“It’s not natural. There are pick marks. Could be part of an old mine that the house was built over.”
An old mine that a vampire had labeled home…I stilled suddenly, and raised my nose, sucking in the foul air. There, entwined in darkness and old evil, was another, familiar scent.
“Jon’s here,” I whispered. “To the left.”
“I smell him. I can’t hear him, though.”
Though I strained my ears, I couldn’t hear anything either. No breathing, no scent of life. Nothing that would indicate anything else lived in this foul place.
We moved into the cavern. Ethan swept the light across dank walls, until it finally came to rest on the body of a boy.
There was no sign of life because Jon was dead. His face gaunt and pale, his neck torn open, his mouth red from bloody kisses. Kisses that had sucked his life force after it had sucked his blood.
“Shit,” Ethan said, and moved forward.
In that moment, evil attacked.
“Look out,” I yelled, a heartbeat before the vampire hit Ethan. He leapt aside, but not fast enough. A whirlwind of evil swamped him, scrawny arms and legs all force, all power. The gun and light went flying, and for an instant, we plunged into darkness. Then the flashlight flickered back to life, and for several heartbeats I could only watch—heart in my mouth—as Ethan battled the thin but far-from-frail vampire. He blocked more blows than a werewolf should have been able to, but the vampire’s speed still allowed many others to get through.
I gripped the stakes so hard my knuckles were practically glowing, and ran at the pair of them. The vampire spun and hissed, sharp teeth gleaming and green eyes glowing with unearthly fire in the dark. I propped and stabbed with the stake, aiming for her heart. The vamp twisted away, then dropped and lashed out with a bare foot. I jumped the blow, saw Ethan dive forward, tackling the vampire at waist height in an obvious attempt to drag her down.
Wolves were strong, but vamps were stronger, and this one had the power of a fresh feed behind her. He barely even moved her. She hissed again, then twisted around and smashed Ethan in the head, throwing him down and back. And then she lunged at me.
I dropped to the ground. Her shadow soared over my head, and the stench of blood and death and sheer evil was so bad I gagged. The soft thump of her landing told me where she was, even if her scent was too overwhelming to pinpoint it exactly. I spun, and lashed out with a booted foot. The blow connected with solid darkness and she grunted. But it didn’t stop her. I twisted, whipping the stake across the darkness. Felt it scrape across flesh, saw sparks flicker like fireflies. She howled and lashed out with a clenched fist. I leaned back, felt the breeze of the blow brush past my chin. I didn’t even see her other fist. It caught the side of my face with enough force to knock me off my feet. I hit the floorboards with a grunt, the stakes flying from my hands as I battled to catch my breath.
Then her weight hit me, her body covering my length, pinning me to the floor. Her stench flooded my senses, making it hard to breathe, to think, to feel anything but darkness and evil.
“Grace, thrust up!” Ethan yelled.
I bucked with my body, dislodging her grip on me slightly. Then I shoved my arms between us and thrust her back with every ounce of strength I had. It was enough to push her up and away from me.
A gunshot rang out, and the vampire’s head exploded. Blood and flesh and God knows what else sprayed across the wall as the vampire’s body slumped to the floor. I scrambled to my hands and feet, sweeping the floor with my fingers, looking for the stakes. And finding them.
“Let me,” Ethan said, taking one from me and moving with grim resolution to the vampire. In one smooth, clean motion, he drove the stake through her sternum, into her heart.
Fire flared where wood met flesh, quickly becoming an inferno that consumed what remained of the vampire. I released a shuddery breath, and closed my eyes. At least she could no longer threaten anyone.
So why did it feel as if evil still resided in this house?
“Are you okay?” Ethan’s voice was filled with concern as he dropped to his knees in front of me.
I nodded. “It doesn’t feel like it’s over though. It still feels like this house has secrets.”
“Yeah, and that secret is just how many people have found their deaths at that vampire’s hands.”
“No, it’s more than that.”
He looked past me, nostrils flaring as his gaze swept the darkness. “I can’t smell anything beyond old death and new blood. Can your psychic senses pick anything up?”
“Just a continuing sense of evil.”
“If this vamp was a fosterling, then its creator would have appeared the minute we attacked her.”
“I know, I know.” It still didn’t ease the feeling we were missing something. Or someone.
But maybe that was merely nerves. A leftover of the evil that had been entrenched in this house for generations.
“Let’s go back to the guest house and write up a report for Frank,” he said, taking my hand and tugging me to my feet. “We’ll let him and the cops deal with the rest of this mess.”
With that I couldn’t argue.
CHAPTER 5
“WRITING THE REPORT” TURNED OUT TO BE A euphemism for getting back and having sex. Not that I minded. After all the death and decay of that house, I needed to feel life and heat and healthy emotions. Needed it to sweep away the remaining strands of darkness latched to my soul.
The minute the door slammed shut, he grabbed my hand and drew me into his arms. His body was warm and hard against mine, his gaze fierce.
“I’m so glad you weren’t seriously hurt,” he muttered, “And I have so needed to do this.”
“This” was his mouth on mine, plundering hard, our tongues tangling, tasting, the kiss urgent and hungry.
He pushed me back until I hit the wall. The thunder of his heart matched mine, and the heat of him warmed every pore. But the hard length of him, pressed firmly against my belly, was nowhere near close enough.
His hands were on me, his fingers scorching my flesh as he ripped off my clothes. I unbuttoned his pants, tore off his shirt. Then he was in me, filling me, liquefying me. His thick groan of pleasure was a sound I echoed. He began to move, and there was nothing gentle about it. His body plundered as his lips had plundered, his movements hard and fast and urgent. The rich ache grew, becoming a kaleidoscope of sensations that washed through every corner of my mind. Then the shuddering took hold and I gasped, grabbing his shoulders, clambering up his body to wrap my legs around his waist and push him deeper still. Pleasure exploded between us as he thrust and thrust and thrust.
When the tremors finally eased, he laughed softly and rested his forehead against mine. “I could get addicted to this.”
“What? Sex? I thought all werewolves were anyway.”
“Trust me, there’s sex, and then there’s sex.” He kissed me gently. “But it’s you, Grace, that’s addictive.”
“An addiction cannot be gained after only two nibbles,” I refuted, not wanting to give any credence to the tiny spark of hope that flared deep inside. The flare that dared to think this could be more than just another brief fling.
“I said you, Grace, not the sex.”
“You don’t know me well enough to get addicted.” I let my legs slide to the ground and pushed him back a little. “Coffee?”
“When are you going to learn that pushing me away only makes me more determined?” he asked, voice hinting at frustration though there was little enough to be seen in his expression. Perhaps that’s why I wasn’t willing to trust his words.
“I told you before, it’s self-preservation.”
“And I have never given you a reason to distrust me. Nor do I intend to.”