

Dayne went to one side of the altar and held Greta’s hand, whispering words of reassurance that the big bad wolf wouldn’t kill her. Anthony could hear bits of dialogue but ignored it, too lost reveling in his own good fortune.

It had been a long time since he’d drunk from a shapeshifter. They couldn’t be enthralled. They were strong. They were fast. And they weren’t normally very free with their bodily fluids outside their own species. It was a rare pleasure to drink from one, and this one was more intoxicating than most.

He knelt beside her, turning her head to expose her neck. It took every ounce of control not to start lapping at the cuts covering her body, but he wanted to bite, and he couldn’t siphon the drugs if he just licked her like an out-of-control puppy. He had to remember this was a favor for a friend, not a buffet. His eyes scanned up to her uncut throat.

There. A clean canvas.

He inhaled deeply and trailed his tongue over the spot he intended to bite, savoring the salty tang of her skin. The scent and taste of fear, desperation. She was on the cusp of accepting her fate, yet a thread of hope ran through her. The mixture of emotions would make her blood all the richer.

“Just get on with it,” Dayne said.

Suddenly, the sorcerer didn’t seem so excited about the plan. Anthony chuckled and sank his fangs into the feast provided for him.

The flavor exploded over his tongue like dark chocolate with the tiniest tinge of raspberry. But the power of the blood was stronger than the taste. He gripped the back of her neck and drank more deeply, feeling himself pulled into her web of power and unwilling to let go.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she said, her strength returning as the drugs left her body. He growled as she fought him, refusing to let go of her neck until Dayne intervened and ripped him off her.

Anthony laughed, energized and wild from the combination of therian blood and the drugs addling his brain. He pivoted and ran through the woods while adrenaline pumped on overload through his veins. His mind was unfocused, swirling in a dark, euphoric fog.

He hadn’t felt this way since he’d experimented as a newly-turned vampire with drunks and illicit drug users. Whatever had been injected into Greta’s system, combined with the otherness of drinking from a therian, had intensified his appetite. And now there was only one person he wanted to go to, to slake the thirst.

Charlotte Devlin. The little redheaded firecracker who worked in the bookstore alongside Greta. She always had a sassy retort for him.

He’d spent long nights fantasizing about drinking from her, his pants growing tight as he thought of her sass turning to desperate begging. Yet, until now, he’d resisted. Even when he’d wiped her memory the night before, he’d resisted.

She’d managed to get a little too up close and personal with the world of magic, and the preternatural border patrol had called him in to wipe her memory. He’d been tempted to drink then, but he was saving her for a special occasion. Well, the night had just been upgraded.

The haze made it hard to remember the million-and-one reasons he didn’t need to be doing this.

The small, gray split-level house stood in a clearing next to the woods. He hid himself in the shadows of the trees and watched as she sat on the porch swing, barefoot and in her pajamas, her fingers tangling absently in the fur of an Irish Setter.

The dog sensed him and growled.

“What is it, Sammy? You smell a rabbit?”

The wind ruffled her hair sending her scent to Anthony’s sensitive nose. He inhaled deeply and smiled. The dog tugged free of Charlotte and darted straight for him, growling and barking the whole way. He’d be a good guard dog if tonight’s predator had been human.

Anthony growled back, his eyes glowing, fangs extended. The dog whimpered and ran off. The vampire turned his attention back to his quarry. She felt the chill in the air and had heard the dog whimper.

He tuned into her thoughts. This one was smart. She knew something was out there, and unlike most humans, she didn’t rationalize it away. Maybe he’d let her live.

Her hand was on the knob, seconds from going inside when he made his move. He covered her mouth before she could scream, and moved her inside, away from witnesses. He wanted to take his time with this one. If he could just get hold of his senses and think for a minute.

“Shhhhhh,” he said.

The drugs had made him clumsy, causing him to knock over an end table next to the sofa. A lamp went crashing to the floor, and he released her for a second to get his bearings. She took a step away from him. Her feet crunched over the glass, and the scent of her blood permeated the air. If it were possible it smelled more heavenly than Greta’s, and this one was only human.

Her eyes were frozen in a mask of terror, his order to be quiet unnecessary. She couldn’t have gotten her vocal cords to come to her aid if she’d wanted to. She was too stunned by what stood before her. He peeked into her mind, and saw what she saw: his long blonde hair a disheveled mess, blood streaked over his face, fangs, glowing eyes, and then her mental recognition as she put the pieces together.

Unlike others before her, her mind didn’t deny what she saw. It screamed, vampire. No doubt or hesitation. He had to admire her for that. Her pulse thudded in her throat, drawing his eyes to her jugular.

He heard the thoughts swirling through her mind as she wondered which thing she’d said to him to piss him off. She recognized him. Not just the monster, but the man she’d known from the bookstore.