Jeaniene Frost - Up From the Grave

He made the decision moments later when he slid up, the length of his body a tormenting friction until his hips settled between my legs. Then I knew nothing except the mind-numbing bliss of his hard flesh cleaving into me. His mouth swallowed the cry I made, large hands cradling my head as he moved deeper, until he ground against my clitoris, setting off a firestorm of sensation.

Nerve endings flared with each new thrust, twisting and tightening, making me gasp, then groan at the increasing ecstasy. Muscles rippled in his back as he moved faster, harder, and I dug my nails into him just to hold on. His movements were forceful to the point of roughness, but the tears sliding from my eyes weren’t of pain. I needed more of this, of him. Everything. His arms were like steel around me, thrusts so deep I could barely stand it, yet it still wasn’t enough. In desperation, I wrapped my legs around his waist and sank my fangs into his throat.

A harsh sound vibrated against my mouth. His blood, still warm from his recent feeding, tasted sharp and sweet. Like salted caramel. I swallowed, shuddering at the instant jolt it delivered to my system. Every sense suddenly heightened, crystallizing the sensations that had me writhing against him and tearing my mouth away to cry out in what sounded like screams. Then everything clenched so tightly it almost hurt before rapture flooded through me, pulsating in waves I felt twice when Bones’s climax invaded my subconscious with ferocious pleasure.

He didn’t let go after the last shudder caused his muscles to contract in the most delicious way. Instead, he rolled us to the side, using his arm as a pillow for my head. His other hand dragged down my body in a way I would’ve called lazy except for the look in his eyes. Nothing languid lurked in those depths. They blazed with single-minded intensity, causing shivers to break out over me. For a second, I knew what prey felt like right before it was devoured. If I didn’t burn with an equally compelling desire to be consumed, I might have been afraid.

“Crispin.”

The single word reverberated through the silo, making the clang of metal against the exterior an unnecessary attention-getter.

Bones didn’t stop caressing me. “Go away, Charles,” he called out in a voice I’d never heard him use with his best friend.

“Can’t,” came Spade’s equally terse reply. “Your new offspring has just awoken.”

Bones’s hand stilled, and he sighed. “Sorry, luv, we can’t risk a new vampire around Denise. If Cooper drank any of her blood—”

“Not Cooper,” Spade interrupted grimly. “ Madigan is awake.”

I’d hoped never to wear the thing again, but left with no other option, I put my blood-soaked lab coat back on. At least it had a belt since Bones had ripped the buttons off. His clothes, however, were hopeless. Being a centuries-old vampire who’d spent his human years as a gigolo, he didn’t care. He strode out of the silo wearing the same suit he’d been born in. If I lamented his lack of modesty, I still had to give it up to Bones for bravery. If I were a guy, I wouldn’t put my dangly parts near a new, malevolent ghoul.

Because I took a few moments to get dressed, I was still inside the silo when I heard someone call out in a singsong voice.

“Hungry . . . hungry . . .”

I paused. Madigan? It had to be, though he sounded almost childlike. Not bellowing with rage like I expected him to be when he woke up and realized he hadn’t given us the slip after all.

I left the silo. In front of the third one down, Bones, Dave, Spade, and Denise formed a circle around what had to be Madigan. As I approached, I noted with distracted amusement that my best friend’s cheeks were pink and she stared straight ahead and nowhere else.

“. . . not trifling with you,” Bones was saying in his sternest tone. “The sooner you realize that, the less painful this will be.”

“Hungry!” was the petulant response he received.

I pushed through the group to see Madigan. When I did, I stared in disbelief.

It wasn’t his disheveled appearance—the phrase “wouldn’t be caught dead” was accurate because no one woke up from the grave looking fabulous. Madigan actually looked better than most since he’d died from poisoning instead of something messier. So it wasn’t his red-stained chest, open shirt, or dirty suit that rocked me where I stood.

It was his gaze. I was used to seeing so many things in his sky blue eyes: contempt, arrogance, ruthlessness, cold satisfaction, blind ambition . . . Now, all I saw was confusion and curiosity, as if he didn’t know who all of us were, but he was mildly interested in finding out.

“Hungry, hungry, hungry,” he chirped while bobbing his head as if listening to an internal sound track.

This was only the second ghoul rebirth I’d witnessed, but from the tense expressions on Bones’s and Spade’s faces, this wasn’t normal. What was wrong with him?

“Bones?” I asked quietly.

He stroked my arm once but didn’t answer. To Madigan, he said, “Well done, mate. Clever of you to fake insanity, but I’ve been doing this for hundreds of years, so I know you’re not crazy. You’re scared shiteless, and you should be, for if you don’t stop pretending, I’m going to hurt you in ways you can’t imagine.”

No spark of acknowledgment lit in Madigan’s gaze, but his thin lips pursed.

“Huuuuunnnnggggrrryyyyyy,” he drew out, as though annoyed that we hadn’t understood him before.

Bones punched him so hard that Madigan’s head left a red smear where it smacked against the silo. Then the gray-haired man lolled in his grip when Bones hauled him up by his tattered jacket.

“Enjoy that?” Bones bit out. “I did. Let me show you how much.”

With that, he began beating the living hell out of Madigan. An hour ago, I would’ve sworn I’d love watching such a thing, but as the blows came thick and heavy, and Madigan still didn’t stop wailing in pained confusion, I began to feel sick. Denise must’ve, too. She walked away, and not in a manner that suggested embarrassment over Bones delivering the thrashing naked. Either Madigan was the most persuasive actor in the world, or he wasn’t faking it. The longer I watched, the more I became convinced that this wasn’t the same icy government operative who’d masterminded a decade-long plan to integrate three separate species into one unstoppable weapon. This was a little boy trapped in an old man’s body, and he had no idea why the bad man hurting him wouldn’t stop.

“Enough,” I said at last, grabbing Bones’s arm when he was about to let fly another jaw-breaking haymaker.

I half expected him to shake me off and keep at it. Instead, he lowered his fist and dropped Madigan, who crumpled into a pile near his feet.

“Hurts, hurts, hurts,” he sobbed brokenly.

“It’s bloody well supposed to,” Bones snapped, giving him a final kick that curled him into the fetal position. “You’re fortunate that I’m tired. We’ll continue this in the morning, once I’m well refreshed.”

Now I didn’t know if he was faking it, but I said nothing. Bones had been around hundreds of ghoul rebirths. If I was being tricked by a brilliant actor, I didn’t want to let on more than I already had that I’d bought the performance.

“Throw him in the grain dispenser,” Bones said to Spade, who’d watched everything with a stony expression. “Should hold him ’til Mencheres arrives.”

Then Bones walked away. I went after him, as did Dave. Behind us, Madigan made small, whimpering noises.

“Please no hurt,” he begged Spade.

My stomach clenched. I’d heard children sound less terrified and vulnerable.