Eternal Beast: Mark of the Vampire (16 page)

“Good,” Gray said tightly. “Because that’s not going to happen.”

“Doesn’t have to be you getting them out though,” Vincent said with the intelligent, calm thing he was always working. “Besides, I hear the old way into the Paleo ain’t happening. Heard it’s crawling with guards. It’d be like walking into a bank that’s been hit three days in a row and expecting to get out with anything less than a shot in the leg and a pair of metal bracelets around your wrists.”

Though the interior of his skull continued to scream, Gray’s eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll find another way in.”

“How?” Vincent demanded, frustration pumping behind his eyes. “And how will you get there and back? The Pureblood who helped us out before has been taken. He’s being questioned by the Order. No car, no gas, Brother.”

“I’ll help you.”

They all turned to see Dillon standing there halfway between the hall and where the warriors stood in the main room.

Rio snorted. “So the cat’s lost its fur,” he said. “And its way, apparently.”

Before Gray could shut the male down, Dillon did it for him.

“Listen, Impure,” she said, eyeing the military badass. “I’m here to stay. As a guest of your leader there.”

Dropping into the chair he’d occupied earlier, Rio chuckled. “Just because Gray wants you around—or feels sorry for your kitty-cat ass—doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”

“Maybe save that newsflash for something surprising—and something I give a shit about,” Dillon returned, walking into the room. Her eyes remained on Rio. “Now, unless you want to go a couple rounds with a Pureblood
veana
who’s trained to stop a heartbeat in under five seconds—which I’m
totally
up for, by the way—then let’s talk tactic.”

“I don’t talk tactic with the enemy,” he returned.

Her brow lifted. “I thought the Order was the enemy. Maybe you’re the one who’s forgetting why you’re here and what you’re fighting for.”

“Fuck you,
Mutore
.”

“No, fuck you and the high horse you rode in on.” She gave him the finger, then smiled. “By the way, I had it for breakfast and it was damn tasty. Maybe you’ll be next. I’d lock your door at night.”

Gray grinned—at her, at Rio. He hadn’t said a word through the whole back and forth, just sat and watched
the show. Hell, the lady needed no help. Not when it came to picking up a cocky male by the nuts and tossing him off a cliff. In fact, he was pretty sure that to even suggest help at this point was an insult to her talent. And damn, the
veana
had talent. Her verbal takedown was a motherfucking thing of beauty—just like she was. Nothing better, nothing hotter than Death-Blow Dillon.

He stared at her long, lean body with the curves up top and down below, his mouth watering and his dick jerking to life inside his jeans. Oh, damn…And then there was the fact that she was wearing his clothes. A simple white T-shirt knotted against her small waist, showing off that flat, hard stomach. His jeans were way too big on her, but she’d cuffed them at the bottom and rolled the waist. He wondered if she was also wearing a pair of his boxers.

His nostrils flared, his hands closed around the sides of his chair. He didn’t know which was sexier—his briefs on her hot little ass and cunt or nothing at all.

Knowing she’d shut up Rio, Dillon turned to face Gray then, her eyes narrowing at the expression on his face—which was no doubt a mask of desperate cavemanlike lust. “I want to help you,” she said.

Gray wasn’t fool enough to think this was in any way a question. “Me or the Resistance?” he asked.

Her lips parted and she smiled, flashing her fangs. “Whatever gets me out of here, gets my fists up and a gun in my hand.” She shook her head. “I can’t sit around here all day doing nothing.”

Gray stared at her, into those steely hazel eyes. He got what she was saying, what she needed. She’d been
caged too long, behind bars and under that animal fur. And not for nothing, but he wouldn’t mind having her on the team. If she could manage to play ball.

“She’s a
mutore
,” Piper said, no malice to her tone. “If she shifts while she’s in the field, the Order will be on it before you have a chance to take out anyone.”

Dillon’s gaze moved to the female. “I won’t shift, honey.”

“That easy, huh?” Piper said with a slight grin. “I thought you’d lost control of it.”

“She has control,” Gray said. He stood. He’d had enough of this play. Dillon had had her fun with Rio and the hostility with Piper was cute and all, but they were acting as though this was anyone else’s decision but his.

“She will remain in control,” Gray stated flatly. “Just as she will remain here with me.” He gave each of his warriors a look that warned them to cease fire. Then he turned to Dillon. “I accept your help, but understand—my mission, my rules. Stray once and you’re out, back to my room.”

Back to my bed
.

Celestine felt her daughter’s presence before she saw her, and turned from the window she was staring out of. Blue eyes wide with surprise, cheeks flushed, Sara rushed into the room.

“Mom!”

Celestine opened her arms, and when the
veana
walked into them, she held her tightly. It felt so wonderful to touch her child. It had been too long.

“It’s so good to see you,” Sara said, pulling away
and guiding Celestine over to the couch. “I have so much to tell you.”

Cellie’s chest tightened. She was a sham of a
veana
in that moment, unworthy to even be called a parent. This young female wanted to sit and spend time talking, reflecting on the past or sharing stories of her life now with Alexander and his brothers. And Celestine could think only of Gray and what she must do.

“But first,” Sara began, that trademark gleam of curiosity lighting her eyes as she sensed something. “What are you doing here? I mean, I’m glad you are—but no phone call, no warning?” Those beautiful eyes—her father’s eyes—narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

Lying to one’s children for their own protection was acceptable, had to be. It kept them safe, kept them alive. Celestine settled on the couch and took her daughter’s hand in her own. “I’ve missed you, and I thought, why not come and surprise you with a visit.”

For one moment it looked as though Sara was going to question that answer, but then she shook her head and smiled. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

“I’ve tried to reach Gray as well,” Celestine continued hurriedly. “I’d love to see him on this visit, if it’s possible.”

Sara’s joy dimmed. “Yeah. It’s not an easy endeavor getting through to Gray or pinning him down for anything social. He’s good, though. Doing his own thing.”

“For the Impures?” Celestine asked quickly. Perhaps too quickly.

A look of surprise moved over Sara’s face. “How did you know?”

Celestine forced a laugh. “It wouldn’t be all that
grand of a leap, my darling. He finds out he’s a vampire, an Impure, and goes in search of what that means.” She shrugged. “It’s what I would’ve done.”

Sara looked momentarily stricken. “Should I have done that too? Am I a bad Impure for not wanting to know more about what that means or jumping into that life, that cause, without truly—?”

“No, no, Sara. Please, honey.” This was not how she’d wanted this to go.

“Perhaps I need to think about this some more,” Sara said, her face tense with self-analysis. “You and Dad wanted to protect us from the Order, didn’t want them to find your Impure offspring. I feel as though I completely understand that.” She touched her stomach absentmindedly. “If I had a child someday…I would do the very same thing.”

Guilt moved through Celestine like a fish through water, like a fish escaping a shark. Sara knew all she needed to know, all that was important. And she had Alexander and Nicholas and Lucian to protect her now.

But who protected Gray?

“I would really like to see your brother,” she said again. “How do I do that? He won’t return my phone calls, won’t seek me out.”

Sara put her hand over her mother’s. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll take you to him myself.”

“No, my dear,” Cellie said quickly. There was no way she was having the Order on Sara’s tail as well. “It’s better if he and I meet somewhere. Somewhere private.”

Suspicion clouded Sara’s eyes. “Why?”

Something heavy and thick rested in Celestine’s
throat. She thought for a moment about telling her daughter the truth about the Order, about them knowing that Gray was housing a
mutore
. But what was the point? A moment ago, Sara had been questioning herself, her feelings about the past and her choices regarding the present. She didn’t need to know. It was only Gray who needed the truth.

Her gaze rested on her daughter’s. “I don’t wish to ambush him. Showing up on his doorstep without warning. I’m afraid it would make him even more distant and unforgiving.”

The wariness in Sara’s eyes worried Celestine. Her daughter had always been so protective, so proactive in regard to her brother. From the moment that fire had destroyed their family and Gray’s mind, she’d taken his illness on herself. She’d become a psychiatrist for him, to heal him. Would she relax her cautious nature just this once?

“I think the tunnels below our home would do well for a meeting place,” Sara said at last, her expression now impassive as she took control over the situation. “I’ll contact him and set up a time.”

Cellie smiled. “Perfect.” She took a deep breath and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Shall we have that chat now?”

“Later,” Sara said, her eyes just a little less bright now. “You go upstairs and get your things unpacked. I’ll make us some tea.”

“They drained the shit out of me.”

“They did warn you about that.”

“Not helping, D.”

Dillon pulled Gray away from the wall. “Come on, now. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Fine. But don’t think I’m going to be an easy lay,” he uttered, leaning against her as they walked down the hall. “I’m not that out of it.”

“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”

With a quick burst of energy, Gray took her hand and pulled her close, leaned back against the door to his room. His eyes found hers; his lips were just inches away. “Don’t try too hard, okay?”

If Dillon’s heart could beat, if it could thump against her ribs with girlish excitement, it would have in that moment—and at jackrabbit speed. She stood there, breathing in and out as he gazed into her eyes and contemplated kissing her.

Do it!
she wanted to shout.

What are you waiting for, Impure?

For a second, she thought about leaning in and getting it done herself. Tasting him, maybe running her tongue across that full bottom lip, but then his knees buckled.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, dropping his head back against the door. “Those greedy bastards. Took a good twenty pints at least.”

“That’d be a clever trick,” Dillon said with deep sarcasm, “since the body has, like, only twelve pints in it to start with.”

“Don’t get technical when I’m about to pass out,
Veana
.”

Grinning, she hauled him toward her, then kicked the door closed behind herself. “Come on, blood boy,” she said, helping him inside and easing him down on
the bed. She made to stand, but Gray wasn’t letting go—no how, no way—and she was forced to land on top of him.

Well, not exactly forced.

She rolled to the side—
her
side of the bed—and began to inspect his temples. She had watched both Piper and Vincent pull the memory from Gray’s mind. It had taken no more than ten minutes, but it looked brutal, and she wondered how often Gray was having them do this.

She touched one of the bite marks. “Kind of a butchering mess here. An Impure’s bite. Maybe I need to give some lessons in clean strikes.”

“Yeah, they’d be all kinds of receptive to that.”

Her thumb brushed against the wound. “Do you want me to give you a nice blow job?”

Gray’s head turned, his eyes lifted, and a wicked grin broke on his face. “You already did, and for the record, it was way better than nice.”

Dillon’s insides stirred at his words, at the look in his eyes. “Doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.”

His smile softened, and the look in his eyes turned to something far more intimate than sex. “I appreciate that, but if anyone is getting blown tonight, baby, it’s you.”

She licked her lips. “I may act like a
paven
, talk like a
paven
, fight like a
paven
—I may even fuck like one. But there’s no twig and berries down there to blow, Gray.”

“No twig,” he whispered, his gaze hungry, feral. “But there is a berry, sweet and ripe and buried within the hot, wet lips of your cunt.” He gazed into her eyes,
no doubt watching to see if there would be shock there, heat there, need there. If he was reading her right, he saw all three. “In fact,” he continued, “I felt those lips against my palm not too long ago. Remember?”

She swallowed thickly. As if she could forget. That touch had started it all, cooled her shift while heating her body to a point of desire so worrisome she’d pulled away from him so she didn’t have to examine the effect of his hands on her.

Remember? Ah. Yeah.

In fact, her lower half was getting a repeat performance right now. Bitch.

Gray rolled onto his side, which sent Dillon onto her back. He gazed down at her, growled possessively as he noticed what she was wearing. “I like you in my clothes. Shit, I like you in my bed.”

Trying to ignore the warmth that moved through her at his words, Dillon nodded at the bit of blood seeping from the wound on his temple. “Let me close those bite marks. Come here.”

Gray lowered his head, and Dillon leaned in. She was about to release her healing
veana
’s breath on his left temple when a sudden animal-like instinct took over her and she lapped at the excess blood instead.

Gray hissed.

“Hurts?” she asked, concerned.

“Like a wet dream,” he said roguishly.

Dillon smiled, then licked him again.

“You lick me and I get to lick you,” he uttered with dark hunger. “It’s only fair.”

“When have I ever cared about being fair?” But Dillon could hardly deny the lust, the need, the urgency
rippling through her body at his words, at the images those words brought to her mind.