Deadly Liaisons (7 page)

Atreides cleared his throat. “I’m suggesting that she sleep in the cel ar. Alone.”

“I’m not as needy as you seem to think, and I have more control than that. Why did you real y come?”

“What if I stayed with her? I have no affection for those serving the SCU, especial y after what you put me through for the past several decades.
I’ll
guard her.”

For al Atreides’s denying he cared anything for SCU personnel, Daemon wondered if his brother had more interest in the woman than he was letting on, which could prove disastrous. “I wouldn’t wish to sacrifice you. Return home to your blood bonds.

Keep your ears tuned in case someone mentions something that wil aid us. Also, she’s a telepath. If we need to share something private, channel your telepathic communication directly to me.”

“She’s a telepath? Dammit, Daemon, now you real y can’t stay with her.”

Daemon wasn’t used to his brother’s interference, and he wouldn’t tolerate it from him or anyone else. “She hasn’t any control over me. Go, and remain alert.”

Atreides hesitated, then reluctantly bowed his head and left.

Daemon ensured al of his safeguards were in place, the spel s that would keep any vampire from entering his home who’d been invited in before. Though normal y his brother and others could pop in anytime they liked when his house wasn’t safeguarded, it would be rude to do so. Everyone asked permission to cross the threshold into a vampire’s abode, unless the one who gained entrance did so with malicious intent.

When Daemon walked into the bedroom, he sensed Tezra’s light breathing, her slower pulse.
Asleep. Thank God
. In a flash, he removed his clothes, having no intention of remaining clothed when he normal y didn’t sleep that way. The bed was his after al , and he hadn’t wanted her in it in the first place. If she didn’t like it, she could return to the cel ar.

“Hmmm, yes,”
she murmured in her mind.

He stared at the brunette, her long hair draped over her damnable skin-tight turtleneck, but she appeared sound asleep.

“Yes, yes,”
she said again.

He raised his brows. She talked telepathical y in her sleep? Taking a deep breath, he slid under the covers on his side of the bed, though technical y both sides were his.

“Tell me, what are you thinking?”
he asked, slipping into her thoughts.

She lay very stil , and her mind seemed to shut down. Her subtle jasmine fragrance lingered in his sheets. He took a deep breath, his blood stirring. Her heart rate had increased, and she whimpered, clutching at the pil ow beneath her cheek. She shook her head back and forth slowly as if her reflexes were dul ed. A sob escaped her lips.

Reaching out, he ran his fingers over her hair, the strands soft beneath his fingertips. He meant only to calm her. Touching her cheek, he found tears. He pul ed his hand away as if she’d burned him. She was only having a nightmare. It would go away, but if he began to have feelings for her, his nightmares would only begin.

“Katie…Katie, oh no, dear God, Katie
.
”
She spoke the words breathlessly in her mind, hesitant, frightened.

Was it some jumbled, made-up nightmare, or a past recol ection? She wept more, and he fisted his hands. If he returned her to the cel ar, he could sleep. No, he couldn’t. He’d stil hear her thoughts.

“Oh dear God, oh dear God
.
”
She bit her lip until he smel ed blood.

Dear God was right. The pulsing, burning need to taste her blood fil ed him with a sense of urgency.

What now, dammit? He could lick her wound, memorize the taste of her blood for al eternity and stop the bleeding, or he could agonize over the smel of it, listen to her rapid pulse, and try to keep his canines under control.

“Mom, Dad, oh, what have I done?”
she cried.

As much as he didn’t want to care, or know anything about her, he couldn’t help himself. He never ignored someone who was in pain.

He leaned over and touched his tongue to her lip, licking her sweet, warm blood. With his heart hammering, his canines extended. For too long he hadn’t fed, and her blood imprinted on his tastebuds, urging him to take more.

Worse, she quieted under his touch, which served to further his craving.

He pul ed the col ar of her turtleneck down, ran his tongue over her neck, sensing the delicate pulsing of her blood beneath the skin, and grazed his teeth over her sensitive flesh without nicking her.

Already he was way too aroused, both sexual y and bloodlust-wise. Atreides was right. Daemon hadn’t been with a woman recently enough to quench his thirst for someone as enticing as the woman lying beside him.

He moved away from her, but her heart sped up, and she seemed caught in the nightmare again.

“Tezra, everything’s al right now,” he said in a soothing voice. He shouldn’t get any deeper with her than he already was, but he wanted to discover what disturbed her. Taking her hand, he held it firmly and concentrated on her thoughts. The wal normal y surrounding them had disintegrated in her sleep-fil ed state.

He reached out to see her nightmare, to discover whether it was a vivid, mixed-up dream, or a true memory from her past.

A voice reached out to him, an ancient vampiric voice Daemon thought he’d heard before but couldn’t recol ect. It had to be someone he’d known in the distant past, but he couldn’t make any connection, only a vague familiarity.

“I punish you, the child, for complicating my work. Now you see that I am more powerful than you will ever be. Both you and
your sister, Katie, will live a hell for the rest of your mortal days. See what your meddling in my affairs has brought you?”
a male voice said to her, the words only a distant memory in Tezra’s thoughts.

Her reply showed the same vehemence and determination.
“To the end of my days, I’ll hunt you down. I vow this on the blood
of my parents. With my huntress’s blade I will carve out your heart and end your semi-immortal life. I swear it, you bastard!”

“Who is he?”
Daemon asked, forgetting for the moment he was not her leader, that she didn’t have to tel him a thing, and if she were conscious, probably wouldn’t.

She tugged at his hand to pul him closer.
“Katie, we’ll get through this. I promise.”

Hel , he had to find out where her sister was staying or she’d be in just as much danger, he was certain. Unless…unless she was already dead.

Taking a deep breath, Daemon pul ed Tezra into his arms to stop her heart from racing, her body from trembling on the frosty autumn night. But he knew he shouldn’t tempt his soul with her soft body resting against his hard chest, that he shouldn’t al ow her leg to press against his arousal, already agonizing for release.

Thrusting those thoughts aside, he held her tight.

She stirred and nestled her head against his chest, her silken hair tickling his skin. Inhaling deeply, he fil ed himself with the pure fragrance of her, the springtime freshness and floral scent that was al Tezra.

He tried to clear his mind of how dangerously enticing she was. Yet it didn’t work, not with her warm breath stirring the light hair on his chest, or the way her leg hooked over his excruciating arousal. Not the way her heart pounded, the blood whooshing through her veins in a steady rush, cajoling him to feed.

No doubt she would think him the devil when she woke, only he felt
she
was the one with the black magic spel s, corrupting him, and not the other way around.

Holding her close, he final y managed to sleep for several hours. Until Tezra’s shril cry jarred him from his peaceful slumber.

Awareness reaching her groggy mind, Tezra realized she rested in the arms of a naked, very aroused, warm-bodied vampire, while the sunlight filtered around the edges of black velvet curtains. She jerked free and fel off the mattress, landing on her butt next to Daemon’s high four-poster bed.

Unable to slow her rapid heartbeat, she jumped up, cursing him. “You arrogant bastard! Who the hel said you could sleep with me? Wel , hold me like that?” she amended, recognizing the bed
was
his and the night before he’d told her in no uncertain terms he was sharing it with her no matter how she tried to talk him out of it.

Unmoved, Daemon looked contemptibly smug and didn’t say a word. His darkened eyes watched her, his sable hair fanned across the pil ow. Annoyingly ful of himself, his wel -sculpted chest exposed, he propped his head against his arms. The black satin sheet caressed the hard muscles of his lower body. His prominent arousal snagged her attention for a second glance, though she chided herself for looking…twice. She stormed to the bedroom door barefoot.

“I need my boots. Your brother took them from me,” she ground out. She grabbed the handle of the door to the hal way and twisted.
Locked
.

“Couldn’t we at least start this late wakeup with an agreeable good morning? It’s a shame not to enjoy morning pleasantries, is it not?” Dark honeyed words spoken like a lure to draw his prey in, but his bedroom charms wouldn’t work on her. Much.

“Let…me…out…of…here,” she snarled, every word laced with fire.

“You said the cel ar gave you claustrophobia.” He waved his hand, and the curtains parted to reveal French patio doors opening onto a balcony.

“Being with
you
gives me claustrophobia.”

He pul ed the covers aside and stood. Her mouth dropped when she saw the beautiful length of him, er, rather, the tal ness and hardness of his whole body. The shirt he had worn the night before must have been from an earlier wardrobe of his because he definitely had the build of a wel -muscled pirate who hoisted sails for a living. And, no doubt, he’d raped, pil aged and plundered along the way.

She waved at the bed. “You said you’d protect me. Is this what you cal protection?”

A slow smile gave him a predatory look, his nearly black eyes sparkling while he tied his hair back in a tail with a black leather strap, but he didn’t make any attempt to dress.

She knew the look of madness in his eyes, the lust and the overwhelming urge to feed, to satisfy his hunger.

“You haven’t fed in a while,” she guessed, moving toward the patio door, keeping him in her sights as she backed up, wishing she was armed.

He advanced with the sleekness of a panther, his muscles rippling as he flexed them, his lips stil curved up at the corners. “I have many questions I wish answered, Tezra.”

The way he said her name sounded like he was attempting to draw her to him—to feed—hypnotic, wil ing the victim with words cloaked in black velvet.

“I didn’t think you were the kil er
until
you walked into my apartment. Why else would you have been there?”

“How did you know my name?”

“You told me.”

He cocked a dark brow and stopped.

“You thought it. I read your mind.”

He lifted his chin.

A lightbulb moment?

“Listen, you protected me in your way last night,” she said, frowning, “and I want to—” she nearly choked on the words after being held against her wil , “—thank you, but I have work to do, so just—” she bumped into the patio door with her backside and reached for the doorknob, “—get my boots back for me, and we’l cal it even.”

“What are you afraid of?”

His voice held no animosity toward her, only craving, desire and bloodlust raging through his system. She swal owed hard, and her skin tingled with anxiousness. Itching to have a sword in her hand, or the retractable knives fastened at her wrists, she mental y cursed Bernard for disarming her.

“I’m afraid of nothing,” she lied and hoped Daemon couldn’t tel . She tried the patio doorknob.
Locked
.

“Your voice trembles.”

Here she thought she had her traitorous voice under control.

He skirted the bed, taking his time to reach her, showing off his wares that she attempted not to take account of…too much.

He tilted his chin down, the look in his eyes seductive, dark and dangerous.

He twisted his head toward the patio door, and she sensed the aura of a vampire outside, paralyzing her.
Krustalus.
Her skin chil ed and her nape crawled as if he wrapped his icy fingers around her neck.

Breaking free from the paralysis, she turned and stared out the window, but didn’t see any sign of the beast in the gloomy, mist-laden morning.

“Who is he?” Daemon asked.

“Krustalus,” she said with venom in her voice.

Daemon rested his hands on her shoulders, caressed them, sending a blanket of warmth through her, but she fought the sensual feelings, the heat, the strength, the al ure.

“Don’t, Daemon. Are you in league with the devil vampire?” If he were trying to placate her concerning Krustalus, it wouldn’t work. Yet on another level, she felt Daemon’s motives to soothe her were instinctual, protective. But she couldn’t take him touching her while the murderer was so close by.

Daemon withdrew his hands from her shoulders. “What has Krustalus done?” he asked, his tone edged with suspicion.

Turning her gaze from Daemon’s stern look, she glanced back out the window. “Nobody believes me.”

“I’m not just anybody.”

That was for sure. And she’d certainly never spoken to one of his kind about it. Her fingers itched for a weapon.

“Tezra?”

“He…he kil ed my parents and terrified my sister so that she has not spoken for ten years.” She wished she could strike the vampire down this instant. Staring into the mist, she vowed she wouldn’t al ow him to shake her up like he always did when he stole into her life.

She clenched her teeth and bit back the hopelessness that he would ever be brought to justice, that her sister would be freed from her silent prison. Tears threatened to spil , but she wil ed them back, not wanting to shed another drop, not while the menace lived. Rage burned in her soul, and if left to fester long enough, it would leave her bereft of feeling anything but hate until she died.

Silently she cursed Daemon for bringing up the painful subject, yet she assumed he only meant to help. The floodgates threatened to open, her head hammering with gusto as she tried to keep her emotions under control.
Show the vampire your
emotions, and you’ve lost the game,
her teachers would warn her.
Always control your feelings.