Soul Stealer (21 page)

“Will do. Thanks.”

The doors slid open before him and then closed behind him. The soundproof room increased the pressure in his head as he waited. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then just let himself drop.

They called it falling, and that’s what it felt like. A gradual shift of your equilibrium downward, a brief rush of air and then you were abruptly on the ground.

He opened his eyes to find himself in the shadows with a dense shrub in front of him, a brick wall at his back. Not exactly great cover since the sh
rub was only waist-high, but no one was looking his way.

Nope, the human horde on the street a few yards from him were gathered around barricades, under the lights of a parking lot. Closer to the building across the street the police had set up a few industrial flood lights. That had to be where the bodies were.

Voro made for the group, blending in while sending his sensors out as far as they could reach. The doom came through his olfactory like sickly-sweet syrup down the back of his throat, nearly gagging him. Jesus, it was strong here. The closer he got the more he wondered how no one else needed to put a clothespin to work on their noses.

People brushed against him as he pressed in to the crowd, easing up to the front. He was big enough no one stopped him, that had always come in handy. From about six inches higher than everyone else he scanned around, locating the site of the actually killing easily. It was the thickest, headiest scent of evil in the area. But without having to scan much more he knew that whatever had done this was gone. As he was turning to leave the crowd again, he picked up a
nother scent of menace; one he knew quite well.

Voro’s head did a 180-scan then clocked the area behind him, too. That fucker he had a lock on had a way of covering his scent until he was right on you that was downright uncanny.

Essum wasn’t there anymore, but he had been. Voro would have bet his left nut on it. Which made this whole event quite interesting when you got down to it …

He turned back to the sight of those white-draped forms on the grass. There were men in suits around them, cops in uniform watching the barricades. So much audience for two out of the hundreds of humans that had died that way. But he knew it wasn’t people’s concern that brought them out – it was their own sick need to be linked to a tragedy. A story to tell people later.
I was there and I overheard a cop say …

Voro just shook his head and was about to leave when he focused on the bodies again. He’d seen dead bodies plenty of times. For a short time after death there was still an energy to them that futzed around, trying to decide what to do with itself. It could last anywhere from a half hour to a couple of hours. Call it a soul, a life force, a spirit, whatever you want. It had no tangible thoughts but it always felt exactly the same as the person that it was hovering over.

These two were completely and utterly still. Quiet and stone-cold dead in a way that he, in over six hundred years, had never seen before. It was the difference between “quiet” and being locked in a sound-proof room.

Their souls had been taken, that was the only way to see it. That’s what had killed them. That’s what had stolen Raphael’s powers. That’s what animated it.

That’s the definition of a Psionic Vampire.

His heart actually sped up. Not in fear, but from something like anticipation. He’d never seen one. Never thought that it was possible to take someone’s metaphysical being and rip it out by the
roots. That kind of power was, well, pretty fucking intoxicating to his nature, frankly.

He was so locked in on that power that he nearly missed seeing Claudia standing away from the barricades, talking to a man who was obviously a detective. Voro was sure he’d seen him before.

She looked fantastic. Slim fit jeans wrapped around her long legs and absolutely magazine-ad-worthy ass. The blouse she wore was sleeveless with a plunging draped neckline. He had no idea what they were called. A gold chain hung down, its pendant just resting between her breasts which were giving a hell of a tantalizing tease.

He was hard instantly. It was absolutely impossible for him not to remember the days and nights he’d spent in her bed memorizing every single inch of her …

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and that’s when he realized she actually hadn’t been working, which meant she’d been out.  And that outfit could only mean it had been a date.

Man or woman, he didn’t really care. He felt a weird kind of jealousy at the thought, even though an hour ago he’d been willing to screw Anael six ways from Sunday. Yes, he was a complete hypocrite.

Her shrewd dark brown eyes were scanning the crowd. He didn’t care. He kept staring at her, knowing the instant she spotted him because she froze momentarily before inhaling deeply, eyes flashing.

Yeah, she had the same reaction he did. He allowed himself to smile, knowing he likely looked like the big bad wolf.

Chapter Twenty

Memories, flooding back like a runaway freight train. That’s the only way to describe what happened the moment she saw Damien in the crowd, staring at her and not the murder scene like everyone else was. He was head and shoulders taller than the majority of the group around him, and they seemed completely oblivious to how incredibly fuckable he looked.

She cursed quietly, drawing a “What?” from Vance as he looked over the crowd, too.

“Nothing. I should let you guys work.”

“Did you just remember you’re not working tonight?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it.”

“How was your uh, dinner, anyway?”

Right. Saleem.

“It was really nice, actually. He’s very … nice.”

“That sounds … nice,” Vance echoed with a chuckle. “Now get the fuck out of my crime scene and go home.”

She did as told, ignoring Pogo’s vocal appreciation of her jeans as she crossed the grassy easement to the sidewalk. She squeezed between two sections of barricade, through the cows chewing their cud as they watched all the police-related non-action, and stalked right up to Damien, glaring up aggressively, jaw thrust forward. He stared down at her, eyes blatantly roaming over her body. He was likely the only person who could do that and turn her on instead of piss her off.

“You got a nerve showing up anywhere in plain sight of me.”

“I missed you, too.”

Jesus, that voice was an auditory assault on all her pleasure receptors. She ignored it, but it was like he could smell it on her and his smile was downright naughty. “You punched me,” she reminded him, proud of how solid her voice was.

“For your own good. You came out of it just fine.”

“Who else was in that apartment? You expect me to believe you protected me from something?”

“I did. And I can’t tell you what else happened.”

The apartment in question came back to her, the feeling of that suddenly cold and creepy hall as she was easing towards the back bedrooms. The same feeling she’d noticed at the club where Megan had been found. The same feeling that was blowing against her back right then on a sudden gust of chilled autumn breeze.

She fought the urge to turn around, like she was expecting something to sneak up on her or something. Plus then she would have had to look away from his olive-toned skin and weird, purple-blue eyes.

“You look gorgeous,” he growled low.

Her body heated. She couldn’t help it. He growled again like he’d felt her reaction – hell, he likely had. She’d misremembered just how animalistic and carnal he could be.

“Thanks,” now she was all breathy-sounding. Great.

“Christ, Claudia. I want to get you somewhere all alone.”

A twinge sparked down low inside, making her gasp. She covered it with a laugh. “That’s not a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea.”

She shook her head, putting her hand on her hip and looking down, trying to distract herself from him. “No, it’s a terrible idea. I should have you arrested.”

“Sounds good. Cuff me.”

She laughed in spite of herself, barking a guffaw in a very unladylike way. “Damn you,” she muttered, pushing her hair back again. Jesus, when’d she turn in to a girl all of a sudden?

“Please, let’s meet somewhere.”

She closed her eyes against the sensation of her skin coming to life at just his lowered tone. Images of deeds done in the past swam in that voice, and she remembered how that heavy body had felt on top of her, sweaty straining making them both cry out at all hours of the night.

“Fine. When and where?”

His slow smile should have given her a hate-on for all things male: it was a cross between misogyny and perversion. It made her smile back at him for some fucked up reason.

“Half an hour. Your place?”

“No fucking way.”

“Fine. Coffee shop, on the corner. Half an hour?”

She swallowed, wondering how in the hell she’d
managed to get herself back into this. “Coffee shop. Half an hour.”

Soft, soft, fruit-lotion scented heaven, that’s what Raphael was falling into. Patrice’s skin on his was unbearably soft, like it could be bruised by just a simple kiss or caress. When she’d bared her breasts to him she’d been shy, uncertain. He had no idea why: she was so perfect he could have stared at her for hours.

But this was even better.

The cupboard was uncomfortable. He picked her up the way a man would in a romantic movie, taking her down the hall, somehow knowing where to step even though she wouldn’t let him stop kissing her. He found the darkened bedroom without incident, putting her down on the rumpled bedding carefully before crawling onto her.

Raphael had no idea where these instincts were coming from; this was the first time he’d ever been able to touch a person. He felt like he’d been robbed of the most amazing experience possible for all these centuries.

When her hand traced down his chest and her thumb rounded his nipple lightly, he had to stop and close his eyes. If he’d known his nipples could be connected to what was in his pants he would have taken them more seriously up until now. The sensation of what she was doing had him moving his hips against hers, the motion obviously conveying what he wanted. She squirmed under him in a fantastic way, face angled up to watch him. His face must have been telegraphing everything, because she was biting her lip and smiling. So he closed his eyes, concentrating on the throbbing between his legs and the tingles she was sending through him with that one slowly circling thumb.

Then part of his brain came back and he realized that if it felt that good for him, it stood to reason that she’d probably like the same attention just as much.

Raphael’s mouth latched back on to hers and she responded by moaning softly, her warm tongue meeting his eagerly, scrambling his mind again. He managed to move a hand up over her ribs, over the cup of her bra, then pushed that fabric downward, dipping his hand inside. He found her already peaked and hard and for some reason that made him feel so good.

Her back arched, pushing her chest against his. He needed her in his mouth. He separated from that sultry kiss, using his lips and tongue to trail along her neck and across her shoulder. She writhed under him, her body fluid and silk, rising and falling to keep contact as he made his way down to her left breast. He pushed the fabric out of the way completely, drawing that soft mound to his mouth with a nearly shaking hand, pulling the pink tip in between his lips. His tongue rolled over her, and she cried out his name: not loudly, but it was a cry.

And it wasn’t his name. She was calling out to
Ralph
, but he couldn’t tell her his real name. It should have been bothering him, but having this warm and female body under his control like this was making it all inconsequential.

He was still him. And his body wanted to know her in any way possible.

“This needs to come off,” she said, rising up on to her elbows and indicating her shoulder straps. He reached around to unclasp them, but her one revealed nipple was rubbing his chest and it was distracting he couldn’t concentrate which made her laugh low in her throat, bringing a chuckle from him as well.

“You’re distracting me,” he said just as he figured out the damn clip and the elastic was released.

Yeah, she had two of them and he didn’t know which he wanted to do what with. So he placed his mouth on the newly released one, keeping the other in his hand and just palming across its tip.

Her legs were rubbing up and down his own, and he knew he was still moving his hips against her, his erection getting a bit of friction against her thigh. The urge to make that movement was so intrinsic; his body simply knew what it wanted to do. And with a frightening intensity he needed her completely bare and open to him.

Releasing her breast, he watched her face as he smoothed a hand down her stomach, unbuttoning her jeans. She was panting, which he liked for some reason. And she was watching his expression with the same intensity. He pulled down on the zipper, then just blanked on what to do.

He wanted to touch her, to see what she’d feel like aroused like this. Biologically he knew what happened but the reality was made up of so many factors …

“Is something wrong?” she asked, putting a hand on the breast that wasn’t pressed against him. Her face told him she thought he was changing his mind, and the sight of that stricken panic made his heart tighten. It was as though she was waiting for him to reject her.

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s so … perfect.”

She smiled slightly, like she didn’t believe him. He pressed his lips on hers again, wanting to get her back to that hot and warm spot they’d just been in. He started the kiss slow, using his hands to caress the softness of her arms, sides, the round stomach that trembled under his palm. Then lower. Below the waistband, into her panties, and down in to …

Raphael moaned against her mouth as his fingers met hot and slick skin. Her hips rolled a bit, drawing him inside slightly. It was so visceral and exciting and
real.

She was moving against his hand. He put his palm in a spot she seemed to like, and then she did the rest. The feeling, the sounds, the feel of her skin growing damp against him as she crested some kind of peak, mouth open to exclaim something but no words came out. Then the trembles all the way up her lovely female form, her hips stilling.

Her eyes blinked, focusing back on his. He loved the color in her cheeks, the way her lips seemed red and abused just from kissing. He smiled, and after a moment she smiled back.

He pulled his hand free, feeling the wetness she’d left there. Not knowing where the urge came from he drew those fingers in to his mouth, swallowing her as she watched, eyes wide. He swept her jeans from her pale legs, and she sat up, pulling his belt free of his jeans and roughly opening the way for his erection.

It jerked the second she circled it with her hand. She gasped, saying that name again, but his eyes had rolled back in his head by that point. She held him lightly, moving her hand ever so slightly but it was enough to make him fall forward, taking her back down to the bed, catching his weight on his arms. As strong as he’d always been, with her hand on that flesh he was utterly shattered by the contact. Completely helpless.

She pulled at him, his hips moving against the motion, the sensation tackling him with every jerk. When he opened his eyes, she was staring at his face, mouth open, breathing in sync with him. Her breasts moved with the breathing and the stroking. The whole body was involved in this, not just the aching, throbbing parts. It didn’t feel dirty but dammit he liked how desperate and immediate it all was. He eased out of her grasp, stood to take his jeans to the floor, then climbed back on her. He was encircled in the warm flesh of her arms, and her legs came up to meet his waist. The scent of her was even sweeter and stronger now. He lowered his hips as she rose against him. His erection found that warm, wet spot easily, and on an honest and unavoidable groan he slid into her. Her body held him tight but smooth, the heat a complete knock out to his senses. And as his hips retreated and advanced again, he felt like he’d been doing this for years.

The fit was perfect. It was meant to be.

Patrice had never known a man lost to his passion could still be so beautiful. Ralph’s face was slack with the sensation of what his body felt, his eyes closed, all the muscles and tendons in his neck, chest and arms tightened and straining as his hips swung against hers with a growing but delicious intensity. Honest and real, no
pretense or effort to impress.

It wasn’t just that painfully perfect appendage that was moving inside of her though. It was his skin on hers, their sweat mingling, making holding on to him difficult. It was the sound of his breathing, every now and then a fantastically male grunt coming from his throat every time he came close to finishing but fought it back. The smell was incredible. The orgasm he’d already given her was incredible.

She didn’t dare hope this was actually real.  It was the most amazing dream, fantasy, whatever that she’d ever had.

A desperate pressure was gathering in her core, and she ignored it. There was too much of him to look at in the street lights coming in through the window. She wished she could see him even better but turning on a light meant he could see her better and that wasn’t happening.

When the orgasm hit it surprised her, arching her back and making her cry out a little louder than she would have if, well, if it hadn’t been so bloody good.

She was aware of her body quaking inside and out as the tide of pleasure flowed out all the way to her fingers and toes and back gently. That’s when she realized he’d stopped moving and was staring down at her with eyes wide.

“Are you … are you okay?”

She smiled, putting her hands to each side of his neck and pulling him down to kiss her again. “I am more than okay,” she parted her lips from his long enough to answer before kissing him again.

He pulled back from her, half-smile on those statue-perfect lips. “That was … that was what I think it was?”