Chapter 13
Edwina
Nashville. Cashville. Music City. It doesn’t matter what you call it, Tennessee’s capital is still the nation’s home to country music. I don’t care how the genre may have changed over the years. The twangy beat and yarn-filled lyrics set my fangs on edge. Last time I was in the city, Elvis was popular and coloreds rode in the back of the bus. Can’t say I miss either one.
I pull Hank’s Camaro into the parking lot of a Comfort Inn off Demonbreun Street. My lips curl up, unbidden, at the name—seems like a perfect street for a couple of supernaturals. I’m happy to discover a clean room and complimentary Wi-Fi. That’s all I care about.
Well…almost.
A cloud of steam surrounds Hank as he steps out of the bathroom. His chiseled physique glistening with beads of water draws me in. It urges me to do things other than our real reason for being here. Things better suited for motel rooms. Such a magnificent being—bulky powerful muscles, chocolate-brown skin, and oh…such a lengthy, perfectly shaped cock. The raw power of my attraction to him has me gripping the chair edge. My mouth wants to do things to his body…
Stop!
“Angel, you find anything?” Hank leans against the doorframe. The look on his handsome face is anything but innocent.
He could at least use a towel.
Pushing away from the desk, I go over to the window. We need to take care of business, and then I plan on taking advantage of the king-sized bed. Riding his beast until it roars.
“A few possibilities you should look at while I call Kragen.”
Hank sits down in my vacated seat. My gaze lands on his crotch, and it’s a struggle for me to tear my eyes away. His eyes lift, mischief shining in them, and a deep rumble comes from him. “Don’t worry, Angel. I’m as hungry as you are. Maybe more.”
My heart skips a beat or two. “As soon as I finish with Kragen, I’m satisfying our cravings.” Scrolling through my phone, I locate his number. My former coven leader picks up on the first ring.
“I was wondering when I’d hear from ya,” Kragen drawls. His distinct, Southern accent—much worse than my own—accosts my ear. “When will ya arrive?”
“Possibly late tomorrow. I’ll come see ya when we do.”
Silence overtakes the distance between us. I guarantee Kragen is deciphering the reason for my call.
“What is it ya want, Edwina?” he asks finally.
This vampire’s knowledge of me runs a little too deep for comfort. He’s fully aware that it’s unlike me to reach out to anyone. Over the centuries, I’ve learned to rely only on myself to get things done. Part of it is due to my place in this world. It’s not like vampires have a network of friends wishing to help out at the first sniff of crimson. The other half? Simply answering the need my spirit has for solitude. In my corner of the world, being alone is easier than dealing with prejudice and scrutiny. Venturing beyond my reclusion is a definitive indicator that I need help—usually for something I can’t do on my own.
“Edwina?”
Kragen’s voice drags me from my thoughts. “Sorry. I need to find Damien Duchamp.”
“What d’ya want with dat ass?” Anger flames in Kragen’s words.
“Trust me. It isn’t my choice. Duchamp is running a fight club in N’awlins.” I glance at Hank before saying anything else. He nods, giving me permission to say more. “Duchamp uses it to disguise killing other supernaturals.”
“Not good, cher.”
“F’sure.”
“I’ll contact Morgan. See what the BlackGuard might know,” he offers.
Morgan, great-granddaughter of Morgan Le Fay, runs the BlackGuard Society along with her partner, Ace, alpha of a local wolf pack. I knew the legendary sorceress as well as Morgan’s mother, Deianira Vladislav, a powerful sorceress in her own right.
“I’d hoped ya call her. Let Morgan know I’m willing to meet with her, too.”
“Just a warning, dawlin’,” Kragen starts.
“What?” I steel my spine and wait for the bad news I know Kragen is about to deliver.
“Ya need ta pass by Cash Martin’s place, too. He’s in town. Has a shop down in the Vieux Carre. Ashmedai has been in touch with me. He wants ya to make introductions between Martin and the BlackGuard.”
Fucking great!
Why would the King of Hell put me on the spot like this? I was really hoping to avoid Cash. Facing my demons was not on my agenda despite what I told Hank. I simply can’t deal with the sexy incubus. It’s too soon. Maybe in a year or two…
Unfortunately, no one turns down Ashmedai. I guess it’s time to put my big girl panties on and handle my business. “I’ll make it happen. Just do me a favor and find out what ya can about Duchamp. Tyson Richards is one of his fighters.”
Kragen’s voice takes on a dark tone. “We should definitely talk, Edwina. There are things ya should know before ya get ya self too deep.”
The coven leader’s thoughts slowly unravel, like someone releasing a rusty lock, and I can hear him thinking. He knows about Elijah Ryder and his vendetta against Hank.
“Ya don’t have to warn me about Elijah.” Hank’s head rocks over to me. “I know about his involvement. Besides, I have Tyson’s brother with me. I’ll be fine.”
“And I knew all of dat. Ya know, news travels fast even from New York.” He pauses. “Well, then, I don’t need ta tell ya ta be careful. Elijah Ryder has it out for ya new pet. He ain’t gonna stop till he takes out the cat.”
Hank reaches for my hand, and I move to his side, allowing our fingers to intertwine while appreciating the strength surging through them. “We’re aware and will accept any help ya give us.”
Ending the call, I face Hank. “Ya listened?”
“Yeah. I’m glad Kragen can help us. You shouldn’t have to pay the price, Angel.”
Hank’s eyes lock with mine, and I realize he knows what I’m expected to do. Who I must see. “I can handle it.”
“Angel, I don’t want to see you slip again. You’ve regained some of your strength, but it’s only been a short time. Seeing the incubus alone is a bad idea. I’ll go with you when it’s time.”
I open my mouth to respond and think twice about it. Hank’s right. Seeing Cash by myself isn’t a smart move. Like I said, vampires feel intensely. I don’t want to go down that road again. It’s taken a lot to heal my heart.
I take my hand back and go over to the bed. Vampires don’t sleep, but I could use a few hours of rest. Well, after I’ve had a little fun.
“Did ya learn anything useful on the internet?”
Hank comes and sits beside me. “About the PFC?”
I nod.
“There’s a fight in a couple of days. Social media is buzzing about some were-lion from South Africa. An undefeated cat named Zhakarov.”
I lie back. Hank’s body drapes over mine, and he sweeps my hair away from my face. Lustful green eyes gaze down at me while his fingers unbutton my blouse. Animal magnetism draws me in. I can’t… I don’t want to look away from this male. The heat from his hand warms my body.
My voice comes out in a bare whisper. “Ya think Tyson is fighting him?”
Hank fumbles for a moment with the front closure of my bra before cupping my breast in his hand. “I know he is. Duchamp needs a fighter strong enough to go up against Zhakarov.”
I moan as Hank rolls and pinches a nipple. “We’ll get help…” My breath comes in short pants. “…from the BlackGuard.”
The sensitive nipple pebbles as Hank’s skillful tongue flicks over it. A delicious shudder races down my spine.
He looks up from my breast. “I hear a but coming.”
“Is that what ya hear?” I tease. “Ya must be doing something wrong.”
“I promise when it comes to loving your body, I’ll do nothing wrong.” Hank rolls to his side, his hand resting on my leather-clad thigh. He strokes me, sending shivers of ecstasy through me. “But maybe we should finish talking first?” he says, prematurely stopping his torture.
Reluctantly, I push myself up on my elbows, already missing his touch. My blouse—along with the straps of my lacy, black bra—fall over my shoulders and down my arms. Hank sighs appreciatively and licks his lips.
Focus, Edwina.
I clear my throat. “You heard Kragen say I have to meet with Cash?”
One of Hank’s hands curl. “Yeah. What was that about the King of Hell?”
“That would be Ashmedai. He wants me to introduce Cash to the leaders of the BlackGuard.” The space between Hank’s eyebrows puckers. If he’s still going with me, then he doesn’t need to worry about me. “Ya still going with me, right?”
“There’s no place else I’d be. I got you, Angel. Anything else I should know?” His hand relaxes as he reaches for the zipper on my pants.
“Kragen knows about Elijah and Jackson,” I confess.
“Good to know.” The soft hush of the zipper fills the room. “Is that it?”
“Only that ya take too damned long undressing me, cher.” I wave my hand and my pants and boots land near the chair.
Hank’s eyes, like covetous, invisible fingers, go to my lacy thong. His breath hisses right before he pounces.
A purr escapes my lips. I’m starting to realize something I may no longer be able to deny. He is my bliss, and I don’t want to lose him.