Deadly Liaisons (21 page)

“Tezra.”

He licked her nipple. Closing her eyes, she savored his mouth scandously clamping down on the tip. She reached lower and stroked his stone-hard arousal, forcing him to groan. He
thought
his rule was absolute, but her simple touch unraveled him. She smiled at the contradiction.

He removed her hand from his erection, and he tugged tenderly at her nipple with his teeth.

Both nipples instantly firmed and begged for more of his touch. With a deep breath, she pul ed at his leg, encouraging him to join with her.

His hand moved to her waist, but he didn’t take her despite her encouragement. Leaning forward, he touched his forehead to hers. “You said only once.”

“A woman can change her mind.” And if he didn’t go through with it after already getting her this worked up, she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions!

His deep chuckle tickled her. He pressed her legs apart and settled in between, his movements rushed as if he feared she’d change her mind.

He slid his erection inside her. Driving her hips for maximum penetration, she savored his thickened shaft reaching deep.

Meeting her impetus with faster thrusts, he matched her drive and wil ingness with his own, rubbing his pelvis against her mound. Then he slowed. Her heart sank when she thought she was losing him.

She held onto his back, digging her fingernails in to force him to continue, but he pul ed out despite her efforts. Confusion and upset reigned.

Before she could ask what was wrong, his mouth tackled hers with fervor. His fingers caressed her most sensitive spot, wringing her body until she clambered for the peak. Only a little higher. She moaned his name, her body hotter than a fire’s white flames, their hair and skin damp with perspiration, the sun nearly within reach. The jolt of inspiration, of exhilaration and of being loved while he put her needs before his, washed over her with a mixture of euphoria and complete satisfaction. “Bite me.”

“You wish to offer your blood?”

And more, if she could convince him. She nodded, certain he wasn’t ready to turn her yet, but the ache to feel the sensation intensified, triggering a surge of new need. She understood now why blood bonds offered themselves to the vampires—for the sexual pleasure they received.

Entering her again, Daemon resumed his thrusts, deep, penetrating, almost desperate.

His hands stroked her hair, then pushed it aside, and he licked her neck. Trying not to think about his feeding off her, she ran her hands over the muscles of his butt, concentrating on the way he moved, hard and determined. A prick on her neck was al it amounted to, like the infinitesimal sting of two mosquitoes situated slightly apart. Then warmth spread through her body, and a calm like she’d never experienced before flooded every cel .

She tightened her legs around him, pressuring him to find release in her.

Peacefulness and serenity fil ed her while he sucked from her throat, drawing her blood, his thickened erection stil thrusting deep inside her. When he pumped his seed into her, her heated body reached heavenward again. She moaned, satiated with pleasure.

His mouth stil claimed her throat, his touch as sensuous as when he sucked on her breast, tingling and titil ating. Her mind drifted, circling the stars and the moon, floating past the constel ations, sparks of light fal ing to the earth, and nothing but joy could touch her.

With a sigh, Daemon licked her wounds, sealing them. Pul ing her against his body, he vowed never to take her again. Being with her was too tempting. He couldn’t risk it, and he worried she was trying to use her sexual wiles to ensnare him to turn her.

She nestled against him, her breathing growing softer, her heart rate slowing.

Never again, he vowed. Never again, and he tightened his hold on her.

***

Gale-force winds pummeled the beach home, rattling the overhang over the back porch. A couple of hours later, Daemon sensed Maison speaking with Atreides in Patrico’s living room. Daemon kissed Tezra’s cheek, unwrapped his body from hers, then dressed and joined Maison and his brother.

Maison’s hair dripped water and the bottoms of his jeans were wet. Raindrops puddled up on his black trench coat hanging on the arm of the sofa.

“What have you learned in your investigation concerning Uncle Solomon, Maison?”

“Tezra’s hunch was right.” Sitting on a sofa opposite him, Maison took a sip of wine, leaned back and stretched his long legs.

“The murdered police officers kil ed Solomon.”

The wind howled through a crack in the front door, making it sound as though angry spirits were warning them to get out. Rain driven at a slant pounded the picture windows, and Daemon left the sofa and took a look out one of them. The waves bil owed into white frothing mountains in the blackness, but they were safe enough here for the moment.

Returning to the sofa, he considered Maison’s words. Even though Daemon condemned the murdering vampire, the darkest part of him felt the officers deserved their just rewards for kil ing an innocent. Their uncle, for centuries their surrogate father, harsh at times, loving when they needed it, was the last of their natural-born kin. Life without his wry sense of humor or many words of wisdom would never be the same.

Daemon’s gut clenched with the tightness he’d felt when he first learned of his uncle’s death. Settling back against the couch, he attempted to release the tension in his spine and let go of the feeling of loss that swamped him al over again. “Tezra said Krustalus taunted her at the scene when Officer Stevens was murdered, but she was certain another vampire kil ed him.”

“It’s rare when serial kil ers work in pairs, but not unknown,” Maison said. “Also, Atreides told me Patrico identified Mustaphus as his hunter friend’s kil er.”

“Lichorus said Mustaphus knew about the officer who was kil ed at Tezra’s apartment before anyone else did. If Mustaphus murdered him, it would stand to reason he kil ed the others.”

“But Uncle Solomon never spoke of Mustaphus,” Atreides argued. “If Mustaphus kil ed the policemen because they had murdered Uncle Solomon, he must have been a pretty close friend, don’t you agree, Daemon?”

“I agree. We need to discover if Uncle Solomon kept a journal among his effects. Have some of our men go through the boxes in my cel ar—see if they can find anything.”

Soggy-eyed, Patrico dragged into the living room, combing his fingers through his tangled, shoulder-length hair. “I want a piece of him.”

Voltan lumbered behind him.

Ignoring the hunter’s comment, Daemon asked Maison, “Who did you speak to concerning the names of the police officers?”

“Chief O’Mal ey. He said when the officers kil ed your uncle it was a case of mistaken identity. They thought he was Mustaphus.

Anonymous evidence was sent to the police department concerning the earlier kil ings and Mustaphus’s home address was given. Solomon was visiting while Mustaphus had gone on an errand. Maybe he knew the police were coming for him?”

“The bastard.”

“It’s possible he was ful y aware of the situation.” Maison cleared his throat. “When the police arrived, Solomon opened the door to them. The chief said Mustaphus and Solomon were around the same age, both dark-haired, had dark brown eyes, same height and husky build. Solomon denied being Mustaphus, but the police officers believed he was the serial kil er, trying to lie his way out of being terminated and knowing how dangerous an ancient could be, they took him down.”

Daemon shook his head, his temper building. “That’s not what the chief told us right after they kil ed Uncle Solomon. He said they’d gone to the wrong house, and he named some other vampire they were after—not Mustaphus. Someone we’d never heard of before. Since we could never locate the vampire, we assumed he had an alias.” He glanced at Patrico seated in a chair between the couches. “You wouldn’t happen to know who sent the police the anonymous information about Mustaphus, would you?”

Patrico’s brows furrowed. “I couldn’t let the bastard get away with any more murders. He never stopped, you know. He went after women who frequented bars, either alone or in pairs.”

“So you were the one who got our uncle kil ed,” Atreides growled.

“Hel ,” Patrico said, waving his hand, “he shouldn’t have been friends with a serial kil er.”

Atreides’s fangs extended, but Daemon held up his hand in warning. “Uncle Solomon wouldn’t have known about Mustaphus’s murders. You know how most serial kil ers operate. Their friends are often the last to know of their complicity in crimes such as these.” Daemon poured himself a glass of wine at the bar.

“When I asked about the policemen’s names, Chief O’Mal ey acted nervous,” Maison said. “When you spoke to him after your uncle was terminated, the chief’s explanation sounded reasonable. He was horrified by the mistake, probably because he feared retaliation. He would have done anything to bring your uncle back. But this time…” Maison lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t trust him. He shielded his thoughts from me. Fil ed his mind with police business unrelated to your uncle’s case, grocery lists, anything to keep me from learning the truth. So I used our form of persuasion and got the new answer.”

“I asked him at Cafferty’s Tavern if there was a connection between the vampire and his police officers, and he said no. Hel , I should have taken him with us and wil ed it out of him then, but in the ensuing fight he conveniently disappeared. So why was he protecting Mustaphus?” Daemon asked.

“Someone sent him death threats. Said they’d kil O’Mal ey’s family. The chief didn’t feel he had a choice,” Maison said.

“Put out the word that Mustaphus is to be eliminated on sight for the hunter named Fish’s murder. No need to involve the SCU in

“Put out the word that Mustaphus is to be eliminated on sight for the hunter named Fish’s murder. No need to involve the SCU in this one. If they learn he kil ed one of their hunters, no tel ing what the repercussions wil be.”

Atreides turned his head and looked in the direction of the hal way leading to the bedrooms. Daemon fol owed his gaze. Tezra leaned against the doorframe, her hair tousled. The man’s black shirt she wore, probably from Patrico’s wardrobe, covered her to midthigh and looked pretty damned hot.

“The storm woke me.” She motioned to the crack in the front door where the wind continued to moan. “Then I heard a bunch of heated talking. Want to let me in on the secrets?”

Daemon poured another glass of wine and said to Maison, “I want the word to go out tonight.”

“You’ve got it.” Maison rose from the sofa, pul ed on his trench coat and vanished.

“Voltan, return Patrico to bed.” Daemon crossed the floor to Tezra and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I’l protect you from the storm.”

She slipped the wine glass out of his hand. “This wil help. But I want to know what was said.”

He lifted her in his arms. “I’l tel you everything we know, but believe me, they’re not the kind of bedtime tales that wil help you sleep.”

“If you have evidence concerning Krustalus and have put him on a termination list, it’l help me sleep.”

She snuggled against Daemon’s chest, and he was overwhelmed with how good she felt.

Too good. And dangerous. But he never wanted to turn the one he loved to spend an eternity with her only to have to eliminate her shortly after their vampiric mating. Never again.

In the middle of the night, Tezra touched Daemon’s chest, and he looked down at her. She seemed to be concerned about something. He certainly was.

“I want to know about Krustalus—when he approached you,” he said again, hoping this time she’d tel him the truth.

She sighed deeply.

“Tezra—”

“It was like…he only came to me when I…”

“Was defiant, broke the rules, became a rogue?”

She didn’t say anything, just continued to caress his chest with a light touch which was driving him mad. “Did he bite you, Tezra?

”

“What difference does it make?”

“Bloody hel . Why wouldn’t you say so before?” Daemon wrapped his arms around her, but she stiffened in his embrace. “When did it happen?” He suspected the worst, but tried to keep his emotions from getting away from him.

She rubbed his arm, then looked away.

“A long time ago? Recently? When? Where?”

“What difference does it make?” she asked again, except her tone of voice sounded defeated this time, soft and vulnerable.

He tightened his hold on her but she seemed in a different world. “When did he bite you, Tezra? Tel me.”

She wouldn’t say, and he kissed the top of her head. “Tel me what happened.” He assumed she was reliving the memories, but when he attempted to read her mind, she kept him locked out.

“He came to you after your parents’ murders, didn’t he? He came to you when you were most vulnerable. Who took you in when Katie was admitted to the hospital?”

Tezra looked up at him, confused.

“Where did you live after your parents were murdered?”

She took a deep breath and looked away.

“You couldn’t have stayed with relatives?” he asked. He knew she lived in the home for troubled teens, but he wanted her to tel him the whole story in her own words.

“I didn’t have any left. My aunt was kil ed on a hunt and though her lover wanted to take me in, the higher-ups at the SCU

wouldn’t permit it.”

“Why not?” He touched her cheek, but she turned away from him.

“She wasn’t a blood relative.”

“Was she a huntress?”

“Yes.”

“So where did you go? Foster parents?” Which wouldn’t have made any sense since they wouldn’t have been blood relatives either, but he needed for her to tel him the truth.

She didn’t say.

“To an SCU home?” He’d heard rumors that they tried to create the perfect hunter corps—stripping the children of their emotions so they could take down renegade vampires without remorse.

She swal owed hard.

He wanted to lash out at anyone who was involved with confining her to the facility and the il treatment she received afterwards, but he shifted to another tactic, hoping to gain her confidence. “When Atreides and I were thirteen, my mother died of a fever, and we went to live with our Uncle Solomon. He was a hard but fair man, and we cared deeply for him. But during a battle with the Turks, Uncle Solomon was taken prisoner and—” He took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t matter how many years he lived, he would never forget how terrified or isolated he’d felt.