Out for Blood
Instead of answering, she stepped back and dragged her hands through her hair, then held them out, her palms full of feathers. “Take these to your grandmother. Have her make charms for each of them.”
He took the feathers and tucked them into the pocket of his jeans. What had he just agreed to? And why didn’t he care more what the answer was?
“You are a good man, Thomas Creek.” She flattened herself against him, her breasts soft through the leather top she wore. Her hands came up to stroke the column of his neck, the shaved sides of his head, each caress dragging him toward the line between control and abandon. She leaned up and touched her mouth to his, just enough contact to pull a groan from his throat.
Instantly, his emotions returned to the day he’d stepped free of the prison grounds. Every want and desire he’d ever had while trapped inside that steel and concrete hellhole now burned in him again. Nothing mattered but possessing Yahla. His hands tightened on the bare skin above the waist of her jeans. “I’m not as good as you think I am.”
She laughed, the same birdlike sound as before, then pulled his head down to hers and kissed him with a fire that ignited every wicked thought coursing through his brain. When she released him, he was panting. She smiled and took his hand to lead him back through the window and into the bedroom.
“You saved me. And now I am going to save you.”
Chapter Seven
The lights of Umberto’s restaurant lit up the night like a burning ember in an ashtray. The last time Lola had come to Little Havana, she’d been here to identify her daughter’s body. Pain pierced her heart as the car drove on. She hadn’t planned on coming back so soon. If ever. It wasn’t that she’d abandoned the neighborhood of her people; she’d just… risen above it. Her abuela had pushed her to get out. To better herself. To join the ranks of the successful. If you can’t beat them, join them, her abuela had always said. And join them Lola had, despite the cost to her personal life.
Little Havana was one of the least desirable places to live in Paradise City. For her, it represented everything she’d clawed her way out of.
And yet, this was where she was from. Where her daughter had lived. Where the father of her grandchild made his home. What kind of man was this vampire named Preacher?
John Havoc, the captain of her security team who was currently seated beside her, had told her everything he’d known about the man. Which wasn’t much, but it certainly painted a picture. Preacher was the only vampire anyone knew of who could daywalk or tolerate religious symbols. John said the man had been a marine and a medic, that he’d inadvertently turned himself through an infusion of blood during the Great War.
“It’s just up ahead.” Luke Havoc pointed from the front seat. “Around this corner.”
Her heart rate sped up. John turned his head toward her. “Don’t be nervous. Luke and I are here to protect you.”
She’d forgotten about the varcolai’s heightened senses. “I suppose he’ll be able to hear my pulse, too?”
John nodded. “Yes. But that’s okay. You’re coming in peace. Not to harm him.”
“I suppose.” The car rolled to a stop and parked. Her driver would stay here to guard the vehicle. In this part of town, there might not be a vehicle to come back to if he didn’t.
Luke got out and waited for them on the sidewalk. John held the door, then closed it behind her. They flanked her as they approached the abandoned Catholic church where Preacher made his home. She crossed herself as Luke knocked on the church’s arched double doors. The stucco was cracked in numerous places, the painted trim had faded in the sun, and what little remained of the once-beautiful stained glass windows told her the building’s glory days were long past. “I went to Mass here as a child,” she told no one in particular. “With my abuela.” Who would die all over again if she knew there was a demon living in the sanctuary now.
Luke knocked a second time, but there was still no answer. He walked to where she and John stood. “It’s possible he’s out feeding.”
Lola shuddered. “This was a bad idea.”
One of the front doors shot open, its rusted hinges protesting. A man wearing fatigues and sporting a shaved head stood inside, a gleaming blade in one hand. He bared a set of fangs smaller than John’s and Luke’s, but no less frightening. “What do you want?”
She cleared her throat and stepped forward. John put his hand on her arm, but she hadn’t planned on going any farther. “My name is Delores Diaz-White. I believe you knew my daughter, Julia White.”
The vampire froze, becoming so still he seemed almost inanimate. Then the hand holding the knife lowered to his side. “Yes, I knew her.” His voice was quieter. Almost sad. The emotion surprised her.
“I also understand you and she had a child.”
His brows lifted slightly, only to collapse back down as he narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you want?”
“Just to talk. May I come in?”
His gaze went to John and Luke. “I don’t like shifters.”
“They’ll stay out here.”
“Madam Mayor—” John started.
She held up her hand to silence him, then addressed the vampire. “They’ll stay out here so long as I’m in no danger.”
Preacher nodded. “My word.”
She studied him for a moment. “You’d better mean that. Harm me and I’ll have this building burned to the ground with you in it. Understood?”