Kiss The Night Goodbye

“I should be able to, but it feels like I'm fighting my way through molasses." Because of the runes. At least she'd be able to tackle them again—given he was covered in dirt, he was definitely taking a bath. “Where's the man you rescued?"



In answer, he rose and offered her a hand. She placed her fingers in his, her skin trembling at the sheer warmth of his touch. He pulled her to her feet, but didn't move immediately, instead touching her bruised chin with his free hand.



"I know you,” he said softly. “Love you."



Elation winged through her soul. The wall around his memories was breaking down—and though she wished it would happen a little faster, at least it was happening.



"And I you,” she whispered, then added through the link, but when you remember my name, do not utter it out loud.



Why?



Again, despite the spell, he didn't seem to think it strange for them to be connecting this way—even though he'd tried to use telepathy moments ago and couldn't. But maybe that was because Dunleavy didn't actually know about the deeper connection between them. He'd blocked Michael's memories and, therefore, his path to the link, but as the memories seeped back, so did his access to the mind link. Because Dunleavy thinks I am someone I'm not.



Seline.



Yes.



I knew that name didn't suit you. He brushed a kiss across her lips, and then he gently squeezed the hand he held before stepping away. “We need to take care of Dunleavy's victim. I think he's in shock." As he would be, since he'd basically been left to bleed to death. “We'd better move the other man first. Wouldn't want the building falling on him."



Michael raised an eyebrow. “You save him, and you're just saving another weapon Dunleavy can use against us."



"He's not helping willingly, and I'm not leaving him here to die." Michael didn't look too enthusiastic about the task, but he hobbled over to the stranger and hauled him to an old water trough, dumping him inside. “The concrete will protect him from the heat,” he commented. “That good enough?"



She nodded and glanced up as something exploded on the roof. Sparks flew high, blue and black shards that glittered like diamonds against the bright flames. The candles, perhaps. Black smoke curled upwards, oddly reminding her of the slug creature as it worked its way through the rapidly disappearing mist.



A chill ran through her. Was that thing still in the building? While she damn well hoped so, she very much suspected it wouldn't be so easy to kill.



She turned her back on the burning building and wondered why no one was coming to douse the flames. Even Dunleavy couldn't want the outside interest such a fire might evoke.



"We're very remote,” Michael said, his gaze skating across the building before meeting hers again. “And there's no one inside, other than the already dead."



"No strange slug creature?"



"No, unfortunately.” He turned and limped across to the next building. A naked man was sprawled near the front of the building, his body bruised and bloody, his breathing rapid but shallow. Shock for sure.



"We'd better get him inside and get him warm,” she commented. Michael nodded, and with a grunt of effort, hauled the stranger up onto his shoulder. The surge of fresh blood down his thigh made her worry. The wound was worse than he'd led her to believe, though that was something she should be well used to. Even with his memory short-circuited, he was still playing the same old games and not telling her everything. She couldn't help the smile that teased her lips as she followed him down the street. Obviously, that was something that was never going to change. Once they'd reached the house, they cleaned up the injured man's wounds and made him as comfortable as possible in the second bedroom. She found several extra blankets, shoving one under his feet to elevate them a little, and throwing the other over him to keep him warm.



"We're going to have to restrain him,” Michael commented, coming into the room with rope.



"We can't. He's injured."



"He's also a threat. Dunleavy could take his mind at any moment, and while you might believe the fiend has no intention of killing us before tomorrow, I'm not so sure." Her gaze skated down to his blood-soaked thigh, and she knew he was right. They couldn't risk serious injury. She took a rope, tying one of the stranger's arms to the bed while Michael tied the other.



"Now, your turn,” she said, as she straightened.



Amusement flirted with his lips. “Woman, if you want your wicked way with me, all you have to do is ask. You don't need to tie me down."



She grinned. “Sometimes I wonder. Get into the bathroom and clean yourself up, while I go find something to bind up that wound of yours."



"The wound will heal—"



"A lot damn faster if it's treated. Stop arguing and just go."



"Is this tendency to nag a new trait, or something I know about and put up with?” he muttered as he turned away.



She grinned as she followed him out the door. “Oh, it's something you know about.” And it was a two-way street. He could nag her just as much as she nagged him. She headed into the main room. A search through the cupboards uncovered a small medical kit. Inside were bandages and salve. She took both and walked into the bathroom. He was standing naked in front of the basin, washing himself down with a cloth. She hesitated in the doorway, her gaze skating down the lean, familiar length of him. Even after all the months they'd been together, it seemed she could never get enough of simply looking at him. She loved watching the play of muscles under his pale skin as he moved. Loved running her hands all over him, feeling the restrained power beneath the gentleness of his caress...



Her gaze hit his thigh. The flesh was hanging in bloody chunks, and the wound bled freely, staining the back of his leg and pooling near his heel.



"Damn it, Michael, why didn't you bandage that wound right away?" He raised an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder. “Because I'm a vampire, and the wound will not kill me."



"But loss of blood can weaken you, and you're losing buckets of the stuff.” She knelt behind him and raised a hand. “Give me that cloth."



He did. She washed down the wound, then liberally applied the salve and bandaged it the best she could. After washing away the blood staining the back of his leg, she dropped a kiss on his butt, and rose before she was tempted to do anything else.



"You should go eat.” Her gaze met his, and her heart crashed through her chest at the desire and the love she saw blazing there.



"Yes,” he agreed softly, taking the cloth from her hand and dumping it in the sink behind him. “I should, shouldn't I?"



She placed a hand on his chest, even though all she really wanted to do was draw him close. “This is neither the time nor the place."



He caught her hand and pressed her back against the wall. “This from the woman who insisted on making love on a San Francisco bench while the rest of the world woke around us." A smile teased her lips. “So you remember that?"



"I'm remembering lots of things. Like how much I enjoy making love to you in the afternoon." His hand slid under her shirt and around her waist, his fingers almost molten against her back as he pressed her closer to his warm, hard body. Then his lips came down on hers, and for the longest time, there was no more talk, simply enjoyment.



After a while, his touch moved down her spine. It was a caress that spread like a wave through every nerve ending, leaving her whole body tingling in anticipation. He undid her skirt's button and zipper, and it fell with a sigh, puddling at her feet.



He pulled back, his breath warm on her lips as his gaze burned into hers. “Let's make love. Here. Now." His words were little more than a husky growl that made her tremble with desire. But it was the desire burning bright in his dark eyes—a desire that was not only sexual, but blood need—that worried her. He was controlling the need to taste her blood, but only just.



"Michael—"



He gave her no time to finish, his mouth closing on hers again. Her protests died, squashed by the force of his kiss. By the passion behind it.



With a husky groan, he pulled back again and ripped open her shirt, the buttons pinging across the bathroom floor as he pushed the material off her shoulders. His fingers were a flame that skimmed her back as he dropped the shirt beside the skirt. Then with a slowness that denied the urgency thrumming through the link, he skimmed his hand up her stomach and began circling one breast with a finger. His gaze held hers, leaving her drowning in the dark pool of his desire as his caress gradually worked inwards, reaching, but not quite touching, the aching, sensitive center of her breast. Perspiration skated her skin. His whisper-soft stroking moved to her other breast, and by the time he'd finished circling to the center, she was close to screaming with frustration. His mouth claimed hers again, urgently, passionately. His hands skimmed her waist, catching the sides of her panties, thrusting them down. Then he stroked her, teased her, until the shudders of pleasure became almost too much to bare. At that moment, he lifted her, claiming her in the most basic way possible. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close as he thrust and surged inside her. Her body quivered with the sensations tumbling through her, her thighs clenching him tight as the pressure built and built, until she felt so tightly strung that everything would surely break. Then everything did break, and she was unraveling, groaning, with the intensity of the orgasm flowing through her. His kiss became as fierce as his body, then his mouth left hers, and his teeth grazed her neck. She jerked away before he could pierce her skin. He groaned, his need for her blood so fierce it burned down the link between them. She caught his face between her hands, pulling him away from her neck, kissing him. The sharpness of his canines grazed her tongue, warning her that the danger was not over yet. Yet it was a danger that oddly heightened her desire, revived her need for him. She knew it was as much the glamour of vampire in need of blood as the desire that still surged between them. No blood, she warned forcefully.



He groaned, his kiss becoming almost savage. She thrust the link wide open, and their minds joined with a fierceness that was far greater than anything they'd reached physically. It was mind, body and soul. For one glorious moment, they were one person, one entity. One heart. One soul. And nothing, not even blood lust, stood a chance against that oneness.



Together, they fell screaming over the edge, plunging into a sea of bliss more powerful than anything she'd experienced before.



When she remembered how to breathe again, she rested her forehead against his, and said, “Wow."



"Indeed.” He kissed her forehead and lowered her to the ground. Hunger still burned through the link, and she looked up quickly. Heat still burned in his eyes, and his body trembled as he fought the urge to slake his hunger.



"You were right. I should have fed first.” He brushed a hand across her cheek, stepped away and bent to pick up his clothes. “We were extremely lucky hunger and the magic didn't get the better of me."



"I think self control had more to do with it than luck."



"Maybe. But I won't be so foolish next time."



Next time, hopefully, they'd be free of Dunleavy's magic, and there wouldn't be a need to be careful.



“Watch yourself out there. Dunleavy's going to be a little pissed about us destroying another of his pentagrams."



He nodded and zipped up his pants. “I want you to walk around the house and make sure all the windows and doors are locked."



She raised an eyebrow. “Why? Dunleavy's a vampire. He can't come into a house unless invited."



"Maybe. But we don't yet know what, exactly, Kinnard is, and I'd rather he didn't know you're here alone."



"He's going to know that if he sees you outside."



"I'll blur, so he won't even see me."



She had a suspicion Kinnard knew exactly what they were up to, no matter what they were doing. She flicked a knife down into her palm then flipped it, handing it to him hilt first. “Take this with you. It's silver, so no matter what Kinnard is, it'll affect him."



"I do not need a weapon to take care of a worm like Kinnard."



"That worm is too cagey to let you get anywhere near him. At least you might be able to throw the knife and nick him."



He stared at her a second longer, then took the knife and put it through his belt at the back of his jeans.



“I won't be long. You be careful."



"Always am."



"Yeah, right,” he said dryly and headed for the front door. Nikki locked it after he left. Then she gathered her clothes and walked into the bedroom to get another shirt. After dressing, she checked all the windows, making sure they were locked and shuttered. Not that she thought it would help. She had a suspicion if Kinnard wanted to get in here, he could. It was a certainty that the slug thing would be able to.



Goose bumps ran across her skin, and she rubbed her arms. What was that thing? She didn't know, but she knew someone who would. Camille. She bit her lip, wondering if she dare risk calling the old witch. But what would it gain her, other than a bit more knowledge? Was it worth the price of someone's life?



The answer was definitely no. As much as she hated working blind, that's exactly what they had to keep doing.



She blew out a breath and headed into the main room. Michael wasn't the only one who needed to eat to keep up his strength. It was way past time she ate something, too. And way, way , past time she got some caffeine into her system.



Because she had a feeling she was going to need every ounce of energy she had access to over the next twenty four hours.