Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

“You’re pretty worn out,” Jack said, diffidently. “Look, go home. I’m sorry, Lena. I’m glad you called me. I wish you wouldn’t have gone up there.” He stopped near a pool of convenient shadow, and Selene looked up.

Of course.

Nikolai was there. Part of the darkness itself, his long black coat melding with the gloom that filled an alley’s entrance.

Jack faced her. Here, numb and shocked, with her shields thin and the aftermath of the Power she’d jacked and the magick she’d worked pounding in her pulse with insistent need, she drowned in what he was feeling.

Agonizing pain. Nausea. Sick aching in his chest, the heartburn that wouldn’t go away— she shouldn’t have to see this, shouldn’t have seen it.

Jack sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s bad, Selene. Something I ain’t never seen before. And Nikolai says it’s not human. Which means…” His brown eyes were almost black in the uncertain light. “Christ,” he finished, when she just stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Her breath rasped in the chill rainwashed air. “Just go home. Come by the station tomorrow to sign your statement. I’m sorry.”

Selene shrugged. “Great. Just go home, he says.” She heard the funny breathless tone in her own voice. She was close to the edge, so close—did Jack think she was numb and grieving? Or did he guess that she wouldn’t be able to grieve until the need pounding in her blood was blotted out?

Grieve, hell. There was something sharp as a broken bone in her chest. I’m going to get whoever did this.

Nikolai stepped forward. His eyes were depthless. “I will take her, Jack. Thank you.”

Jack nodded. “Go with—”

“Like a good little girl, right?” Her voice sounded shrill even to herself, it bounced off the alley’s walls and came back to her through a layer of cotton wool. “What I’m hearing is that you’re not going to work too hard, because it’s a P-fucking-C. Right?”

Jack’s shoulders hunched as if she’d hit him. “Paranormal cases are technically not the jurisdiction of the Saint City police force, until the new laws go into effect. They’re the jurisdiction of—”

“Of the reigning prime paranormal Power in the city.” She stepped away from Jack and his hand fell down to his side, releasing her. “Which means Nikolai. Which means I can kiss any hope of finding out who did this to my brother goodbye.”

“Not necessarily.” Nikolai’s eyes never left her. He moved closer, not precisely crowding her, but stepping past Jack without so much as glancing at the detective. “Cooperate with me, Selene, and I will see the killer brought to you, for your revenge. Will you take that bargain?”

Jack coughed, uncomfortably. “I’ve got to go. Sorry, Selene.”

You son of a bitch. Both of you. “Are you really,” she said, flatly, and turned on her heel. She put her head down, started to walk. At least she wasn’t staggering. Oh, God. Danny. What happened to you? Who did this to you?

Nikolai murmured something behind her—no doubt talking to Jack, something along the lines of women, irrational, what can you do, she’ll see reason in the morning.

It was too much. Rage and something like a sob made flesh draw tighter and tighter under her breastbone, and the tension snapped.

Selene ran.

BY THE TIME SHE REACHED CLIFF STREET, SHE WAS stumbling. She’d fallen once, scraping her palms on pavement, and scrambled to her feet, looking up to see a shadow flitting over a rooftop above her. He didn’t even have the decency to try and conceal himself.

Her hands jittered. Her keys jangled, her scraped palms singing in pain. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. Sweat rolled down her spine, soaked into the waistband of her jeans.

She checked the street behind her, deserted under the orange streetlamps. It took her three tries to unlock the door to her apartment building, her breath coming high and harsh and fast, expecting to feel a hand closing on her shoulder at any moment.

The run up her own stairs took on a nightmarish quality, moving too slowly while something chased her from behind. Those had been the worst dreams when she was little, running through syrup while the monster snarled behind, gaining on her.

Doors. Her own door. She fumbled out her keys, tried to unlock it, made a short sound of agonized frustration when her fingers slipped.

Finally the key slid into the lock.

She twisted it, opened her door, yanked the key out, kicked the door shut with a resounding slam. She threw the deadbolt, then turned around and hurled her keys down her dark hall.

Nikolai plucked the keyring out of the air, his signet ring glittering. One moment her pretty, spacious one-bedroom apartment was empty—the next moment, a slight breeze brushed Selene’s cheek and she let out a strangled scream. The protections placed in the walls of her apartment and the whole building shuddered with a sound like a crystal wineglass ringing, stroked just right. Don’t worry, nobody will hear it, I’m the only Talent in the building. A merry little party, just Nikolai and me.

And whatever he’s going to do to me.

Selene whirled and started trying to unbolt the door. Her sweat-slick fingers slipped against cold metal. Christ why can’t he leave me ALONE?

“Stop.” He was suddenly there, laying the keys down on the small table by the front door. His fingers bit into her shoulder and he yanked her back, locked the second deadbolt with his other hand. The sound of the lock going home was the clang of a prison cell closing.

Selene heard her own harsh sobs, the low moaning sound of a strangled scream.

Nikolai slid the coat off her shoulders while he dragged her along. Tossed it over the back of the couch as he pulled her into the living room. Then he grabbed the canvas strap of her bag, wrapped it around his fist, and jerked it up over her head. Selene let out a short cry, cut off midway when he clamped his free hand over her mouth. He dropped the bag on the couch as well, and looked down at her.

Silence, except for the muffled sounds slipping past his fingers. Fire raced up her side, tearing through her ribs—the stitch in her side, getting worse. Her calves were burning too. Her lower back ached, and her palms were scraped raw.

Worse than that was the miserable, hot, prickling need slamming through her. The low, relentless burn between her legs, spreading through her entire body. Now that she wasn’t running, it returned. When would she start to beg?

He considered her, cocking his head to one side. A few soft strands of black hair fell over his forehead. “I told you not to look.” There was no inflection to his voice, it was a passionless murmur. “But look you must. Are you happy? Are you satisfied? ”

Selene’s shoulders slumped. I could bite him. What would he do if I bit him? Would he hold me down and …

Nikolai let out a low pent breath. It was for effect—he didn’t need to breathe, did he? He only did it when he wanted to.

He slid one hand around her waist, flattened it against the small of her back. His fingers scorched through her sweater. “I forgive you much.” His hand exerted a little pressure, enough that she shifted back away from him, resisting. “I forgive you because you are young, and because you are unique, and because you amuse me.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Sometimes you even surprise me, which is rare. But sometimes, my Selene, I wonder if I forgive too much.”

She tried to twist free, but he had her, one hand on the small of her back, the other over her mouth. Tears trickled down her cheeks. He pulled her close to him, closer, until she could feel something very definitely alive pressing against her belly, through his jeans and her sweater. I could give a lecture on this, she thought hysterically. Vampire Anatomy: Dead or Alive? I never even knew a Nichtvren could get a hard-on—they didn’t cover that in the textbooks.