Undying Embrace (7 page)

Her lips stroked his rock-hard flesh followed by a pulsation of suction to the head of his cock. He groaned. But this time it was from the orgasmic storm bubbling up his erection. Tossing his head back, he roared as his climax exploded from the end of his shaft and jetted down her throat.

A veil of darkness clouded his vision. A chill followed behind the hot tingles of pleasure across his skin. Pure evil knocked on the door of his soul.

Murky fingers of blackness filled his mind with utter despair, and the odor of burned embers overwhelmed his senses. Every time he gave himself to her, the darkness grew thicker, more absolute. The waves of pleasure she created within his body were sweet—and addictive. But each time the darkness came for him afterward, he questioned his sanity for the price he was paying with the pieces of his soul. He was losing the battle against the evil crawling over his skin.

He collapsed back onto his palms, sucking air into his lungs, and swung his head in Enrique’s direction. “Did you enjoy the show?” In his peripheral vision, Markus glimpsed Marguerite turning toward Enrique.

The other male eased out of the shadows and farther into the room. “Mistress, please pardon the intrusion,” he said, dipping his head low in submission. “But the commander has a visitor.” Markus rolled onto his feet. Enrique’s gaze dipped lower, then quickly back to Markus’s face.

Marguerite stood behind Markus, her naked body pressed to his. She circled his waist with her arms and her hands moved higher and stroked the hairs on his chest.

“Tell Markus’s guest, Enrique, that he’ll be with them in a few minutes.” She shoved Markus’s head to the side then pushed him forward onto his knees and on top of a chest at the foot of her bed. “He’s not quite finished here yet.”

Long fangs sank into his neck, sucking a wheeze from his lungs. If he hadn’t already been kneeling, his knees would have buckled under the strong pull she gave to his vein. He grabbed the footboard railing in front of him for balance. Arousal flooded his mind and body once more. His cock twitched with excitement as blood pounded into his groin. His head swam. A moan sounded within the room. His, Marguerite’s, or Enrique’s, he wasn’t sure. At this point, he didn’t really give a shit.

About a half hour later, he stepped into the office on the first floor of the multilevel home he shared with Marguerite and their minions. A man paced the room. Large, and most definitely human. He stopped short when the door clicked shut and whipped around, facing Markus. Recognition dawned. It was the bartender from Wicked Ways. The man was one of the donors for the former master of Fairfield’s colony, Jean-Claude—his Calix. He didn’t know his name. Didn’t really give a fuck. The human ran a thick palm over his brown crew cut before dropping his chin in submission.

“Sir, please forgive the intrusion to your home, but I bring news regarding…” He swallowed hard, and his eyes darted up for a quick glance in search of his commander’s position. Markus slipped into the large executive chair behind his desk, propped his elbows on the arms, and laced his fingers. The human, hearing the squeak of the leather, swung his gaze in Markus’s direction.

“Go on, Calix.” Markus wasn’t sure when the Latin term used for a human in service to a vampire started or who came up with it, but it was so apropos. As Marguerite would say, they were nothing more than a vessel for a vampire’s meal.

The human cleared his throat. “Alexandria.” Markus dropped his hands and leaned forward. A sudden knot of unease built in his gut.

“What about her?” The Calix took a step back. With good reason. No doubt his eyes were a neon red that flashed “killer” to the human in front of him. And he would be right.

“There was a woman at Wicked Ways last night who was asking about her. She showed me a photo. It was Alexandria. I recognized her from…before.” Markus peeled his upper lip away from his fangs as a deep growl rumbled off his chest. “I—I,” the lackey stammered. “I didn’t tell her anything.” He shook his head in sharp denial. “I told her I just serve ‘em drinks; I don’t babysit ‘em.”

“What else? Was she with anyone?” Markus could barely contain his irritation. He itched to tear into something, someone. He didn’t care. Markus sucked in a deep breath and fought for control. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was acting defensive and territorial as shit over the little vixen. His fingers repeatedly curled into a fist and then released, as if reflexively seeking to wring the life out of an invisible enemy he wanted to crush.

“She wasn’t there long. A man showed up—one I’d never seen there before.” He shrugged. “He went up to her, talked for a few minutes, and then they left together. That was it.” The Calix bowed his head. The acrid stench of his fear hovered like a cloud in the room and enticed his lust for violence. The bartender was only the messenger, but any Calix knew that alone wouldn’t prevent him from bearing the brunt of his master’s anger.

He rose from his seat and rounded his desk. The bartender tensed, preparing his body for punishment. But he needed the Calix alive and well. And at his post, keeping his masters informed.

“Relax, Calix. I’m not going to kill you.” He leaned back against the front of his massive, carved teak desk. “Not yet, anyway. You’re proving yourself useful.” The bartender released a long exhale. “Now, tell me, what did this couple look like?”

He lifted his head before speaking. “The usual goth look, Commander. She had long black hair. Pretty. The guy was big. Probably over six feet. Muscular. Green eyes. He’d streaked his hair in a crazy mix of black and blond. I didn’t get a chance to do more than serve him a beer before he was gone. But what little time he spent at the bar was enough for me to notice the dude gave off some serious I-could-kick-your-ass vibes.”

It couldn’t be
. Markus pushed away from his desk. Blond, green eyes, more than six feet, and the attitude…
Arran
? He shoved one hand into his hair and paced the room. Could the Enclave have tracked them?
No
. He shook his head. The odds were too great. He and Marguerite had been so careful.

“Commander, are you all right?”

“What?” He stopped his pacing and swung his head in the bartender’s direction.

“I…I was just asking if you were okay. Do you need anything else from me?”

“I’m fine.” Markus tugged at the sleeve of his white silk dress shirt and repositioned his steel and rose gold TAG Heuer watch.

Paranoia. That’s all it was, and he needed to shake it off. The Enclave had to be jonesing to sink a dagger into his heart. That was a given. And of all the warriors, Arran, his former partner, was sure to be at the front of the line. He knew, from the ten years he’d spent working with Arran, that the male had a tolerance level of absolute zero for betrayal. The Enclave warrior took shit personally and would have made it his duty to hunt him down. Friend or not. Arran would feel obligated to see his former friend and partner exterminated.

“We’re done here,” Markus announced. “But I want an immediate report if those two enter the club again. Understood?”

“Yes, Commander, I understand. I’ll let you know right away if or when they return.”

“Then get the fuck out of here, before I lose my patience with you.” He nodded toward the door, and the bartender scrambled for it in less than two seconds.

He edged around his desk and sank back into his chair. The Enclave. For two years, he’d kept them at bay. What if it had been Arran at Wicked Ways last night? Doubt nagged at his gut. A roar burst from his lungs as he flung his arm across the top of his desk, clearing the surface of it in a shattering display of metal and glass across the room. He grasped the edge of the wood, his chest heaving under the fit of his rage.

“Fuck you, Arran!” He closed his eyes and collapsed against the back of his chair, mentally reaching within himself to stabilize his heart and lungs. “I know you too well, highlander,” he muttered into the empty space of his office, his breathing coming easier now. “Probably better than you know yourself.” The familiar muscle twinges that signaled a smile tugged at the sides of his lips.

“If you are here, come and get me, old friend. I dare you.”

Chapter Six

He was in heaven.

And he never wanted to come back down to earth. Arran leaned into the last turn on his Ninja that took him and Gabrielle onto Dalton Ave and in front of Wicked Ways. About a block past the club, he found an empty parking space and slipped into it. Gabrielle released her hold from around his waist and pulled away. Damn. He closed his eyes against the sudden chill. The loss of her body pressed against his back shouldn’t make him feel so—empty.

After placing his heel to the kickstand and settling the bike, he pulled off his helmet. He dismounted and turned as she handed over the black spare helmet she’d been wearing.

“Wow.” Her face beamed with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen, and it lit up the night. His chest tightened. At that moment, he knew he’d do anything that was asked of him if he could keep her happy, smiling, just like this.

He cleared his throat, trying to knock the strange, tight feeling out of his windpipe. “Wow, what?” He hung one of the helmets on the handlebar and held out his hand to Gabrielle to steady her as she slid off the bike.

“The ride. I can’t remember the last time I was on a motorcycle.” She slid her palm from his and ran both under her hair, lifting it off her shoulders and allowing it to fall back in place. So enticing. He curled his fingers inward, resisting the urge to touch a few of the silky strands. “I’d forgotten how exhilarating it was.”

Looking down at the bike, he couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, there’s nothing like it.” He secured the chain between the two helmets and spun the dial on the combination lock. What he wouldn’t give to have her on the back of his bike again, going flat out on an open road at night with nothing but the moon and stars as their guide. A part of him was so tempted to take her, right now, where no one they knew would ever find them. Lost in a place where they could discover every inch of each other.

Oh, but that was the catch. He grabbed the spinning dial, bringing it to a dead stop between his fingers.

The ugly reality.

He didn’t want her to discover anything about him. The real Arran MacLain. The vampire with more blood on his hands than any DEAD. And a trail of lovers from his past he couldn’t begin to name or count. He disgusted himself, and God forbid if she ever found out about the things he’d done.

Dropping the dial from his hand, he pushed away from the bike, and whipped around. She stood by the parking meter, looking for something in her purse. “You ready?” He sounded impatient as hell. God, this wasn’t her fault. He’d made the choices that had taken his life on a skydive into shit.

She jerked in his direction at the abrupt change in his mood. “Yeah—sure. I was just looking for my cell phone. I must have left it at home.” She snapped the closure together on her purse and released it, allowing the black handbag to dangle from the silver chain draped across her chest. Whirling in the direction of the club, she headed off without him. His gaze followed the delicate
S
of her spine to the creamy section of exposed skin between where her top ended and her pants began. The sway of her hips drew him lower still. Her red leather pants hugged the curves of the most perfect rear he’d ever seen. He groaned, remembering how round and soft she’d felt in his hands. Damn, she looked good. Too good. He hurried after her, and within seconds, he was wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” She tried to shrug his arm off.

“This is supposed to be a date. Remember?” He lowered his head to her ear. “We need to act the part.” He nipped her earlobe as they stopped in front of the bouncer at the door. She jumped, spun out of his hold, and punched him in the arm.
Ouch
. Hard.

“Oh, Johnny! You are so bad.” She giggled. Actually giggled. The Gabrielle he knew had never been a flighty girl. She didn’t like games. Gabrielle was straightforward about what she wanted. It was one of the many things he appreciated about her. She was all woman. But one who was thrust toward adulthood way too fast by a horrible childhood, in addition to suffering a brutal attack at nineteen that would have broken any female. But not his Gabrielle. She had survived, and her scars were part of what made her so damn special. Even though she couldn’t handle the monster lying beneath his surface—fuck, he couldn’t blame her—to him, she was still stronger than any other woman he’d ever met. He respected the hell out of her.

So this new playful act of hers…. He smiled and pulled her into his arms with her back to the bouncer. Yeah… it was cute.

Leaning in, he hovered above her mouth. “Kitten, you haven’t seen bad.” His lips covered hers, explored hers in a delicate dance of seductive promise. And then it was over. He’d gone further than he’d had a right to. With trembling fingertips, she brushed the spot where his lips had met hers. She looked confused as hell. And she should be. Because he didn’t know what had possessed him to do that.

“Let’s get inside,” he muttered, needing to put an end to the awkwardness. Taking her hand, he slipped it into his, and led her toward the door. She didn’t resist, and neither did the bouncer at the entrance. One hard glare from Arran and the bouncer stepped aside. Smart man.

As before, the club pulsated under the heavy bass throbbing from the sound system that surrounded the dance floor. The smell of sweat, drugs, arousal, and sex clung to the air. A century ago, he would have been all over a place like this. Hell, two days ago he’d been in a bar that wasn’t much more innocent. Now, with Gabrielle at his side, he wanted to be anywhere else but here. She made him want better than this.

He guided them toward the back of the club. Two rows of small round tables and chairs circled the dance floor. Beyond that were the private viewing rooms he’d seen during his last visit. Each room appeared to be fitted with a one-way mirrored glass window facing the interior of the club. A perfect spot for when a vampire’s appetite called or for whatever else needed to be satiated.

A muscle-bound bald man in a sleeveless black tank stood with his back propped between two of the rooms. Had to be one of the bouncers, and he’d bet, the guardian for the premium seats. Taking her hand in his, they made their way through the crowd. As he neared, Arran pulled a one-hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. Holding it between his fingers, he lifted the Ben Franklin in front of the bouncer’s face. Arran never had much need for the green stuff. But Kenric had insisted on financially compensating his team. And he’d have to admit, lately, the money had come in handy. New towns required cash for new identities, new sleeping arrangements, or like now, when you needed to bribe the bouncer at your local goth club.

“How much for a private playroom?” Arran pulled Gabrielle in close and draped his arm over her shoulder. She took her cue and began nuzzling his neck.

The bouncer arched one brow. A hard task, considering the size of the barbell he’d stabbed through the fleshy center. The silver balls screwed to each end glinted in the flashing strobe lights. He reached up with his right hand, flicked the bill from Arran’s fingers, and shoved it in his pants pocket. “Room three. One hour.” He nodded toward the room he’d sold them.

A black velvet curtain covered the entrance to the private playroom. Arran slid the material back, and they stepped inside. The room was narrow, only large enough to hold an extra-wide padded leather bench along the wall in front of him. A single round table sat to his left against the end of the room that faced the club with its one-way mirror. The angle gave him a clear view of the dance floor, plus anyone entering the club.

She leaned in, sending her sweet scent washing over him. “What’s your plan?” she asked at his ear. He shifted a step away, but the room was too damn small to put enough distance between him and her pheromones.
This better be quick
. “How are we supposed to find out anything sitting back here?” She reached down and twisted the switch on the small lamp that sat on the table. The room washed in a glow of warm red light. “Oh man.” She grimaced. “Does everything around here have to be black or red? I think I’m going color-blind.”

“This won’t take long. If your sister’s disappearance is connected to the colony here at Wicked Ways, we’ll find out shortly.”

“What do you mean? How?” Gabrielle sat down on the bench.

“You’ll see.” He dropped onto the seat beside her and cupped Gabrielle’s cheek in his hand. “Just stay by my side. Promise me. Let me handle this.” Her lips parted.

“Promise me.” He wasn’t backing down about this one. He couldn’t take the chance. She would have to follow his lead.

After a few seconds, she nodded and added, “I promise—whatever it takes to find Alexandria. That’s the only thing that matters.” At that moment, a knock sounded at the entrance.

“Bar service.” A female voice came from the other side of the curtain.

“Come in.” He stood.

A young girl draped in layers of black entered. Matching black-painted lips formed a smile before she spoke. “I’m Rose. What can I get you two?”

He glanced over at Gabrielle still sitting on the bench. “Something fruity, I think.” She smiled and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “How about one of those Appletinis I’ve heard of?”

Turning back to the server, he stepped forward, and braced one hand on the wall. “An Appletini for the lady, and I’ll take a Bud Light.” Rose scribbled the order on a piece of paper, then her pen slowed to a crawl. Her nostrils flared. Dark eyes, lined with kohl, lifted from the pad and met his. For a brief second, a red glow flashed around her pupils, and then it was gone.

He’d been made.

Exactly what he’d intended.

In one move, he dropped his arm from the wall and stepped back. “Thanks, Rose.” He turned his lips up into a smile.

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” She took a step in reverse. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” She turned and darted through the curtain.

“Well, that was interesting,” Gabrielle announced the moment Rose was out of the room. “Based on that glowing red display, I’d say our server is a vampire. And you made damn sure she knows you’re one too.”

He returned to the bench beside Gabrielle, stretched out his legs, and crossed his ankles. “Well, you know what they say, kitten.”

“No, what do they say, warrior?” She tilted her head in mock anticipation.

“A skilled hunter knows how and when…” He gently traced the smooth curve of her arm with his fingertips, not missing the trail of gooseflesh following his touch. “To flush out his prey.”

…

“Where is she?” Markus snarled in the face of the pale vampire minion who should have been guarding Alexandria. He could barely refrain from snapping the neck of the incompetent fool.

“Forgive me, Commander.” The minion squeaked. “I—I don’t know what happened.” The other vampire gulped hard. More than likely, the tight squeeze Markus had on his neck made swallowing—and breathing—difficult. He didn’t give a fuck. Alexandria was
not
in her room, and if this idiot was responsible for her escape, the bastard would pay. With his life.

He dragged the fool by his neck up the wooden stairs from the basement holding area that exited into the home’s large open kitchen, then tossed the minion forward onto the white tile. The vampire scurried along the floor, putting as much distance as he could between them. He grabbed his throat, trembling as he turned to face his commander, and sat back on his heels. The minion’s hard coughs, followed by the high shrill of air squeezing past his damaged trachea, pinged and echoed off the stainless steel and ceramic that filled the area.

“Tell me what happened here!” Markus stormed across the room, chewing up the space between them in a blur. The panicked vampire flung his arms up and crisscrossed them over his face in self-defense. When the expected blow never arrived, his arms dropped away like a scared female at a horror show. Jerking the minion to his feet by the neck of his black cotton shirt, he brought them face-to-face. “Speak, vampire. I don’t have time for your fear.”

“When I returned from my break,” he began, the words tumbling from his quivering jaw.

“Your break?”
What the hell?
Vampires didn’t need a break. “Who ordered you to leave your post?”

“Enrique came to me, stating he’d received orders from—from you, sir, to relieve me for a one-hour break.”

Markus stilled.
Enrique? That son of a bitch
. What kind of game was he fucking playing? Tracing Alexandria through the blood she’d ingested from his vein would be simple. But no one knew that Markus alone had been the only one to feed her, making that little feat possible.

If Alexandria got too far away, he would only be able to trace her general direction, and if she kept moving, there was a possibility he could lose her. At this point, he’d lost maybe an hour at most. There was still a good chance he would easily find her.

And then he’d deal with Enrique.

He opened his palm and released the minion from his grip. “Remember this, minion. There are
no
breaks. And the only orders you are to follow are the ones that come from me—personally.”

“Yes, sir.” The vampire backed away and bowed. “I understand, sir.”

Markus waved a dismissive hand. “Get out of my face.” The minion whipped around, dashed out of the kitchen, and down the hall.

Making time behind him, Markus aimed for the front of the house. Once outside, and in the quiet of the night, he’d reach inside for Alexandria’s presence and pick up her trail.

Halfway to the door, Marguerite’s personal minion stepped in his path. “Sir, Mistress has requested your presence in her quarters.”

“Tell her, I’ll speak with her later. There’s an important matter I have to attend to.” The more than six-foot blond vampire didn’t budge.

“Her instructions were clear. You were to come.
Now
.” Fangs dropped into place, their tips glistening behind the minion’s lips in his attempt at intimidation. The display only succeeded in pissing him off.

Frustration surged through his veins.
Damn it!
He didn’t have time for Marguerite’s impetuous demands. But he knew better than to ignore her when she was like this. Marguerite knew exactly how to get what she wanted. And he preferred the pain she inflicted in bed to the agony he endured out of it.