Chapter Seven
Never in the sun, Bishop. If they see, they’ll ask questions, and we only have answers that’ll kill us. Never walk in the sun.
Bishop stared out the window. Why in the world had Mam thought he’d ever try walking in the sun?
Heat from the setting sun radiated off the glass. It should burn him, be uncomfortable. It wasn’t. It felt good, like lying close to his demon had.
The words of his mother echoed. Why now? His mam was long gone, executed by the old Vampire Council. A day that had made him a hell of an enemy. A deed that’d linked Bishop to Demetrius as securely as a scab on the gaping wound left by the loss of his mam.
She’d been duped by the wrong “friends” and had taken the fall for it. Bishop wouldn’t make the same mistake, the reason Demetrius had likely taken his admission in stride. He’d been the male by his side when Bishop had hunted down the ones who’d used his mam’s power and money to build a human cult following. All the checks had been signed by Mam because she’d thought she’d been helping down-on-their-luck vampires, and all blame had pointed to her.
She’d had no one to fight for her then, her parents and mate dead, and Bishop hadn’t arrived in time to save her.
Fyra might’ve tricked him, tried to use him, but he hadn’t turned on his team, the only family he had left. But she’d tried, no better than the ones who’d taken his mam from him.
Bishop stormed out of the hotel. The sun hadn’t set, but the rays had diminished. Never in the sun. The rays were fading and he was strong enough to justify being seen.
The brisk air washed over him and the sunlight was…relaxing.
Another memory teased him. Another quarrel between his parents.
I know what they are, his pap had hissed. I saw them.
Bishop couldn’t summon more details, but he recalled how confused he’d felt, wondering why this fight had been more venomous than others. Still wondered, apparently.
Bishop tilted his face to the sky. He flirted with danger in his haste to reach his demon. No tingling sensation, definitely no burns. But he was strong and twilight approached. That must be it. His memories were tripping him up.
Then why humans? Fyra’s question sent a wave of panic through him. Everyone asked him that. Why did he pick human women for bed partners when vampire females would be much more satisfying?
Because humans didn’t have fangs, wouldn’t try to drink from him. He had no deeper explanation, other than his mam had advised against promiscuous blood sharing, had been militant about it.
He jumped into his Hummer. The engine roared to life, but he let it sit and idle. She was still here. He’d checked the news and found no unusual fires. Had she kept going, or had she tried to get lost in the throngs of people while he’d slept all day?
What would she do? A stunning creature like her would stick out too much.
Blend. Yes. She needed clothing. The men’s sweats—from the deputy?—wouldn’t help her blend. Ill-fitting clothing seemed to enhance her impressive breasts and rounded hips. The dark colors only set off the unique coloring of her hair.
Whoever had helped her escape hadn’t been with her.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Demetrius.
The male answered breathless again. Did he and his mate ever stop fucking? And that was not a spear of jealously toward a male freely able to take a female who knew everything about him. Bishop couldn’t afford to think like that. Somedays, he felt like he didn’t know enough about himself in the first place.
“I have some information.” Demetrius remained silent. Bishop took it as a cue to continue. “One of the thirteen is named Rancor. He might surface to hunt my demon.” Bishop skipped over her name. “She didn’t sound like the underworld was a place dear to her heart. I’d also predict there are more second-tier demons searching for her.” Bishop recounted his findings with the sheriff.
Demetrius swore. “He must be bonded to someone, too. I feel like we’re playing catch-up. We don’t know enough about the underworld. We just follow behind, rectifying the damage these fucking demons cause.” He paused and Bishop dreaded the next question. “How’d you find all this out? Granted, it’s not much, but it’s more than we had last night.”
Bishop’s first instinct was to lie, but he couldn’t put his demon before the lives and safety of his friends.
“I can visit her in my sleep. We have to both be sleeping and I don’t know how I do it, it just happens.”
“Well, that’s handy,” Demetrius drawled. “Must be your connection. I’ll get Calli on figuring out how we find these bastards in our realm. And a way to break your bond with the demon. Any chance you can stumble across your true mate?”
He was joking, but Bishop’s first instinct was to say, Fuck no. It was the unnatural bond talking. Had to be.
They ended the call and Bishop put the vehicle in drive. The bond might not be natural, but it was a bond nonetheless. He’d use it to find her.
He ambled through the streets in a game of hot and cold. For hours, he turned left and right, pulling U-turns when he lost the feeling that his treasure was escaping him.
Eventually, he found himself in a wealthier section of town. Hotels stretched high above him, their lights stark against the dark night. Classy boutiques had closed for the day, but when he peered through the windows, he imagined his fiery demon browsing through the racks of sleek clothing.
Only, he couldn’t envision it. Her body was too lush for the staid suits and slinky gowns. When his mind played villain and conjured an image of her in of one the silk sheaths, he groaned. It’d leave almost nothing to the imagination. Would she wear panties? Was there a bra big enough to encase her breasts, or would the tips peek out?
His inner radar started pinging off the charts. She was close. The cars around him honked as he slowed in the middle of traffic. One of the hotels, that’s where she was.
He wasn’t dressed for casing a classy place, but he could use his natural vampire talent to blend into the shadows.
When he wanted to burst out of his skin and sprint into the hotel in front of him, he searched for a place to parallel park. There was nowhere but a parking ramp adjacent to the place.
As he was pulling in, his eye caught a flash of orange.
His stomach plummeted. Holy. Shit. She’d taken blending in and booted it out the window.
In sky-high stilettos, she towered over the man on her arm. Bishop’s closed windows blocked the sound of her throaty laugh, but he saw it in Technicolor. Her head thrown back, her mouth open in delight, and her long, sexy neck exposed.
Not that the idiot beside her noticed. His gaze was anchored to her chest—he was dead meat. A cashmere sweater stretched over her torso and stopped just above her skirt’s waistband. The skirt itself was probably a normal length on a human, but it rested mid-thigh on his demon.
Bishop floored it through the parking ramp to find a spot where he could surveil them.
The couple strode into the hotel lobby. The man’s hand rested on her shapely butt.
Bishop’s windows fogged. From breathing like a raging bull? He squinted at the fog. Ice crystals had formed within the fog and turned it to frost.
Think warm thoughts, darling. Deep breaths and warm thoughts.
Hellfire, he hadn’t remembered those words in decades. Mam chiding him as a child when he’d let his emotions grow out of control. Since he’d begun to chase his demon, it was like his mind had unlocked.
But frost? He frowned, something niggling at his memory. Calm down, Bishop. Your pap’s coming home.
He shrugged it off. Never mind. He had a promiscuous demon to hunt.
He loaded his weapons into a bag so they weren’t visible and slipped out of his vehicle. Flitting from dark corner to dark corner, he hid himself and his size until he had to cross the street. The hotel had a side entrance and he used it. His bond had brought him close to Fyra and he’d use it to prowl each floor until he located her room.
Would she sense him? Or would she be too enthralled with that man?
His lip lifted in a snarl. He cursed himself. Good thing no one was around to get a good view of fang.
Floor by floor, he prowled the hallways. On level seven, he rounded the corner on two human women. They both jumped back and gasped when faced with a nearly seven-foot-tall male wearing all black.
He gave them his most congenial smile. It worked just as well as it did on all the other human ladies he’d come across and they tittered off. Level ten had him running into two dudes, who eyed him suspiciously.
“Can we help you find something?” one asked.
“Nah,” he replied, slouching as best he could and keeping his expression sheepish. “Just walking it off until the girlfriend cools down and lets me back in.” He rolled his eyes. “I told her she spent too much.”
The guys snorted and nodded in understanding.
“Women, am I right?” the second guy said and they both meandered to the elevator, wishing him luck.
There weren’t many floors left to search, but Bishop knew she was here. His pace grew quicker, his thoughts turning to how far she’d gotten with that human.
When he opened the door to level thirteen, he stopped and dropped his head back. Why hadn’t he started here? Because hotels used to skip level thirteen, but this place was probably only five years old. Should’ve known she’d get a room on this floor. The only thing he had to do was choose the door.
A heat wave hit him in front of room 1313. Shaking his head, he stared at the number. Had she no shame?
No. She was a demon.
He continued to glare at the offending number. It’d draw attention if he broke down the door. Sneaking a card key would take too long. If Creed were here, he’d work his mojo and open the electronic lock.
Bishop took his chances and knocked. Thirteen stories was a high jump and he’d find her if she ran again.
The door swung open and sucked his breath out with it.
“Seriously, Bishop? You found me already?”
Fyra in person devastated his senses, and the temperature around him dropped. Her height was perfect. Without those ridiculously sexy heels, the top of her head fell below his nose. She’d tuck in under him just right.
And those curves. He was a big man—everywhere—but the width of her hips created the perfect cradle for him.
The severe throbbing in his groin ripped his mind off her delectable body. He dragged his gaze back to her perturbed one.
The swell of heat emanating from her swarmed him, but it encountered the cocoon of cool air around him and slammed back into her.
She stumbled back, holding her hands up in a surrender position. “Whoa, no need for a chilly reception. I was going to invite you in.”
He charged in. As he passed her, he half expected her to dart out the door and run. But she tucked a stray strand of her sunset-colored hair behind her ear and crossed her arms.
“Where is he?” Bishop scanned the luxurious room. He scowled and stomped around the king-size bed, which had a duffel bag flipped open in the middle of it. Her clothing spilled out like she’d been about to change clothes. A table in the room held a bottle of wine and two empty glasses. “Have you finished with him already?”
Her mouth worked but formed no words. She planted her hands on her hips, her gaze incensed. “I’m not you, vampire. I don’t troll for humans to fuck and dump.”
He winced at her highly accurate term for what he did. Slamming the door shut, she stomped to the closet door and shoved it open.
Cautiously, he walked to the doorway.
A crumpled form was stuffed into the space.
“He’s sleeping off some heavy sedatives. You really can buy anything off the streets here. Anyway,” she closed the human back in, sauntered over to the bed, and perched on the end with her impossibly long legs stretched out, “I spent my cash on clothing and didn’t really want to spend the day in a dive, so I picked him up to foot the bill.”
Adrenaline surged through his veins with nowhere to go. Had he really not thought beyond what he’d do when he confronted her?
He stalked her until he towered over her, one leg planted on each side of hers. Her sweet wood-fire scent knocked on his skull and reminded him of the pressure behind his fly.
She rested back on her elbows. Her breasts jutted forward and his fangs watered. They wanted in her as much as another part of his body did.
“You have me now, vampire. Whatever are you going to do with me?”
She had to scent his desire. Everyone in the hotel probably did.
She drew in a long, slow breath. “Mmm, you smell delicious in person, now that my senses aren’t dulled in a host. Like…the ice caves of the underworld. Oh man,” She collapsed back with her arms stretched over her head, her dreamy expression on the ceiling. “I used to go hide in those when I couldn’t control—well, I’d hang out there. There used to be demons that inhabited the place, but cold beings don’t find my home an easy place to reside. They would’ve done fine, really, but no one wanted them around. Too much power when they could freeze your mouth shut.”
“Fyra,” he barked. “Shut the fuck up.”
Tremors racked his body. She was making him go feral and he wasn’t even a shifter.
Her mouth turned down. She had feelings and he’d hurt them. The detail bothered him.
He attempted to explain. “Your voice is too…” Sexy. “You look…” Sexier. “I can’t…” Stay away from you.
She cocked her head and sat up. The spread of hair draped behind her back. If he buried his nose in it, would it be like drowning in the middle of an inferno?
The way she was positioned, resting on her hands planted behind her, her skirt hitching up higher every time she moved, all he’d need to do was drop to his knees and throw her legs over his shoulders, and paradise would be right in front of his nose.
“Bishop,” she purred, the glint in her eyes like a cat in front of a bowl of milk teetering on the edge of a counter. One push and he’d be hers.
The rest of the room dimmed around him. The man in the closet was of no consequence. The fire-demon seductress offering herself in front of him was all he cared about.
His hand twitched, a precursor to reaching for her, when—bang!
A bullet ripped through the door, several more following. The gunman on the other side possessed a semi-automatic and showed no mercy on the trigger.
Lead tore into Bishop and he jerked with each hit, too stunned to think beyond the searing pain.
“Move!” Fyra grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him over her.
Even filled with bullets, his first concern was that he’d crush her. But she didn’t look like a delicate flower, didn’t act like one, either. With a grunt, she rolled them both over the side of the bed. He landed with a thud on his butt, his fighter’s mind coming online with the situation.
Rending metal and splintering wood replaced the sound of gunfire. Was there any door left to knock down after all those shots? Fyra flipped the mattress toward the door with a mighty heave, a feat no human could do with the flick of a wrist.
He assessed himself. Blood soaked his shirt, ran down his arms, and seeped from holes in his pants.
One of the attackers fired on the mattress until it hit him. The gun clattered against the wall and he grunted as he fell to the floor. A second attacker rushed into the room. Fyra grabbed Bishop’s hand and yanked him to his feet.
He stumbled over the mattress that half pinned the first intruder. Fyra released his hand to dive at the second shooter, a plain-clothed human man with tattoos snaking up his neck and face. His eyes were black as ink pools. Possessed. Fyra tackled him and bashed his head into the floor. The crack of his skull echoed in the silence.
The mattress lurched as the pinned shooter tried to crawl out. Bishop stomped down on the biggest center of mass. A male groaned. He stomped again and heard a muffled snap of bones.
“Fyra,” the man moaned. “You won’t get away.”
She stood up, brandishing the weapon she’d snagged off the unconscious human. “Don’t kill the human, Bishop. Rancor’s probably waiting to make a grab for me through the portal that would drag this demon back to the underworld.”
“He can find you wherever you are.” The evil laugh definitely wasn’t from the human. The demon had taken completely over.
Terror spiked in Fyra’s eyes. Bishop bared his fangs and ripped the mattress off. The surprised face of the man greeted Bishop as he wrapped his hands around the human’s puny neck.
“Bish—” Fyra’s pitch rose with alarm.
“I’m not going to kill him,” Bishop snarled. The man losing his struggles against Bishop’s strength meant her harm. Scared her. Bishop’s lips pulled back farther. His body shook, holding himself back from tearing out the neck he squeezed.
A warm hand landed on his arm. “He’s unconscious. We need to go. The police will be here any second.”
Abruptly, he let go. He staggered off the bulky mattress in a daze. Blood loss, conflicting emotions about the demon next to him, and the fog of rage and pain were getting to him.
She snatched her belongings as he peeked out of the room. When he turned an incredulous look toward her, she was nothing but innocence.
“I’ve been wearing men’s clothes since I got here and I paid good money for these.” She toed off her heels and stuffed them inside, then hefted the bag and gestured for him to get going.
He turned into the hall, weaving until he rammed into a wall.
A strong arm snaked around his waist. Door locks clicked up and down the hall as guests gathered the courage to peer out and see what the ruckus was.
Fyra ducked them into the stairwell he’d used earlier. He wanted to shake her off and descend on his own, but he’d been plugged full of too many holes.
“Where’s your vehicle?” She wasn’t breathless, just a note of urgency in her words.
Hell, he didn’t need to admire her on top of lusting for her.
They took the stairs as fast as he could go. In his cloudy mind, he noted how she was helping him. She could’ve left him to finagle the police, possibly getting arrested or worse, taken to a hospital.
Why would she help him?
“Bishop.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Car? Truck? Where did you park?”
“You’re sexy.” His mumble didn’t answer her question and he’d lost too much blood to care.
“You, too, big guy. Ride. Where?”
“First floor, parking ramp. Find the biggest one there.”
They reached the first floor, but rapid-fire voices could be heard on the other side of the door.
“Shit.” Fyra pressed him against the wall as the door to the stairwell opened. She gripped both sides of his face and brought it to hers.
When their lips touched, he cursed the loss of strength from his injuries. The hint of sweetness in her smoky flavor addicted him immediately and made him think of gooey campfire treats. If he could have, he would’ve reversed their positions and pressed her against the wall, nestled himself between those curvy legs, and shoved inside to find out if she’d burn him as he entered.
Instead, he resembled a newborn colt that’d finally gotten to a standing position, legs braced to each side and wobbly.
Her size and his hunched-over torso hid his injuries and bloodstained clothing. Good thing he wore all black.
“You two need to get out of here,” an officer ordered as he rushed by.
Fyra broke off their kiss, and Bishop nearly growled and pulled her back. The officer’s flak vest read SWAT and several more officers raced in behind him, sparing them no more than a glance. When they disappeared to the second level, Fyra cracked the door.
“There are people everywhere.” She scowled at his clothing. “And you’re a poster child for gunfights.”
He swiped at his face to fend off the light-headed sensation threatening to take him under. “They’re human, right?”
She peeked back out. “I don’t sense any demons. Just those two gang members that Pordge and Roofie managed to inhabit.”
“Who names their kids Pordge and Roofie?”
“I don’t know if this’ll shock you, but most demon parents aren’t loving and kind. Our race is not known for our nurturing nature.” She came back to him and wedged herself under his arm. “You have an idea?”
“Like mesmerizing lunch, but on a broader scale.”
“You can do that?”
Pride swelled at her impressed tone. “Not many of us can, but it’s possible. The effect is weak, but enough to convince them to ignore us.”
“Okay, I’ll steer, you voodoo.”
They wove in and out of throngs of people. Police cars were parked everywhere, fire trucks and ambulances dotted the street, and everyone was out of their vehicles and staring at the hotel.
Fyra made a disgusted sound. “I suppose that’ll make humans go back to thinking the number thirteen is bad luck. And they were starting to come around.”
Once they made it into the ramp, he relaxed, but only a little. Leaving might create an issue if law enforcement wanted to contain everyone.
“Keys.” She wiggled her fingers.
He wasn’t that far gone that he’d let anyone drive his baby.
“Seriously. It’s just a hunk of metal on wheels.” Her hand shoved into his pocket, and thankfully, there wasn’t blood to spare because it would’ve caused an instant, raging hard-on.
With a triumphant smirk, she drew the keys out and unlocked the doors. He was shoved into the passenger seat. She rushed around to the driver’s side but didn’t get in.
Dumping her luggage on the seat, she riffled through it.
“What are you doing?” he slurred. His head was back on the headrest, his energy drained.
“They’re going to stop us when we try to leave and I’m covered in your blood.”
A surge of energy flung his eyes wide when she yanked off her top. His breath left in a whoosh. Her eyes twinkled and she wiggled her hips, just for him.
He should thank her for preventing more blood loss because whatever he had left was racing to his groin. Creamy skin, flushed with red. Those breasts… A bra that was a feat of engineering cupped them perfectly, creating a decorative frame, not just support.
He whimpered when she tossed on another top that was almost as revealing as the sweater. It showed more cleavage than it concealed. She frowned down at her skirt, but she didn’t change out of it. After packing her things, she threw her luggage in the back and climbed in.
Instructions for how to handle his baby came to mind, but his mouth wasn’t working. His eyes drifted shut, but he pried them open.
They approached the exit. An officer motioned for them to stop. Fyra rolled down the window.
Through Bishop’s hazy view, the man’s gaze didn’t leave Fyra’s chest. He concentrated hard to convince the officer there was nothing to see.
No use.
Fyra was asking questions, playing the concerned woman. She turned to look at Bishop and quirked a brow, concern in her yellow gaze. Realization that he was too weak to influence the man dawned in her eyes.
In a split second, she went form drop-dead sexy woman to blindingly hot sexpot.
“Officer, may I ask you something? In private?”
Bishop frowned. His lids drooped, too heavy to open. What was she going to do with him to gain their freedom?
Dimly, he heard the door open, her flirty laughter.
No! he screamed mentally. Too weak to form the word.
Less than a minute later, she crawled back into the Hummer. “Men. So easy.”
What’d you do with him? He couldn’t yell and it didn’t matter as blackness claimed him.