Crave the Night (22 page)

“
Anything.” He panted, hating his
vulnerable position. And yet, he could still overpower
her.

“
Step back against the wall. And keep
your arms down. You want this? I need to put myself close to you at
my own pace.”

Sounded reasonable.
Not really
. And who was she to call the shots?
Could he fight his own mad desire for blood? Hell, he'd do what he
had to for a taste of her.

Rev slammed his body backward. Shoulders
slapped the wall, as did his palms. The chains clanked against his
thighs.

“
Promise me, vampire. I don’t want to
die.”

“
W-won’t kill you,” he growled.
Get on with it already!

“
Promise?”

“
Don’t need…your death. Just your
life.”

She flinched at that statement. The faery
slid her palms over her slender hips, her wings shuddered, and
again she glanced at the camera. Pale white-blonde hair dusted her
bare shoulders. She wore a violet sundress tied with thin straps
about her neck. The short skirt revealed gorgeous legs that could
wrap around his hips for the ride.

Don’t care. Feed
me
.

Rev’s thigh muscles tensed. He forced
himself to remain at the wall.
Let it
happen. The food will come to you
.

She took a step forward. His fangs tingled
expectantly. Anticipation coursed through his veins. Soon he'd
taste sweet ichor to quench his parched throat.

“
Can you get us out of here?” she
whispered. Another step forward. Close enough to grab. But she was
thinking beyond their situation. Not a stupid faery, by any
means.

Rev clung to the wall. He nodded once.
Escape was at the top of his list—just below sustenance.

“
I can remember the layout,” she said.
“I can dust the wolves if given a moment.”

Whatever that meant. He didn’t care what she
thought she could do. All focus remained on her sliding foot. Move
another few inches closer. Sweet flower scent, like meadows. Too
pure. Dripping with aching desire.

Rev bowed his head, opening his mouth.
Twisting his neck, he fought the urge to lunge.

"A bite won't bond us," she said. "Only one
thing can do that. If I'm right about my Intended."

What was she talking about?
Come closer!

One delicate hand reached out. Thin fingers
tested the air between them. She would dare touch a ravaged
vampire?

Cowed by the remarkable bravery of this
delicate woman, Rev forgot his restraints. His body remained
against the wall. Suddenly, he wanted to know that redeeming touch.
Enchantment would be a gift.

Her violet eyes scanned his. What was she
looking for? Why couldn’t he simply grab her and sink his teeth
into her flesh? Was it enchantment? Did her eyes hypnotize him to
submit as only the vampire could work persuasion on a mortal?

Chains clinked as he slashed a hand, ready
to grab—then stopped abruptly. He would not. But he could. He just
had to know it was possible.

When she took a step away from him he said,
“Won’t move again.” Twisting his head, he winced at the utter
control required not to take her swiftly.

The tender flutter of a feather stroked his
cheek. He tilted his head into the touch. Not a feather. Flesh on
flesh. Stroking, touching, exploring. So warm. Devastating.

What was she doing? Did she not understand
the tremendous control required was making him weaker?

Rev moaned as the touch skated along his
stubbled jaw. Felt great. Heady. Enchanting. As she glided closer
to his mouth, he sensed she would do what he could barely tolerate
while not crazed and blood hungry.

Don’t touch my teeth. It
will frenzy me
.

“
I trust you,” whispered softly. “I
want to help you. Together we can do this. Go ahead. Drink,
vampire. Take what you need.”

Not an invitation to disregard.

Rev gripped the woman’s body, one hand at
her back, the other shoving up her chin to expose her throat. Teeth
sunk into flesh. Her body melded against his as he clutched her
delicate form against his aching, bruised muscles. A sweep of wing
dusted his cheek.

She did not cry out. But he did.

The first trickle of warm ichor across his
tongue answered the ravenous thirst that had made him bang his head
against the wall for days. Madness scurried to the dark corners of
his brain, fleeing the glittering salvation. Instantly, his flesh
heated as the faery’s ichor permeated his veins and pores and
infused his entire body.

The burning UV lights faded to background
annoyance. Sucking at the twin holes he’d pricked into her neck,
Rev drew in life. Sweeter than blood. More dangerous than holy
water.

But oh, the delirious joy of shimmering
light infusing his veins. Was this enchantment, then? Why had he
never drank from a faery before? He could sup this elixir all day.
All night. Endlessly.

Beware the
enchantment
.

Rev pushed Bree away. She tumbled to the
floor, gripping her neck and moaning. The swoon had begun, an
orgasmic reaction to having her ichor taken. The victim always got
that bonus thrill from the bite.

Rev licked his lips. Damn, she was good.
Already he felt strength returning to his tense muscles.

And he smelled…smoke?

Now his surroundings faded in to reality.
The UV light flickered, and popped, reducing the room to
blackness.

Rev smashed a fist through the air, pulling
at the chains. The bolt gave free. He followed the momentum of
freedom and landed the floor on one palm next to Bree’s head.

An alarm sounded, beeping
systematically.

“
Smoke alarm,” he said. “Must be a
fire.”

He felt her body roll against his. She
lingered in the swoon, and was weak from all he had taken from
her.

Standing, he did not sway or falter. His
mind felt clear after days of starvation. He wasn’t sated by any
means, but he had grown capable.

Ripping his other bound hand through the
air, he felt the floor bolts skim his ankle as they were jolted
from the cement. Kicking each foot successively snapped the ankle
manacles from the floor chain.

A spume of smoke poured through the ceiling
ventilation duct. If a fire raged, smoke inhalation would blur
their senses and make escape difficult.

The door he’d stared at endlessly, knowing
he could punch a fist through the hollow core aluminum, gave as
easily as he’d dreamed it would. Hinges bent and he tore it from
the frame. A gush of smoke assaulted his tired lungs.

Stepping outside the cell where he’d thought
to spend his final days, he pounded a wrist against the wall. The
steel manacles would not break. He’d have to flee with chains still
attached.

The hall was dark. Red emergency lights
flickered, but smoke muted the glow to tiny specks. Sprinklers did
not activate.

A moan from inside the cell stopped him.
“Bree.”

She’d helped him. More so,
she’d
touched
him.

Rev ducked inside the smoky room and found
the faery lying on the floor. She weighed little, and he easily
swung her over a shoulder, aware her wings did not sweep his skin.
She must have retracted them.

Escape through the murky darkness was
difficult, but he encountered no werewolves as he fled the premises
and into the surrounding forest. Not sure exactly where this
particular sporting den was located, he assumed he tread the Twin
Cities outskirts.

He ran for an hour with Bree over his
shoulder, until finally he gained a suburb, and the back lot of a
closed bar. The blue neon sign beamed bright and bold against the
midnight sky.

Setting Bree on her feet, she then clung to
the dumpster where they stood. She no longer coughed and could
stand without swaying.

“
You okay?” Rev asked. He bent and
brushed the long white hair from her eyes.

She nodded and sucked in fresh air. “You
should go. I can find my way home. Thank you for not leaving me to
die.”

“
You saved my life. I saved yours.
We’re even, yes?”

“
Works for me. I don’t think we should
see each other again, even though you're my— Like I said, I won’t
be responsible for bringing a good vampire down.”

“
I’ll be fine,” he said.

He was too strong to succumb to addiction.
Though one last bite would be the thing.

She slapped a hand to his chest as he leaned
in toward her neck. “No more, Rev. The enchantment is strong. Go
find a human and feast upon blood. You must do that to rid your
system of my ichor.”

He nodded, knowing she was right, but
regretting he’d never taste such heaven again.

Three months after Revin
Parker went cold turkey…

Rev eyed the metal staircase hugging the
three-story brick apartment building. Set at the end of a block of
nightclubs, the side of the building was dark, no lights in the
windows directly below the roof. He took the stairs two at a
time.

Fernando Degas was the vamp who had
been working the blood sport case for the Rescue Project in Rev’s
absence. The vampire had been reassigned to tactical—which had been
Rev’s job
before
he’d been
taken by the werewolves. It was humiliating, the demotion to field
work, but Rev knew he had to work his way back up the ladder to
earn his tribe’s respect.

Before his reassignment, Fernando had lost
their best informant. Or rather, the informant had clammed up, and
was no longer willing to provide information on the wolves. This
informant had successfully led them to closing down two blood sport
warehouses. The Rescue Project leader, Creed Saint-Pierre, was
adamant they win the informant's renewed trust.

Now Rev was on the case. He didn’t have the
informant's name, only an address. Much as he considered Fernando a
friend, the vampire's records had been shoddy, at best. Rev only
knew the informant was faery. Odd for a faery to inform on wolves;
the two species were usually pretty tight. Whatever had happened to
shut up the informant had to be due to threats from the wolves. If
they had found him or her out, he might have fled the neighborhood,
or moved deeper into the city where wolves rarely tread.

He knocked on the bleached wood door and
tried to see through the curtains. Inside, the third-story flat was
dark.

Halfway down the block, techno music thumped
out from a nightclub and neon lights flashed designs on the wet
tarmac. The rain had stopped and the silver moon lightened the sky.
Tonight the wolves were out in the countryside, shifting and
answering their mistress Luna’s call. Rare was the wolf that risked
visiting populated areas while in werewolf shape.

After his capture, Rev held no love for the
wolves. Not that he had possessed any before, but pre-capture he’d
been on the fence about the species. He wasn't a hater. He enjoyed
the physical work involved in tracking the offenders and the
satisfaction of rescuing ravaged vampires, but really, he’d had a
few werewolf friends even then, lone wolves who did not associate
with a pack.

All that had changed.

He knocked again, careful to keep his coat
sleeve tugged over his fist. The nasty addiction had taught him to
be wary around faeries, and cautious of everything they touched,
lived within or passed by. He’d suffered agonizing months thanks to
their ichor and wasn’t prepared to go through that hell again. So
long as he didn’t bite one of them, he should be fine.

Fine, but always craving. A damned monkey
with thorned wings would never completely scramble off his back. He
was handling it now, but knew it would be a lifelong challenge to
avoid falling back to addiction.

What better way to face the monkey head-on
than by tracking the informant?

If Creed knew about his addiction, he would
not have sent Rev on this assignment. And yet, the Rescue Project
supervisor presented a double standard to his employees. Wolves and
vamps simply did not mix, let alone, pick out china patterns. Creed
Saint-Pierre, former Nava tribe leader, was actually married to a
werewolf. Rev recalled attending their wedding. Blu Masterson was
one sexy werewolf princess with freaky green hair. She had no ties
to the packs now, save the dwindling members of the Northern pack
headed by Ridge Addison. Rev counted Ridge as a friend. That wolf
was honorable, and had slain the former Northern pack leader who
had been a first-class asshole.

Banging a fist again, Rev decided to kick.
The door flew inward and clattered against the interior brick wall.
He entered the dark loft, sensitive to motion or heartbeats.

The place was one long stretch of room,
walled in open wood framing and high, exposed rafters. A twisting
stairway climbed to a loft where a computer and desk must serve as
an office.

He strolled the flat’s length. A king-size
bed sat at the far end before a glass block wall. The bed was
neatly made with silky violet fabric and beadwork that sparkled
from the moonlight shining through the glass blocks.

Actually, the bedspread glittered.

Rev retracted before touching the fabric.
Could be faery dust.

"The informant is a woman," he decided from
the décor.

Three mismatched bar stools queued before
the kitchen counter. He rounded the counter and examined the
cabinets, none of which had doors, leaving all contents exposed. A
few plates and glasses, a couple wine goblets, and some ceramic
containers for whatnots.

He tugged open the fridge and bent to
inspect. “Strawberries and tofu?”