Chapter Thirteen
Creed finished his story. He’d gotten back during the daytime and notified his boss. As soon as evening hit, Demetrius called a meeting of the entire team. Around the conference room table, Demetrius tapped his fingers in a steady rhythm, his forehead creased. Ophelia stared at the wall, as spaced out as when he’d left to chase Melody. Rourke’s usually dark gaze was troubled. The path Melody took bothered him; he likely felt responsible.
A small part of Creed wondered what Grace thought. She’d been Melody’s closest friend and she hadn’t said one word, hadn’t reached past Rourke to request to see her. Not even a phone call. No wonder the sense of betrayal messed with Melody’s head. And he understood the reaction of Madame Blanchette, but his heart ached for the hurt it caused Melody. They were like surrogate parents to her.
Zoey laid a hand on his shoulder. He nodded, and she let her hand fall. They’d had their own desperate attempt at a connection at one time when she was the lonely widow and he was plagued by memories. She knew better than most people how hard he’d fallen for Melody.
A cold draft wafted over him. Bishop must be thinking hard. He’d mentioned at least three times how much Fyra had enjoyed her time with Melody.
She was a part of them. How could she not see it? It hadn’t been long since her rescue from Rourke’s brother, but she did more than just live and work for them. Hadn’t she?
“We let her do her thing,” Demetrius finally said. “It seems to benefit us, and the underworld, from your report. Stryke, keep us updated.”
Creed suppressed a growl. Stryke. Not Creed, because he wasn’t welcome down there.
Demetrius didn’t notice, or ignored him. “Creed, take Zoey and drop in on your parents. We still need to clarify exactly why they were after Ophelia. If—” his mouth twisted in a grimace, “—the Circle tries to attempt seduction, we need to know if that’s a viable route for them to obtain access to our realm. I can see primes like your parents luring non-prime vampires in to attempt bondings on.”
“It’s just another form of trafficking vampires. Only they’ll test bonds on them instead. I’m sure they’ll dispose of those their attempts don’t work on.” He had to shake down Mother and Father. This night was a fucking winner.
Demetrius was correct about his parents and if those were their new business prospects, then they’d have to be shut down permanently.
Creed grasped Zoey’s arm and envisioned the large circular drive to his parents’ manor.
He flashed, Zoey flashing with him. She hadn’t been to his place and had to anchor herself to him to arrive.
The place looked the same, albeit more dilapidated. The lawn was covered in white, giving the place an older feel than a brilliant green lawn. He doubted that would help reestablish the luster the brick once possessed.
Didn’t there used to be shutters?
The window panes were bare. Perhaps the shutters had fallen into disrepair and instead of looking rundown, his family had opted to remove them.
He took solace in the condition of the building. It had to mean that their trafficking business was dead or dying and what other nefarious hobbies they’d picked up were also flailing.
They’d keep trying, though. He’d gamble on that.
His boots crunched on the ice-crusted path to the massive front door. They were about a hundred yards away when bright lights flicked on.
Both he and Zoey hissed and threw an arm over their eyes. He’d been too intent on the structure, he hadn’t scanned the surroundings. When had they mounted streetlights around the drive?
“Hellfire, that’s warm.” Zoey shook her hand and peered closer. “Fuck, it’s burning.”
“UV lights?” He grabbed her and flashed to the front step, but thought better and flashed them across the yard to the tree line.
“Wha—” She swayed. Flashing didn’t bother vampires normally, but when he’d hauled her here and there, it was like swinging her in circle.
An immensely bright light lit up the front step.
“That would’ve been a nice burn.” He jutted his chin toward the step. A UV light mounted above the door shone straight down on the stoop. Placed perfectly to hit the bad luck vampire who would flash there to escape the lights beating down on the drive. “I see where they’re choosing to spend their money.”
“You didn’t get your brains by accident.” Zoey inspected her hand and dropped it. The skin on Creed’s face felt tight.
They were both prime and could tolerate a decent amount of sunlight, but they’d both look like they roasted on the beach a little too long before their healing kicked in.
If someone was here, would they be on higher alert? What other traps would they stumble upon?
“Flashing wards all over the house. Damn, Creed. Your parents don’t want visitors.”
Creed smiled with no humor. “We should knock then.”
Zoey stretched her shirt up as high as it could go, covering past her chin. Creed did the same. Again, glad he bypassed his hair care. That little length would save some skin.
When they were both ready, they flashed and threw themselves against the door. It rocked on its hinges. In sync, they slammed themselves against it again. His eyes were starting to water from the light.
Finally, the lock gave, tearing a chunk of frame out with it. They barreled inside. There was an ominous click before Zoey shoved him to the side.
A whistling sound went by. An arrow? He checked over Zoey. Good. She hadn’t been hit instead.
“Is that how you greet your son?” Creed called. Might as well get intros over with.
Silence greeted them. He didn’t make the same mistake he’d made outside. He and Zoey moved slowly, crouched and prepared for the next round of traps.
“Creed, darling. Is that you?” His mother’s falsely sweet voice rang down from the upper level.
His mother needed to cut the shit. They knew as soon as they failed capturing Ophelia that’d he or his team would come calling.
“I lost your number.” Truth. His family had cut ties with him and he’d never looked back.
“Oh, a tragedy. Who’s your guest?” Mother floated down the ornate curved staircase, her pale hair cascading in delicate waves. Her wispy body encased in a billowy black dress, resembling the high fashion days when deathly skinny was a standard to maintain. A large shadow approached out of the upper level’s hallway.
His father appeared. Their hair color was the same, but Father Archambault kept his long, like the days of old aristocracy.
Maybe Creed would make time to for a quick hair appointment.
“Creed.” Father inspected him from head to toe. His black tactical shirt and black cargo pants likely failed. Father’s frown deepened with each weapon he spotted.
“Father. Mother.” He almost bowed. Old habits. But he liked rubbing in that they were kin whether they’d disowned him or not. The lack of control bothered them more than anything. He ignored the question about whom he was with. If Zoey wanted them to know, she’d tell them. “Why’d you kill Nadair Moiré?”
Mother gasped and covered her heart with one hand. Her blue eyes sparkled with feigned innocence. “You accuse us of such a wicked deed?”
Father didn’t flinch, but a flush crept up his face. “Get out. You break in here and throw around accusations. You’re as much of a disappointment as you’ve always been.” He turned to Zoey. “And I’ll inform Mistress Chevalier of your visit. I must admit, it’s nice to have one person understand the shame we endure on a daily basis thanks to the pathetic, weak choices of our children.”
“Ouch, Father,” Creed said dryly. “Why’d you kill him?”
Father gave him a measuring look. Creed used the opportunity to do his own perusal. His father’s threads were quality, but aged. His fingernails were neat, trimmed, but not manicured. He switched his attention to his mother. Same. Neat, orderly, proper, but aged and with obvious self-care. He’d bet that his mother’s skin burned as heartily doing laundry as it would under the UV lights.
“Who’d you hear it from? That prime with the reputation of liking her sex as hard as she likes her drinks?”
Creed bristled at the insult toward his friend. Those Ophelia fucked and drank with had the same birth status as her. Prime. “You’d have to differentiate. That description fits too many prime vampires.” Zoey snorted. Mother’s mouth puckered. Score one for him. “Ophelia witnessed the murder. Yes, I believe her. And yes, I’d believe her any second of any day over you.”
Father descended the stairs. “Let us humor your assumption that she does not lie with each breath. Why would I kill Master Moire? He was a respectable male. Did much for our people.”
Uh-huh. Did much for the people they deemed worthy, and that left out a lot of vampires.
“You tell us,” Zoey said. “To humor us, of course.”
Father clasped his hands in front of him. “Since your lot dismantled our esteemed council, we’ve had to find alternate routes for income.”
Seriously. They’d had alternate routes set up for centuries, with the former council’s avid blessing.
“We found our way into selling medicinal aids.” His mouth curled up in a sneer. “Since providing our people with a steady food supply was frowned upon by our new government, we’ve come to find that medicinal aids are quite popular.”
“Drugs,” Creed said flatly.
“If you prefer. Some of our medicinal aids are in higher demand than others, by those like Ophelia.”
“Do tell.” Zoey’s tone was patronizing, clear that she didn’t believe him.
“Mmm. Vampires whose strength is not equal to ours.”
Creed resisted rolling his eyes. Father had never faced Ophelia on the practice mat. She was not only physically strong, but cunning and independent.
“That’s totally Ophelia.” Pure sarcasm from Zoey. “Do go on.”
“Nadair paid. We provided. He got behind on payments. We had faith and provided. After several non-payments, we meant to take what was invaluable to him.”
Mother feathered her fingers along her collar, her chin lifted high. It was always a move she’d done to highlight an expensive piece of jewelry. Tonight, her neck was bare. “Not even your precious Synod government can fault us for going after his equity. It’s the way of our kind. If they demand anything less, we might as well turn in our fangs and join the human cattle.”
He recalled Mary wasting away in her bed. Melody barely breathing on that slab for weeks. “You wouldn’t be able to tolerate half the suffering they do.”
“You should thank us,” Mother hissed. “If I hadn’t inoculated that weak cow, you wouldn’t have seen how frail they are.” She touched her heart. “Why would you ever waste a second of consideration on one of those beings, I don’t know.”
Mother’s confession sank in; his heart pounded, creating an ocean rush between his ears. “You… You made Mary Margaret sick?”
Zoey glanced between them. She didn’t know the story. His whole team would soon, to know how depraved his family was, in case they didn’t already know.
Mother looked appropriately abashed—again, false. “It wasn’t hard, darling. She was a human. A sliver could fester and they’d die. And you’re here on this Ophelia’s behalf? Must you align yourself with those clearly inferior.”
Creed expected no less. It hurt, but he’d be suspicious if they didn’t personally attack him. “If I wanted to continue being inferior, I would’ve stayed home and participated in the family business. Protecting those exploited by vindictive, selfish pricks like yourselves is a much higher calling.”
He found satisfaction in his mother’s indignant gasp.
His father reared up to him, getting in his face. Zoey slipped a stake from her waistband and poised to strike. His mother gasped again, but her eyes darted to an ornate dresser that probably held various weapons. One of his mother’s various defenses was her air of privileged innocence.
“Never think you can enter this house and talk to us like that. Never!” Father’s face reddened.
Creed forced himself to remain still. “Are you sticking to the drug story, or are you going to admit you were seeking to abduct her as a suitable host for one of the thirteen?” Ophelia’s prime blood could tolerate the possession. “Guessing you thought she was strong enough for that.”
Father backed down, adjusted his overcoat. “Drugs, as you call them, is our business. All species have their vices, always have. And it isn’t illegal in our world. I haven’t a clue about the thirteen of which you speak.”
“Feigning ignorance. So like you.” He glanced at Zoey. She sheathed her weapon, her attention split between Mother and Father. She shook her head.
He agreed. They’d get nothing out of his parents. Demetrius needed to have the final say on whether they officially dealt with Master and Madame Archambault and the Synod would likely demand more proof to support extreme actions.
He took one last look around the home of his birth. No part of it welcomed him. It seemed darker, drearier than it had when he’d lived here. Decades had gone by and had not been kind to the Archambault manor.
Was that what it had been like for Melody to come back to the compound when she’d changed so much and it hadn’t? Decades had passed in his case, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t fit in here. And those inside the compound feared her change, much like his maturity and growth had terrified his parents into disowning him. If Creed and his team weren’t careful, they’d lose her entirely.
***
Restlessness wormed in, and nothing Melody did helped. She cleaned her new home. Grew more flowers until the kaleidoscope of colors were too obnoxious to stand.
She’d had meetings with several prospective second-tier demons. Some eyed her with disgust, but wanted to side with her because of the no-torture clause in her agreement. Some were such wimps that she was tempted to take them all under her wing to offer them a safe place. Santi and Rell had gone apoplectic when she’d mentioned that. They are literally lower on the food chain. Do not tamper with that part of the underworld.
The most she’d gotten out of it was that it would be like taking each walleye, more like northern pikes with their wicked teeth, home to put into a fresh water aquarium. Making each deer she targeted into a pet on a leash in her yard instead of breakfast sausage and venison steaks.
Grudgingly, she turned them down. A few aspects of her new home were difficult for her to accept. But she did end up with a couple of second-tier candidates to build her personal army. All the members of the Circle had servants, and if she didn’t assemble her own soon she’d be left vulnerable. She had one more round of interviews to conduct before she made her decision.
She’d set traps up and down the corridor. Santi laid illusions at each entrance point to scare off those who came for menacing reasons.
Five days had passed since Creed had poofed out of her cave. Or were they nights? There was no difference in the underworld.
She hadn’t gone exploring. Until she had her regimen stocked up with second-tiers she wasn’t going anywhere with so little protection. At the same time, it was giving the ten remaining Circle demons who despised her time to plan how to take her down.
Neither had she gone back to the human realm. It was winter and all she’d need was a stocking hat to cover her horns and blend in. But why bother? There was nothing there for her anymore.
She inhaled a deep breath. Instead of a figurative tarp, she used her flowers to soothe her mental upheaval when it threatened to spill over. Petals of various hues of blue covered her cave. Delight had overtaken her when she discovered the many different flowers the underworld was capable of producing. Whether they came from her creation, or they were organic to the realm, she hadn’t figured out. They provided her with visual and aroma therapy.
Even food. She thought of fruit one second, and the next, a juicy pear had sprouted from the wall. One wall was now dedicated to pears, apples, and berries.
She’d never have to leave the cave.
The restless feeling surged, undulating under her skin until she wanted to crawl out of it and scream down the corridors.
The action wouldn’t be out of place here.
Only every ten seconds, the thought What’s Creed doing right now? wandered through her mind.
Had he gone back to work? Did he think about her?
So, she’d taken her life by the horns and lived it on her terms…and she was bored as fuck and lonely as hell.
She’d tried some girl chat with Santi, but the underworld was as strict about keeping a professional relationship as humans could be. Rell was actually more open to parrying random thoughts around. If he wasn’t so busy spying on the rest of the realm, she’d have him over for fruit salad.
Quution stopped in once in a while. He always seemed distracted, antsy to leave. She thought they’d had a connection that wasn’t romantic but friendly. But he’d been clinical when passing the news of the newly anointed circle member. A second-tier female named Xen for short. Her full name was a tongue twister that even creatures here with two tongues couldn’t pronounce.
When Melody inquired further about her, Q’s lilac eyes darkened and he sneered that she was unlike any creature in the underworld and he couldn’t believe she’d won with her bare hands. He stomped out and Melody had gone back to testing the finer limits of her abilities.
She sat on her bed, twirling her finger. A vine curled up from the floor, sank back down. It was a silly little exercise that provided excellent practice for her fine motor skills.
She popped up when she heard a crunch outside her door.
A shadowed figure turned in only to get tangled in the curtain of vines she’d grown for privacy.
“What the—” A twine wrapped around Creed’s throat.
She jumped up. With a flick of her finger, the twine untangled, leaving behind an angry red welt.
“Sorry. I’ve been going straight for decapitation with unannounced visitors.” She rushed over and helped him through. “Wait. No. To the left. Wait, wait.” She untwisted strands of roots and pulled Creed past the curtain.
His hair was mussed, his blue eyes wild, but when his gaze landed on her he mellowed.
“Hey,” he said.
Oh, that voice. “Hey,” she replied.
His warm gaze left hers to ponder her home.
Did he like it? Was he impressed? “I’ve been decorating. It’s so cool not to kill stuff, you know. I can grow things and they listen to me. I’ve decided blue is my favorite color, but it was a little overwhelming, so I wove in purple. Then a touch of pink. I thought I hated pink, but turns out that if I’m not forced to choose it, it’s not bad.” She clamped her mouth shut. Nervous rambling. Would she ever outgrow it?
“It’s nice.” His gaze returned to her, licking up and down the length of her body.
Instantly, desire pooled between her legs. Her bond sighed, the restless feeling morphed to sexual need.
“Why are you here?”
When he opened his mouth to answer, she couldn’t wait. Grabbing the fabric of his shirt, she dragged him closer and raised on her toes to smash her lips against his.
He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her, and swiveled both of them until her back hit the petal-covered wall. She was surrounded by his scent and the blooms she loved the most.
Since he had a firm hold of her, she tunneled her hands between them. Scrunching his shirt up, she splayed her fingers over his rock-hard chest.
Divine. There was no heat like his. His hands were all over her. She couldn’t tell where they stopped, it was like he had to feel all of her. They devoured each other, their tongues tasting, licking, stroking. A steady thrum centered in her core.
Would it be too forward of her if she—
Nope. He beat her to it. Freeing himself with one snap of fly. He dipped briefly to free himself, but he didn’t place his shaft at her entrance. He stroked her instead. She moaned into him. Too long. Barely a week and it was too long without his touch.
He might frustrate her, hurt her feelings, but her damn body craved him with a fire she couldn’t control and didn’t really want to. Too much control. All the time. Losing her restraint with Creed felt natural, a necessary release, a gift just for her.
He found her clit, his thumb circling it easily. She was wet for him, so ready. Rocking her hips, she coaxed more out of him.
Another moan escaped when he inserted one long finger into her.
Her claws dug into his shoulders, her legs tightened around him. This was going to be the fastest, hardest climax in her history.
Another slide of his thumb, a crook of his finger.
She would’ve yelled his name, but her mouth was plastered against his. Her muffled scream bounced off her chamber walls, dulled from her floral wall covering.
Before she came down from her peak, he removed his hand and thrust inside of her.
Yes! Her orgasm kept going, spurred along by his frantic pumps.
She bounced against him. The rough fabric of his shirt grazed her sensitive nipples. His hard length hit all the right spots as her walls rippled over him.
Tearing her lips off him, she had to scream out. “Yes!” echoed through her cavern, down the corridor. The entire underworld probably heard her get thoroughly pleasured.
Then his lips were at her neck, his fangs grazing her tender skin.
“Do it,” she hissed.
He struck. Orgasm number two hit before one was complete.
How was this possible? Her eyes might’ve rolled back in her head, her arms might’ve went limp. She was powerless against him, at his mercy, and he played her like a master.
The ecstasy. Now she knew the definition. Her head lolled to the side as he took pulls of her blood. She was nourishing her male.
Slowly, she drifted back down from her climax. His hips had ceased pumping. They clung to each other, still connected. He withdrew his fangs, the hot lick of his tongue telling that after two body-shattering orgasms, he could stroke a third out of her with no issues.
He twined his hands around her waist and murmured in her ear, “Do you need to feed?”
Her stomach rumbled. Perhaps the restlessness had just been hunger. Her fruitarian ways weren’t sufficient.
“I’m so hungry.”
A gleam of approval and want lit his eyes. She didn’t care if they didn’t talk the entire time he was here. She needed this, needed him. If they started talking, it’d just ruin everything.