Lover Reborn (Black Dagger Brotherhood #10)

Lover Reborn (Black Dagger Brotherhood #10) Page 23

Just before closing time at the Iron Mask, Xhex was in her office and shaking her head at Big Rob. On her desk between them were three more packets of that cocaine with the death symbol on it. "Are you kidding me with this shit?"

"Pulled it off a guy ten minutes ago."

"Did you keep him?"

"Within the bounds of what's legal. Told him I was processing paperwork. Didn't exactly mention to him that he was free to go - fortunately, he's so drunk he's not worried about his civil rights."

"Let me go talk to him."

"He's where you like them."

She headed out and hung a left. The interrogation room was at the far end of the hall, and it didn't have a lock on the door - last thing they needed was trouble with the CPD. Make that more trouble: Given what went down under this roof every night, the police were known to nose around from time to time.

Opening the door, she cursed under her breath. The guy sitting at the table was slumped over onto himself, his chin down on his chest, his arms hanging loose, his knees out to the sides. He was dressed like an old-fashioned dandy in steam-punk style, sporting a black slim-fit suit and a white shirt with a high lace collar - and naturally, something was off about the threads. The fabric, for one thing. The fact that none of it was handmade, for another. The buttons... But that was what happened when humans who liked to pretend dipped their toes in historical waters. They got shit wrong every time.

Shutting the door quietly, she walked over to him in silence, curled up a fist... and slammed it on the table to wake him up.

Oh, look, he had a little cane to complete his outfit. And a cape.

As the guy flipped backward and teetered on two chair legs, she caught the ebony walking stick on the fly and let gravity decide what to do with the human -

How. Cute. In his open mouth, two porcelain fang-like projections had been glued onto his canines. Guess that made him feel even more Frank Langella.

She sat down just as he landed flat on his back, and she studied the silver skull at the top of the cane while he dragged himself off the floor, righted his dumb-ass costume as well as the chair, and parked it once again. As he smoothed his jet-black hair, the roots showed mouse brown.

"Yes, we're letting you go," she said before he asked. "And as long as you tell me what I want to know, I won't get our friends down at the CPD involved."

"Okay. Yeah. Thanks."

At least he didn't pretend to have an English accent. "Where'd you get the coke?" She put a hand up as he opened his yap. "Before you tell me it was your friend's and you're just keeping it for him, or that you borrowed the coat and it was in the pockets, the police aren't going to believe that bullshit any more than I do - but I guarantee they'll get to hear the lie."

There was a long silence during which she stared at him. He'd even put in red contacts to make his irises appear to be glowing.

She wondered if he'd ever tried to dematerialize through a wall.

She was ready to help him give it a go.

"I made the buy on the corner of Trade and Eighth. About three hours ago. I don't know the guy's name, but he's usually there every night between eleven and twelve."

"Does he only sell the shit marked with that symbol?"

"Nah." The guy seemed to relax, his Jersey accent growing stronger. "He'll move just about anything. Back in the spring, I sometimes couldn't get the coke. But, I don't know, last month or so he's had it every time. It's what I like."

Was the Dracula routine his rebellion against GTL? she wondered.

"What name does it go by?" she said.

"Dagger. It fits who I am." As he motioned down his getup, his red-stoned pinkie ring caught the light. "I'm a vampire."

"Reallllly. I thought they didn't exist."

"Oh, we're very real." He gave her the once-over, his eyes going Lothario. "I could introduce you to some people. Bring you into the coven."

"Isn't that for witches?"

"I have three wives, you know."

"Sounds crowded at your house."

"I'm looking for a fourth."

"Nice offer, but I'm married." As she said the words, her chest ached. "Happily, I might add."

She wasn't sure for whose benefit that was tacked on. God, John -

The knock on the door was soft. "Yeah," she said over her shoulder.

"You got a visitor."

The instant the reply hit her ears, her body flared to life, and abruptly she was ready to usher this trick-or-treat motherfucker out the door headfirst.

John was early tonight, which was fine with her.

"We're done," she announced, getting to her feet.

The human rose up, his nostrils flaring. "God, your perfume is... amazing."

"Don't bring that shit into my house again, or next time we're not going to do any talking. Clear?"

Opening up the door, she got hit with her mate's bonding scent: Those dark spices were barreling down the hall...

And there he was, at the other end, standing tall outside her office.

Her John.

As his head came around toward her, he dipped his chin and smiled, his eyes looking a little evil. Which meant he was more than ready for her.

"You're beautiful," the faker breathed as he stepped forward.

She was about to brush him off when John caught sight of the horny little fucker.

This did not go over well.

Her bonded male came prowling down the hall, his shitkickers loud enough to drown out the bass beat from the club proper.

Her buddy with the caps and the cape was still focused on her, but that didn't last. As he got a load of the nearly three-hundred-pound, jacked-up force of nature riding up on him, he actually shrank into himself and took cover behind Xhex.

Manly. Yup. Real stud material.

John stopped at the door and blocked all escape, those beautiful blues of his downright vicious as he glared over her shoulder at the human.

God, she wanted to fuck him, she thought.

With a casual wave, she provided introductions. "This is my husband, John. John, this was just leaving. Do you want to escort it out, honey?"

Before the faker could respond, John bared his fangs and let out a hiss. It was the only sound he could make besides a whistle, but it was better than words -

"Oh, man," Xhex muttered as she stepped aside sharply.

The wannabe had just pissed himself.

John was more than happy to take out the garbage. Dumb-ass human, looking at his female like that? The bastard was lucky John was so sexed up. Otherwise he'd have taken the time to break a leg or an arm just to make a point.

Clamping a hold on the nape of the guy's neck, he frog-marched the leering son of a bitch over to the rear exit, kicked open the door, and dragged him into the back parking lot.

Some version of, "Oh, God, please don't hurt me," was coming out of that mouth, and with good goddamn reason. Only the thinnest veil of common sense was keeping John from murder.

As there was no way to command the guy to look at him, John spun the POS around, grabbed him by the shoulders, and lifted him up until his cute patent leather black shoes hung in the breeze.

Meeting eyes that had some kind of ridiculous fake red color over them, John willed the poser into a trance, and wiped clean the memories of those fangs that had been flashed. Then... well, it was tempting to implant a little ditty about how vampires really did exist and were coming after him.

Good dose of induced paranoia would put a quick end to this charade the fucker was living.

Then again, it wasn't worth the effort. Especially not when he could be inside his female right now.

With a final shake, he let the guy go, sending him off at a dead run. Fucker was scrawny; exercise would do him good.

As John turned back to the club, he saw Xhex's Ducati parked flush against the building under a security light, and damn... He imagined her straddling all that power, lying low on the engine, gunning the bike around a dead man's curve....

He stalked over to the door and found it open, with her standing in it.

"I thought you were going to tear his throat out," she drawled.

She was totally aroused.

As John came up to her, he didn't stop until her breasts were against his chest, and she didn't budge in the slightest - which naturally juiced him even more. God, she was hot to begin with, but this self-imposed separation they were rocking was making him even more desperate to be with her.

"You want to come in my office," she said on a growl. "Or do it out here?"

When he just nodded like the dumb handle he was, she laughed. "How about inside so we don't scare the children."

Yeah, for most humans, sex didn't involve drawing blood.

As she led the way, he watched her hips sway and wondered if in fact it was anatomically possible for a person's tongue to drag on the floor.

The instant they were locked in together, he was all over her, kissing her hard as his hands made fast work of shoving up her shirt. As her fingers speared into his hair, he bent down and sent up a prayer of thanks that she never bothered with a bra.

With her nipple in his sucking mouth and one hand between her legs from the back, he laid her out on top of the paperwork on her desk. Next move was to peel off her leathers, and then he was sprung and penetrating her.

Fast, furious fucking, the kind that rearranged furniture and probably called attention to itself, was always the opening gambit. Second time was slower. Third time was that sensuous crap that got shot with a blurry lens in movies.

It was your typical way of handling a banquet: gorge to take the edge off; concentrate on favorites; finish off with a delicate aperitif -

They came at the same time, he bending over her, she wrapping her long legs up around his hips, both of them holding on as tight as they could.

In the midst of the jerking releases, he happened to lift his head and look up. Across the way, there was a file cabinet, and an extra chair... and for some reason, he noticed for the first time that the wall was made of concrete blocks and painted black.

Same stuff that he'd stared at for the last couple months. And none of it had registered.

Now, though, the fact that it was not her home or his hit him hard.

She hadn't invited him back to her place on the river since they'd had that first all-out session after their separation.

She hadn't come to the mansion, either.

Closing his eyes, he tried to reconnect with what his body was still up to, but all he got were vague sensations of pulsing below his belt. Popping his lids, he wanted to look at her face, but she had arched back and all he could see was the point of her chin. And some time cards. For her bouncers.

Who could be right outside the door, listening to them.

Shit... this was seedy.

He was having an illicit affair... with his own mate.

In the beginning, it had been so exciting, like they were dating in a way they hadn't done when they'd first gotten together. And he'd assumed it would always be that fun.

Except there had been shadows all along, hadn't there.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he realized he would so rather do this in a bed. Their mated bed. And it wasn't because he was old-fashioned; he missed her sleeping beside him.

"What is it, John?"

He cracked his lids. He should have known she'd have a bead on where he was at - symphath abilities aside, she knew him as no one else did. And now, as he met her gunmetal gray eyes, a stab of sadness nailed him in the chest.

He really didn't want to talk about it, though. They had too little time together.

He kissed her deep and long, figuring that was the best kind of distraction for both of them - and it worked. As her tongue met his, he began moving inside of her again, the long strokes taking him out to the brink, then easing him in all the way. The rhythm was slow but inexorable, and he, too, got swept away to a place where his head quieted down.

The release was a gently cresting wave this time, and he rode it out with a kind of desperation.

When it had passed, as all orgasms did, he became acutely aware of the distant, muffled pounding of music, and the clipping of heels out in the hall, and the far-off ringing of a cell phone.

"What's wrong?" she said.

As he disengaged their bodies, he noticed that they were both mostly dressed. When was the last time they'd been fully naked?

Jesus... it had been during that period of bliss after their mating. Which seemed like a distant memory. Maybe about another couple.

"Did everything go okay with Wrath tonight?" she asked as she pulled up her pants. "Is that what it is?"

His brain struggled to focus, but fortunately, his hands were working just fine, and not only to get his button fly done up. Yeah, the meeting went okay. Hard to judge, though. The glymera are all about appearances.

"Mmm." She never had much to say about things involving the Brotherhood. Then again, given where they stood about her fighting, he was surprised she brought his work up at all.

How's it going for you tonight? he signed.

She picked up something that she'd been lying on, a little baggie. "We have a new drug dealer in town."

He caught what she tossed over, frowning at the symbol stamped on the cellophane. What the hell? This is... the Old Language.

"Yup, and we have no clue who's behind it. But I promise you this, I'm going to find out."

Let me know if I can help.

"I got this."

I know.

The stretch of silence that rang out served to remind him of where they were - and were not.

"You're right," she said abruptly. "I haven't had you to my house on purpose. It's hard enough to have you leave me from here."

I could stay with you. I could move in, and -

"Wrath would never allow it - rightfully so, I might add. You're a very valuable commodity to him, and my cabin is hardly as secure as the mansion. Besides, what the hell would we do with Qhuinn? He deserves a life, too - and at least where you stay he has some autonomy."

Alternate days, then.

She shrugged. "Until that becomes not enough? John, this is what we have - and it's better than a lot of people get. You don't think Tohr would kill to be able to - "

It's not enough for me. I'm greedy, and you're my shellan, not just a booty call.

"And I can't go back to the mansion. I'm sorry. If I do, I'll end up hating them - and you. I'd like to pretend I can self-actualize this shit away, and be all, 'I'll just do me,' but I can't."

I'll talk to Wrath -

"Wrath's not the issue. They take their cues from you. All of them."

When he didn't reply, she came up to him, put her palms on his face, and stared into his eyes. "This is the way it has to be. Now go so I can close up. And come back to me first thing tomorrow night. I'm already counting down the minutes."

She kissed him firmly.

And then turned away and left the office.