Синтия Иден - I’ll Be Slaying You

Jude sucked in a sharp breath. “A lure?”

“No.” Well, maybe. Vamps were known to use sexy women to draw in other prey. Worked wonders for them. Most folks were always attracted to a pretty package. You followed the package, and found hell waiting with open fangs. “She was sent to deliver a message to me.”

“Huh.”

Chase glanced between them. “Why send the woman? I mean, if you think a vampire sent her—”

She held up her unused stake. “They knew I wouldn’t hurt her.” Much.

“What did she say?” Jude asked.

Dee hesitated.

Chase didn’t. “The bitch told Dee she was going to die.”

Well, so much for subtle.

“Sonofabitch. ”

That pretty much summed things up nicely.

“And you let her get away?” Jude growled. A very deep, rumbling growl. His beast had to be close.

“I got distracted.” The six foot three, two-hundred-pound distraction shifted beside her. “It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t count on it,” Chase murmured.

Her gaze jerked to his.

And the bastard smiled at her.

Trouble. Why, why did trouble always find her? And why did this trouble have to be so sexy?

Dee awoke screaming, her skin slickened with sweat and her drumming heartbeat rattling her chest.

It took her a minute to banish the blood. To choke back the fear.

So long ago, but the dreams still came.

Dee jumped out of bed. The neon digits of her clock glowed too brightly. Four-oh-eight. She’d slept for an hour.

Shit.

Her T-shirt clung to her body, damp and too confining. Every muscle in her body quivered. Her skin burned and her belly knotted.

Damn dreams.

Why tonight? Why? It had been over three months since the last bout, and just when she’d thought she was finally mastering the demons, they’d come sneaking back.

She paced across the room. No way would she be going back to sleep. She couldn’t.

Adrenaline had her walking faster, faster.

Get out.

The apartment was too small. Too hot in the summer. Dee shoved open the balcony doors, but the air outside was even thicker, even hotter.

Her air conditioner droned with a low hum. Not doing her a damn bit of good.

Love you, Sandra Dee.

Her eyes squeezed shut. Hell, no. She wasn’t doing this. Not again.

Sirens wailed in the distance. There was always trouble somewhere in this city. Human killers. Supernatural monsters. Never any peace. Not for her, not anywhere.

No peace, but, maybe—

Maybe there was something else she could have. For just a little while.

Her eyes opened. She turned around, fumbled for the card she’d tossed on her nightstand. Her fingers trembled when she touched the edge.

The minute she’d come home, she’d balled up the card and tossed it into the garbage can.

Then she’d dug it out. Stupid. But—

But her heart wasn’t slowing down. Her skin was burning hot, and when she thought of Simon, she pictured him and stopped seeing the blood.

Dee was so tired of the blood.

A name and a number were typed in black letters across the white card. No address.

She couldn’t call him now. No way. Only one reason a woman called a man at this hour.

Yeah, one reason.

A hard breath shook her chest. Dee realized she could still taste him. Still feel the press of his lips against hers. The brush of his tongue.

He might not be alone. He probably wasn’t. A guy like him, oozing sex, he’d probably snapped his fingers and—

She put the card down. For an instant, she thought she saw red staining her fingers.

No, no, just a memory.

Wasn’t it?

Shaking her head, she walked toward the shower. A nice, cold shower, that was what she needed.

Or him.

Fuck. Dee grabbed the phone. Dialed before she could stop herself. One ring. Stupid. You can’t do this. Two. Are you crazy? You can’t. Three.

“Night Watch.” The private security line for the team. The one they called when they needed Intel, twenty-four-seven.

“Grace? It’s Dee. Did you—did you run that check for me?” Because she was a suspicious bitch, always would be.

A faint hum on the line, then…“Finished it earlier tonight. You want me to fax over the file?”

“Go ahead and give me a quick and dirty rundown.” Because she had to know, right now, before she made a deadly mistake. “And then send over the paperwork.” She’d want to know every detail later. That was her way.

“Simon Lawrence Chase.” Dee’s fingers tightened around the phone when Grace began. So she ran background checks on all her potential lovers, what was wrong with that? A woman had to be safe. These days, you never knew what you were dragging home.

“Age thirty-four.” Really? It’d been so hard to judge his age, he could have been younger or—“Born in New Orleans, he left when he decided to be all he could be.” Military? With that long hair?

“He’s not still serving.” Dee was definite on that.

“No. Looks like he went Merc for a while,” Grace said.

Merc. Mercenary. Yeah, she could see that. A brief hesitation, then she asked the most important question, “Any sign he’s more than human?”

“Negative.”

Her shoulders relaxed. She’d had a demon lover once or twice. They weren’t anything to complain about, for sure, they’d been phenomenal in the sack, but a human—

I can control him.

“There’s…something else, though, Dee. Something you should know.”

Aw, hell. Always something to spoil her party. “What is it?”

“The records show his parents were killed a few years back. It went down as a B and E gone bad, but…”

“But you’re telling me it wasn’t a breaking and entering? It was more?” Often was.

“Jewelry was snatched, the TVs and a computer were missing, and the parents, Janice and Ned Chase had their throats slit.”

A slit throat. The easiest way to cover a vamp attack.

“I made a call to a coroner I know down in New Orleans.” One of the reasons Grace was so good at Intel—the woman had connections everywhere. “Seems there wasn’t enough blood at the scene to match the severity of the wounds.”

Because the parasites had drained them dry. Huh. No wonder the guy knew so much about vampires.

Personal experience.

Just like me. “Thanks, Grace. I owe you.”

Silence, then very softly, “No, you don’t.”

The call ended and Dee clenched the phone tight. He’d passed the screen, and his past was as screwed up as her own.

She swallowed. He was safe.

Or as safe as a lover could be for her.

Her fingers dialed quickly. There was no hesitation this time. No stupid voice whispering in her mind, no—

“Dee.”

Just that, her name. Breathed with need. With the same lust that was tightening her nipples and making her sex clench.

Oh, boy. Her own breath came out in a hard rush. Course he would have known she was calling. In this techno crazy age, her name would have appeared instantly on his caller ID. No backing out now.

“Where are you?” He asked, a dark demand.

She pulled at her shirt, trying to break it away from her hot flesh. “My place.”

“What do you want, Sandra Dee?”

Her sex quivered. Just that voice, whispering to her in the dark.

He knew what she wanted. Had to know. “Are you alone?” Probably not. Probably had some stacked bimbo crawling all over him.

“What do you want?” A sensual demand.

“You.” She cleared her throat. “Apartment B-6, Groves Terrace.”