Lover Unleashed (40 page)

“Kill?” Xcor cocked a brow. “I do not wish him a coffin for a bed. Not a’tall. I bid him a long life . . . such that he may stew in the juices of his failure.”

Throe shook his head. “I know not why you hate him so.”

“Please.” Xcor rolled his eyes. “I have nothing against him personally. It is his status that I covet, pure and simple. For him to be alive whilst I sit upon his throne is just an added spice for my meal.”

“Sometimes . . . I fear you are mad.”

Xcor narrowed his eyes. “I assure you . . . I am neither enraged nor insane. And you should walk carefully the line you stand upon with comments like that.”

He was fully capable of killing his old friend. Today. Tonight. Tomorrow. His father had taught him that soldiers were no different from any other weapon—and when they were in danger of misfiring? They had to go.

“Forgive me.” Throe bowed slightly. “My debt to you remains. As does my loyalty.”

Such a sap. Although in truth, Xcor murdering the male who had defiled Throe’s sister had been a very worthwhile investment of time and blade, for it had tied this steadfast and true fighter to him. E’ermore.

Throe had sold himself to Xcor to get the deed done. Back then, the male had been too much of a dandy to commit the murder with his own hand, and so he had forced himself into the shadows to seek what he would never have invited in through even the service entrance of his mansion. He had been shocked when the money offered had been turned down, and had started to walk off when Xcor had made his demand.

A quick jogging of the memory as to the condition his sister had been found in had been enough to get a pledge out of him.

And subsequent training had done wonders. Under Xcor’s tutelage Throe had hardened o’er time, like steel forged in heat. Now he was a killer. Now he was useful for something other than playing social statue at dinner parties and balls.

Such a shame his bloodline hadn’t seen the transformation as an improvement—in spite of the fact that his father had been a Brother, for godsakes. You’d think the family would have been grateful. Alas, they had disowned the poor fucker.

It made Xcor positively weep every time he thought about it.

“You will write to them.” Xcor smiled again, his fangs tingling, his cock doing likewise. “You will write to all of them and you will announce our arrival. You will point out their losses, reminding them of the young and the females that were cut down that summer night. You will recall to their minds all the audiences they have not had with their king. You will express the proper outrage on their behalf and you will do it in a way they will understand—because you were once one of them. And then we shall wait . . . to be summoned.”

Throe bowed. “Aye, my
leahdyre
.”

“In the meantime, we shall hunt for
lessers
and keep a tally of our killings. So that when they ask after our health and well-being, which the aristocracy is wont to do, we can inform them that although prime-bred horses are pretty in the stables . . . a pack of wolves is what you want guarding your back door.”

The
glymera
were worthless on so many levels, but they were as predictable as a pocket watch; self-preservation was what made their hands, big and small, go ’round and ’round . . . and ’round once more.

“Best go get your rest,” Xcor drawled. “Or are you already on the hunt for one of your diversions.” When there was no answer, he frowned at the reply hidden within the lack of response. “You have a purpose above and beyond what passed our fighting hours previously. The human dead are of far less concern than the living enemy of ours.”

“Aye.”

Read:
Nay
.

“Do not tarry in other pursuits to the disadvantage of our goals.”

“Have I ever let you down?”

“There is still time, old friend.” Xcor stared at the male from beneath half-masted lids. “There is always time for your bleeding-heart nature to get you into trouble. And lest you disagree, may I remind you of the circumstances you have found yourself in for the last two centuries.”

Throe stiffened. “No. You need not. I am perfectly aware of where I am.”

“Good.” Xcor nodded. “That is rather important in this life. Carry on.”

Throe bowed. “I bid you good sleep, my
leahdyre
.”

Xcor watched the male depart, and as he found himself alone once again, the burning in his body annoyed him. Sexual need was such a waste of time, for it neither killed nor nourished, but on a regular basis, his cock and balls needed something other than a rough tugging session.

When darkness fell this coming night, Throe was going to have one other thing to procure for the band of bastards, and this time, Xcor was going to be forced to have his fill of it.

And they were going to need blood, as well. Preferably not human, but if they had to make do for now?

Well, they’d just have to get rid of the bodies, wouldn’t they.

THIRTY-FOUR

B
ack in the training center, Manny woke up on the hospital bed, not in the chair. After a momentary confusion, hazy memories brought it all back: After the butler had shown up with the food, Manny had eaten in the office, as Jane had told him to do—and that, as opposed to inside his car, was where he’d found his cell phone, wallet, keys, and briefcase. The little collection of Manellomentos had been right out in full view, just sitting on a chair, and the lack of security surprised him, given how locked-down everything else was.

Except then he’d turned his cell phone on and found that the SIM card was gone.

And he’d been willing to bet that he’d need an atomic bomb to get into or out of the garage without their permission. So his keys were immaterial.

Briefcase? Nothing but a PowerBar and some paperwork that had absolutely nothing to do with underground facilities, vampires, or Payne.

Guess all the why-bother explained the out-in-the-open.

He’d been ready to throw in the proverbial towel when it came to checking his voice mail, but then he’d taken a flyer and reached for the AT&T office phone at his elbow. Picking up the receiver, he’d hit 9 . . . and the dial tone had been a total shocker. Although, really, what were the chances that anyone would be left unattended down here? Slim to none.

Except on a day when ninety percent of them had been injured fighting, and the other ten percent were worried about their brothers.

In short order, Manny had run through three voice mail systems: home, cell, and office. The first had had two messages from his mother. Nothing specific—house repairs were needed and she’d bogeyed the dreaded ninth hole. The cell had had one from the vet that he’d had to listen to twice. And the office . . . had been just as depressing as the Glory shit: There had been seven messages from colleagues around the country and it was all so shatteringly normal. They wanted him to fly out and do consults or give papers at conferences or make spaces in his residency program for their kids or family friends.

The sad truth was, those run-of-the-mill requests lagged behind where his life was really at, kind of like he’d hung a tight louie and faked out the poor bastards who were calling him. And he had no idea, once these vampires worked on his brain again, whether there would be anything left to count to ten with, much less use to operate on a patient or run a surgical department. There was no way of knowing what condition he was going to be in when he came out of all this—

The sound of a toilet flushing had him bolting upright.

As the bathroom door opened, he saw Payne’s silhouette spotlit from behind, her johnny disappearing into nothing more than a filmy sheet.

Sweet . . . baby . . . Jesus . . .

His morning hard-on started to pound, and didn’t that make him wish he’d slept in the damn chair. Trouble was, when he’d finally come back to her, he hadn’t had the strength to say no when she’d asked him to join her.

“You wake,” she said in a husky voice.

“And you are up.” He smiled a little. “How’re the legs feeling?”

“Weak. But they work.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I should like a shower. . . .”

Shit, with the way that trailed off, she was looking for some help—and his mind went straight to the pair of them separated by nothing but soap.

“I think there’s a bench to sit on.” He got up on the far side of the bed so that he could tuck his erection into the waistband of the scrubs.

Going over to her, he tried to give her as much room as possible as he ducked into the bath. “Yeah, right here.”

He reached in and turned on the water, then angled the bench around. “I’ll set this up—”

Glancing over his shoulder, he froze solid. Payne had loosened the ties of her hospital gown and was slowly, inexorably . . . letting the front . . . fall from her shoulders.

As the spray hit his arm and started soaking the top of his scrubs, he swallowed hard—and found himself wanting to scream when her hands caught the very top and held it to her breasts.

She stayed like that, as if she were waiting to see what he was going to say, and as their eyes locked, his cock strained so hard, it was a wonder it didn’t bust open the front of his frickin’ pants.

“Let it go,
bambina
,” he heard himself say.

And she did.

Fucking hell, he’d never wanted to worship the law of gravity before, but he did now: He wanted to prostrate himself at Newton’s altar and weep with gratitude for the blessing that made all things fall to the goddamn ground.

“Look at you,” he growled, watching those pink tips get tight.

Without conscious thought or any warning, his wet arm reached out and grabbed her, pulling her to his mouth, holding her hard as he sucked her nipple in and tongued her. But he didn’t need to worry he’d offended her. Payne’s hands dove into his hair and she cradled him against her as he suckled on her, bending her back until he was holding her upright and she was all naked female ready to be devoured.

Maneuvering her around, he canned the light and took them both under the warm spray of the shower. As her body illuminated from within, he sank onto his knees, catching with his tongue the hot water that sluiced between her breasts and ran down her stomach.

As she threw her hand out to catch her balance, he was on it, guiding her down so that she was safely sitting on the bench. Arching up, he palmed her nape and kissed her deep as he went for the soap and got ready to make sure she was very, very clean. As her tongue met his own, he was so into the feel of her nipples brushing against his chest and her lips against his own that he didn’t notice or care that his hair was plastering onto his skull or that the scrubs had Saran Wrapped on him, clinging to his body.

“Healer . . .” she gasped as he started soaping her skin.

Her upper body grew slick and hot as his palms went all over her, from her neck to the tops of her hip bones. And then he started in on her legs, working her delicate feet and ankles and moving ever upward, over her calves and the backs of her knees.

Water was all around them, falling between them, washing her off as soon as he sudsed her up, and the sound of it falling on the tile was drowned out only by her moans.

Shit was only going to get louder, too.

Sucking on her neck, he spread her knees wider and wider, pushing himself between them. “I told you”—he bit her a little—“you would like bathtime.”

In response, her hands speared into his shoulders, her nails digging in and making him wonder if it wasn’t time to start thinking about baseball stats, zip codes . . . car prices.

Eleanor Roosevelt.

“You were correct, healer,” she said, panting. “I love it—but you are too well clothed.”

Manny closed his eyes as he shuddered. And then he got enough control over himself so he could speak. “Nah . . . I’m good the way I am. You just lean back and let me take care of this.”

Before she could respond, he sealed his mouth on hers and pushed her against the wall with his chest. To get her to stay away from the subject of his getting naked, he slid both hands up the insides of her thighs and ran his fingertips across her sex.

As he felt how wet she was—and it was the kind of wet that had nothing to do with water and everything to do with what he wanted all over his tongue—he pulled back a little and looked down.

Fucking . . . hell . . . she was so ready for him. And, man, what she looked like, all bent back, the water making her breasts glisten, her lips parted and a little bruised from him kissing her, her legs spread apart.

“Will you take me now?” she moaned, her eyes flashing, her fangs elongating.

“Yes . . .”

He gripped her knees and went down, putting his mouth where his eyes had locked. As she cried out, he went for it hard and fast, engulfing her sex, driving her hard, making no excuses for how much he wanted her. When she blew apart, his tongue went into her and he felt it all, the pulses, the way she jerked against his chin and nose, the hard grip of her hands on his head.

No reason to stop there.

With her, he had endless stamina, and he knew, as long as his scrubs stayed on him, he could keep going like this with her . . . forever.

Vishous woke up in a bed that was not his own, but it didn’t take him more than a nanosecond to know where he was: the clinic. In one of the recovery rooms.

After giving his eyes a good rub, he glanced around. The light was on in the bathroom and its door was cracked, so there was plenty to see by . . . and the first thing that stood out was the duffel bag across the way on the floor.

It was one of his. Specifically, the one he’d given Jane.

She wasn’t here, however. Not in this room, at least.

As he sat up, he felt as if he’d been in a car accident, aches and pains blooming all over his body like he was an antenna and every single radio signal in the world was channeling into his nervous system. With a groan, he shifted around so that his legs dangled off the bed—and then he had to take a little breather.

Couple of minutes later, it was a case of push and pray: He shoved his weight off the mattress and hoped—