Chapter Six
Seb’s lips looked as chiseled and firm as polished marble, but when they touched mine, they weren’t cool like marble. They weren’t even warm with simple body heat.
They were smoldering hot with desire. His hunger stoked an answering fire in me. I met his kiss, my fierce longing raising me on my tiptoes to taste every fiery inch of his mouth.
He released a soft groan almost like a growl and responded with a long slide of his tongue between my lips. One hand left my face to wrap around my body, pulling me flush to his hard torso with his great strength.
All that power in one arm. Yet his kiss became soft, beguiling. Teasing me into response rather than demanding it. I grew even more eager.
Curiosity gave way to reality, and it was so much better. The taste of him was fresh and crisp, the feel of him hard and hot. He was as hard as he looked. Harder. My breasts crushed into rocks of muscles in a perfect fit, as if this were the male they were made to cushion.
My mouth meshed with his as perfectly. His lips covered every bit of mine, his tongue filled me. I gave a tiny moan as the heat and power of him pushed my excitement higher. What would more than one taste of him, one touch from him, be like? Would my breasts fill his hands? Would he pluck the nipples to taut readiness? And what would his hot lips feel like, fastened to my tight, aching nipple, sucking?
A deep shudder of pure lust went through me. I wrapped both arms around his head and kissed him as if I’d drink him all up.
A slap against the door startled me. He broke the kiss instantly, raising his head, his body alert against me. Gently sliding my arms from his neck, he went to check it out.
I pulled the tattered shreds of my sanity together. Damn it, what had I done?
I’d nearly let a vampire bewitch me again.
With Derek, I’d been looking for a real connection, like my grandparents had.
What made vampires spectacularly dangerous? The things that made for a real, deep connection, they could do instantly. Active listening, learning a partner’s moods, their likes, their dislikes, the things that us regular folk had to spend months or years discovering, they could do easily, reading not just microexpressions and body language, but scent.
They could forge a connection that seemed powerful and real—without lifting a finger.
Every time Derek’s gaze met mine, direct, intense, I read his love there. Every time Derek gave me exactly what I wanted—a kiss, a gift, his smile—I thought it was because he’d learned me that well. Because he cared enough to know me intimately. I thought we didn’t talk much because we didn’t need words. Because our hearts spoke for us.
My fingers found my locket. My parents died when I was a baby, and I was raised by my grandparents. Married for sixty-five years, they understood each other so well they exuded love for each other. What they didn’t understand, they accepted and loved about the other.
I wanted that, desperately. The promise of belonging, to at least one other soul.
I thought Derek was the one.
And maybe, in the beginning, he was. There was definitely a spark when we first met. A relief on his part that he didn’t have to pretend to be mortal. We talked in the beginning about our hopes and dreams.
He gave me a drawer in his bedroom dresser.
I didn’t remember exactly when things changed. Maybe when I’d started talking about my feelings.
He’d pulled away. Didn’t like that touchy-feely gooey stuff.
Talking in general declined then died. I tried talking about that. He rolled over and pretended to sleep. I worried but thought we could still patch things up. I cared, and I knew he cared—because he still communicated his love and trust in nonverbal ways, especially in the bedroom.
Then I walked in on him screwing another woman in the bed I’d come to think of as ours.
I screamed at him. He said he’d had enough of me being a drama queen, that he’d box my stuff and send it to me.
He handed me my backpack and shoved me out the door.
My fingers tightened on my locket against the tide of painful memory.
I’d invested time, energy, and myself in our relationship. I’d thought Derek had, too. I’d thought he’d put in the time and the work. I’d thought his love was real.
Nothing more than vampire wiles.
The connection I imagined between me and Rikare wasn’t, couldn’t, be real.
Seb opened the door. Nobody was there. After a quick scan of the hallway, he bent to pick something up. “Ah. The promised paper.” He turned with a folded newspaper in his hand, a smile tipping his lips. “Now, where were we?”
“Investigating a string of murders. Let me make this plain. I’m not going to bed with you.”
That wiped the smile off his face. I’d hit a nerve. He set the paper on a table with exaggerated care. When he spoke, his jaw was so set the words were formed more of sheer force of will than physical speaking. “You seemed willing enough just now.”
I winced. “I changed my mind. Don’t do that again.” I was being unreasonable. I’d initiated that kiss, had actively invited what followed, and I didn’t like myself for it. With every unfulfilled nerve ending in my body screaming for him, I had to push him away somehow.
Grabbing the paper, I marched to the chair farthest from him and sat down with an irate whump. I was mad at myself and my situation, and it sprayed from me like a leaky hose. Not being a drama queen. I just had an artistic temperament. “Let me know when you have orders for me, senior field agent.”
Muttering about fickle humans, he pulled out his cell phone and made a quiet call. I pretended not to listen while I paged through the paper.
“Hello,” Rikare said. “I’m in town and in need of some information.”
He had an informant in town already? That was interesting. I turned the page, coming across an article on a new display at the Oriental Institute. That caught my attention, because my other ex-roommate, Abbie, was at the University of Chicago and worked at the museum.
“Yes. I’ll stop by. Thanks.”
The article was about a poem written in Egyptian hieratic, with a printed translation of the first few lines.
I would love you forever, if you would but have me.
Your beauty is as timeless as the Eternal Nile,
but it is the fire of your soul that calls to me:
unique, unquenchable, reaching for the stars.
I stared in awe. Unquenchable fire? Timeless beauty? The poet had painted, with his words, what art meant to me.
More, from his poem, he had burned with a forever kind of love. A love like my grandparents had. A tear in my eye, I brushed the locket on my neck with one finger. “That’s beautiful.”
“What is?” Rikare must’ve finished his phone call.
His deep tones should have startled me from my thoughts. But his midnight moonshine voice seemed to twine with the words in my head instead of disrupting them.
If you would but have me. Whoever the poet appealed to, she didn’t love him back. How sad.
“What?” he said again.
“This poem.” I pointed.
He bent to read it. For a moment, his breath billowed onto my cheek. The warmth of it, the minty fresh scent, bypassed my brain to hit me straight in the I want glands. I shook my head. Damned vampires.
Reading, he gave a minute twitch, a huge response for him.
“It’s beautiful yet heartbreaking, isn’t it?”
He shrugged and straightened, again the distant agent. “Emotional drivel.”
I’d seen his startled reaction. He had a soft spot buried deep. The way he turned it off at will, though, annoyed me. “Oh, come on. This poet—”
“A scribe,” he spat, turning away.
“Okay, this scribe.” I touched another nerve? He was as prickly as a porcupine. “He’s obviously writing the poem to someone he loves—”
“Passion-addled idiot,” he muttered.
“—and the point is he sees her as she is.” I stood and threw the words at his stiff back. “Unique, filled with fire.” Like an artist. “Despite that, or maybe because of it, he loves her. He has a real connection with her.”
“You’re reading too much into it.” He shrugged again.
“I’m not.” My voice sharpened with anger.
“It’s just the ramblings of a guy trying to be a poet. It doesn’t really mean anything.”
I bristled. “How would you know?” Vampires. “Oh, forget it. I’m going out.”
Sera worked at Nieman’s Bar, and right now I needed both a friend and a pitcher. I texted her, hoping she’d finished whatever she was doing with her brother.
“Where are you going?”
Not wanting to deal with Rule Number One, I said, “Meeting Sera at Nieman’s. It’ll look strange if I don’t at least try to connect with my friends.”
Grabbing my backpack, I left.
…
Seb took one step toward the door, still vibrating from Brie’s exit, before he stopped and clenched his eyelids briefly. Brie saw things about him, personal things, that no one had noticed before, like seeing through his lie on the taxi ride here, when he’d first pretended not to know about vampires.
She’d thought the poem beautiful.
He would have, too, before he’d lost everything.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the door. The desire to follow her hit him, shocking in its strength.
She’d kissed him, given wholeheartedly of herself, brilliantly open, teasing at his sheltered heart…and then she’d spurned him.
Her rejection stabbed him. But he bled in silence and above all didn’t let the pain in. That would unbalance him, make him vulnerable.
She was headed to Nieman’s Bar, which was where he was going, too. A few moments to repair his armor wouldn’t hurt.
He wasn’t sure if he meant emotional or physical.
First thing, arm himself. He strode to his weapons case and unlocked it. He was in hostile vampire territory, and while wearing his human friend’s clothes would stand up to casual inspection, a more serious threat was out there.
Four master vampires lived in town. Once the town’s rumor mill got ahold of the unusually tall, handsome stranger, one of them was sure to seek him out.
While Adam’s human musk, wicked into Seb’s shirt, would cover his more subtle earthy scent, Seb preferred to be prepared for the worst. Vampires of all kind were quick to violence. Master vampires had an even shorter fuse. What was the old vampire saying? Behead first, talk later.
Seb put a concealed carry holster on his belt then retrieved his firearm from his gun case, loaded it, and slid it home, pulling out his shirttail to cover the grip.
While he was doing this, he put in a call to his human friend and assistant, Adam Zappman, to see if he had made it to Chicago. Besides being the source of Seb’s human-smelling clothes, the man took care of covering for Seb when needed in the daytime and donated blood. Contrary to folklore, Seb’s kind didn’t eat blood as food. Vampires were simply unable to produce fresh blood for their veins and needed regular transfusions, but they could take their transfusions by mouth. When Seb needed backup on things the FBI couldn’t know about, Zappman helped, from arranging extra transportation to doing surveillance. He’d taken a flight about an hour behind Seb and should have landed by now.
The call went to voicemail. Seb let himself out of the room as he left a message. “It’s me. Call or text when you get in.”
He hit the stairs. Time to catch up to Brie. His shirt would help disguise him, but what he really wanted was to rub more of her scent on him. To curl up against her, caress her, kiss her, screw her… He started to blow himself into mist to find her faster.
“Are you going out to find your fiancée, Seb?” Ottowina Stieg stood at the bottom of the staircase.
“I am.” Damn it. If she’d caught him misting, he’d have screwed up this whole operation. Here was the proof that messy emotions unbalanced him, left him vulnerable. His desire and excitement to be with Brie had pushed him into an indiscretion. He scolded himself. One rule, Rikare. No feelings.
Feelings were the enemy of staying alive.
“Gut. I believe she was headed west on Main Street. Ach, not that I was watching.”
“Of course you weren’t.”
Of course she had. Who could keep their eyes off Brie? Brie, with her vivid hair, her sun-drenched smile, her hot body, was attractively bright.
No. Annoyingly bright. She was the epitome of distracting, disorienting feeling. He’d be damned if he’d risk his hard-won calm for the temptation of a colorful, vibrant female. No matter how lovely her smile. No matter how good she smelled. No matter how soft and sweet her lips…
Fuck.
Leaving Otto’s, he went south, to Main Street. The instant he hit Main, as if his gaze was a heat-seeking missile, he saw her. Across the river, headed his way.
With two people.
A breeze brought him scent information, hitting him with the earthy musk of vampire.
He kicked into a run, halfway to saving her from the rogue before his brain smacked him. Trotting alongside her was a tiny, very pregnant blonde, resplendent in a bedazzled sweatshirt with pink gems spelling out “UCK-FAY.” He knew from his research she was most likely punk rock musician Nixie Emerson.
Which meant the ultra-alert, tall, black-haired, blue-eyed male gliding beside them could only be Julian Emerson.
Seb screeched to a halt. He’d expected Julian or another master would hunt him down, not that he’d practically run into the male’s kill zone. Sun-drenched smile? I’m a sun-drenched idiot.
He had milliseconds to blow his body apart into mist, the fastest form of vampire travel.
Then Brie smiled. His concentration shattered. He stayed distressingly solid.
With an almost sixth sense, she looked up and saw him. Waved. “Seb! Look who I ran into.”
In contrast to her words, her eyes were widening and cutting significantly toward Emerson. Flagging a warning.
If he hadn’t already known Emerson was a vampire, that would have prepared him. She was amazing.
Emerson zeroed in on Seb. Stepping in front of the women, he growled, “Who are you?”
Thank the gods Seb was downwind. With just visual cues, Emerson wouldn’t automatically attack. Still, if Zappman’s scent wasn’t enough, the male might yet strike.
“Down, Julian.” Nixie squeezed out from behind her mate. “That’s Brie’s fiancé.”
“Can you believe how fast the rumor mill around here is?” Brie skirted the Emersons and came to put an arm around Seb’s waist. “Darling, they just insisted on coming to meet you.” She used a bright sing-song voice, deliberately overplaying her role as another signal to him. “Julian, Nixie, this is Seb Rikare.”
“Pleased to meet you both.” Seb grinned his most open grin. Putting a casual arm around her in return, he tucked her into the side of his body to add her scent to his disguise. Her citrusy perfume, twining with her sultry, womanly scent curled into his nostrils and made him dizzy.
He had to remind himself he just needed her to help pull this off.
Purely business.
Sure it was.
Emerson’s blue eyes, narrowed on Seb, flared a distinct violet. “Do I know you from somewhere?” The male glided closer with a predator’s silky grace.
“I don’t think so. I live in New York.” Seb kept grinning aimlessly, cuddling up against Brie to get her scent on him. Just camouflage.
But he liked it.
Shock straightened him. Physical interest was one thing. Simply liking the feel of the female nestled against him? He didn’t know what to think.
Except that it was time to get his head out of his ass, because Emerson was coming nearer. Subtly, Seb shifted to the balls of his feet. If the other male saw through his disguise, if Emerson sensed an alien vampire, with his vulnerable pregnant mate at risk, his beast would be at the fore. Behead first…
Then, nostrils flaring, Emerson halted abruptly. Confusion cooled his eyes to blue. “I see. It appears I was mistaken.”
“That’s my suitguy.” Nixie gave her husband a friendly fist bump to the biceps. “Why say ‘oops’ when you can ‘appear to be mistaken’?”
“Suitguy?” Seb said.
“Nixie’s language is all her own,” Brie murmured. “When she first met Julian, he was nothing more than another stuffy suit to her.”
“He’s still a stuffy suit,” Nixie said. “I just learned to like his brand of stuffing.” She grinned, unrepentant.
Seb relaxed minutely. He’d gotten enough of Brie’s bright scent on him after all. Now it was time to move things along. “I’m glad we ran into you,” he lied. “I’ve heard the town’s taverns are the best in the state. Is there a place you’d recommend for a good beer?” He smiled pleasantly. This small burg had a tap practically on every corner, yet there was only one place they’d recommend—Nieman’s Bar.
Which happened to be owned by his local informant, Camille Lebeau.
Sure enough, the small blonde pointed at the banner stretched out over Main Street. “Welcome to Oktoberfest!*” Tucked into the bottom right-hand corner was a tiny “*Sponsored by Nieman’s Bar.”
“We can walk you both there—it’s on our way home. We are going home now, right, Julian?”
Having been married once himself, Seb knew that tone. There was only one answer, and Emerson gave it.
“Yes, dear.”
They all headed west on Main, Nixie trundling hand in hand with her husband, Seb dropping a deliberately casual arm around Brie. Walking with women, at his height, was usually awkward. Her long, strong legs meant he didn’t even have to adjust his stride.
The whole city seemed to be decorated for Oktoberfest. Everywhere he looked were pictures of beer steins, women dancing in bright-laced vests and full, apron-wrapped skirts, and men in lederhosen and hats playing accordions or holding a frosty mug of beer. Buildings and streetlamps were hung with festive wreaths, and there was blue-and-white checked everything.
The conversation turned to general small-town gossip, but Seb didn’t relax. He hadn’t expected to be tested this closely this soon. He’d worn his strongest disguise. What would happen if he were upwind or in a less-scent-impregnated shirt? He’d have to get Zappman to refresh his packed shirts as soon as possible.
And then to nail the disguise, he’d get more of Brie’s scent on him—more than just cuddling would impart. Like really sweaty sex.
Images flooded his brain, of her naked body beneath him, dewed and rippling in pleasure as he saw to her every desire. Her face would tighten in beautiful ferocity as he drove her to the most intense orgasm of her life. Pleasure drilled him and he groaned.
Frowning, Brie subtly pulled away.
The tiniest of rejections, yet a corresponding unhappy twinge hit him.
Damn it.
He shoved everything away. For now, he made sure both women were between him and Emerson at all times. And kept downwind.
He emptied himself of everything but the job.