Crimson Reign (39 page)

Every night the bastard stalked his nightmares. The alley, the lust, the fangs, Copi was on a perpetual high and his cock didn’t know the meaning of soft. No amount of jacking off, before bed or after, alleviated his need, and it made him sick in the gut that instead of running from the specter in his dreams, he wanted the bastard to bite him. The vein in his neck throbbed for the feel of those fangs buried deep. Which was crazy, no fucking way Bourne was a vampire. They didn’t exist. It was just his fucked up head playing tricks on his cock. The organ in question twitched, painfully filled and demanding attention.

Another hair plow and Copi glanced left as movement caught his eye. As if conjured from his thoughts, the big motherfucker stood on the deck. Without knocking, he twisted the knob and waltzed into the room. Surreptitiously, he dragged a cushion over his lap to hide the bulge in his track pants, but Bourne barely glanced at him.

“Get dressed. You need another three layers on over the shirt, all terrain boots and a coat. A fucking thick one.”

“What the hell for?” Copi demanded.

“Because I said so,” Vischeral stalked across the room to snag the bottle of Jack sitting on the coffee table. “You should lay off the hooch, it thins the blood.”

“Fuck you,” Copi spat and shoved to his feet ready for an all out brawl to settle the tension between them. His partner ignored his aggression, and with a swirl of his long leather coat, he spun away and carried the bottle into the kitchen.

“I really don’t give a fuck if you freeze your ugly ass off, but we’re meeting the WST in a little over an hour, and it’s going to get really fucking cold as the night lengthens,” Bourne snarled.

The insult rubbed him all kinds of the wrong way. Copi made his way to the bedroom and snapped back at his new partner. “If my ass is ugly, motherfucker, then your face is its God damned twin.” Throwing open one of the still unpacked suitcases, he picked out thermals, added some socks, a long sleeved T...shirt and a sweater. He glanced down at the pants he wore and knew instinctively that they were inadequate as were the jeans in his luggage. None of them were good insulators against the cold. Smirking, Copi doubted it would help his cause that he always went commando. Wonder what his partner would think of that? Copi immediately shoved the thought away. Why the hell would Bourne be interested in his choice, or lack thereof, of undergarments?

Furious with himself, Copi snatched the loose fitting cotton down over his hips. Whether it was from the intensity of the night’s dream featuring his new partner, or the cool air that swept over him sending shivers up his spine, Copi moaned. His thick, heavy cock presented itself in a full on standing ovation. He’d sported the constant hard on since meeting one Vischeral Bourne.

Deep breathes in and out. Copi tried to calm himself and lessen the swollen ache in his loins. He focused, trying to make out the aroma snaking into his room and coating his skin. It filled the air around him in a cloud of richly spiced vanilla… all warm and woodsy. Sighing, he remembered where he’d first smelled the same erotic scent. Copi refused to let it, or the person exuding it put him off his stride. With no time to sort out the mess his body was in, he prayed the black combats and various other layers would hide his predicament over the man in the next room. Fully dressed, he took a deep breath and exited the bedroom.

Back out where Vischeral paced across the floor, Copi detected the same scent growing denser, more concentrated almost, and his partner seemed pissed…really pissed. Not wanting or needing to know what was with the big brooding hulk, Copi headed straight out of the front door and waited on the porch. When his partner appeared beside him, he locked up and headed for the vehicle parked in his driveway. He assumed the massive hunk of metal was his partner’s car. It certainly fit. The glossy black Hummer H2 was a fine work of art and Copi whistled in appreciation at the 6.0...litre, V8 under the hood. A real classy set of wheels. He stroked his fingertips over the paint job, admiring its body like it was a goddess. He stopped and rolled his eyes when Bourne blocked his path.

“Of course, you’re driving.” His partner merely grunted and handed him a slip of paper, an issue note.

Copi grinned as he read the note from their Chief. It informed him the Hummer should have been at the airport on his arrival. But whatever, Copi damn near barreled into the big fucker to get to the driver’s door and climb inside. He admired the leather interior and inhaled the new car scent while his partner ass planted on the passenger side.

“So, Mr. Doom and Gloom, where to? And how the fuck do we get there?” He received an eloquent ‘fuck you’ stare as Bourne punched coordinates into the Sat...Nav. Before sitting back in the seat, he cranked up the stereo until the whole SUV shook while Marilyn Manson screamed about beautiful people. It was only when they hit the Glen highway, and Copi floored the gas that Vischeral actually seemed to relax. Thinking it was time to find out his partner’s take on the bodies that had been found; Copi asked the questions he’d previously jotted down about the crime scenes.

“Why do you think there is such a lack of intel on the bite marks? And, if whatever did this isn’t on the database up here, then could it mean the vics were killed elsewhere, making this a stop and drop?” Vischeral remained silent so Copi carried on, “The Chief stated there were ten presumed murders, but only two of the bodies have ever been found, how the hell has this been allowed to go on for so long without the feds being called in?”

He didn’t have a clue if his tone was off or his questions were of the wrong nature, but he knew one thing for sure. As soon as he had started to ask questions, his partner went all on the defensive. Big shoulders tensed, lips firmed.

“When we get to the meeting point, the WST will brief us as on any new intel gained from their forensics. They’re trying to keep this under wraps and in house to avoid mass hysteria. They’ve been working around the clock despite the cold and the dark. I hope that meets with your God damn approval.” After his tirade, Vischeral sat and glared through the windshield as though warring with an inner demon. Fuckin’ hell! Copi writhed in his seat trying to focus on the screeching coming from the stereo.

Vischeral’s proximity within the confines of the Hummer didn’t do much for Copi’s train of thought. His eyes kept shifting to the long thickly muscled thighs of his partner’s leather clad legs which in turn had his whole body running on hot. He gripped the steering wheel hard and fought to keep from veering off the icy road and getting them both killed. Sweet Lord above what the fuck was wrong with him? Ever since his first meeting with Bourne, a weird sense of foreboding loomed over him like the proverbial dark cloud of a pending storm. It brewed in the very air around them. Fuck! Even with the window cracked, Copi felt the denseness of the air around them. It hovered charged and full of static electricity which seemed to originate from Mr. Dark and Deadly like a God damn tidal wave.

Whatever sort of mood Vischeral was in, it wasn’t a good one. Copi almost tasted the dark energy surrounding the brooding motherfucker. He hoped to God no one pissed the big guy off when they reached their destination, because if they did, the dumb schmuck would probably be using his balls as a pair of paper weights come morning. Cautiously, he glanced to the right and sucked air as he met the other man’s stare. He became momentarily captivated by the density of Vischeral's fathomless eyes. Jesus H. Christ, the son of a bitch was hot.

Copi’s breath hitched painfully in his chest. He had to get his act together. Bourne would probably take great delight in dismembering him limb from limb if he knew what effect he had on Copi’s lower region.  He flushed when his blood rushed south to further engorge the length of his cock. Shifting in his seat as much as he could, he tried to hide the bulge pressing hard against his pants. But, it proved futile as his body’s reaction intensified every time he breathed in Vischeral’s scent. Oh, hell yeah! He could breathe that shit in deep, lose himself in the heady aroma of his partner’s sex all day, because that’s what the big bastard was…sex. Pure dominance. If Copi was honest about how he felt, which he rarely ever was, he’d admit he wanted Bourne. Wanted him something fucking bad.

The notion that something more powerful than mere attraction loomed between them startled Copi. He’d always hidden his sexuality, refused to admit it even to himself. That made it entirely too real. But being so close to Vischeral Bourne, he couldn’t deny it, and it scared him shitless. The male exuded power, wore it like a God damned art form. And, that massive chest turned Copi right the fuck on. Oh yeah, he was hard; hard, throbbing and desperate to get his jollies off as soon as the fucking chance arose. And, whose face would he be thinking of? Motherfucker. Copi struggled against the ache in his balls and the relentless throb of his cock, but it was useless. He sighed defeated; the guy was just too damn much with all that size.

Copi felt like hitting his head against the steering wheel. Instead, he looked up to see Vischeral's startled, almost dazed stare. Copi swallowed, his throat was dry and his breathing deepened, turning husky as blood detoured from his cock to creep over his face. Quickly, he diverted his stare. His chest felt heavy and abated as the very air in his lungs seemed to diminish into nothing. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He berated himself mentally. Copi ya sad shit, get a God damn grip already.

~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~

Vischeral tried uselessly to settle into the bucket seat of the Hummer. He was never comfortable riding shotgun, or in the backseat, for that matter. If forced to travel by car, he preferred to be in control. To complicate matters, the human’s scent, a mix of dark chocolate and hazelnut, sent waves of blood lust, sexual awareness and need spiraling through him. The close confines enhanced the effect, causing a reaction Vischeral found almost impossible to hide.

While Copi drove, Vischeral took the opportunity to observe the man whose concentration fixated firmly on the slick, icy road. The strength of his reaction to his new partner astounded Vischeral. In nearly three hundred years, he’d never responded or wanted someone as badly as he craved Cophious Dane. Darklon’s “attention” caused Vischeral to foreswear commitment of any kind to anyone, be they human, vampire or other. Vischeral refused to be owned, or to become submissive to anyone ever again.

After giving the inquisitive human a last glare, he turned to stare out the window. The dark thoughts, he tried to shove from his mind. He needed to focus on the murder investigation. The WST would be pissy when he and Copi arrived. They’d refused local involvement, hadn’t wanted any assistance at all, but Vischeral knew the area better. The APD won out for another reason; his record of capture, much to the WST Director’s dismay, far, far outmatched all of their own combined. And, in this instance, they had no idea what they were up against.

Vischeral knew the killer’s species. The slash marks on the chests were textbook, if the humans had a textbook on werewolf attacks. To date, he’d not been able to determine a pack, and he’d not heard any news of a rogue wolf, or any other lone shifter on the prowl. But, it wasn’t like he could turn on the local news and play catch up. His gaze shifted back to his partner. He wasn’t the only one that noticed the slash marks were all the same.

While Copi had been changing, Vischeral had flipped through the notes the human cop had made. A deep respect for the male’s intelligence emerged as the questions and observations written in the margins were dead on with Vischeral’s own, with the exception that Vish knew Weres existed and Cophious was trying to fit the marks to an animal recognized in the human world. He could not be faulted for that misconception…yet.

Was his partner up to learning about the paranormal community that lived and breathed alongside the humans? Could his partner accept Vischeral was vampire? Vish shook his head answering his own question, Copi would never know. It was a secret Vischeral guarded very carefully, and one he couldn’t afford to have known. He refused to live in an enclave, refused to have his name entered into the vampire databases. Darklon hunted him even after all the time he’d been away.

The email from the angel flickered to the front of his mind, making him grimace. Mal’s permanent sidekick rubbed him the wrong way. From the beginning of his relationship with Mal, the angel tried everything except outright torture to scare Vischeral away. When scowls, threats and intimidation failed to do the trick, Laziel settled into a reluctant acceptance, but never lost his razor sharp tongue. Too bad for the angel, Vischeral genuinely liked Mal. He smiled to himself. Mal, aka Malachi Denali, King of the Vampire race, and Vischeral’s one time best friend. The male was one of the few things Vischeral regretted leaving behind in Italy. He’d long ago resigned himself to never catching up with the King; the email had confirmed that knowledge.

As the miles flew past under the snow tires, Vischeral surprised himself by relaxing into the soft leather seat beside Cophious. The male’s hands, sure and quick on the steering wheel, handled the large vehicle with ease. The radio blared so loud the music hindered any conversation. Vischeral’s mind drifted forward leaving Mal in the catacombs of his mind.

Instead, he found himself once again back in the alley in New York. His new partner stood across the alley, his amber eyes locked on Vish’s ebony ones. The female dangled between them. Copi stepped forward and the female disappeared. The human drew closer and Vischeral’s already wetted fangs throbbed.

Vischeral’s head snapped up off the seat back and he looked around for a moment confused. Copi’s voice registered just above Manson. “The Sat...Nav says to turn, but there’s no road.”

“Just around the curve, you’ll see it.” Vischeral sat stunned in the seat for a moment. He’d never relaxed his guard so completely around anyone, human or vampire, not even after his body was sated with blood and sex. The insane urge to spit out the truth had Vischeral growling. What the fuck was wrong with him?