Nocturnal Urges (Nocturnal Urges, Book One) (3 page)

Sometimes, though, you just want your guy to pick up on what you want without spelling it out for him.

Isabel zipped up her skirt, wishing there was a bathroom somewhere so she could freshen up a bit. Somewhere, the pounding music came to a sudden stop, replaced with thundering footsteps and raised voices. Until the music stopped, Isabel hadn’t been quite aware of its constant pressure, the rhythm behind the walls that seemed to radiate sex.

“That’s weird,” Duane said. “I wonder—”

He didn’t get to finish his statement, because the door flung open and a short, severe woman in jeans and a jacket stood braced in the doorway. Her hand rested at her hip, and Isabel knew without being told that the woman had a gun. Isabel pulled the velvet wrap around her shoulders, acutely aware that she was wearing only the slip and her skirt.

“Everything all right in here? Are you both okay?” the woman asked.

“Yeah,” Duane said. “What’s going on?”

The woman shook her head in a fast, businesslike manner, and Isabel realized she was a cop. “Please don’t leave this room, sir. You or the lady. Someone will be back to talk to you in a minute.”

She stepped back, and the door swung closed.

“Shit,” Duane said. “A bust.”

Isabel gaped at him. “You said it was legal!”

“It is,” Duane said. “But plenty of people bring stuff that isn’t legal here. The bite’s legal, and vampire prostitution is legal, because they can’t carry disease or impregnate you. But nothing’s gonna stop some idiot from bringing fireweed to the party and ruining it for the rest of us.”

Isabel pulled her shirt back on. “You’re sure? I really wasn’t up for getting arrested tonight.”

Duane smiled. “But you liked it? It was good?”

She ducked her head, oddly embarrassed. It had been his idea, so it seemed silly to be shy about it. But her legs were still shaky, her stomach still full of butterflies, her head still a little swimmy from the most incredible orgasm of her life. “It was good, better than good,” she said.

Duane went over to her, and she nestled into his arms gratefully. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “I knew you’d like it,” he said.

The door opened again, and the cop came back in. “Sorry about the disturbance, folks,” she said. “I’m Detective Anne Freitas, and I hate to do this to you, but I need you to stick around for a few minutes.”

“What’s going on? We haven’t been outside this room for a while,” Duane said, and Isabel blushed a little.

Freitas seemed unfazed. She was a little shorter than Isabel, her reddish hair cut sensibly short. “How long?”

Duane glanced at his watch. “An hour, maybe more.”

Freitas pulled out a notebook and started writing. “You’re Duane Russell and Isabel Nelson, correct?”

“Yeah,” Duane said. Isabel stayed quiet.

Freitas wrote something down. “And who was with you?”

Isabel dropped her eyes, and Freitas picked up on it fast, her laser gaze boring into Isabel.

“Two vamps, legally paid for,” Duane said.

Freitas kept her eyes on Isabel. “Names?”

Duane shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

Isabel looked back at Freitas. “Ryan and Elyse,” she said softly.

Freitas kept staring at Isabel. “They were here the whole time?” she asked.

Isabel nodded. “They just left a few minutes ago.”

Freitas stared at her a moment longer, then looked at her notebook and wrote some more. “And you’re sure it’s been an hour.”

Duane shrugged. “Give or take a little. Ask Fiona, she’ll know what time she brought us back here.”

“Fiona’s busy,” Freitas said absently, making another note. “Anything unusual tonight, anything out of the ordinary?”

Isabel couldn’t help a small giggle, mostly from nervous tension. Freitas zeroed in on her immediately—Isabel had the feeling this woman noticed everything. “Something funny, Miss Nelson?”

“Nothing was unusual,” Duane interjected. “Just the same as every night.”

“So what’s so funny?” Freitas asked.

Isabel ducked her head. “It’s just…you asked if anything was unusual, and this whole place is so unusual it just struck me funny,” she said.

Freitas stared at her a moment, then pulled out a Polaroid photograph and shoved it at Isabel. “Know him?” she asked.

Isabel looked at the photo and her giggles died as if doused with cold water. The photo showed a middle-aged man lying in a pool of blood, his corpse-pale face frozen in a rictus-grin.

“Oh my God,” Isabel heard herself say, and the photo fell from her nerveless fingers onto the floor.

Duane stooped down to pick it up, looked at it, and jerked as though it had burned his fingers. He shoved it back at Freitas. “Jesus! What the hell is that?”

“Do you know him?” Freitas repeated.

“No, no,” Isabel said, feeling strange and lightheaded. She must have stumbled a little, because Duane suddenly had his arm around her shoulders and Freitas was leading her to a chair.

“Are you okay, miss?” Freitas asked.

“Yes,” Isabel said, embarrassed. “I just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”

“It’s that damn picture,” Duane snapped. “You had to shove that in her face, officer?”

“I’m okay,” Isabel protested.

Freitas was staring at Isabel’s face. “First-time bite?” Isabel nodded. “It’s minor blood loss. You’ll feel okay in a few hours. Be sure to drink plenty of fluids and don’t have any alcohol.”

Duane laid a hand possessively on Isabel’s shoulder. “Can we go now, officer?”

Isabel was suddenly, inexplicably annoyed. “She’s a detective, Duane.”

Duane blinked, and Freitas did a double-take. “That’s all right, miss. Happens all the time.” Freitas handed Duane a business card. “Please contact me if you think of anything we should know about tonight.”

Duane rolled his eyes. “How could we know anything, we’ve been in here all night!” he snapped. “What happened to that guy anyway?”

Freitas pocketed the photograph. “Murdered in the alley behind the club. Looks like a vamp-kill.”

Duane shook his head. “Fucking animals.”

Isabel stared up at Duane, stunned. “I thought they were safe,” she said quietly.

Freitas was glaring at Duane. “That depends on your definition,” she said. “They know a vamp-kill is an automatic death sentence.”

“Can we go now?” Duane asked, and his tone was rude enough that Isabel was embarrassed.

Freitas closed her notebook. “Yes. Thank you for your cooperation,” she said in a neutral tone.

Isabel stood up, holding on to Duane’s arm. As they passed Freitas, the detective slipped her another business card. She pocketed it without Duane noticing.

Walking out into the club, the entire atmosphere was different. The torches were overcast with large fluorescent lights, and the band was sitting on the edge of the stage, talking to two police officers. Small groups of patrons were standing around the dance floor, as police milled about. Something indefinable had left the room, that sense of mystery and magical danger had dissipated along with the shadows.

For some reason, Isabel was sad to see it gone.

Chapter Two

Ryan bent over her, his eyes deepening to that total black color. A gentle smile barely showed the points of his teeth, and Isabel was not afraid.

He lowered his mouth to hers, and she felt the gentle pressure of his lips molding to hers. His whole body hovered over hers, barely brushing against her naked skin. She felt the electric heat of him tingling in the tips of her breasts, the curve of her abdomen and the long muscles in her thighs.

She seemed incapable of moving, pinned and pliable beneath Ryan as his hand wandered over her skin. She felt that electric warmth moving down her neck, between her breasts and lower, until it settled between her legs, and she broke the kiss with a cry of sudden sensation.

“Beloved,” Ryan whispered against her throat, the moist heat of his breath caressing her skin. He pressed his lips against her throat, his tongue dancing a line along her neck.

Isabel was still unable to move, her arms languid and heavy beside her. His mouth traveled lower, licking and kissing a slow line over the upper swells of her breasts to the tender skin between them. She felt the expanding warmth between her thighs, and he gently pushed her legs apart, settling between them.

“Yes, beloved,” she murmured.

Ryan caught her nipple in his mouth, rubbing it with his tongue until it hardened into a tiny, sensitive bud. Isabel wanted to reach down and pull him into her, to feel that aching emptiness filled with him. She wanted him to slide into her, to grasp his hardness and feel its velvet-smooth strength as it thrust into her. But her arms would not move, she was still a prisoner of his power over her.

She looked down at him, at her breast caught in his mouth, and opened her mouth to beg him to enter her. But her words dried up as she saw his teeth sinking into the soft skin of her breast, just above the nipple. Blood pooled up from the bite and he drank greedily, his lips closing over it as a slight line of blood trickled down between her breasts. There was no pain.

Isabel tried to speak, to push at his head, but that languid stillness remained like an invisible down pillow pressed against her. Then the pleasure began, vibrating between her legs, and she cried out at the building sensation within her skin even as her mind cried out in horror, aghast at the blood now running across her chest, the blood turning reddish-black in the light, the blood—

Isabel jerked awake with a tiny gasp, her heart pounding in the darkness. She heard Duane’s heavy breathing beside her and knew immediately that he had not awakened. She reached beneath her thin nightshirt and felt the skin above her nipple.

It was smooth, unmarked and uninjured. But the nipple below it was hard and hot, sensitive to the touch.

She exhaled, tension leaving her muscles, and she let her hand rest over her breast for a moment. She touched her breast lightly, the real sensations of pleasure rolling over the dream-touches and fading them from memory. Her heart still pounding, she realized she was still highly aroused, charged with a deep sexual energy still unexpended.

She looked over at Duane’s sleeping form, turned away from her.
I wonder if he’d mind if I woke him
, she thought, sliding her free hand lightly over his muscular back.

A brief memory of the dream, Ryan’s mouth sucking blood from her breast, tried to intervene in her mind and she pushed it away relentlessly. The combination of terror and ecstasy was sharp and bitter in her mind, and the pressure between her legs was still unrelieved.

“Duane,” she murmured, and he did not stir.

Slowly, she slid a hand over Duane’s hip, down beneath his boxers, and found him flaccid and sleep-warm. She danced her fingers lightly over him, taking him in her hand, gently stroking him. She felt him stir and begin to harden in her hand.

She worked him lightly, slowly, feeling him grow hotter, firmer beneath her fingers. His breathing changed, and she realized he was awake. She stopped for just a moment to draw her nightshirt over her head and pressed her body full against his back.

Isabel licked the curve of Duane’s ear, listening to him catch his breath. He was fully hard now, his hand clenching the pillow, and she moved against him tight and strong.

“God, baby,” he murmured, and rolled onto his back. Isabel slid over him, pressing herself against him, rubbing herself against him in a smooth rocking motion.

Duane dipped his head between her breasts, molding them with his hands, his mouth opening to taste her. She froze for a moment as his lips closed over her nipple, and the image of Ryan tried to intervene. She bit hard on her lip and the dream receded beneath Duane’s kneading fingers and tight, sucking mouth.

She slid her hand down between them and guided him to her. He thrust up hard into her, and she cried out in short, gasping breaths. He rocked beneath her, his hands moving down from her breasts to the curve of her hips, steadying her as he slid in and out, filling her over and over again.

The ache was gone, replaced by a delicious fullness and gasping joy. She rode him harder, heat and sweat covering her body. She took his hands in hers and pressed them up over his head, jerking her hips harder against his rising body. Her nipples hovered bare inches from his face and he caught one in his mouth, sucking it hard and making her cry out.

The rhythm of his hips sped up beneath her and she knew he was close. His hands broke free of hers and clasped onto her shoulders, pushing her down hard so he could bury himself deep within her. It kept her still, unable to move freely, as though trapped beneath his hands. He jerked and cried out beneath her, and she felt him throb and explode within her, his head thrown back in ecstasy. His hands relented as he came. Isabel continued thrusting, rocking harder, feeling her orgasm swell within her, until she too exploded in wave after wave of bursting sensation.

The tension in her muscles slowly ebbed. He slipped from her, still breathing hard, and she slid to his side, up against his chest.

“Damn,” he said softly. “What time is it?”

Isabel didn’t want to turn and look at the clock. “I don’t know,” she said.

Duane sat up, leaving her leaning against an empty pillow, and glanced at the clock. “It’s almost two in the morning,” he said, getting up to go toward the bathroom.

Isabel lay still for a moment, feeling a little lost as the sweat cooled on her skin. The aching emptiness was gone, but at the same time, there seemed to be some other emptiness Duane hadn’t touched, something left unfulfilled.

He came back in, wearing a fresh pair of boxers. He slid back into bed, and kissed her on the cheek. “You sure know how to give a man a good surprise, baby,” he said, and turned away on his side.

For a moment, Isabel considered asking him to hold her, or scooting over toward him so he couldn’t possibly ignore her. Then she sighed quietly and got out of bed, still naked. She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water warm.

She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her black hair was tousled and wild, heat still flushing her face and body. She ran her hands lightly over her skin, feeling the light sweat and the smell of sex still on her body.

There was a light mark on her breast. A faint, reddish mark.

Of course there is
, she thought.

The mark was slightly above the nipple. Just a faint reddish tinge.

Wasn’t Duane sucking on the nipple itself?
she thought, and the memory sent a faint twinge of electricity through her still-warm body. But was it Duane’s mouth she was remembering or Ryan’s?

That’s silly
, she thought.
It was a dream.

* * * * *

 “You look better.”

Isabel looked up from her desk to see Det. Freitas standing over her. “I beg your pardon?”

Freitas leaned against the cubicle wall. “You look a lot better than the other night. You feeling okay?”

Isabel glanced around to see if anyone was listening. The office was a honeycomb of cubicles, hiding any number of eavesdropping ears, but no one within her line of sight seemed to be paying attention. “I feel fine, thank you,” she said. “Is there something I can do for you, Detective?”

Freitas shrugged. “Feel like a cup of coffee?”

Isabel didn’t feel like a cup of coffee, but she was desperate to get Freitas away from her co-workers. “I’ve got a lunch break in ten minutes. I can leave early.”

Freitas nodded, and Isabel quickly collected her purse. They walked through the honeycomb in silence, for which Isabel was profoundly grateful. She waited until they were out on the sidewalk before she spoke. “I’m sorry, Detective, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just…”

“You don’t want your friends to know about your weekend plans,” Freitas finished.

Isabel shrugged. “It’s just they’re not really my friends. They’re people I work with, that’s all, and I don’t want any rumors running around about me.”

Freitas gestured to a nearby café. “That place has great coffee,” she said.

They were seated quickly and Isabel ordered a sandwich, although she wasn’t very hungry. Freitas ordered a ham-and-cheese omelet with extra onions while stirring sugar into her coffee.

The waitress left, and Isabel stared at Freitas for a moment before speaking. “I suppose I’ll find out eventually, but is there something you want to talk to me about?”

Freitas sipped her coffee. “Maybe I just wanted to see how you were doing. You didn’t look so hot at the club.”

Isabel cast her eyes down. “I was tired.”

“You didn’t look that thrilled to be there,” Freitas said.

Isabel shook her head. “Is that what this is about? You think someone made me go? I was there of my own free will, and I had a good time.”

“Whatever you say,” Freitas said.

Isabel couldn’t help asking. “So that guy, the one whose picture you showed me…”

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Freitas said.

Isabel waved her hand dismissively. “No, I just wanted to know if you caught the guy who did it.”

“What makes you think it was a guy?” Freitas said, glancing at her.

Isabel blinked. “I don’t know, I guess it could be a woman,” she said. “Did you catch him? Her? It?”

“Nope,” Freitas said. “No hims, hers or its. Third body this month at Nocturnal Urges, and I’m starting to get itchy about it.”

“Three!” Isabel said, shocked.

“Yup.” Freitas swirled her coffee in her mug. “All three, male patrons. At this point, I’m a step away from consulting a psychic. Don’t suppose you have ideas?”

Isabel shook her head. “They steal your soul,” she murmured.

“What was that?” Freitas asked.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Isabel said.

“No such thing as nothing, what are you thinking?” Freitas asked.

Isabel hesitated then remembered the man in the photograph, and the blood. “It’s just…if it wasn’t vampires…”

“And that’s a big if,” Freitas interjected.

“If it wasn’t the vampires, it could be someone trying to make it look like the vampires,” Isabel said. “There were these protesters…”

“Yeah, the Students Against Vampires,” Freitas said. “Call themselves SAV, spelled ‘save’ without the E. I think they ought to learn how to spell before they try to save
my
soul.”

Isabel giggled a little, and Freitas smiled with her. Then for no reason, they were both laughing, and in that laugh, some of the tension eased. The food arrived while they were laughing, and Isabel found herself laughing all over again at the incongruity of their conversation in this light, airy café with French art prints on the walls and white wicker furniture.

“They’re mostly harmless,” Freitas said when the laughter faded. “Wave their signs, bother the clientele. They don’t cross the line, at least not that Fiona’s been able to prove.”

“There was this one guy,” Isabel said. “Dark hair, beard. Real intense. He came over to talk to us on the other side of the street.”

“Legal, if annoying,” Freitas said.

“Yeah, but he was really intense. Said the vampires would steal my soul,” Isabel said, and her voice faltered a little.

“Yeah,” Freitas said, looking rather intently at Isabel. “That’s a common line. Along with, ‘Fucking animals’.”

Isabel dropped her eyes. “That was rude of him,” she said softly.

“But it’s what he thinks, isn’t it?” Freitas said. “That’s all the vamps are, animals.”

“Aren’t they?” Isabel asked. “No, I’m really asking. I don’t know any vampires, but…”

“You were at the club,” Freitas said, spearing a chunk of ham with her fork. “You saw them. Are they animals?”

Isabel suddenly saw Ryan’s eyes turn black, felt that jolt between her breasts, the shivers down her spine. “I… I don’t know,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” Freitas said. “Let me tell you what I know, Miss Nelson. Vamps have minds and bodies, just like us. They live and work, have jobs and apartments, just like us. They’ve got an unusual diet, that’s for sure, but so do vegetarians and kosher Jews, so I’m not going to throw stones. They do good things and sometimes they do bad things, just like us, and then it’s my job to go do something about it.”