Sucker Bet (30 page)

He'd never felt the kind of connection with a woman that he did with Gwenna. He thought it was love, wanted it to be love. But whatever it was called, the intensity of joining with her, invading her body with his sharp new fangs, and drinking her sweet, thick blood, was more satisfying that anything he had ever experienced in his life.

It was hard to believe that he had died that day. That he had died and Gwenna had saved him. How the hell did he express gratitude for that?

"Just go on as you did before. And we can both be grateful that you're not dead."

Nate pulled his mouth from her neck, and licked the traces of blood off his lips. "You can hear my thoughts, too?"

She nodded. "We're connected during an exchange, and probably during sex. We share blood now."

He hadn't thought of it that way.

"Though it's not always cut and dry. There are a lot of mysteries and nuances to being a vampire. We are all strangely unique."

"Because vampires are still people."

She gave a soft laugh, running her finger over his lip. "That's true."

"And there are good and bad people." Nate watched the blood trickle down Gwenna's skin, sluggish and vibrant red, from the two puncture wounds on her neck. It seemed natural to lean over and lick them clean. Shocked, he pulled back, and saw that his action had not only removed the blood, but healed the wounds.

She smiled. "Thanks. And yes, there are good and bad people and I would love to catch ourselves a killer tonight."

"How could I argue with that?" Nate brushed her blond hair back and stared into eyes so blue he would write a freakin' poem about them if he could string two words together. Which he couldn't. But if he could, he would. "You're an amazing woman."

"And you're not so bad yourself."

Not the best or most effusive compliment he'd ever received, but since her hand was stroking his cock, he'd take it.

Then she yanked her hand away suddenly. "Oh! I just had a thought."

Somehow he didn't think it was of an intriguing sexual position they could try. He tried not to sigh. "Yeah? What's that, beautiful?"

"Does Sasha know Chechikov is dead?"

"Not that I'm aware of. That was supposed to be my job to go over and inform her of her husband's unfortunate demise. But I got a little sidetracked." By the realization that he was a vampire. He saw exactly where Gwenna's thoughts were going.

"Let's go tell the little missus now."

He liked where she had been going with her hand better, but she was right. Sasha needed to be told and they needed to witness Sasha's reaction to the news.

"Sounds like a good plan."

The smile she gave him was smug, no doubt about it.

"How convenient that Slash wanted to meet at the Bellagio tonight, which is where Chechikov lived with Sasha." Gwenna thought it was all just a little too convenient as they cut through a patch of spring grass, dewy from the night moisture.

"You sound downright sarcastic, Gwenna." Nate smiled at her.

He seemed to be taking to the change better now. He was having a strength issue—he'd ripped the car door off its hinges—but otherwise that earlier sickness he'd experienced seemed to have gone away. That alone made her feel a huge sense of relief, despite the fact that they were walking into a potentially dangerous situation. Going up against a killer of mortal vampire slayers seemed less intimidating after watching Nate bleed out in his Ford Explorer.

They had skirted the front of the Bellagio and the fountain, not wanting a chance encounter with Slash, whoever he might be. Gwenna wasn't scheduled to meet him for another hour, but who knew if he was lurking about already, so they'd gone in the side door to the hotel from the parking lot.

As they headed for the elevator, Gwenna shrugged. "I admit I have a bias against Sasha. Brittany told me that when Gregor kidnapped her—and keep in mind Brittany was five months pregnant at the time—Sasha just sat in the room and read a book while Gregor slapped Brittany around. That makes me sick."

Nate hit the elevator button. "Maybe she was scared of her husband. The dude didn't sound like a nice guy."

She made a face. "That's true. I guess Sasha could be a victim here, too, though my gut says she isn't."

"Well, let me do the talking, alright? I'm the detective with the badge. And we're going to approach this initially in an official capacity."

"Then why am I with you?"

"You're not. You're going to wait down the hall."

Gwenna glanced over at him as the elevator opened and they got on. "Oh, really? I'm glad we discussed it and came to that conclusion together."

She sounded snappish and knew it, but Nate needed to understand she was not going to do the submissive girlfriend routine with him. She was done with that dreary scene and they needed to start as they intended to go on.

Not that he looked the least bit offended or put off. He was grinning down at her and his fingers had started to make inroads into her inner thighs, just brushing along the zipper of her jeans. "Let's discuss it."

"Great. Since you're here in an official capacity, I probably shouldn't be seen. I'll wait down the hall." It wasn't the idea she had objected to, just the delivery.

"Excellent."

He hauled her over to him by yanking on her waistband with his large man hands. It was easy to see where the expression
manhandled
came from, and now that he was a vampire, too, she couldn't even resist his force. Not that she wanted to. There was something about the way Nate touched her that was sexy, not controlling. He wanted her, but he wanted her to want him. He had no interest in domination. His woman would benefit from his loyalty, his sense of protection, and his instinctive urge to take care of her, but he would never control. Seduction was his style, not the quest for power.

Gwenna supposed she was Nate's woman—technically girlfriend. That seemed spot on, but strange to think of. She'd never been a girlfriend before. But whatever the hell she was, she was going to be the recipient of that protection, loyalty, caring. Seduction.

"I want you," he said, murmuring into her ear. "We should have finished what we started before we left."

"We're on a time crunch," she said piously, even as she pressed her breasts against his chest and wished the elevator would die and strand them for a good thirty minutes. "We can manage all that later."

"We have all the time in the world, don't we?" he asked, his expression suddenly darkening.

Gwenna would have responded—with what, she had no idea—but the door opened and Nate strode down the hall. "This way."

"I'll hang back here," she said, flicking her finger over the faux flower arrangement in front of the elevators.

Nate stopped and looked back at her. He made as if to say something, then clearly changed his mind. "Yeah, okay. I'll be back in five."

"Let me know if you need me."

Giving her a wave, he went down the hall.

Damn it. Why had that somehow sounded needy on her part? She had meant it as a reassurance, but it somehow sounded clingy. Frustrated, Gwenna leaned against the console under the mirror opposite the elevators. She was lousy at this relationship thing.

A glance clown the hall showed Nate and his very fine butt had disappeared around the corner. She needed to relax or she was going to scare the wits out of the man and send him running for a vampire chick who actually had her act together. And bigger breasts.

Gwenna scowled at her thoughts. Since when had she worried about her lack of a sizable chest? She had utterly lost her mind.

The elevator door to the right opened. She stood up straight, prepared to start walking and look like she had a purpose and wasn't just lingering in the hall. Then she saw who it was.

"David?" It was David Foster, the guitar player from The Impalers, looking freshly showered, his hair still damp. He must be staying in the hotel. "How are you?"

The knife was at her throat before she even realized he wasn't smiling back at her.

"Just come quietly with me if you want to live."

Bloody hell.

Sasha Chechikov was attractive, Nate would give her that. She had smooth skin, long legs, and full plump lips. The outfit was a bit much, in his opinion, tight narrow jeans and high-heel boots that went to her knees. Lots of gold chains and rings and a shirt that looked like it had gone a round with a cat and lost. Designer, obviously, but all a little over the top for his taste. She was pretty, maybe even gorgeous by some standards, but her eyes ruined the effect of her features. The eyes stared at him, cold and calculating, sweeping down the length of him and back up again.

Gwenna was right. Sasha was a bitch.

She said something in Russian. Nate flashed his badge. "Detective Thomas with the Las Vegas Police. Are you Sasha Chechikov? I need to speak to you about your husband."

Though Nate suspected she understood every word he said, she shook her head and shot off another round of Russian.

"Would you like me to get a translator?" he asked, irritated to still be standing in the doorway, and not enjoying the feeling that she was playing him for a fool. "I'm sorry to be the one to inform of you of this, but your husband, Gregor Chechikov, is dead."

Sasha went pale. "Dead? Gregor is dead?"

Yeah, he thought so. Her English was accented, but perfectly coherent. "Yes, he's dead. I'm sorry. He was found murdered poolside at the Ava hotel and casino."

Gripping the doorknob tightly, she frowned, shock on her face. "I do not understand… are you sure it is him?"

"We got verbal confirmation of his identity from Roberto Donatelli. When was the last time you saw your husband, ma'am?"

"I do not know." Sasha looked distracted, but not particularly grief-stricken. "Very early this morning I imagine."

Nate knew he wasn't going to be able to trust a damn thing she said. "Did he mention his plans for the day?"

"No."

And there it was. The shutdown he'd been waiting for. The moment her shock wore off and her sense of self-preservation kicked in. She had pursed lips and a frown line on her forehead, her eyes narrowed and intense. Nate could practically see her assessing her options, running through them one by one mentally, looking for an escape.

He stepped inside the room, forcing her backward by his bulk. "Who killed your husband, Mrs. Chechikov?"

She grabbed her throat and played with the delicate gold chain hanging there. "I do not know. But it was not me, if that is what you are asking."

"No, that's not what I was asking. You might have wanted to kill him, but you couldn't have. He was a big guy, and you're so skinny you'll disappear if you turn sideways." Nate pointed to her hands. "And small hands like that could never have choked the life out of a burly guy like your husband."

"You are not really the police, are you?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Actually, I am. Newly switched to the night shift."

Nate saw she was going for a weapon, though he'd have been hard pressed to believe anything could fit in that skin-tight outfit. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said as a dagger emerged from her shirt. That would explain the weird shredded effect to the clingy top. It allowed her to look stylish and hide a weapon at the same time. He was almost impressed with her cunning. But he still yanked it out of her hand before she could so much as arch it.

"You're a vampire," she said, chest rising and falling rapidly, fear spreading across her exotic features.

"Precisely. And I want answers. Are you on the slayers' loop?"

She gave a slight nod.

"Do you know who killed those men from the loop?"

Looking away, her hands going into the back pockets of her jeans, she shrugged. "It was not me."

"No one said it was. You're just a mortal, and again, look like you could use a juicy burger or two to boost you past a size zero. You couldn't have done to those boys what I saw. But you know who did." That he was convinced of.

Tears flooded her eyes. "You have to protect me. He'll kill me." She even managed to pull off a lip tremble, her fingers plastered over her chest.