Demon Night (32 page)

“Or a job at Ramsdell Pharmaceuticals,” Jake said.

“When Michael shows up, I'll put that in front of him,” Ethan said. “I can't see as it would hurt to study the blood, but I don't know if he'll be wanting to follow in a demon's footsteps.”

Charlie read a little more. “Also, she's making Sammael give her samples of demon blood. She wants to know if she should send some down, so you have another link to her if you need one.”

“I reckon we can just keep it stored here. Ain't no one going to want to carry it around in their cache.” Ethan glanced at Jake as the younger Guardian shuddered. “And how is it that you know what demon blood feels like?”

“I don't,” Jake said. “I've just heard.”

Charlie's brows rose in question, and Ethan explained, “It creeps, Charlie. Nosferatu blood, too—but just when it's in our cache. I've heard a few vampires mention that it tastes better—more powerful—than vampire or Guardian blood.” He straddled the chair next to her. “Not that there's many vampires who've fed from demons or nosferatu—leastwise, not many who've lived to talk about it.”

Charlie angled the monitor so that he could more easily read Jane's message. “What's a nosferatu? Was that what you were fighting at Jane's house?”

“No, that was supposedly one of the nephilim,” he said, scanning the e-mail. “But the nosferatu ain't any more partial to vampires than the nephil was, Charlie. So if you ever encounter one of them, you take off running and get behind the spell.” He glanced over her head. “Jake? You want to show her what they look like?”

Charlie blinked and turned. Instinctively, she kicked at the floor, but Ethan caught her before her chair skidded across the room, away from the huge hulking monster Jake had become: pale and hairless, with membranous wings, pointed ears, and fangs twice as long as hers.

Then he was Jake again.

Ethan's hands smoothed over her arms. “Easy, Charlie. Hell, I should have prepared you for that.” His apology was almost lost below the choking noises he made, keeping his amusement in check.

She couldn't stop hers; now that the scare had passed, fear bubbled into laughter, and she said, “I saw that movie a couple of years ago. He wasn't that big, and his fangs were—” She held two fingers below her front teeth.

“All of that stuff is bullshit. The movies, the stories. They're just bits of the truth that humans have picked up over the years.” Ethan held her gaze, and his palms ran the length of her arms again, warming her skin. “You ready to make a few calls?”

To Jane, and then Old Matthew. Her stomach ached, but she nodded. “Yes.”

“We've got soundproofed rooms if you don't want to be overheard,” he said. “But if it's all right with you, I'd like to listen in.”

“You might as well.” She glanced at the computer, and offered him a shaky smile. “It'll probably be for you, anyway.”

 

Charlie hadn't been far off; Jane never asked for him, but the call wasn't much about Charlie, either.

Ethan watched her sit at a desk and smile her way through the conversation. She barely got a word in edgewise, but her fingers were busy. She fiddled through a small box of paper clips, straightening them out and lining them up in front of her, then using her ID card like a plow and pushing the pile around the desktop.

Sammael had done a damn good job of latching onto Jane where she was most vulnerable—and most ambitious. And wrapping both the research and Charlie's vampirism up into one goal meant that Jane was more excited about what her work might do for her sister than concerned about finding out how her sister was doing now.

Ethan reckoned Jane asked all the right questions—how was Charlie doing, did she have a place to stay, was she feeding—but Jane didn't listen to the answers all that well. Instead, she went on about everything she'd learned…and everything Sammael had told her.

Some of the information she relayed might have been new to Charlie, but not most of it—and there was nothing that Ethan hadn't already known or already figured.

Yes, Sammael was playing Jane real well.

And no matter how often Charlie called herself slow, she surely wasn't about this. Her face wasn't giving much away when she finally disconnected, but he could hear the hurt and frustration in her voice when she said, “It doesn't even matter what Sammael did to me, to all of those others. Or rather, it
matters
—but she just rationalizes it so that she doesn't feel like shit that she's still there, and so that she doesn't hate herself for it. Because she just can't cut herself off from him, can she?”

“No.”

She met his gaze and flushed, as if struck by guilt that she'd been critical of her sister. “I know she's doing what she thinks is best, but—”

“You also reckon she ain't thinking with her head.”

She struggled with that before admitting, “No. She's probably not.” She closed her eyes, and the tired smile curving her lips tugged at his chest. “Okay. Old Matthew now.”

A call that would force her to take another emotional beating. The dread was already dripping heavy from her psyche, and he saw the way she bolstered herself, staring at the phone as if it was an opponent to be defeated.

“Charlie.” He dropped into the chair beside hers, swiveled her to face him, and scooted forward until his knees bumped up against the front of her seat. “Just wait another day.”

He couldn't fight this for her. But maybe he could find some way to lessen the blow.

She firmed her lips and shook her head. But she held on to his hand when the old man answered, her fingers closing on Ethan's with crushing strength when a long pause followed her rough greeting.

“Well, Charlie—since you're calling, I'll assume it means you aren't coming in again.”

“I'm not.” She couldn't seem to get any more out.

There was another silence, until Old Matthew asked, “Are you sick, or are you just saying you are?”

She gritted her teeth and leaned forward, her shoulders hunching, and Ethan pulled her onto his lap. Resisting the need to take the phone and finish this for her was about the hardest thing he'd ever done.

“I'm just saying it.” She buried her face in the curve of his neck, the phone pressed tight to her ear. Her voice was thick. “I'm so sorry.”

“So am I, Charlie. But I'll tell you: I thought it was odd that the healthiest white girl I've ever seen, and who never missed a day of work in two years, suddenly came down with something so bad. But now I think what's even stranger is that she lied to me for a couple of days, all the while sounding like she's miserable—even though I've never known her to spin a lie that wasn't a hell of a good time, and that didn't have a laugh underneath of it. So I'm wondering, Charlie girl: Are you in some kind of trouble?”

She curled in on herself. “Yes.”

That had been more a sob than a word. A sharp pain cut through Ethan's chest, and he tried to pull back to look at her face, but she followed the movement, kept her cheek against his throat. Her free hand lifted and made a swiping motion.

“Where are you at, Charlie girl? Do you need me to come get you?”

“California.” She drew in a shuddering breath; resolve suddenly strengthened her psychic scent. Her fingers wrapped around Ethan's suspender strap, and she began rubbing at the leather. “But I'm okay. I'm with someone, and he's helping me. I just don't think I'll be back anytime soon.”

Doubt filled Old Matthew's voice. “Charlie, if it's keeping you away, what kind of trouble is it? Now, it's been a while, but I know a few lawyers. And if it's worse than that, there are a couple of guys from inside that owe me favors—”

“It's nothing like that.” She tipped her face back, and Ethan was finally able to meet her eyes. Her dark lashes were moist, but a smile tilted the corners of them. “I was turned into a vampire.”

Despite the ache in his chest, Ethan grinned and shook his head. But there was no humor in Old Matthew's reply.

“Charlie girl, that's what I expect from you. And if I hadn't thrown some clown out of here yesterday after he came in looking for you, asking about your sister, saying that your apartment had been cleaned out and that you were in danger from bloodsuckers and demons, I might have been laughing now.”

“So it was Mark Brandt,” Lilith said.

Though the woman's voice was slightly muffled over the phone, this time Charlie was close enough to hear her responses. Ethan was standing now, and had set her up on the desk in front of him—but hadn't quite relinquished his hold on her. His large hand rested on her hip, his body a mountain of heat in front of her.

“By Cole's description, I reckon it must have been,” Ethan said, and Charlie nodded her agreement when he met her eyes. “And Charlie had the same impression.”

Lilith made a growling noise before she said, “I hate this unexpected shit. Rael didn't know much about the son—just the father. And he had the same impression that you got from the bloodsucker up in Seattle: he was looking to expose all of us, but not wanting to venture further without proof.”

“It may be why he's trying to contact Jane, then—hoping she'll provide scientific evidence that can be presented to the media. And as she's already inside, has access to vampire blood, she'd be the right person to approach.”

“Through the son? That's a good possibility—that's what I would do.” Lilith sighed. “All right, Drifter. Hugh and I are looking over those Scrolls tonight. You'll be in Seattle tomorrow, and then back in the evening?”

“Yes'm.”

“We'll meet up at ten. It'd be real fucking nice if the goddamn golden boy Michael would get his ass back here.”

Ethan's expression turned grave as his gaze roamed Charlie's face. “I've got an awful pressing reason to speak with him, as well.”

His phone vanished a moment later, but he was still looking down at her, his eyes the color of honey caught in the sunlight. Slowly, he flattened his palms on the desk beside her thighs and lowered his head until his mouth was even with hers.

“You got anything else you need to do tonight, Miss Charlie?”

Her heart pounded. “No.”

“Then I'm about to hand you a whole lot of choices, and maybe we'll come up with something to fill the time.” His lips brushed a feather-light kiss across hers. “Do you like the desert?”

“I don't know,” she whispered, and added quickly when his head lifted, “I've never been.”

His mouth crooked into a smile. “A damn shame, Charlie. We'll have to rectify that.” The warmth of his fingers settled on her waist. “You want to take a trip? Because this warehouse has a few too many folk living in it, and I've got a big bed that'll fit nicely out in the middle of nowhere.”

She had to swallow to moisten her tongue. “That sounds really, really good.”

He lifted her against his chest, strode immediately for the door. “It sure as hell does. And I reckon we can play poker on it or I can teach you to hog-tie a calf—”

Her laugh almost choked her; he was moving so quickly the hallway was passing in a blur. “Fuck you, Drifter.”

“You just keep calling me that until we're on that bed, and don't lay your hands on me, or else we'll be falling out of the sky.”

Her head swam as he launched them into the air, and she held on tight, her fingers linking together around his neck. The wind burned past her cheeks, whipped her hair. “Have you ever…while flying?”

“Sure I have, Charlie. And damn near broke in half when we hit a tower.” His heated gaze dropped to hers for an instant before he looked ahead again. “Any man who attends to air currents more than he attends to his woman ought to just tuck it in and fly on home.”

She smiled and nipped softly at his throat. “I'll attend to you, too. And I should probably practice, so that my fangs won't poke anything sensitive.”

“My sensitive bits wouldn't last long enough for you to get any learning in. So you can do that after I've been inside you ten, maybe fifty times.”

He was going too fast to keep chatting, and she watched the landscape beneath them change as the minutes rolled by: the houses farther apart, then only sparse vegetation, scrub, and flat, jutting stones.

His voice was as rough as the terrain. “Will you give me your clothes, Charlie? I'd sure hate to rip anything while getting you out of them.”

A tremor shook through her. This apparently wasn't going to be a gentle undressing, a leisurely exploration. “Yes.”

Her clothing vanished. He wasn't flying so quickly now, and they were losing altitude; the wind caressed her skin, brushing and teasing.

And despite his arms beneath her legs and back, her body against his chest, Ethan still wasn't touching her.

The bed appeared below them, huge and white. Her stomach dropped as Ethan swooped, then pulled up to land beside it. He set her on the edge, and his jacket disappeared.

“Wait!” She scrambled up to her knees, her hands moving to his collar. He froze. “I want to take them off.”

Except for his slow nod, Ethan was absolutely still. “I'll be happy to oblige.”

She pushed the suspenders over his shoulders, let them fall alongside his thighs. After another second, his shirt fluttered to the ground, and she paused, sat back to look.

“Jesus, Ethan,” she breathed. “You should just walk around like this all the time.”

Ethan cleared his throat. “I was thinking something along the same lines about you, Miss Charlie.”

She glanced up in disbelief, but his face confirmed what his voice had suggested: a light flush stained his cheekbones.

“I'm awful modest,” he said softly. “But I sure am grateful that the look of me pleases you so much.”

“Pleases me?” She shook her head. “I've imagined you naked a million times since I saw you in the kitchen without your shirt. But you still knock me loopy.” A tug on his suspenders had his hips swaying toward her. “And I've never thought these looked good on anyone, but on you, they are the sexiest things I have
ever
seen.”

“Then I reckon I'll keep them on a bit longer.” He placed his hands on the bed, his gaze holding hers. She slid back, and he followed her, stalking slowly across the mattress on his hands and knees—his suspenders dangling and his trousers on, but his feet bare now. “And I'd be mighty appreciative if you wouldn't put your hands on me until I'm in you deep, and you just can't stand me working at you anymore. Because once you touch me, I figure it'll be over.”

Desire licked beneath her womb, heavy and moist. “Okay,” she whispered.

“Now, you've got another choice to make, Charlie.”

“What choice?” She'd stopped in the middle of the bed, but Ethan kept coming.

“Whether it'll be my hands first, or my mouth,” he said.

Oh, Lord.
She dropped back on her elbows as he moved over her and planted his hands beside her shoulders, his knees outside hers.

But Ethan didn't lower his weight; he just held himself braced above her. The desert air was cold, arid; she drew it in hard and fast, her excitement closing her throat, leaving her unable to speak.

His head bent toward hers. “My mouth,” he repeated softly and caught her lips in a fiery kiss. Her fingers clenched in the soft mattress padding, and her feet slid across its smooth surface. “Or my hands?”

He pushed his thumb past her lips, ran the rough pad beneath the tip of her left fang.

It might as well have been a brush over her clitoris, a lick to her nipples. Her hips lifted; a needy moan rasped from her throat.

But any sound louder than that was beyond her. Frustration only made it worse. She lifted her hands to cup his face, her brows drawing together with her anxiety. “Both,” she forced out, and it wasn't much more than a husky vibration of air.

He studied her for a long second, and his thumb traced a warm, wet trail over her scar. “Why don't you show me what you want, Miss Charlie? I'll give it to you, slow and easy. But you've got to think it hard.”

What she wanted…?
Oh, Jesus.
Familiar images flipped through her mind: her legs wrapping around his big body. His gentle touch on her skin. Her panties ripping. Her soft sighs of pleasure. Her hands bound with leather, with metal. Her nipples abraded by his teeth, the rough hair of his chest. Her nails digging into his back. A nightgown pushed up over her hip, her sex exposed. Panting and crying as he took his time, took too much time. Against a wall. A table. Tied to a bed. Bent over on her apartment balcony. His tongue on her clit, his fingers sliding—

“Charlie,” he groaned, his eyes closing. “Slow and easy.”

Ethan kissing her.

His need flared between them, and he lowered his head again to murmur against her lips, “Just like that, Miss Charlie.”

And it was hotter, wetter than she'd imagined, and she matched each erotic stroke of his tongue.

His hands on her breasts.

But the pale image shattered against the reality of his palms cupping their soft weight. Her nipples puckered beneath his fingers. Tight and aching—not from cold, but heat.

She wanted his mouth.

Ethan leisurely made his way down, tasting and licking her chin, her throat. Her hands smoothed over his shoulders.

He caught her wrists, pushed them over her head at the same moment his lips captured her nipple. His tongue seared her flesh. She cried out, a thin, ragged exhalation. His teeth scraped gently, and he began suckling the taut peak.

She needed more.

Needed Ethan, finding her slick and ready with his fingers, his mouth.

His groan rumbled across her skin, and he raised his head, shifted up until his face was just above hers again. “All right, Miss Charlie,” he said hoarsely. His fingers tightened around her wrists; his opposite palm slid down the sensitive curve of her belly. “I figure you'll want to come once or twice before I'm done. You can do that with a couple drops of your blood. It'll be when you choose, and how you choose it.”

She nodded and squirmed, tried to lift her hips, to force his touch where she wanted it to go. Desire held her tight, but his easy heat had softened her frustration…and her throat.

Not much, but enough to whisper his name.

“That's awful good to hear,” he said, and dropped a rough kiss to her lips. Then another, deeper, before tearing his mouth from hers. “I'm on the edge, about to ride you hard, and that's from barely touching you. So if I'm going to keep my britches on a bit longer, we got to do something about you forgetting your hands.”

His mention made her realize her fingers were rubbing against each other; she stilled them, but they immediately itched to be moving again. “They like to be busy.”

And they liked touching him even more.

“I know it, Charlie. I reckon you just need a little reminder, and after those images you sent me, I have one in mind.” His amber gaze searched hers. Metal clinked beside her. “But not if the reality of it spooks you. I want to make this real good for you.”

She turned her head, saw the slim cuffs beyond the spread of her hair. Her heart raced. Fear and pain had always threatened this fantasy—the memory of real cuffs, and the devastation of losing her voice. But the arousal had always been sharper in contrast, as if heightened by that threat and the triumph of not succumbing to it.

And this time, it would be with Ethan.

She met his eyes again. “There's nothing to tie them to.” No headboard, no posts—just an endless sea of a mattress.

“I ain't thinking of tying you down,” Ethan said, then grinned. “Not today, leastwise. I figure if you associate that jangling sound with not touching me, use it as a reminder, we'll be all right. And when you're ready to get rid of them, you tell me and I'll unlock them right quick.”

“Okay.” Excitement was tightening her voice again. The metal was cold, cooler even than her skin. Ethan lingered over it, watching her face as the bracelets clicked home.

His thumb ran along her wrist. “I aim to be attending to you a good while. If you need anything, or you get lonely up here, you just let me know.”

She grabbed as much of the soft mattress top as she could and held on. “I think I'll be okay.”

Pushing Ethan onto his back, running her hands over his shoulders, kissing her way down the muscular ridges of his abdomen. Unbuttoning his trousers, lowering her mouth…

She let the image fade.

With a groan, Ethan said, “That was awful mean, Miss Charlie.”

“So is not letting me touch you.” She panted as his palm slid low on her belly, his fingers spreading wide. She lay between his knees, his body so big above her, his breath so warm on her lips.

His gaze never moved from her face as he lightly dipped in.

She shuddered; her thighs trapped his hand.

Ethan stilled. “You closed up real quick there. You all right?”

“Yes.” She moved against his palm, gasping. “It's just too good.”

His lids lowered fractionally. “Are you thinking of denying yourself this, then?”