Eternal Kiss (3 page)

“Cute.” Jace narrowed his eyes. “What’s your name, little vampire?”

What would it hurt, to give him that? “Moth.”

He shook his head. “Your real name. Not your stupid vampire name.”

“That
is
my real name.” Now, anyway. Now and forever.

He smiled that nasty smile again; not the flash of genuine humor she’d seen earlier. “Whatever you say,
Moth
.”

“What do you care what I’m called? You’re going to kill me, anyway.”

“You’re already dead, as far as I’m concerned. You were the very moment you were bitten.”

Moth felt something like grief stir in her chest. “You don’t know that. Is that what your dad told you about us?” She swallowed. “Maybe you shouldn’t just take his word for everything, and go find out some of this stuff for yourself.”

“As soon as I’ve got my degree, I’ll be traveling with him. That’s the deal.”

“
Hunting
with him, don’t you mean?”

He shrugged. “So what? You’re a hunter—you’re all predators. Vamps, werewolves … All monsters kill whatever and whoever they can to survive.” He gave her a hard look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never killed a human.”

She was suddenly relieved he couldn’t see her eyes. Her mouth pulled into a tight line and she wished she were a better liar. “I don’t have to answer to you. You’re holding a freaking crossbow aimed at my heart.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His lip curled. “You can’t even answer the question.”

“I don’t owe you anything. You attacked me and tied me up, and then threatened to turn me into dust. How do you even know how long ago I was turned? Have you thought about that?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Hasn’t Daddy told you? New vampires won’t just disintegrate into a convenient pile of ash. You’re going to end up with a lot of bodies that need to be disposed of. Have you got the stomach for that? How old
are
you, anyway? You’re just a kid …”

Jace stood, his face twisted with anger. The crossbow trembled in his hand. “Shut your mouth, bloodsucker.”

Moth felt sick, her arms hurt and her legs were heavy against the floor, but she was getting to him. Finally. She tested the cuffs one last time and then
pulled
, thankful that her silver-induced weakness didn’t stop her from breaking the bonds. The chain snapped, though that still left her wrists encased in the blessed metal. But so what? She could use her hands again, which was all that mattered.

Jace was much closer now. He seemed younger and less sure of himself. Moth licked her lips and shook her hair out of her eyes, dislodging the precariously perched sunglasses. They hit the ground just as Jace aimed the crossbow at her head. Moth was sure she could hear his heart beating, could almost taste his fear. The hunter’s son probably had a lot to prove to Daddy. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

She smiled at him, despite the fear that fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird. “You’re aiming at the wrong place. My heart’s a lot lower than that.”

She watched, with a curious mixture of anger and compassion, as he swallowed. She could see his throat work as he licked his lips. He was almost in reach of her legs. Almost …

“Nice setup you’ve got here.” Moth braced her palms against the floor. “Your dad must earn a lot of money dusting vamps, huh?”

A single bead of sweat trickled down Jace’s temple. She wondered what it would taste like, whether she would get the chance to taste him.

His foot moved forward—one more step—and it was enough.

Moth moved. She pushed her hands down and flipped her legs up, slamming her bound feet into his knee and hearing the satisfying crunch of bone.

Jace collapsed, howling with pain. The crossbow fell beside him and released its deadly bolt, whizzing past Moth’s ear and landing with a
thunk
just below the window as it buried itself in the aged plaster. Moth’s momentum had carried her on top of her would-be captor. Her legs were hopelessly bound with those thick chains, but she still managed to roll onto her knees and pin Jace to the ground.

His face was the color of raw putty as he struggled beneath her, surprising her with his human strength despite the injury, but she held him with ease.

“Quit moving around.” Moth smiled sweetly. “You don’t want to hurt yourself now, do you?” She’d just broken the guy’s kneecap, and she knew she was being a cow but …
what the hell
. He deserved it.

Even without the use of her legs—even with the broken silver cuffs still circling her wrists—Moth was stronger than him. Despite the difference in their sizes, she pushed down on his arms and lay on top of him with her knees resting between his legs. If she pressed her knees in just the right way, Jace was going to be in a lot more pain than he already was.

“So,” she said, with a wicked smile. “Does your father know you do this kind of thing?”

He took shallow breaths. “Of course he does. He trained me.”

“And how old are you?”

“How old are
you
?”

She cocked her head to one side. “Eighteen.”

“That’s when you were turned. How old are you?
Really
.”

Moth pursed her lips and thought about playing with him some more. But what did she have to lose? “I’m twenty-eight.”

Jace looked surprised. “You’ve been a vamp for ten years? No way.”

“You’re saying I look younger? Aw, thanks.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

Grimacing as he shifted position beneath her, he sucked in a breath. “No, I mean you
seem
younger. You act it.”

Moth gave him the benefit of her silver stare. “Sometimes. So, c’mon. Your turn.”

“I’m nineteen.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, I love a younger man …”

“Get off me, freak.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Moth dug her knees in. Hard.

Jace’s eyes rolled with pain and, if it was possible, his face became even paler. “Bitch,” he gasped.

“Says the guy who drugged me—and I don’t know how the hell you managed
that
—tied me up in chains and handcuffs made of blessed silver, and then threatened to dust me with Daddy’s crossbow.”

“So … what? You’re going to bite me now, is that it?”

“Would you like me to?” Moth could smell his fear. It was intoxicating, and she was already trying to fight the bloodlust rising in her gut. She could feel the panicked drumbeat of his heart as their bodies pressed together. Just because she had an aversion to the taste of blood—especially the fresh stuff—didn’t mean she wouldn’t do what she had to do. Not when it came to survival.

She studied Jace’s pain-wracked face. This wasn’t survival, it was revenge, but didn’t she deserve a little of that? She wouldn’t drain him, of course. She would only take a little. Just a taste …

Moth slid her hands down his solid arms and grabbed his wrists, forcing them above his head. He was powerless. He could wriggle beneath her, but with the busted kneecap he only had one leg that was working, and he was probably in too much pain to do too much damage with it.

His blond spikes had wilted, and sweat ran freely down his neck and onto the carpet. She stared into his dark eyes—his
brown
eyes—and did something she hadn’t done for a very long time. Oh, the days she’d spent dreaming of Theo and those full lips. But there was something about Jace’s thinner mouth that drew her to him. Even though he was beaten and in pain, the grim determination that pulled it into a tight line spoke of the sort of man he was going to become.

Moth licked her lips and leaned in close.

Jace’s eyes widened as she captured him in her gaze, willing him to hold still, just for a moment, while she pressed her lips to his and delivered the softest of kisses. He tasted of fear and rage, desire and pain, and it was truly delicious. Filled with regret and growing bloodlust, Moth pulled away—she had to get out of there. But first she had to find that damn funeral urn.

Before she could move away, Jace’s uninjured leg suddenly swung around, clamping down on her chained legs and holding her in place as he pushed his lips back against hers.

Moth’s brain registered a fleeting moment of
WTF?
as he deepened the kiss. Wasn’t he supposed to be transfixed by her silver eyes? She still hadn’t fully mastered the art of compulsion, but she had
some
ability. And then she purposely switched off that part of her mind—the part that was afraid—as she enjoyed the moment; it had been too long since she’d been kissed like this. Too long since she had been held and touched.

Moth finally opened her eyes and pulled away. She looked down into his face and he stared back, a dark challenge hidden
in the depths of his eyes. His lips quirked in a half-smile, and the movement sent a drop of blood running down his chin.

Before she could control the impulse, Moth darted forward and caught the shining crimson bead on the tip of her tongue. It tasted harsh and tangy, and she shuddered with a mixture of desire and disgust as she swallowed it. She licked her lips and tried to push down the wave of guilt that washed over her.
Crazy to feel that way, just for nicking him with her teeth
. It had been an accident—heat of the moment.

“If you’d let go of my hands, I could wipe the rest of the blood away.” Jace’s tone was neutral, all signs of pain and panic appeared to have gone. He’d regained his control, just as she had lost hers.

Moth gazed at the new blood welling from the cut on his bottom lip. She released his arms and pushed away from him, rolling to one side and dragging herself across the room and against the wall nearest the door. Her newly acquired leather jacket was hanging from a hook against the dark wood. She grabbed it and tugged it down, ripping the bronze coat hook from its moorings. Wrapping the material around her hands, she gripped the thick silver chains encasing her legs and
pulled
.

The metal was heavy and tough—even without the so-called “blessing” (which Moth was beginning to suspect was actually some kind of magical warding)—but she was fast regaining her strength.

The chains snapped, the miniature padlocks shattering into pieces and scattering around her on the carpet.

Jace lay exactly where she’d left him. His injured leg was bent at a strange angle and Moth began to wonder if she should leave him there like that. She shook her head.
What the hell was she thinking?
She was going soft, forgetting what he’d done to her in the first place. One kiss and she’d completely lost her head.

Flipping onto her feet, she shrugged into the jacket and tried to ignore the faint burning sensation around each wrist. Moth approached the would-be vampire hunter and nudged him with the toe of her boot.

“Okay, Van Helsing. Where does your father keep his trophies?”

He coughed and propped himself up on his elbows. He tried to hide a wince as he attempted to lift himself into a sitting position. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, I don’t have time for this. You cost me …” She glanced at the clock on the bedside table and almost gasped. “
Two freaking hours?!
What the hell did you plug me with?” She narrowed her eyes. “Forget that. What time will Daddy be home?”

Jace glared at her. “He’s never home before dawn.”

Moth felt the tension in her gut ease. “So … The trophy room?”

“He doesn’t take scalps, if that’s what you mean.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ashes, Jace. Where does he keep the ashes?”

“He doesn’t.”

“Yeah, right. Tell me, or I’ll rip the place apart
after
I take out your other knee.” She gave him an evil grin. “How do you fancy
a wheelchair for the next three months?”

Moth was amazed to see his fingers twitch in the direction of the unloaded crossbow. She brought her heavy boot down on it with a satisfying
crunch
.

“Tick-tock, Jace.”

“Fine. There’s no trophy room.” He raised his hand as he saw Moth about to reply. “There really isn’t. Dad keeps some funeral urns in the kitchen.”

She frowned. “Um … The
kitchen
?”

“Cupboard under the sink.” He lay back against the floor and closed his eyes.

“Your old man’s a freak, you know that?”

“Screw you.”

Moth couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. She blew him a kiss and pocketed his cell phone and her shades on her way past the armchair. She left the room and quickly checked all the other doors before finding the kitchen at the far end of the labyrinthine apartment.

The kitchen was surprisingly large, square and filled with chrome and modern appliances that didn’t look like they saw much use. The small sink and disposal unit shone under the bright lights, and beneath those nestled the sort of cupboard where you’d expect to find cleaning products.

Except inside
this
cupboard were at least a dozen funeral urns. Why would a vampire hunter store trophies of his kills under the kitchen sink, of all places? Maybe it was simply because nobody would ever think to look there for his prize stash.

Or maybe Thomas Murdoch was a crazy bastard. What the hell did it matter, anyway? As long as she grabbed the right one, she was out of here.

Moth shuddered as she touched the urns at the front.
Ugh, creepy.
How was she supposed to know which one Theo wanted? She nibbled her lower lip, her mind straying to the kiss with Jace. He may be the son of a killer, with a serious attitude problem to boot, but he was still pretty damn hot. She should really give his phone back when she left—that knee was going to need a lot of medical attention.

She pushed away thoughts of teen vampire hunters, and instead tried to remember what Theo had told her about the master vampire that’d been dusted. She carefully removed each urn, searching for clues, and breathed a sigh of relief when she thought to look underneath. Each one was inscribed with a date—presumably the date of death. Moth knew when Maxim had been killed, so it was only a matter of minutes before she found the right container. At least, she
hoped
it was the right container.