Heroes (14 page)

That Enforcer, and every vampire in Seattle, had eventually been executed or exiled for involvement in magic that used child abuse in dark rituals even most vampires found unforgivable. Istvan the
dhamphir
came in and wiped out a city’s vampire population to put a stop to it. Char had the bad feeling that something similar was going to happen here. She had no evidence, but she trusted her instincts. And she hated being used by fate nearly as much as Geoff Sterling did.

“But we’re
not
really vampires, are we?” he questioned.

Chapter 12

 
It was not the scent of coffee that woke her. Char woke because that was what vampires did at sunset. But there was comfort in the scent of coffee, in knowing that there was someone from the daylight world that cared enough to have the warm drink waiting for her. A gift. A gesture of affection. Jebel Haven didn’t have a warm, fragrant cup waiting for her every night; he wasn’t even always there when she first came back to life. But waking now, knowing he was with her, that he cared—

Left her feeling a traitor. Dirty. Unfaithful.

It had only been a kiss. She hadn’t instigated it. It had been without substance.

And it left her so aroused she woke blind with the need. Beyond the scent of coffee, overwhelming that dark richness, there was blood. There was flesh. There was need in him that ran near the surface as blue veins beneath fragile flesh.

“Jebel,” she said, and reached for him.

Arms came around her, pulling her up, pulling her close. A mouth came down on Char’s. She tasted coffee on his tongue. She drank him in, demanding. He was the first to moan with desire. The sound was muffled against her mouth, but roared through her.

She strained against his hands when they moved over her.

“Damn, woman!” he muttered, then sucked hard on one nipple, then the other.

One of the things she loved about Jebel was that he didn’t ask questions in the bedroom. Didn’t need to be seduced. He was always willing, always ready. And so very able. He gave her everything a man could.

Everything a mortal man could.

She forced the thought away. Forced herself not to think at all. At least, as much as she could. She was so used to the ache in her mating fangs it had become a part of her arousal. Most of the time the need to taste him was something she could ignore. This wasn’t most of the time.

“Damn, St—”

Jebel’s head came up from her breast. “Wha—?”

“Damn, good,” she said, and pushed his head back into the softness of her breast. “More!”

His lips closed on her hard nipple once more. She gasped with pleasure. And ran her fingers through thick, dark hair. Salt and pepper hair, she noticed. He wasn’t getting any younger, and he led a hard life. His body was hard-muscled, his wits sharp—but he was mortal.

She could fix that.

She needed the taste of him on her tongue, salt copper sliding down her throat. A drop of him to quench her own thirst. Just a drop.

She was a creature of claws and fangs. He knew what he was getting with her. She was a wild thing. Dangerous to bed. He liked the danger, loved the razor’s edge, knew he’d have to pay for the thrill.

And he was hers. Oh, yes. Hers.

Char ran her hands over the taut muscles of Jebel’s back, caressed his buttocks and thighs. She kissed his shoulder and throat, scraped throbbing fangs against warm flesh. She breathed in the scents of sweat and lust—and the perfume of mortal decay. The subtle, constant, born in blood and muscle and bone smell of death was always mixed in with the vitality of life. There was no hint of fear in his emotions, only the fire of lust. He knew what she was, wanted her. Trusted her.

Not to turn on him. Not to take without asking.

Does he think I’m weak?
a stray thought threaded through her desire.

Strong,
a thought came back to her in Jebel’s deep, rough voice.
Strong and beautiful.

She wasn’t used to his touching her like that, caressing her thoughts as well as her body. He was growing stronger, and reveling in that strength was aphrodisiacal for Char.

She came even before he entered her. When he did, her body arched in a spasm of pleasure, and she felt him respond through a sudden psychic link that was nearly as strong as a companion bond.

Love,
he thought at her. Then he was lost to words, lost in visceral, male sensation.

She held him tight, vampire tight, leaving bruises, drawing a groan, and a dark, deep laugh. He pumped into her hard and fast then, a wild man answering the needs of a wild woman.

She needed this. Damn, how she needed this. She needed Jebel Haven.

Needed him so much that she didn’t realize what she was doing until her mouth closed over his shoulder. She tasted the salt of sweat, felt the resistance of flesh, the erotic pop as the tips of mating fangs broke through the fragile barrier of skin. Then there was sex blood on her tongue, full of the rich, musky taste of hormones and heat.

Jebel howled, but not with pain. As she took a drop or two of rich red blood, Jebel stiffened against her, his orgasm filling her body and stabbing deep into her mind. Satisfaction settled on her like a heavy blanket, the same way Jebel covered her when he collapsed on her in a heavy, satiated heap.

She was greedy, wanting more blood, more sex. She was almost as hungry for it as a new-made vampire. How lovely it would be to lose herself in the craving, satisfaction, craving cycle that required no thought, no responsibility, no action outside of take, take, take.

She could do it, she knew. All she needed was to put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door, then pin Jebel on the bed and have him the way a vampire was permitted to use any mortal with strong psychic gifts. Bleed him, fuck him, fuck him and bleed him. She wouldn’t even have to make him a companion, though she’d have to be careful not to bleed him dry if she didn’t give him her blood to replace the energy she drained from him.

It was only a selfish impulse, of course. She was a grown-up vampire, and didn’t behave like that. Then again—if she changed the scenario, made it into a give and take—Jebel would be a vampire within a week.