Chapter Eight
Fyra drove like a bat outta Hell, and she oughtta know. Bishop was slumped in his seat, pale as an ice demon baby’s bottom.
He needed blood. He wouldn’t die, but if more second-tiers tracked her down, they could kill him too easily in his weakened state.
Once she was sufficiently far away from the hotel, she pulled into an empty lot. Looking into all the corners and shadows, she didn’t see any security cameras.
She leaned over Bishop, her fangs watering. His blood smelled divine, bringing up memories of gorging on frost berries in the caves she used to take refuge in.
It took way longer than she wanted to find the lever to put his seat back down. He flopped with the movement. She should consider why she was so driven to help him. No matter what, he’d be fine, whether she left him in the hotel room or to sit here until he regenerated enough to find a blood supply to feed from.
But she couldn’t leave him. The way he’d looked at her before they were attacked… A girl could get dangerously used to that kind of attention from a male. And she would know.
Fool me once, she chided herself. Bishop wasn’t Trance, but that didn’t mean he was any better for her welfare.
She sliced a vein open on her wrist, wincing at the shock of pain. Not as fun as when another’s fang pierced her skin, but maybe Bishop would—
No. Don’t go there. Her vampire was still all about duty and loyalty. He’d take her in rather than sneak away for a little something.
Twisted in her seat, she squeezed his cheeks until his lips opened. She jammed her wound into his mouth to catch all the blood.
Seconds passed. Finally, he swallowed. Another pull. She expected him to shove her off when he realized who he was drinking from.
Or when the burn hit. Curses, her blood might sear him. She tugged on her arm.
A big hand clamped onto her wrist. Guess he and her blood were getting along just fine.
Another gulp. She was calculating how much he’d need when he grasped a shoulder and dragged her onto him.
It wasn’t easy. Two big people in the front seat, but she was nothing if not determined. Her wrist left his mouth and his hand snaked around the back of her neck and pressed her head down until their lips met.
She sighed into him. Frost berries. His clothes were drying, getting crusty, but she didn’t care. The thick fog of his blood surrounded them and mingled with hers. The intoxicating effect fueled her desire and the interior started to heat up.
His hands landed on her bottom. She gripped his shoulders and squirmed, but straddling him was impossible. So she stretched over him, the press of his impressive erection in her abdomen.
He massaged the globes of her ass and groaned. His other hand drifted up her side until he cupped a breast.
Her moan echoed off the windows. So much more real than the experience of being with him through a human’s body.
She devoured him, his tongue tangling with hers. He didn’t taste like just frost berries, but like they’d been simmered on a stove into the strongest syrup possible.
Rocking against him, she rubbed along his length to increase the friction of his fingers kneading her butt and rolling her nipple.
Could a female come like this? She was certain it was possible. Her internal fire grew hotter. Ah, hell, if she continued, she’d light the upholstery on fire and burn Bishop.
She tensed to jump off him. Vampires and fire. Bollocks, she’d incinerate him.
He changed his grip to an embrace that left her no way to put distance between them. Pushing against him, she wanted to warn him, but stopped.
She pulled back from the kiss with a frown. His hooded eyes watched her, his hips rocked up into her.
A cool breeze caressed her burning skin. Fog filled the windows and hardened into frost.
What…
Bishop’s eyes flew wide and he shoved her off. He made sure she landed back in her seat without nailing any body parts with the gearshift or steering wheel. She couldn’t be too offended.
“You’re welcome for the gift of blood,” she said sarcastically and pushed her hair back out of her face.
“Did you fuck that officer?”
“Excuse me?” After the world’s best make-out session, that’s the first thing he said to her?
“How did you get us out?” He readjusted himself in the seat.
“I used my charm.” She leaned over the console and pinned him with a glare. “And my brains. Men seem to forget I have those when they see the big boobs.” She flung the shifter into drive and stomped on the gas.
She couldn’t see a thing. Condensation built, melting whatever had frosted the windows. Bishop adjusted the knobs until air blew against the glass to clear it.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
She glanced at him in surprise. An apology? A girl could get used to that, too.
“Why’d you save me?” He crossed his arms and stared out the window. His impressive erection hadn’t died down.
She tore her gaze off the fly of his pants. “Why not? I mean, you’re a good guy and all that.”
“But you’re a demon and I’m trying to catch you.” His brows drew down. “Shouldn’t me being a good guy be the reason you’d leave me for dead, or at least leave me to deal with a major headache once human law enforcement got to me?”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Varying levels of evil, I guess. I’m not needlessly cruel.”
“You used those women you possessed.”
Always with the human women! “They wanted it, Bishop.” Easing off the gas, she counted to ten. “Do you think those two demon-possessed humans that attacked us said, ‘Why yes, you can possess me, but please don’t hurt anyone’? Or do you think that was their goal for allowing the possession? We can’t enter a host without permission.”
“Sure about that?”
She frowned. “It’s one of the rules.”
“All rules can be bent and there was a deputy that seemed pretty damned surprised when he woke in a new city in a strange bathroom.”
“Not even Stryke can do that.” Could he?
Bishop didn’t say anything, but she sensed his moment of triumph.
“Son of a— I gave away his name.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “You really aren’t the best at keeping secrets. Besides, I’ve heard of Stryke. Met him even.”
Why was she not surprised? She kept her eyes glued to the road. “We need to find a place to stop and get you cleaned up. Then we’ll run into daylight, so it’ll have to be a place where you can stay.” And she could make a break for it.
“Do you need to work the streets to dupe another man into buying your stuff?”
Passing him a sweet smile, she replied, “If you don’t have the funds, then yes, we’ll need a sugar daddy to foot the bill.”
His eyes narrowed, the delectable scent of his anger spiking. “I have cash.”
She found a moderate chain hotel and pulled in. Holding out her hand, she wiggled her fingers. “Money?”
His glare filled with suspicion.
She’d just saved him and this was how he acted? “I can’t get a room with no card and no money. Not without techniques you don’t approve of.”
He whipped his wallet out and slapped a wad of cash into her palm.
“Thank you.” She made sure her tone dripped with false sweetness.
Her feet hit the ground and she paused. No shoes. In the chaos of their getaway, she hadn’t realized her feet were bare. She climbed onto the driver’s seat and leaned into the back to rummage around for another pair of shoes.
“Forget something?” Bishop said drily.
After snagging a pair of slip-ons, she pushed herself up. An icy draft traced her bustline and when she looked up, he was staring at it.
What was with him and cold?
She stepped into the shoes and went in search of a hotel room.
***
Bishop’s phone rang as soon as she left. Gah, he’d wanted a minute to collect himself after the dynamite that was Fyra departed.
His screen showed it was Rourke.
“What?”
“Exactly,” Rourke snapped. “I’d like to know ‘what,’ too. My partner’s been secretive for weeks, then up and disappears.”
Bishop exhaled and scrubbed his face with his free hand. The high that was Fyra’s blood coursed through his veins and lent him loads of physical power, but mentally, he was drained. “I couldn’t… I fucked up, Rourke.”
“Yeah. You did.” Rourke wasn’t the It’s okay type of guy. “D wanted me to give you a heads-up. There’s been a spike in demonic activity. We busted some possessed humans and sent their demons back to their realm. Calli suspects another one of the thirteen crossed over.”
“You think it’s related to my demon?” Fyra had said Rancor would find her.
“Your demon?” Rourke paused. Talk about a pregnant silence. “I’d guess she’s a major reason for the uptick.”
“I tracked her down tonight, but so did a couple of second-tier demons. Ruined the hotel room and filled me full of bullets.”
“How’d you get out?” Typical Rourke. No emotion, little inflection in his voice. Rourke would fill in the details that if Bishop was on the phone with him, they’d escaped and he was all right. No need for drama.
“She saved my ass.”
More silence.
“I don’t think she’s… I mean she’s…different.”
“Is she hot?”
“Fuck you. I’m not blinded by her looks. There’s something else going on with her besides being power-greedy.”
“And you’re bonded to her. It’s a slippery slope, can cloud your mind easy.”
“Okay, Dr. Rourke. Where did you get your psych degree at? Vampire U?”
More silence. Argh. He hated when Rourke did that. “Listen to yourself, Bishop. I’ve never known you to act like this.”
“It’s the bond,” Bishop grumbled.
“Is it? Ask yourself that when you’re around her, then make sure to fucking call and check in. Because I will hunt you down and I will destroy her to free you.”
Bishop’s ire snapped like an icicle. “Glad I could help you with Grace’s demon situation by threatening to kill her.”
“That’s the only reason I’m not there right now helping you decapitate your demon.”
Bishop ground his teeth together. The image of Fyra’s vibrant hair bloodied and rolling away from her body would give him nightmares. “I’ve got it taken care of. Let me find out what she’s up to. She’s coming back, I’ve gotta go.”
He soaked in the few seconds of her hips swaying in that ridiculously short skirt.
When she opened the door, the phone was tucked away like he’d been patiently waiting the entire time.
“It’s like an ice cave in here.” She yanked her bag out of the back. “Come on, sweet cheeks. We have a room to recoup in.”
She was off before he’d climbed out.
He hefted his duffel and glared at her back as he followed her to the room. What if he were to tell her Rancor was likely on the way? She assumed it, but to have it confirmed?
No, he’d find out if she was lying about escaping the underworld because of him.
Once they were in the room, he ran through what needed to be done to get Fyra back to Freemont. He was going to need a shower, and he couldn’t watch her and clean himself at the same time.
Shoving the bathroom door open, he jerked his chin toward it. “Get in and sit on the toilet.”
Her indelicate snort was as sexy as a porn star’s moans and groans. “I like kink, but not when it involves toilets. Sorry, I get enough of feces back home.” She shuddered. “Not even monkeys throw their poop as much as candy demons.”
“Candy?”
Her eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Y’all really know so little? They’re good to eat, like candy. Some second-tier coined the term in the last century or two. Turns out we have a sweet tooth, and candy demons have sweet blood. They’re not demons really, but creatures basically created to feed us so we don’t feast ourselves into oblivion.”
Filing away the information, he tried not to appear too interested. She was spot on. They didn’t know much about the underworld.
He pointed to the toilet. “I’m going to shower and I don’t want you running off. Sit.”
“You’re keeping me captive by having me sit and watch you strip down and clean off that hard body? Ouch, vampire. You hit me where it hurts.”
A growl escaped as she pranced to the toilet. She delicately settled on the end and crossed her legs.
He dumped his bag on the counter and dug out fresh clothes. The ones he wore were trashed, should be burned. If he stuck around Fyra, it would happen before the night was over.
Reaching back to pull off his shirt, he stalled. Attempting to be a hard-ass and ensure she didn’t escape him, he’d put himself in a place of great temptation. Her candlelight gaze was glued to his body, and licks of heat flared wherever it touched.
Steeling his resolve, he tugged off his shirt.
Her sweet campfire scent grew stronger. When he disrobed completely, she’d see the evidence of what she did to him.
He ripped his pants open and shucked them off before meeting her gaze. Or trying to. But hers was skimming over his body. She was as still as an ice sculpture, only her eyes moving. When she noticed him watching, she cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.
Instead of bending over and mooning her to get the water on in the bathtub, he stepped in and flung the curtain shut. He turned the spout on but didn’t wait for it to heat before pushing the shower lever.
Ice water hit him but didn’t lower his libido any. If anything, it got stronger.
“Did you know you smell like frost berries?”
He paused in scrubbing the soap over his bloodstained body. What the hell were frost berries? “No.”
“They grow in the ice caverns at home. Betcha didn’t know we have ice in the underworld.”
Of course he didn’t know.
“I used to hide there,” she continued. “The berries are bitter as fuck when they’re not ripe, but I’d eat them because they smelled so sweet.”
“The girl on fire in ice caves?”
There was a pause before she answered. “Perhaps you noticed that I sometimes run a little hot.”
“You mean the mangled tanker and the crater it created.”
“It was an accident.” Her defensive tone wasn’t a put-on. He could believe she hadn’t meant to.
“And the cars at the gas stations?”
“Like I said, I can run a little hot. What about you and the cold? I didn’t think vampires had the ability to change the temperature.”
He roughly rinsed himself off. “I don’t get cold. You just think so because fire’s your thing.”
“Bishop, there’s frost on the mirror.”
What? He drew the shower curtain out of the way. Frosty glass obscured the mirror completely.
Fyra laughed and held her palm up. “You’re making it snow!”
Oh shit. He slammed the water off before he created a homemade ice rink in the tub.
Think warm thoughts. His mam’s words echoed in his mind and he frowned as he tried to remember when she’d used them.
He’d been on a frozen lake—No. That wasn’t right. He’d been in a corner, facing a brick wall. His bedroom. And his floor had transformed into an ice-skating rink after he’d heard his mam fighting with Pap.
He’d been five or so at the time and heard Mam screaming. Was it you? My parents weren’t evil! What about me, what about your son? Is that what you think of us? Is that what you’re going to do to us?
His pap’s deep sobs twisted Bishop’s heart even decades later.
He frowned. Pap had passed that morning. Mam had said it was an accident, but he’d walked into the sun. Had it been on purpose?
An icicle fell off the showerhead and shattered on the floor. He jerked to the present.
Shit. Was he…was he the cause?
Dear child, calm yourself. Think of the warm times, Mam had once cooed when they’d huddled in the middle of a snowstorm.
No, his recollection had to be wrong. She’d said that in the closet. He’d been upset about…hellfire, it’d been so long ago. And what was he thinking—it couldn’t snow indoors.
Another chunk of ice shattered on the shower floor.
Think about campfires, think about s’mores, the fire demon with the long legs and curves for miles…
He stepped out and stood, clenching and unclenching his fists until he got his internal thermometer under control. With his memories assaulting him and his demon’s sweet scent teasing him, he strained to remain controlled.
“What’s the matter?” Fyra purred. “Do you need to be warmed up?”
She dropped to her knees and prowled toward him.
Her rounded ass in the air paralyzed him. His cock jutted out and twitched as it waited for her.
Move, he screamed to himself. But his feet were frozen in place and it had nothing to do with the cold phenomenon.
She reached him. Most women would find that kneeling to give him a blowjob while he was standing wasn’t possible. He was too tall. But Fyra’s head rose to the perfect level.
Her warm hand circled the base of his shaft. He released a breath that puffed in the chilly bathroom.
A good sign he was heating up. A few more seconds and he’d be warm enough to push her away—he hoped. Putting distance between them wasn’t a message his feet were getting.
Her mouth closed around the tip. In his mind, he melted into a pool at her feet.
Searing heat teased his erection, the flick of her tongue like a flame taunting his sensitive flesh.
His groan bounced off the walls and instead of shoving her off him, he buried his hands in her hair. She sucked him in deeper and he had to lock his knees or he’d topple.
Up and down his shaft, her tongue swirled. His breaths came quicker. He was almost too far gone to notice that instead of ice cold, or blazing hot, the temp in the bathroom had regulated to normal.
Like they evened each other out.
Before he could think too deeply, she used her other hand to grasp his balls. No mouth on him had ever felt so…been so… No one had ever done this much for him. He hadn’t found anyone compatible in size. Not even vampire females possessed the height and curves he desired.
She took another mighty pull on him and then blew his mind by humming. All coherent thought left his brain. He gritted out words of encouragement, or maybe even please don’t stop. If he was intelligible, he’d be surprised.
His climax approached and he caressed her face before holding her head in place so he could thrust. She didn’t gag, didn’t throw him away from her. He rocked his hips and she took him, her humming driving him over the edge.
Having the sense to hold in his roar, he grunted through clenched teeth. He couldn’t squeeze his eyes shut, had to see her. Had to watch her take his release.
She didn’t flinch. Pure bliss etched across her features.
When he was done, he sagged but managed to stay upright. He still held her face. Abruptly, he let go and stepped back. His cock made an audible pop as it left the ecstasy of her mouth.
“Wh-what did you… How…” He shoved a hand through his hair. Rourke was right. She was hot and he was letting it affect his thinking.
“I think you saw how.” She stood and wiped her mouth.
His dick twitched. No, no more. Yes, more. With jerky movements, he began to dress.
She didn’t step back to give him any space. “I told you I know what you like.”
“Is that what this is?” He gestured to her body. “You’re really a grotesque hag from the underworld, but you can change into this to seduce me?”
She ran hands down her torso. “You like how I look?”
Bloody hell, yes. “You should adapt to something that’d blend better.”
“The only way I can do that is to possess a human.”
He loaded his arsenal of weapons and strapped them back on. “Why not a vampire?”
“Not strong enough. Story of my life.”
He barely heard the last sentence she muttered. “Not strong enough to possess?”
“No, I can possess, but I’d be like a passenger in your Hummer. Hanging on for the ride. Not many second-tiers are strong enough to overpower a vampire, much less enough to be able to use their powers.”
More info to file away. Much of it his team already suspected. But hearing it confirmed, and that some second-tiers were powerful enough for vampire possession, was beneficial. If he could trust that she wasn’t trying to lead him astray, feed him bread crumbs to take him down the wrong path.
He couldn’t help but think that wasn’t the case. For a demon, one who’d been savvy enough to bond him, she seemed like she had a strong sense of…innocence.
Rourke was right. She was getting under his skin.
“Get into bed,” he barked.
“Isn’t it my turn to shower?”
No way was he that strong. He’d be on his knees returning the favor.
She trailed her fingers along her neckline. “Oh, so we’re going to—”
“No!” Cold began to seep into his bones, which he started to recognize as a precursor to overpowering lust for the fire demon. “You’re going to sleep and I’m going to block the door and catch some shut-eye. At sunset, we take off again.”
She eyed his body. “We can sleep in the same bed.”
“Not after what you just did. You might get away with seducing others out of their minds, but you’re not getting one over on me with a quick fuck.” Again. Geez, he’d made it easy for her.
He wasn’t prepared for the hurt in her eyes, but she quickly covered it by turning away to march to the bed.
“I am good at seducing men out of their minds, aren’t I?” Her snarky words ate at him. How often had she done this?
“I’m surprised that with your skill set, you aren’t one of the thirteen.”
Her shoulders stiffened and she spun on him, her fangs bared. “You have no idea what it’s like down there. You think I’d fuck my way through thirteen of the worst demons? Matter of fact, the last—and only—member of the thirteen I had sex with I trusted, and now he’s dead.” She reared up into his face. He flinched back. “By my own hand. And yes, it earned me the prestigious position of being their fucking slave, where they actually think they can do what they want to me. Do you think that’s okay because I’m a demon?”
He glared at her, trying to process the information. She was a trickster, she was playing on his emotions. Everyone knew he was a softie and she’d even exploited it before.
“You do, don’t you?” She stumbled back, making a choking sound that he realized was a sob. “You males are all the same.”
He stood helpless as she buried herself under the covers. Trickster. He had to keep repeating it. She was manipulating him. Of course he didn’t wish life in the underworld on anyone. But anyone taking advantage of her, mind or body, made him homicidal.
Trickster.
The bed shook with her soft crying, like she tried to hide from him in vain. She’d just given him the most amazing physical feeling, one he hadn’t thought possible. The gift of being himself with someone in an intimate act was enough. And he’d insulted her so badly she cried.
Trick—
Hellfire, he didn’t know anymore. He backed up to the room door and sank down to the floor with his knees up. Draping his arms across them, he stared at his hands until he dozed off.
Fyra popped her head up. Bishop’s breathing grew even.
He must be asleep.
She rubbed her eyes. Black circles dotted the sheets, like someone had singed it repeatedly with a cigarette. It was just her tears.
Stupid. She pushed her hair off her face. It was another example of her naivety, falling for the big vampire. How’d she think he’d view her? Mate material?
Demons didn’t get happily-ever-afters. Demons didn’t get happy, period. A product of her deceitful, evil ancestors.
What would they think of her? Pathetic. Weak. Gullible. She’d proved all of it.
A sizzle of dread scooted up her spine.
Something bad this way comes.
Second-tier or Rancor?
Did it matter? She needed to run.
Sunbeams bled through the thick curtains. She could open them and bake Bishop.
She leaned over to peek at him. His legs were stretched out, hands limp on his lap, his head cocked at an atrocious angle.
He should have a neck pillow. She’d snuck one to her realm once. Sleeping against stone walls had been so much easier with that thing. Until it’d been burned to ash.
She stifled a sigh and tried to get angry at Bishop. And still she couldn’t hurt him.
Lifting her hand, she concentrated and blew across her fingertips. What killed Jim wouldn’t kill Bishop, but it’d make him sleepy-weepy until she was far away and the carbon monoxide was aired out of the room. She missed the days when she’d had enough power over him to knock him out, but the more their bond strengthened, the more she had to play nice with him.
She waved her hands around, waiting for Bishop to slump farther, inspecting his skin for the cherry-red glow that accompanied carbon monoxide poisoning.
Nothing.
She frowned and crept closer. One of his hands twitched.
Bollocks. With a flick of her wrist, she stopped the flow of gas. It was just her luck that vampires didn’t react the same way to the gas.
She huffed out a breath. Now what? There was nothing heavy enough to bash over his thick skull to knock him out. She faced the window. Sure, she could get out, but could she without waking him?
Only one way to find out. They were on the second floor, but she had no problem making the jump as long as no Good Samaritan saw her and called her in.
She tiptoed to the window and ducked behind the curtains to inspect it. A slide window with a lift-out screen. No problem, and bonus, it was nice and sunny out. If her vampire woke, he couldn’t pursue her until the rays started to fade for the day.
Painstakingly slow, she unlocked it. Bishop snorted and murmured in his sleep. It’d be adorable if he hadn’t insulted her so deeply earlier. And after award-winning head. He should’ve been groveling.
Fortifying her nerves, she slowly pushed the window open. Sounds from outside filtered in. She froze, waiting for Bishop’s deep voice to ask her what she was thinking.
When she peeked out from behind the curtain, his head hung farther down. Her smirk might’ve been a little self-satisfied. He was still recovering, thanks to her blood, and like most males, a good orgasm made for good sleep. She’d done that.
She lifted the screen and made more noise than she’d intended, wrestling it into the room. Letting it fall to the hedges below would have attracted too much attention.
The screen leaned against the wall, the curtain muffled some of the noise from outside, and Bishop was still asleep.
Fyra crept to grab her bag, and a glint of silver reminded her that she hadn’t given his keys back. For good measure, she snatched his duffel, too.
She almost laughed but zipped her lips shut. Her grin didn’t go away as she went back to the window and peered out. A couple disappeared inside the entrance of the hotel and the rest of the parking lot was quiet. The Hummer was parked by the exterior wall. If Bishop woke when he heard the vehicle start, he still couldn’t get to her in time, not when she was in full sunshine.
An easy leap out of the window and she hit the ground in a crouch with her luggage clutched to her chest. Her bare feet complained about the landscape rock digging into her flesh, but it was a minor inconvenience. If Rancor caught her, the rocks would feel like paradise.
She scurried to the Hummer and jumped in.
Well, Chicago hadn’t worked out. Where to next?
She pushed the hair out of her eyes as she maneuvered through the streets. She’d need a new vehicle. But the Hummer might throw her pursuers off. If they knew what Bishop drove, it would be the last place they expected. And perhaps Bishop’s scent in the vehicle would mask hers.
A pounding in her temples began to grow stronger. She hadn’t eaten since she’d conned that human into renting the hotel room. He’d taken her to a five-star restaurant, where she’d ordered half the menu.
Hungry, thirsty, no money, and the skeleton fingers tingling up and down her spine meant more than a second-tier was after her. Not a great start to her escape.
Rancor had eyed her like a delicacy for years, but her defeat over Trance was still too fresh in the Circle’s memories. Fyra wished she knew how she’d done it, too.
Okay, she knew how, but could she ever replicate it? If she did in this realm, it’d be like detonating a napalm bomb. Her mother could only be slaughtered once, so without the emotion behind it, Fyra’s bomb might be more like a Fourth of July sparkler.
The Circle didn’t know that, though, and had no clue that after decimating Trance, her fire powers remained as unreliable as one of their promises.
Going on the run was better than turning herself over. It’d give her much-needed time, and without Bishop around to distract her, maybe a solution would finally appear.
***
Bishop snorted himself awake. Erie images of conjuring snowflakes the size of tea saucers evaporated.
He groaned as he raised his head. Sleeping in this position wasn’t good for any species. He rubbed his neck as he rolled the kinks out of it.
His hand stilled and his eyes flew open. He’d awoken for a reason. The room was no longer quiet. A gentle breeze pushed the curtains out.
He jumped up and as he ran to the window, it was obvious the bed was empty.
“Fuck!” He flung back the curtain.
Fyra was gone and so was his ride.
She’d managed her escape while he drooled on his shirt.
He froze and, thankfully, not literally this time. He stood in an open window in the middle of the day. Pleasant heat licked up his arms and face, but nothing burned. Squinting outside, he tensed, prepared to jump back as soon as he started getting ashed.
Nothing.
You cannot go in the sun, Bishop.
I know, Mam. No vampire can.
No. You cannot even attempt it. Never let anyone see you in the sun.
He scowled. What an odd thing to say. At the time, he’d been so young, he’d only interpreted it as a scolding.
No time to think on it with his demon on the loose.
He stalked around the room, racking his mind about what to do. He could rest up—as if he could sleep again—and wait until evening. But how would he chase her? Waste time renting a car. Then what? Hope he could sleep and talk with her in their dreams. Follow more fires.
Except other demons were more adept at finding her than he was. He’d have to tell Demetrius’s mate. The underworld had a way to track their people, and maybe Calli could figure out how and manipulate it for their benefit.
But all of that would take too much time. He scanned the room. Dammit, she’d taken his items, too.
She’d taken his ride. A crazy idea formed and he dwelled on it. Vampires could only flash to where they’d been before. Powerful vampires could flash all over the country. No matter where she was or how far she’d gone, she had his ride and he could go anywhere it did.
And for whatever reason, he wasn’t getting fried from daylight.
A grim smile curved his lips. Was he a powerful enough vampire to flash into a moving vehicle?
He didn’t close his eyes. If his attempt went south, he’d need to react quickly.
One thought.
Fyra’s scent bloomed around him and he was in the passenger seat of his Hummer. Trees and houses were drifting past as she drove through a residential neighborhood.
He’d done it! And his skin was as cool as—
Fyra yelped when she noticed him. The vehicle jerked and nearly rammed a parked pickup truck. She tore her stunned gaze off his and yanked the wheel the other direction. Bishop grabbed onto the dash as the wheels skidded and swerved. She let off the gas and parked crookedly with two tires up on the boulevard.
“Bishop! How did y— What were you think— You’re going to ash yourse—” She clamped her mouth shut. Her gaze went outside, where the midday sun shone, then back to him. She poked him in the chest. “You’re real? You’re really here? Why are you not burning to death?”
He reached over and snapped his keys out. “I would tie your generous ass up, but I guess you’d just burn through any restraints.”
“Why are you not in pain? Shouldn’t your skin be beet red? Blistering?”
Yes. Yes, it should. And he had few answers as to why—and one disturbing theory. “Move over, I’m driving.”
“You have a major secret and you’re not going to tell me.” Her lush mouth curved into a pout.
Because he didn’t know what it was. “I’m going to step out and you’re going to move over.”
She opened her mouth, but he cupped her face and leaned close. Her pupils dilated and his probably did, too, because she was fire and he was ice and they seemed too damn perfect together. He fell back on all of his training to refrain from circling her waist and pulling her onto him.
“If you ever think of running from me again, don’t try. I found you once. I found you twice. I will move Hell and Earth to find you again. Fleeing is pointless. I will get you.” He released her to open the door.
“You say the most romantic things.” From her breathless tone, she wasn’t being sarcastic.
Once he was settled in the driver’s seat with her in the passenger’s spot, he punched the accelerator. He’d drive day and night to get back to his team. With their help, he could deal with Fyra.
“That’s a helluva trick for a vampire.”
“Shut it, Fyra.”
He sensed her hurt feelings and wanted to scream. For a demon, she seemed awfully touchy. The first female he was rude to and it happened to be the only demon with tender sensibilities. He rolled his eyes and concentrated on the road.
“I mean, sunlight.”
“Fyra, I said quiet.”
“Bishop, do you think that’ll really work?”
A burst of laughter escaped. It was pretty stupid to expect her to listen to him. He said the first excuse he could think of. “I have a genetic mutation that allows me to tolerate sunlight.”
“Uh-huh.”
He winced at her patronizing response. Why’d he even try?
“So tell me, mutant boy, do the others know about this gene? Because I don’t recall while studying you that you could walk in the sun. You never went out during the day.”
He pounced on her tendency to reveal important information. “You must not have studied me well enough.”
“No. No, no, no, no. Dear Bishop. When the Circle ordered me to fuck my way into bonding one of you, I watched your whole team.”
He stuffed a growl back where it came from. She’d considered Demetrius, Rourke, and Creed also? Hell, she probably hadn’t ruled out Zoey or Ophelia, either.
“So what made you decide on me?”
“You were nice.”
He cut a sharp look at her. Nice?
“Surprised?” She slid her gaze away from him. “I’m not a monster. I stay alive by doing what the Circle says. I’m numero uno on their shit list, but I’m too useful. So I play the game and they’re too scared of me to execute me directly.”
She was a gold mine of information and he couldn’t have her stopping. “But Rancor tried to force himself on you. Isn’t that the same?” And what’d she mean, they were too scared?
Squirming in her seat, she didn’t look at him. “I think he was figuring out…”
Please don’t stop talking now.
“Well,” she shot him a dazzling smile, “I guess we all have our genetic mutations. So where are we going?”
“Back to my place.”
She fell quiet and her worry clogged the air.
And he couldn’t stand her worry. “You studied my team. We’re not monsters, either. You help us, we’ll help you.”
She snorted. “Heard that before. Story of my life, but guess what? I know that deal is really one-sided. ‘You help us, and we’ll use you to our advantage.’”
“It’s not the story of my life. I don’t hurt the ones I help.”
She turned a glare on him, but in the depths of her flame eyes, she wasn’t in the present. “I was told that once. Took refuge with someone who promised to protect me. Only I found out he’d been the one to,” her eyes glistened, “behead my mother.”
He eased onto the interstate and chanced a glance at her. She was hastily wiping her eyes, but it looked like every tear boiled out hot and evaporated.
“Why’d he kill your mother?”
“Because she was smart. A second-tier demon the entire Circle wanted to do their bidding. She trained me how to think for myself and, even worse in the underworld, to respect myself. She taught me that higher thinking would put me above one of the Circle any day.”
“But they let her live to serve, so why’d they kill her when they did?”
She twined a long lock of shimmering hair around a finger. “She was going to make it into the Circle. She wasn’t vicious enough, but very cunning, and that made her a threat to their plan of world domination.”
“And you don’t agree with that plan?”
She threw him a contemptuous look. “How’s that worked out for other species, or even races, on Earth? As long as the world turns, some idiot will try to rule the totality of it. Why? Isn’t carving your own niche, where you have the resources you need, more desirable? I don’t really care about how many beings I have under me. I just want to walk around without the Circle bartering my life.”
Bishop wanted that for her, too. He cleared his throat, suddenly clogged with emotion. “If Rancor is in our realm, what can we expect?”
Fyra shivered. “A swath of bodies? He’s not very clever when it comes to walking this realm. Usually why the other twelve keep him in the underworld. Bollocks, I suppose they’ll blame me for that, too.”
His mouth twitched at her use of “bollocks.” He’d expected something less…refined. “Would he be in a regular vampire or a prime?”
“Pssht. Prime, of course. They think too highly of themselves to go with a bloodline less than prime. To be fair, they’d probably sizzle the insides of a regular vamp.”
“How? They usually possess a host but anchor themselves to the underworld.” Otherwise, Bishop or his team could behead them in this realm and finish them.
She waved off his concerns. “Power. But Rancor’s a bit impulsive. Pure brutality got him promoted to the thirteen. I wouldn’t be surprised if he crossed completely into the poor bastard who volunteered himself up for a possessin’. He thinks he’s too superior to be killed.”
Bishop catalogued every detail to pass onto Demetrius and Calli. “But you can possess a human and use your powers.”
She leaned over the middle and whispered in his ear. “Genetic mutation.”
He bit down hard on his tongue because the urge to pull over and take her exploded. They were on the interstate heading north so he set the cruise control before erratic driving could garner undo attention.
She chuckled in a sexy purr. “It’s a second-tier trait. Circumstance of our heritage.” Leaning against the passenger window, she eyed him. “I have to say, I’m digging this whole sunlight-on-your-skin thing. You’re too happy of a guy to be cloaked in shadows.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Seriously, Bishop. That partner of yours, Rourke. Perma-frown. Meh, I’m sure he’s earned it. Demetrius, he pretends to be the life of the party, but I saw through the act. No wonder he’s the big shot in your world. Responsibility is branded onto his soul. Then there’s Creed. Serious rebellion, there.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Haven’t you noticed? It’s like he tries to embody everything a prime’s not. Board shorts and Hawaiian shirt, shaggy hair.”
“He recycles like a tyrant.” Bishop swallowed hard at his revelation. What would make him chat about his friends to her? A small detail, but he didn’t know she wouldn’t capitalize on it.
Fyra laughed and it hit him in the nethers. Her voice was bottled sex. “None of that disposable-assets prime mentality. I get that. I want to trounce around being nice and handing out daisies just to piss the Circle off.”
His mouth twitched again, like it always wanted to smile around her. “Is that why you picked me then?”
Other than because he’d made himself a shamefully easy target.
“Because the others were downers? Sort of. You are genuinely nice to people. Like I said, must be my own rebellion. Your smiles are genuine, no hidden darkness. You are good.” She gestured the length of his body. “I never would’ve guessed you were hiding a…genetic mutation.”
To divert attention and continue harvesting her loquaciousness, he continued his questions. “Did you ever consider the females?”
“Of course. I don’t swing that way, but it’s been done before.”
He stifled a groan. Dude fantasies popped into his head.
“But Zohana’s got some shit going on,” she continued, “and I’m not just talking about with Creed.”
“What?”
She stared at him. “You can’t be serious. Those two have something going—bow-chicka-meow-meow.”
He would’ve laughed, but he was too stunned. He lived with Zoey and Creed. “Of course I knew, just surprised you did, too.”
“You’re a shit liar. Those two are bumping uglies—no, with their looks, I doubt their bits and pieces are something to shut my eyes on. Look closely next time. He looks at her with puppy-dog eyes, but she’s just using him for the entertainment. Lonely is my guess.”
Since they’d crash if he stared at her with his mouth hanging open, he settled for gaping out the windshield. Fyra couldn’t know Zoey had lost her true mate. How’d this demon read his team so well?
“Who does that leave?” She toed off her shoes and curled her legs under as best she could. “Oh, Ophelia. That girl’s got issues. Identity crisis, I’d say. What do humans call it? Short man syndrome, only short vampire syndrome. Understandable. A short prime vampire walking around is like a billboard for a shitty upbringing.”
He’d suspected as much. How Ophelia had been deprived of vital nutrients as a child from one of their upper-class families, he couldn’t guess. She’d developed into an admirable fighter, her mind razor sharp, but she was intensely private. She always took the assignments that’d take her away from the compound, so he hardly saw her.
“You seem to…notice…people really well.” More than really well.
“The key to surviving in the underworld.”
“Then how are you not in the Circle?”
He waited. When he glanced over, her mouth was set and the pain in her eyes was staggering.
“I’m sorry.” Why was he apologizing?
She shrugged, but all the life, that trait of hers that was really starting to grow on him, was gone. “It’s a living hell, what can I say.”
Had that been her mom’s goal? To make the underworld a decent place for the creatures down there?
It wasn’t much different than what he and Demetrius and the rest of the team had set out to do so many years ago. Remove the oppressive government to make the world a suitable place for all vampires to live. No longer would specific families dominate all the resources and determine punishment in an arbitrary manner.
It’d worked and they now had a central supernatural government. Normal vampire families were finding solid footing in the world. They cohabited with shifters and humans, and Demetrius and his team helped keep the peace.
Was Fyra dependable? When push came to shove, would she protect herself by throwing Bishop in the line of fire, or would she step up and fight for her people?