CARNAL APPETITE
BY
Celeste Anwar
(c) copyright Celeste Anwar, April 2003
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright April 2003
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Chapter One
The heavy bass pounded the air of the club as lights flashed to the deafening techno beat. Glowsticks twirled in the semi-dark. Dancers twisted in sensuous movements to the throbbing tempo that suffused their limbs. The floor was thick with scantily clothed, sweaty men and women rolling on X and other erotic drugs.
Curling wisps of smoke and artificial mist hung over the crowd, clinging in the half darkness like a lover's touch.
It was Saturday night--and it was crowded. The club, Inferno, was the most popular night spot in the city since the blue law had been lifted. For the unwary, the naive, it was sometimes the last stop they ever made.
Across from the dance floor, shielded from the flashing lights and the near ear-splitting music, tables stood for those resting from the dance--or those interested in pursuing more carnal delights.
Cloaked in shadow, Raoul Etienne followed the movements of the dancers, two fingers of scotch sitting untouched before him on the scarred, wooden table. His gaze unwavering, he fingered the rim of his glass, watching one woman in particular-the same woman he'd come to see night after night. Clara. He'd learned her name the previous night when a friend had called out to her. His ears had perked immediately to the sound of her voice, as husky and seductive as its owner. Raoul caught glimpses of her through the crowd as she danced and tossed her hair, two shades too red to be natural but mesmerizing nonetheless.
He sensed movement to his left, and Navarre Lyssandro strode forth and sat beside him without a word. Navarre scowled as he followed the line of Raoul's gaze. Raoul ignored him, unwilling to cease his vigil for a moment. He hadn't since he'd discovered what had happened, and still that bastard had managed to mark her a second time. He would not allow it again.
"You've been here all week, just watching her. How long will this continue?" Navarre asked.
Though the music drowned out Navarre's words to other listeners, Raoul heard him just as easily as if there'd been no music at all. Raoul didn't spare him a glance. "It is the third night. The third mark."
"You are certain?"
"I can smell it, practically taste it on my tongue." He paused a moment, then said, "She does not know Danior has marked her."
Navarre sniffed the air, looking at the dance floor. Past the sweat of many bodies, the smoke, the liquor, he caught the faint scent that he had missed before. Navarre was silent a moment, contemplating the weight of this discovery. "Better you take her against her will than he?"
Raoul turned fierce eyes on his friend. "At least she would not die," he growled, menacingly low, then remembered to whom he was talking. He forced his raging blood to calm as if thrust into an icy river. It did no good to be angry at his friend--he was only pointing out the obvious. But if Danior Blake took her again tonight, she would cross over into the un-dead, into the festering world of the vampire. Already he saw her lagging endurance. He knew not how the vampire had enticed her here, but it was moot. The damage had been done.
"You would have her as your femme entretenue? You know she could never be your mate. She is not of our kind."
"I need no permission to keep a woman, nor do you need remind she is not louve." Not wolf.
Navarre remained stone faced regarding him. He leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table and cocked his head toward Raoul. "I know your true motives, mon ami. I should stop you. It's foolhardy coming to his lair to take the woman."
"That never stopped us before." Raoul picked up his glass and threw back its contents in one swallow.
"No, it hasn't."
Raoul grinned, wolfish. "You hate them as I do, as do we all." He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a scraping rattle.
Navarre leaned back and stretched his arms behind his head as he watched him. "You could start a war."
"Then let it begin."
* * * *
It was impossible for Clara Falkner to be unaware of the strange man's attention. At every turn, she could feel his gaze roaming her body as palpable as a caress. It was intimate. Almost ... hungry. And she enjoyed it. Never had she been a woman to garner admiring glances from a man. The chill of goosebumps made her shiver despite the cloying warmth of many bodies pressed close.
He'd been watching her for the past two days---ever since she'd arrived at Inferno with no knowledge of how she'd gotten there. It could be her memory loss and lethargy were just coincidental with the stranger's regard, but for some reason that teased the edges of her brain, she didn't think so. And it merely intrigued her all the more.
In the movements of the dance, she casually turned to peer through the haze to where she knew he sat, watching her. He was talking with another man she hadn't noticed before, this one as fair as he was dark. He seemed to sense the moment her gaze alighted on him, for he looked up and caught her staring. Clara felt a shockwave jump between them as their eyes met.
She looked quickly away, breaking the contact, then glanced back when she thought it was safe. The hairs rose on the back of her neck as she saw him rise from his seat and stride purposefully across the room, allowing nothing to distract him from his goal.
Her mind immediately conjured an image of a wolf moving in for the kill.
And he was coming for her.
She knew it as surely as she knew her own mind. The scene seemed to play before her like a movie moving in slow motion. Agonizing seconds ticked by.
Her heart pounded in her chest, her blood pumping furiously through her veins, throbbing deafeningly in her ears. She knew she should run, knew she shouldn't be so fascinated by the stranger, but she couldn't. The dance was forgotten. Clara ceased moving at all, became deaf to the music thumping in her ears ... and ignored that warning, inner voice that had shielded her all her life. Unable to do anything, she could only watch him move toward her with the confidence of a predator claiming his quarry. The throng parted unconsciously at his approach, allowing him an unobstructed path straight toward her.
Despite his height and muscular breadth, he exuded a predatory grace that was unnerving. The black mesh shirt he wore left little to the imagination. Rather, it enhanced the bulging muscles of his chest and the rippled abdomen that tapered down to his lean, leather encased hips. A silver ring in his nipple, barely hidden by the mesh, glinted in the flashing lights. Strands of long, black hair fell across his forehead, over his broad shoulders, drawing her gaze. On another man, it might have appeared effeminate, but there was no mistaking his masculinity. And Clara had always responded to men with long hair.
Eager to study his face, which she'd been fearful of looking overlong at before, she lifted her gaze, past full, kissable lips and his straight nose, until she met his eyes and was caught. He held her like a trapped bird, hypnotized. The amber orbs almost seemed to glow with an inner fire. She was helpless to look away from him.
Inexplicably, she could feel her heart slowing its rapid tattoo, calming as he reached for her. He placed a hand behind her waist and pulled her flush against him, against the hard bulge of his erection. She was instantly aroused.
Sound returned, fear and excitement, as the music swelled and he moved with her in the dance. Clara draped her arms over his shoulders, rolling her body against him, her breasts pressing tantalizingly against his chest with each rocking movement. He cupped the cheeks of her ass, grinding his hips into her, spreading her legs. Clara gasped as he rocked his erection against her sex, clinging to him. She was blinded to anything but his eyes, boring into hers. Her short skirt rode high on her thighs, and she felt moisture creep into her sex with his rough abrasion.
The tempo quickened, and he responded by holding her closer, moving into her as if he'd take her there on the dance floor, standing in the midst of a crowd. His faint, musky scent had the allure of something wild, savage. He bent his head to her neck, rubbed his faintly whiskered jaw across her sensitive skin, and nipped her earlobe with sharp teeth. His tongue was rough against her neck, tasting her. His breath hot against her already feverish skin, she shivered from the sensations, welcoming the alien feeling. Never had she danced this way before ... or allowed a man such intimacies. It was so close to making love, she thought she'd collapse from the delicious agony his proximity aroused in her.
"Leave with me," he whispered into her ear, rocking his hard groin against her for emphasis, leaving her in no doubt of what he was asking. She tightened her arms around him in response, weakened.
Was it a request? A command? Her senses reeled with unfamiliar lust. She was past the point of caring about anything but satisfying that ache between her legs. Clara nodded, and breathless, said, "Okay."
He straightened from her, almost smiling. She felt suddenly chilled without his body pressed tightly to her, and wondered briefly if she'd gone insane. He took her hand before she could change her mind and led her off the dance floor toward the back exit.
No one took note of their passage or barred their departure. They were quickly outside, pushing through the outer door into a dark alley. The heavy, metal door slammed shut with finality behind them as they exited, silencing the raging cacophony of the club. In the quiet, Clara felt almost deaf from spending hours inside.
Sanity was slowly returning, despite her best efforts to keep it at bay. She shouldn't be doing this. She wasn't the type of person to have a one night stand, to go off alone with a strange man whose name she didn't even know. It was insane to trust him--but she did. Unfathomable as it was, she wanted this like she'd never wanted anything before. And she wanted him.
He turned abruptly, faster than she could blink, and pushed her into a darkened doorway before she could react. He propped his arms on the door on either side of her head, blocking her outward view. She could only see his eyes, shining gold from some light beyond her line of vision. Clara froze, mesmerized, unwilling and unable to fight.
"I've wanted to take you since I first saw you."
She couldn't deny the thrill that raced through her at the husky admission. His voice was incredibly deep with a hint of an accent. Perhaps French? The low timbre made her tingle in all sorts of forbidden places. He leaned forward, his mouth mere inches from her own, teasing her when all she wanted was to taste his kiss. Her lips parted of their own accord ever so slightly. She held back, waiting to see what he'd do, eager and afraid all at once.
Closing the gap separating them, he touched his lips to hers, slanting his mouth across her lips. Clara startled as a jolt of pleasure vibrated along her nerves at the contact. He growled and cupped her jaw, forcing her mouth open as he plunged his tongue inside. Greedy, demanding, he tasted her, sweeping his tongue through her crevices with a slow, thorough glide.
She sucked his tongue with near desperation and felt when the change came over him, when need overrode everything else. He'd been holding back before, though she hadn't realized it.
He growled low in his throat and crushed her against the door, trapping her to the feel of his body, of total domination.
Clara moaned, clutching at him, needing more. Her knees went weak, her legs became as supportive as rubber. She draped her arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer as he guided a knee between her legs.
She clamped her thighs against him, reveling in the hard feel of his leg pressed intimately against her. It wasn't enough. She'd worry over her doubts later. Right now, she needed his cock inside her.
Clara broke the kiss and he latched on to the base of her throat, sucking at the tender flesh. He was driving her crazy, and they'd shared no more than kisses. "I want you," she gasped, running her hands down his back to cup his tight buttocks. She dug her nails into the leather, and he grunted with pleasure.
He lifted his head, looked at her. "You are sure, chere?"
Clara nodded and tugged at his waistband. It was all the prodding he needed.
He kissed her again, nibbled her lips as he hurriedly unbuttoned her blouse. He popped the remaining buttons off as he ripped her blouse open to devour her. Trailing searing kisses, he traveled down her jaw to her collarbone, sucking at each new discovery until he reached her breasts.
Clara groaned as he pushed her bra aside and drew one breast out from its lacy covering. Frantic to feel him inside her, she didn't want him to take his time, but when he closed his mouth around her nipple, she forgot her objections. He sucked the small bud hard, teasing her with his teeth and tongue, with heat and wetness. He was greedy, rougher than she normally allowed. She felt as though he could consume her whole and she'd never utter resistance.
"You are so tres doux," he murmured huskily against her flesh. So very sweet.
He pinched her other nipple, toying with her breast as he reached his other hand beneath her skirt. Peeling her drenched panties down her thighs, he let them drop down her legs to the ground. Clara kicked them off her feet. Fingers shaking, she proceeded to work at his fly, anxious to ease her craving and have him fill her. The hard leather fly resisted her efforts.
Recognizing her struggle, he pulled away from her long enough to unfasten his fly and free his cock from his pants. Clara reached for it, curious to feel his size even if she couldn't see it in the darkness of her position. He groaned and tilted his head back as she wrapped a tentative hand around his thick length. He was enormous. Her slit grew wetter as she thought of him burying his huge cock inside her.
"Protection," she said, near breathless with wanting.
He nodded and dug in his pocket until he found a foil packet. Tearing it open with his teeth, he slid the thin rubber over his erection.
Clara pulled at his hips, urging him forward. He hesitated a moment, and she could feel his body tremble with tension and energy, as if he was debating with himself the wisdom of this course. His hesitation only made her want him more. Desperate beyond belief, Clara lifted a leg and wrapped it around his hips, drawing him to her, weakening his resolve. He shuddered finally, the battle he'd waged within over. Giving in to her demands, he grasped her thighs in his strong hands and spread her wide open. Cool air caressed her nether lips with shocking fingers. She trembled, waiting.
With a strength she'd never experienced, he thrust his full length inside her, his strained passage eased by her own soaking juices. She could feel every rigid inch passing inside, so hard and tight. He settled his mouth on hers, muffling her cries of pleasure as he pumped his cock inside her, grinding his pelvis against her clit.
Clara couldn't marvel at his strength in holding her up. She could only think of taking in more of him, of taking in all she could hold. She hooked her calves under his buttocks, urging him on. He pumped into her faster, harder, rocking her against the door with near bruising force.
She didn't care--could only feel the ecstasy mounting in her every nerve with each grinding thrust. Clara threw her head back as pleasure ran through her veins with each coarse stroke, leaving her trembling and weak. He dragged his mouth down her throat, sucking at the curve until he'd left his mark of possession near the small, healing wound she'd gotten days earlier, piercing her skin slightly with his teeth. He slid his cock in and out of her soaked pussy.
She hovered at the edge of ultimate release, ultimate agony. Clara dropped a hand and massaged her clit, craving the fall. She stroked herself roughly, slipping in her own juices until the orgasm took her in one liquefying climax. She screamed then, her muscles contracting around him as he continued thrusting inside her, faster now, shorter strokes as he rode her to his own completion. Her pussy continued to quiver with the orgasm, building to another as he continued. Clara moaned, the pleasure exhausting and thrilling all together.
He kissed her, hard, arms shaking and tense, hands gripping her as though he would fall without her anchoring him to this world. With a great shudder and a heaving sigh, he came. His cock twitched inside her, the thin rubber no protection against the potency of his release. He dropped her legs to the ground and collapsed against her, breathing raggedly, leaning heavily against the door.
Clara hugged him tightly, enjoying the feel of his hammering heart against her breasts--fast and powerful as a wild beast's. Her own pulse and breathing slowed, returning to normal. The pleasure still surged through her veins--her clit throbbing with the intensity of her orgasm--distracting enough to stall thoughts of remorse for a time.
A chill wind suddenly burst through the alley. It howled through the narrow passage with the ferocity of a train bearing down on them. Newspapers and other debris caught in the current whirled through the path past them, twirling as though caught in the force of a cyclone.
He broke away abruptly to look into the darkness and fastened his pants as he walked away to stand in the middle of the alley. Pale light shone down on him, casting fierce shadows across his face, illuminating the tension evident in his body and rigid stance. He appeared ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.
Clara shivered and pulled the edges of her blouse together, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs. Something was wrong. Leaning back against the door, she felt inexplicably weak, as though she would faint. Her skin felt feverish despite the cool air, and she didn't think the cause was their rigorous love-making from moments before. The eerie feeling taking hold grew by the minute, stronger and stronger. Her sight had narrowed down to a single point of focus, and she grasped at the vision of her lover to keep her afloat.
The sudden stillness of the night was broken by his voice, startling her.
"Danior," he said, speaking into the yawning cavity of darkness before him, a single word that sent chills traveling up her spine despite its simplicity, for she'd thought them alone.
There was such depth of hatred in his voice--she would have had to be deaf to miss it. She never expected he would get a response.
"Am I interrupting?"
CARNAL KNOWLEDGE
by
Celeste Anwar
(c) copyright August 2003 by Celeste Anwar
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright August 2003
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
CHAPTER ONE
"Hold it, bitch."
Kaeli Jackson stopped instantly at the mouth of the dark, narrow alley, a chill creeping up her spine at the mugger's high, nasal voice. The door to Inferno was only thirty odd feet away, but she'd never make the run in her heels. She hadn't gotten decked out in a year, and she'd break something if she tried it. The bass from the music pounded outside--there was no chance they'd hear her scream or anything else. She was on her own.
The mugger moved up behind her. "Damn you're phat, bitch." 'PH' phat he meant by the tone of his voice--he damn well wasn't commenting on the size of her ass. She didn't want to tell him phat went out a year ago. He pinched an ass cheek and she gritted her teeth, biding her time, hands clenching.
He snickered and released her. "Gimme your purse." He wrenched at it on her shoulder and she slipped it off, dropping it on the sidewalk from his grasp.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," she babbled like a helpless female, glancing down and watching him stoop to grab the purse. His hand snaked out, and she lifted her foot to grind her heel into the back of his hand--the meaty part near the thumb. Blood welled instantly. His high pitched scream rattled her eardrums. She twisted, grinding him into the rough pavement, knocking him back on his ass with a shin kick she'd learned in KardioKick.
He sat back, clutching his hand to his chest, crimson rivulets streaming down his arm. Kaeli got her first look at her would-be attacker. A damn punk ass kid. Why were they always kids? Quick perusal of the pavement confirmed he didn't even have a weapon--stupid damn kid. Hell, even she packed in these neighborhoods, not that it had done her any good.
"What the hell are you doin' robbin' people when you ain't even got your pubes yet, brat?"
He glared at her. "For the hell of it, bitch."
Kaeli crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes. Should have known it by looking at his gear--baggy britches and tight, long sleeved shirt, a chain on his waist. He had skater extremist written all over him. Just like a damn extremist--it was getting to where they'd do just about anything for a rush. "Fair enough."
She bent and snatched his wallet off the chain. He didn't try to stop her--still nursing his wound. He'd live, that was sure.
"You can't rob me! That's not fair," he said in a whiny voice.
A sure sign of immaturity. "Insurance, brat. Now get out of here. You're damn lucky you wasn't brandishing or I'd sic the cops on your ass right now."
He continued glaring but scrambled to his feet and backed away until it was safe to run.
As he disappeared around the block, Kaeli sighed, wondering if it had been a wise move. She knew he was priming for prison, but she'd put enough fear in him maybe he wouldn't do anything else tonight. She'd make a call to the cops once she got inside and turn his wallet in--not that the cops would do anything more than spoil an already marvelous night.
As it was, she wouldn't be surprised if he was taken in and sued her for hurting him in the mugging--it was the American way, after all.
Kaeli had just turned back toward the club when clapping came from near the dark alley's entrance. She halted and tensed, expecting renewed attack. Maybe she had gone crazy....
"That was an entertaining show, petite," a deep, rumbling voice spoke from the shadows. Gooseflesh raced over her skin just listening to it.
"Who the hell are you?" She couldn't help being defensive. She'd just been attacked, after all. She put the kid's wallet into her purse, slipping her hand on the butt of her gun.
"You don' need a pea shooter for me."
She startled inside, tightened her hand on the butt. How the hell did he know that? Lucky guess was all. Had to be.
He chuckled and moved into the light. Kaeli's breath hitched, and if she hadn't been frozen in place, she'd surely have melted at the smoky look the stranger passed over her. Thought became chaotic, sluggish as she did a once over and went back for more.
Blond. Golden. Adonis. He looked like some bad ass metal band member--a lead bass guitarist. Long, wavy hair trailed down to his chest, muscles but not breadth hidden beneath a tight black T-shirt that tormented her. He had classical features: squared jaw, dimpled chin, straight nose, and smiling, full lips--but the combination tantalized when Grecian statues left her cold as the marble used to carve them. The man oozed bad boy like people expelled carbon dioxide--and he was definitely just as dangerous in too great a quantity.
Tribal tattoos twirled about his muscled arms, and painted on leather pants completed his ensemble. She tried to look away, but her eyes stayed rooted to his groin. Couldn't go any farther than that bulge, thumbs ... thumbs hooked in his pockets, framing his groin like a picture. It was one of those subtle moves all guys did but few could pull off because they didn't have the package. This one definitely had it goin' on.
He sauntered toward her, that cocky stride that couldn't help but garner any straight woman's attention. "Navarre Lyssandro."
Kaeli gaped at him. "Huh?" Once she'd seen him, her mind had blanked beyond the need to procreate--fast. NOW.
Someone that damn sexy was nothing but trouble.
Navarre chuckled, standing just inside her comfort zone, crowding her until she took a step back. He leaned against the lip of the alley, leisurely running his gaze down her body. She shivered, the tips of her breasts tingling with imagined contact.
"You asked who I was, I tell you. Navarre Lyssandro."
He had an accent. Damn his hide, he had an accent! French and Southern rolled into one tantalizing package that had her near salivating. She shouldn't lust after a stranger like this--it was completely foreign to her. Kaeli glared at him, unwilling to concede defeat to a damn Cajun. "What are you doing here?"
"Meetin' a friend, chere. You goin' tell me your name, pretty lady?"
Never in her life had anyone accused her of being a lady. "Kaeli Jackson."
"Kaeli," he said, savoring her name like choice wine. It sounded so much better on those lips.
She swallowed and offered her hand like an automaton. He shook it, his hand warm, callused ... lingering. She withdrew quickly, palm itching to know more of him than that brief contact allowed. She never drank, but tonight she needed something cold and hard to quench her libido.
Anger was good. It kept her head vaguely clear of confusing thoughts when she concentrated on being outraged. "Why the hell didn't you help me when that kid attacked? Or call someone?"
He cocked one dark, golden brow. "I walked up after you'd already taken him down, petite. After that, I jus' enjoyed the show."
"Excuses, excuses." Kaeli grunted. "Wouldn't want to hurt that purty hide of yours, eh?" And it was a purty one, but not girlish in any way. She couldn't stop looking at him. Trouble. Keep telling yourself that. Trouble.
"I couldn't chance you gettin' hurt if I came up and distracted you."
"Very heroic of you." She was being an asshole but couldn't help herself. Hell, the guy said he hadn't been there from the start. She was always like this around hunks. No damn wonder she hadn't been laid in forty forevers. Prickly bitches just didn't seem to hold much appeal for men for some unfathomable reason. It spoiled her mood just thinking about it.
"Not all women want to be rescued, petite. Besides, I didn' know but what you weren't some militant feminist. I don' like bein' chewed on," he paused, grinning, then continued, "not like that...."
She couldn't help smiling at his innuendo. She definitely had a craving for big meat right now. And she couldn't blame his reasoning for holding back when he'd come. Where she was from, men had been blasted for one thing or another until they'd lost all shred of their manhood. They'd been bitched at so much you couldn't even expect to have a guy come up to you anymore and ask for a dance or buy you a drink. It was hell being a woman these days.
"You forgive me, petite? I'll be your shinin' knight next time you're attacked."
"Sure." She shrugged. She could take care of herself--she was used to it.
As snippety as she'd been, he still offered to see her into the club. Once they passed through the blackened glass doors at the entrance and the music blasted their eardrums, he left her to go to his friend.
It was a shame really. She'd always liked those charming bad boys. He was almost enough to make her forget how the night started. After going to the bar and phoning in a tip and leaving the kid's wallet, she ordered a white russian and set out to find her friends. She spotted them almost immediately, getting off the dance floor.
Shawnda and Mina waved, and she followed them back to their table. It was a little quieter in the corner away from the dance floor. Only minimal yelling was needed to communicate.
"Girl, what took you so long?" Shawnda asked after hugging Kaeli and sitting down.
"Ya, I'd done give up on you coming. Called the hotel five times and got no answer," Mina said, settling into her chair.
"Sorry. I got mugged just outside the club." Kaeli took a sip of her drink and grimaced at the alcohol stealing her breath.
"Omigod!" they screamed in unison and passed hugs all around. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Kaeli smiled at them. "I'm all right. Just some damn kid looking for kicks. That ain't the half of it though. Some guy came up right after."
Mina perked up, instantly recognizing Kaeli's interest. "Oh?"
"Spill it, Kaeli. Was he hot?"
"Take a look for yourself, Shawnda. He's right over there." Kaeli hooked a thumb over her shoulder toward the opposite corner of the bar where she'd seen him sit down.
They both stood and gaped. "Jesus! Kaeli, which one is it? They're both gorgeous," Shawnda said.
"The blond one. His name's Navarre."
"On a first name basis now?" Mina asked as she sat. "Why didn't you jump him when you had the chance? We came here tonight for dick, and girl, you need it worst of all."
Kaeli nodded. They'd all been single so long, she was sure she was growing cobwebs.
"I'd eat him up. You don't pass up a good thing like that when it comes along." Shawnda finished off her fuzzy navel and leaned back in her chair, narrowing her dark eyes at Kaeli in mock severity.
Kaeli shrugged. "He's not my type." At their guffaws, she grinned. "All right. Lies, all lies. I want him so bad I can practically taste it." Glancing over her shoulder through the smoky interior, she saw him stand up and walk toward the exit.
"Damn. He's leaving."
"Well, go after him," Shawnda prodded.
Torn, Kaeli sat there. She talked big, but when it came down to doing the deed with a virtual stranger--no matter how hot--she was all talk and no action.
Shawnda and Mina both stood and grabbed her arms, hauling her up.
"Get the lead out of your ass and go after him before he gets away," Mina said.
They were right. You only live once. "Just bitch slap me for the coward I am if I come home early tonight." She pulled free. "You sure y'all will be all right?"
"Hell, we were having a great time until that guy bit Mina."
"Huh?" What the hell kind of city was this? Muggings, guys biting girls in clubs--wait, that sounded like home. Mental forehead smack.
"On the dance floor. We were grinding and then he just up and bit me. I smacked him good. You know I don't allow that without dinner first." Mina grinned. "Now, quit stalling and go."
Kaeli nodded and hugged her friends, then headed to the front entrance. She knew he'd come through the alley. There was a good chance he'd leave that way too. Liquid courage surging through her veins and ears ringing, she walked as fast as she dared. It was as she neared the corner of the building that the sounds of a fight finally registered in her brain.
Someone was getting the shit kicked out of them. She rounded the edge and froze, heart suddenly pounding. "Jesus H. Christ!"
CARNAL THIRST
by
Celeste Anwar
© copyright June 2004, Celeste Anwar
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright June 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Dedication:
To my best friend, who lost her own dream but gained so much more.
Chapter One
The computer disconnected itself, and Maggie O'Roarke knew it was the last time she'd get online. She couldn't pay the bill, and anyway, what was the point? The whole reason she'd had it to start with was for her company. Now it was gone.
At long last, after years of sinking every dime back into it, working two and three jobs to keep it afloat, all the while ignoring everyone who told her she was just being hard-headed and it would never succeed-her company was finally dead. She supposed she should've conceded defeat a long time ago, but she'd begun operating out of the red. Unfortunately, the declining economy had decimated her last shred of hope.
What was she going to do now? She'd spent her most of her youth trying to get out of the poorhouse, and still had nothing to show for all the sacrifice but a huge ass and a worn down computer. She didn't even have anyone she could call and talk to about it.
Maggie stared at the dark screen with the star field screensaver spinning by, wondering how she should feel, besides sorry for herself. Of course, she knew how she should feel-she should be bawling her eyes out, raging against her competitors and the government, anything but being consumed by this utter emptiness.
She was feeling sorry for herself, and as good as it would feel to wallow in self-pity, it wasn't going to do her a damn bit of good right now.
Maggie popped her neck and rolled her shoulders, feeling another tension headache trying to set in. Pushing away from her desk, she rose and walked to the kitchen, grabbing her Excedrin from the table. Pouring out two pills, she looked in the refrigerator for her water, found it, and took the medicine.
Hell, why was she even drinking water? She needed to get drunk. Or better yet, get off this damn diet that wasn't doing her any good anyway. She couldn't remember the last time she'd lost even a pound.
She needed some comfort food, like her mama's ribs and pork rice. Her eyes stung at the reminder that her mom was gone, forever.
"Just in a wonderful mood tonight, aren't we?" Maggie muttered to herself, wiping at her eyes with a knuckle. "I might as well go for the death by calorie intake. At least it'll make me happy."
The fridge was empty though. Her '86 Bonneville had finally died two weeks ago, and she hadn't had the money to fix it. The repairs would've cost at least ten times as much as the car was worth.
It was an eyesore anyway.
Besides, she still had the problem of no food. Of course, there was some, but none of it appealed to her mood. There was flour and sugar; mayonnaise; something in a bowl that might've been tuna salad; a jug of water; one cracked, frozen egg; and a bag of green slime that used to be salad fixings. Maggie closed the door with a distasteful shudder. In a depression, you had to have something decadent to make it all better, like chips or chocolate or….
"Ice cream. Chocolate chip," she said on a reverent whisper. She practically orgasmed at the thought. Cold weather and depression always put her in the mood for it.
Grabbing her purse, Maggie counted out her cash-twice to be sure she had it right. Not that it was hard to count six dollars in bills and change. She could've sworn she'd had more than that. There was her other change, a huge stash, but that was in her car … at the tow truck place.
Six dollars wasn't enough to pay for a cab to the store, even one way-not and still get something to satisfy her craving. There was a market close enough she could walk it, just a few miles. She might even burn up enough calories not to have a heart attack when she dug in to the treat.
It was late though, and the neighborhood wasn't exactly one of the best. She shrugged dismissively. She wouldn't have to worry about being a target for a serial killer, Typically, they targeted tiny women who were easy to subdue quickly-- in the five foot, one hundred pound range. Seeing as how she was damn near twice that weight and almost a foot taller she couldn't imagine running into anyone who thought they could just toss her over their shoulder and haul her off. If she got mugged, they'd probably only take her purse and the credit cards that had been canceled long ago.
"Screw it," she said, tucking her money in her Jean's pocket rather than carrying a purse, which might tempt muggers--and might tempt her to commit murder if they tried to make off with her ice cream money. Determined now, she marched out the door into the brisk night, not bothering with a jacket or sweater since she figured the walk would keep her warm enough.
The hour was later than she'd thought it was. There wasn't a soul to be seen on the sidewalks, and precious few cars, or traffic to be heard even in the distance.
Uneasiness touched her briefly, but she dismissed it. She felt invigorated by the outdoors, excited to be going somewhere after two weeks of being locked up in the house-even if it was only to the store.
She really needed to get out more. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone for a walk or stuck her head out while the sun was still shining. The moon was perfect though-her sun-since she was a night owl.
Feeling a giddiness brought on by too little sleep and possibly mild hysteria, she put a skip in her step and enjoyed herself. An hour later, with the market in sight, her feet were killing her and her nose and toes felt like they were going to freeze off. She knew she should've put on shoes instead of using her sandals.
Maggie dreaded the trip back, but the ice cream called to her. Sugar made anything better.
A lone car sat in front of the store-probably the clerk's. A wash of neon from beer signs and fluorescent lighting blazed from the storefront onto the darkened street, running over the pavement like shining blood.
Wind ruffled in her hair, sending a chill up her spine. She shrugged her shoulders, shivering slightly at the eerie feeling that descended upon her, increasing her pace.
When the blow came, she was too stunned from the force of it to do anything but throw her hands out to brace for a fall.
A hard object slammed into her right flank, pummeling into her shoulder blade and sending her sprawling to the pavement. The skin peeled away from her palms as she skidded onto the ground, gasping for breath. Fire seared her palms and knees, but it was nothing compared to the pain in her back.
She whipped her head around, dazed, unable to comprehend what had happened. She felt someone near but couldn't see them, couldn't hear them. Her heart pounded unaccustomedly hard, the beat so rapid she thought it would explode. Her lungs felt frozen, achy from too much breathing, but she couldn't get enough air.
Planting a palm on one alley wall, she struggled to her feet, screaming for help in the direction of the store. The alley she'd been thrown into funneled her voice, but the wind seemed to snatch it away. The air around her vibrated with the sound of a gasp just before another blow struck her back and knocked her fully to the ground.
Legs locked around her waist, pinning her in place. She bucked against the weight, trying to free herself. Her attacker wasn't heavy. He had to be at least twenty five pounds lighter than her, but she couldn't budge him, couldn't turn to scratch his eyes out.
She was trapped.
She dug her hands against the pavement, seeking purchase, her legs flailing as she tried to get a knee under her for leverage. A male laugh reverberated against the walls, echoing against her ear drums, mocking as fingernails scraped over the back of her neck to wrench her hair aside.
Maggie screamed again, unable to believe no one could hear her, that no one had seen her being attacked.
What did he want? To rape her? Mug her? Kill her?
"Get the fuck off me, you bastard!" she screamed in fury, ineffectually slapping her hands back at his knees.
He pressed her face into the pavement with inhuman strength. Grit and broken rock ground against her cheek, tearing at the corner of her mouth and eye. She gritted her teeth, growling in pain.
Air fanned over her neck, stirring the fine hairs there, sending chills down her spine. A tongue laved her and pulled back, leaving a cooling swath of flesh in its wake.
"What a tender little pig you are," he said above her, chuckling. His grip in her hair tightened to pain, stretching her scalp until she expected to feel the sharp sting of separation.
Maggie clawed at the hand gripping her head, felt her short nails break the skin. She dug into him, desperate to pry his hand loose. He grunted and tugged her hair harder, ignoring the pain she knew she inflicted. Wrenching her head at an angle, grinding her face across the pavement, he pulled her so hard her neck bone cracked and she felt the tendons in her neck stretch painfully taut.
She ground her teeth, sucking in a sharp breath as twin blades pierced her throat. Dimly, she heard the soft pop of her skin being punctured, felt the hot rush of blood well to the surface to puddle on the pavement beneath her. A slurping, sucking sound pushed past the fog clouding her mind. Lips latched onto her. A tongue pressed into the wound, working the blood out faster.
Oh god, oh god, oh god. Teeth. Teeth ripped into her neck like some animal.
He was eating her.
It was a nightmare she'd had ever since she'd been a child. A nightmare of cannibalism, of blood drinkers, of the undead converging on the living to devour them … ever since watching Romero's Dawn of the Dead.
This couldn't be real. She'd been drugged somehow. She felt chemicals traveling through her system, shutting down her body. But her sight and hearing was intact. She could hear him sucking at her neck as though he were eating melting ice cream.
She'd heard of attacks with men and women having their veins slit open and blood drained, with no memory of how it had happened. She hadn't believed it. She hadn't wanted to believe it. She'd thought it some new vogue movement, like vampiric goths-not something real, something deadly. The attacks had happened near the highest trafficked areas, the clubs and tourist spots irresistible at any hour of the day.
Not here. Not so close to her home.
Not to her.
Maggie slowly blinked, watching the growing pool of blood her attacker let slip from his lips. It looked black in the darkness, an ooze too distasteful to believe gave her life. She reached for it weakly, as if she could scoop it back into her body.
She felt the man above her stiffen. He stopped suckling at her neck and pulled away, as if studying his kill.
Maggie tried to buck him off, but she could only shrug one shoulder. She felt drugged and knew it had to be loss of blood that had her so weak. It was too much to hope she was only having a nightmare. The pain and horror were too intense to be anything other than real.
Teeth pierced her neck again, sinking deeply, blotting out the fleeting pain coursing through her neck with each heart beat.
Her vision dimmed to a pinprick, no further than her fingertips. She smelled ozone, and then her sight snapped away into nothingness.
* * * *
Freshly spilt blood wafted on the air like the scent of a sumptuous feast. In his weakened state, its allure was irresistible.
Danior Blake dropped to the ground, his leather duster whipped out in the residual energy blasting around him like the wind.
The vampire feeding looked up at his approach, wiping the blood trailing down his chin with the back of his hand.
"My lord," he said, bowing his head before standing.
"Zane." Danior nodded, coming to stand over the body. His fangs lengthened at the spicy, sweet scent, resisting his efforts at control. The battle with the lycan, Raoul, had left him weaker than he'd supposed. His body still bore the brunt of the fight, for his wounds would not heal completely until he'd fed.
"You have the smell of wolf on you," Zane said.
"I've been hunting Lycan," Danior said, meeting his gaze coolly. "You know the council has forbidden the killing of humans in the city. We don't need the attention right now."
Zane's face did not betray his emotions, but Danior felt the fear in him. "She is different, my lord. I-"
The woman moaned, so softly it was barely a whisper of sound. Danior knelt beside her, frowning. Humans had no immunity to vampire venom. "Did you not bite her?" he asked, touching her wound.
"I did, twice in fact. It did not paralyze her. I think if not for her blood loss, she would be fighting even now. She will not succumb to mind tricks, my lord. There would be no disguising this attack."
Danior nodded. It was true. Only through telepathy had they controlled what humans knew of them so far. It was how they'd escaped destruction for hundreds of years.
"Her blood is strong, sweeter than any I've tasted before. She can't be allowed to turn. Will you finish her or should I?"
The council had forbidden the creation of more vampires, as well. The city was overrun with them, and no vampire would leave for fear of showing weakness. Weakness was deadly in these strained times. "Leave. I'll take care of this mess."
"Yes, my lord." Zane bowed and took to the sky, leaving Danior alone with the woman.
Without the anti-coagulant of vampire saliva, the blood flow from the wound at her shoulder and neck slowed to a dribble.
She was a large woman, heavy and sturdily built. He puzzled over why she could resist the venom and why two bites along with the blood drain had not killed her almost immediately.
Her eyelids fluttered as he brushed her hair back, the corner of her mouth twitching as if she would speak. She seemed caught in some unspeakable nightmare, as horrific as reality, he surmised.
If the blood loss did not kill her, the venom coursing through her vitals could possibly turn her. She had an equal chance of either, perhaps better than most, for he'd never once seen a human resist the paralyzing effects of a vampire bite.
It was rare to turn a human. A small bite for normal feeding would result in no more than the feeling of a hangover afterward. Three bites over three days could chain a human to a vampire, leaving them addicted to the bite like a drug, but with some of the benefits of vampirism and none of the worst side effects.
Anything more than small increments was almost inevitably fatal. Those that managed to survive were forever infected with the virus that humankind knew as vampirism.
Some indefinable emotion swarmed Danior. He searched his memory but could not recall its name. Lust and hunger he knew. Anger. Rage. Desire. But this?
He shook his head and scooped the woman effortlessly into his arms.
He was curious to see the limits of her resiliency. The others would tear her apart in this state, though, so he could not take her beneath his club, nor to any other haunt of his kind.
There was only one place they feared to go-a place even he hesitated to go.
BORN OF NIGHT
by
Celeste Anwar
(c) copyright November 2003, Celeste Anwar
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright November 2003
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Chapter One
The streets raged with the dizzying sounds and scents of Mardi Gras in full swing. Women and men laughed, twisted and writhed to music, singing lyrics known only to themselves. Beads jangled like hollow bits of wood. Torn, dyed feathers floated in the air on a lazy breeze that carried with it the ripe smell of too many people too close together. The voices of drunken revelers warred with the exciting tempo of a zydeco band playing on one corner and a blues band on another. An alto saxophone and a clarinet played a moody, mellow song that stirred the blood of those close enough to hear it above the dull roar of carousal.
There was no other city quite like New Orleans, cozy as a small town with all the amenities of a metropolis. History drenched every street corner, every balcony on high, every facade along the waterfront. Traditions ruled the city with a firm hand, southern justice was always in effect, but everyone turned a blind eye when it came to the decadence of the holiday.
No, there was no other experience to be had like that at Mardi Gras.
It was dangerous times for the unwary, though. He'd never seen so many vamps prowling the streets, hunting prey, getting fat and drunk off the careless and ignorant. Not that anyone would believe an underground war raged in the dead of night. The truce that had held long before he was born was as shaky as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The Lycan territories were breached, and the feuds had spilled over onto the neutral grounds of the historic district--into the main heart of the city.
Since the vampire lord's disappearance a month or two ago, things had turned from shit, to rancid shit.
Gabriel Benoit snickered at that thought. The pack thought he was crazy for braving no man's land, especially at night. He didn't let little things like caution get in his way though. He was just cocky and confident enough it didn't bother him to think of being outnumbered. Some would call it stupidity. He called it weariness of denying his appetites.
Vamps traveled in packs, and when they could, they supped on Lycan. One bite was enough to take a Lycan down, paralyzed with their venom. If two struck, it was wolfie for dinner. Their potent, Lycan blood was the whole reason this damned war had been started in the first place, and frankly, Gabriel was tired of ceding hunting grounds and territory to the blood suckers. It was getting to where no decent Lycan could even roam the streets or bayous alone anymore--except during the daytime.
If he could've, he'd give up all his Lycan powers to just be normal and not have to worry with the bull-shitting politics and wars, the never ending battles that always seemed to flare and stir up the natives. It was just a damn miracle some tabloid hadn't caught on and got the humans started on a vamp and Lycan hunting season.
Gabriel sighed. He just wanted a simple life, with a woman ready, willing, and waiting in his bed ... and a car that stayed running more often than not. That wasn't too much to ask.
Still, Gabriel relished the thought of taking on a pack of vampires, found it invigorating as only a man with too much time on his hands could. Thus, he'd come to the "party" looking for action ... of one type or another.
Moths clinked like tinny music against the heated light above him. The light flickered, making him almost annoyed enough to move--but not quite. Gabriel leaned against the lamp post, his arms crossed over his chest, lazily perusing the crowd with an easy grin and the heat of spiced rum flowing through his veins.
Even without the risk of battle, the others would not have come to the festivities. They felt alienated from the humans, too obviously different. Gabriel suffered no such qualms, himself. But more and more, it seemed they grew more animalistic and less human as time wore on. He would be worried except for the fact that that was what had allowed them to survive through the centuries to start with.
A woman smiled as she walked by, catching his eye. She giggled, hooked her hands under the hem of her shirt, and flashed him before running off. Gabriel grinned, shaking his head.
He never denied himself this pleasure. This was his favorite time of the year, when the underbelly of the city exposed itself and its impurities were reveled in as only proper sinners could appreciate.
Plus, he enjoyed seeing women flash their breasts for something so trifling as beaded necklaces and a smile from an appreciative man.
He'd been lounging against the cool metal post for some time, enjoying the sweet blues spilling from a local bar and lost in his thoughts, when a scent tickled his nose, strange yet familiar. His beast leapt instantly to life, ruffling the hair on the back of his neck.
Gabriel straightened suddenly, sniffing the wafting air. Past the cloying alcohol and perspiration, he caught it again on the wind. Faint, it uncurled with a spicy sweetness in his senses like a rare perfume.
He dropped off the curb and pushed through the crowded street through sweat slick bodies, following the scent. It teased, taunting, drawing him in until he was helpless to do anything but follow.
Pale skin flashed before him as revelers begged for beads from those standing above in balconies. He ignored them all, intent on his quarry, stopping only when he found the source of his affliction.
Gabriel looped and arm around an iron lamp post, gaining height over the crowd, watching her. He knew instinctively she was the one ... the one that taunted unawares.
She was trapped in the throng, walled in by bodies. She looked mildly worried, as though she was claustrophobic but determined to have a good time regardless.
She looked like a china doll: fragile porcelain skin, baby blue eyes, a pink blush tingeing her cheeks. She smiled and pushed back a loose tendril of pale blonde hair behind her ear. One pert breast lifted with the action, and even with the distance he caught the slight pucker of her nipple beneath the thin cotton.
He rubbed one thumb against his bottom lip, drawn by her movement and imagined sensation.
An instant fog of lust clouded his brain. She was in heat. Never had he smelled a woman so ripe for fucking. The scent and knowledge threatened to burn away all rational thought. His hands clenched into tight fists, his fingers digging into his palms. His arms bulged with the effort to restrain himself. For a few minutes, he could think of nothing but taking her and laying her on the street, pushing her legs apart and burying his cock deep inside her.
The knowledge that he was reacting as an animal didn't stop the feelings raging in his blood. If anything, they worsened. His balls tightened, his cock throbbed. He gritted his teeth, pained with the hot surge of blood in his groin.
Slowly, his beast backed down when it realized it would get no satiation. Thoughts churned like sluggish clock wheels, and he finally realized something had tamed the waves of pheromones fanning off her, or else he would have been driven to nothing but pure animal instinct. He didn't flatter himself by thinking it was his strength of will that had kept him in control.
For the first time since he'd been turned, it had nearly slipped. He didn't want to think about what could've happened.
He continued calming himself, watching her dance, sip her drink. One of thousands, she was more precious than she could ever begin to imagine. And he'd found her. He wondered where she'd come from, how she'd gotten here.
She could not have been in the city long or else she'd not be standing here, but be trapped in some alley, her skirt up to her waist with a slick cock thrusting into her.
His groin spasmed at the illicit thought, of parting her soft thighs and smelling her want of him, of feeling the thick cream that would ease his passage inside her.
Had the spicy musk of heat been in full effect, he and any other Lycan would've been on her like the pack of beasts they were. He knew he could not allow that to happen--and it would if she wasn't careful.
He growled low in his throat, animal instincts surging to the surface once more. Then and there, he determined he would take her ... before another could. She was his, and he had every intention of staking his claim to her, tonight.
Now.
* * * *
Someone jostled her elbow from behind, sending her plastic cup flying from her grasp to clatter dully onto the ground.
"Hey!" Jessica Talvert yelled, whirling around to deliver a blistering tirade.
A hand snaked out and snatched the necklace from her neck. Her throat burned as the chain snapped under the pressure. The thief took off through the crowd before she could even raise a hand to stop him.
Jessica gasped in outrage, following the thief without thinking. The necklace was her only physical link to her past. She was never supposed to take it off--never. She couldn't lose it!
Jessica pushed through the milling throng, running after him as best she could. He stayed ahead of her, slippery as an eel, weaving through the bodies effortlessly while she was hemmed in. She soon lost him, and jumped up to look over the crowd, ignoring the angry looks she got. She spotted the hooded figure running toward an alley squashed between a strip club and a bar.
Heart pounding with adrenaline, Jessica squirmed through the closed bodies. It was like trying to squeeze through a crack in the wall, and she wondered how the thief had managed it so quickly and easily. After a minute, she broke through and raced past a man hawking naked girls and went into the alley.
An immediate feeling of danger clutched her chest, squeezing her ribs like two gods snapping a wishbone.
A narrow band of light stretched through the center, leaving the sides in utter blackness. Garbage littered the cracked pavement. A clatter of cans sounded deeper, stirred by wind or fleeing feet, she didn't know. She heard the sounds of a scuffle, of meaty fist strikes and the crash of metal.
Jessica stopped halfway down the alley, catching her breath, wondering what kind of shit she was in now. Was it worth it? She thought the necklace was, but there was no way she could take on a grown man by herself. Or whatever was fighting up ahead.
Suddenly a man stepped out of the shadows and walked towards her with a cocky stride. Had she run headlong into more trouble? Jessica instinctively backed up a step, remaining wary and tense ... until she saw what dangled in his hand.
The silver medallion twirled on its chain, glinting in the failing light and the glare from a distant street lamp. Startled into immobility, Jessica looked blankly up from her necklace to the man. Whatever questioning words she'd had fell forgotten from her mind.
A tension seemed to fill his body, belying his easy, relaxed stance. His left thumb was hooked in his waistband in easy confidence. He held her necklace with his right hand, playing with it as he watched her steadily with an unblinking stare that missed nothing and seemed to see straight through her clothes. Jessica didn't stop to wonder why he was standing there, or what he'd done to get her necklace back. She should've been grateful. She should've demanded that he return it to her. But she couldn't do anything but stare at him, dumbfounded.
The spunk she'd always prided herself on possessing deserted her. She blamed it on shock, on unfamiliar surroundings, on being practically attacked. But those were lies. She'd been all ready to kick ass and chew bubble gum until she saw him. She felt like she'd been kicked in the gut and all the breath knocked from her lungs.
He easily outdistanced her own height, standing at least 6' 2" , but that wasn't what had her entranced. He was naked from the waist up, and though she'd seen plenty of practically naked men and women running around the streets, this man put them all to shame. Thin, silver studded rings glinted wickedly from each nipple. His sculpted chest was sparsely covered with hair, hiding none of the beautiful planes, and it moved in a straight, purposeful dark path down his rippled belly and into his jeans--which were tantalizingly unbuttoned, as though he'd hastily thrust them on after carnal pursuits and raced out into the night.
That alone was enough to fuel the coldest woman's fantasies--even her own. She'd never seen a man with pierced nipples. She wondered what they felt like. Her fingertips prickled with the need to flick those rings.
The shredded, torn jeans he wore fit him like a glove and left little to the imagination. What they covered had her mind racing to find out his secrets, and hoping he'd slip and fall and tear the jeans the rest of the way off. A patch of skin on one hip showed, and one lingering glimpse at it told her he didn't wear anything beneath those jeans. If the zipper slid a little lower, she could see everything....
She'd been schooled to at least make a pretense of being a lady, to quash baser instincts. Lessens of 'good girls don't' and 'bad girls do' seemed to mesh in one confusing jumble, and she couldn't for the life of her think of why any good girl wouldn't do a man like this.
Jessica swallowed, working moisture down her tight throat as she tore her eyes away from his groin. Her eyes felt indelibly seared by that prominent bulge, just waiting to burst out at any moment. Slowly, she worked her astonished way back up to his face. The hard line of his jaw came into view, sharply outlined with black stubble. Full lips quirked at her in a cocky half-smile.
He closed the distance between them, but Jessica barely noticed, only knew he was coming closer. All the better to see him.
She frowned at his amused lips, then peered straight up at his eyes. Sleek, inky hair clung to his throat and streamed over his forehead in rakish abandon, looking mussed and incredibly sexy. Bedroom hair. Smoky bedroom eyes. Brown and flecked with gold, they were mesmerizing and glowed with sensual promise from the light behind her. He appeared to have trace Spanish blood in him--as did many of the locals, giving them darkly sensual looks and deep, bronze skin.
He looked as delicious and sinful as chocolate ... but with bite to it.
He was definitely a heart breaker. Women probably fell all over themselves for one peep at him ... just like her. She tried to be annoyed, but irritation was the furthest thing from her mind.
He held her gaze, watching her intently beneath heavy, straight brows, eyes reflecting the tension in his body.
Jessica blushed so brightly under his intense, knowing stare, she was sure she glowed in the dark. She tore her eyes away from his and focused on his lips, blushed again at her errant thoughts, and dropped her gaze yet again to his chin. Her eyes kept straying down that belly to his unbuttoned fly. His fly bulged impressively, and she wondered absently if anything was going to jump out and bite her. And if she'd really fight it off if it attacked.
"Like what you see, chere?" he finally asked in a velvet drawl, breaking her out of her stupor.
If she'd had fur, she was sure it would ruffle and prickle under that stroking, baritone voice. With an effort, Jessica dragged her gaze back to his, hating that her interest was so damned obvious. Hating more that she continued to blush. She was so hot, she felt like she'd break out in a sweat at any moment. What did she expect? She'd probably been drooling at him like he was a juicy steak for at least five minutes.
Something changed in him, and his look turned to one of amusement at her perusal. His gaze dropped to her feet, and he roamed his way up her body, leaving her strangely flushed and aroused. She hadn't thought it was possible to become aroused just looking at someone, let alone a stranger, and she didn't like the feeling one bit.
Get a grip, she told herself, and fixed him with a stern stare. "Did you see someone run by here?" she asked, then immediately thought about how stupid that probably sounded. She didn't know how long she'd gaped at him, because her brain was strangely foggy, but he was holding her necklace and she'd heard the brief fight.
Dammit. She normally curbed her impulse to ask dumb questions. It was hell being a blonde. Society just had no idea the burden they placed on already burdened minds.
He didn't seem to notice her dumb blonde moment.
He leaned back on his heels. "I did. I found sometin' you lost, cherie," he murmured, cocking that smile again. He held up his hand, dangling her necklace before her eyes. The medallion glinted and twirled on its chain.
His husky, drawling accent caressed her ears like a melody, sending shivers up and down her spine like smooth silk. Jessica shook herself with an effort. It was time to stiffen her spine and stop thinking between her legs. She was as bad as a man. "Thank you." She reached up to take it, but he snatched his hand back.
"No' so fast, cherie. Don' your champion deserve sometin' in return?"
Maybe she did owe him something for the trouble ... but she wasn't so sure about just giving in to his demands though. "What kind of rescuer would demand payment?" she asked, propping her hands on her hips.
His teeth flashed in a wide grin. "One who's smitten with your beauty, chere."
Jessica rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh. Why did all Southern men lay the charm on so thickly? "Oh puhlease."
He looked hurt that she doubted him. "You wound me, chere. Have you no heart? I have risked my life only t'please, and you begrudge me so small a token as a kiss?"
"A kiss?" she exclaimed. Her heart tripped in her chest, staggered up, and started to run.
He rubbed a thumb against his jaw, measuring her. "Your name and ... a kiss."
Jessica released an exasperated breath, trying to block out the breathless feeling in her chest at the idea of letting those sultry, pouty lips touch hers. She wasn't going to play these games. She'd give him what he wanted all right. "It's Jessica Talvert, and here's your reward." She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. She dropped down and gave him a syrupy smile of satisfaction at outwitting him.
Who said she was a dumb blonde?
"Sweet, but I'm no' your brodder, chere," he said in a voice brimming with enough sensual menace a delicious primal shiver skated through her body. He caught her arms about the same time she realized his intent, blocking her defensive ball busting move with one knee and her titty twister with an unbreakable hold. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself whirled around and thrust against one wall, hauled tightly against his body.
Shadows cloaked them, spilling across his face. He seemed a lot bigger and more dangerous so tightly against her. She should've abandoned her necklace to him. "Some hero," she gritted out, squirming in his hold, trying to free a hand. Despite her struggles, she insanely anticipated him stealing a kiss from her. Didn't it make it all right to enjoy herself if she didn't really give in? That was a rule somewhere, she was sure.
Something dark and predatory flashed in his eyes, like a slumbering wolf had been awakened. Her breath caught. All the silly little, nervous thoughts washing through her brain froze. He smiled ferally, then bent his head to claim her lips.
Jessica gasped, partly in outrage, but mostly from a surge of heat so sharp and drastic, her heart stopped for a breathless moment.
He seized the break in her defenses and plunged his tongue into her mouth, filling her with hot persuasion and the stroking glide of his tongue. He tasted spicy, like cinnamon and rum and something infinitely wilder and more dangerous. Jessica wanted to bite him, to fight him off, but he rubbed sensuously against her own tongue, silky, slick and rough. It took only moments for vengeful thoughts to disappear entirely and be replaced by the seductive call of desire. Jessica gave a shocked whimper when he retreated and sucked her tongue into his mouth.
She tried to pull back, but he captured the back of her head with an easy, merciless grip, holding her to the thrall of his mouth and his hungry, sucking kiss. Slowly, she began to realize a pressure that had never been there before built low in her belly. Arousal cramped her pussy with a jerking spasm of pleasure. She gasped into his mouth at the piercing, sweet agony, the awakening of some long slumbering beast inside her. His mouth drove her wild, made her respond in a way she'd never dreamed possible. Heat rippled through her.
He cradled his body into hers, stroking those rough jeans against her trapped slit, melting her core until she felt her wet arousal trickle between her thighs. His groin nestled in the juncture of her thighs, so incredibly close to where she needed it, unbearably hard and erotic, wrecking what little resolve she still possessed. At some point, he'd freed her hands to draw his around her waist and bring her tighter against him, slipping them down to clutch her buttocks and mold her to the hot tightness of his cock.
Jessica clung to him, her fingers stroking his satiny skin and muscled back. She squirmed in pleasurable agony as he thrust against her, fighting the thrill that surged in her blood at his possessive hold and the knowledge that she'd conjured his lust.
She couldn't seem to get enough air. She felt dizzy with it and the tingling pleasure between her thighs. Her lips and tongue felt gloriously bruised from his kiss, so sensitive she could orgasm if only he'd continue devouring her.
He broke away from her mouth suddenly, leaving her gasping for breath and her knees weak.
"You're so sweet, cherie," he said with a drowsy, heated look, rubbing his thumb across his lips and licking the moisture lingering from her mouth off the pad.
Jessica swallowed. Hard. She felt dazed and not herself, and her pulse still raced with something akin to heat. The loss of control unnerved her. "My necklace?" she managed to say past her throbbing lips. She held out her hand, palm up, encouraged by her ability not to melt in a puddle on the ground at his feet.
He gave her an unreadable look and dropped the necklace into her hand, closing her fingers over it. "It's broken. You'll need t'fix it," he said, releasing her hand.
She resisted the urge to rub where he'd touched her. She felt positively branded all over. By the way he was acting, it seemed to be just her reacting so heatedly to the kiss--which was infinitely embarrassing to say the least. Jessica looked down at the broken chain. "Yes, it is." But she'd already known that. The thief had ripped it from her neck.
"It's not somtin' you wanna wait on, chere."
Jessica looked up, distracted from her unwanted physical response by the intriguing tone of his voice. There was warning there. And something else she couldn't quite identify. "What do you mean?"
"Jus' what I said. There's a shop jus' a ways from the corner of Bourbon and Canal--Mikel's. They can fix it for you there. You wan' me t'show you?" He grinned in the half light, his teeth flashing white against his bronzed skin.
"Thanks. I can find it on my own." She hadn't noticed any shops on her way down here--mostly just hotels and the like. A few bars. Her own hotel was on Canal Street.
"You're not gonna go, are you, chere?"
Whether she did or not wasn't any of his business. She shrugged noncommittally.
"Jus' remember what I tol' you."
His advice brought the warning her adoptive parents had given her fresh into her mind. Never take this off. Never. She knew her neck was ringed with paler skin, the chain having long rested around it ... for as long as she could remember. She half wondered if he knew something she didn't, but she shrugged the silly thought off. He didn't know her or anything about her. She'd gotten paranoid since coming to New Orleans.
Jessica turned to go, then stopped. "What's your name?" she asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder.
He smiled lazily, propping one shoulder against the building in confident male fashion. "Gabriel Benoit, petite. At your service."
"Nice to ... uh ... meet you," she murmured and turned away before he could see her blush again ... or draw her into further conversation. She put his disturbing presence and even more disturbing kiss out of her mind.
She wasn't here to get involved with any man, especially not one like him. She knew the type--players. Always charming, good looking, and absolutely horrible on a woman's self esteem when they left and chased after the next piece of ass. She wasn't going to be any man's conquest. Not that Jessica had ever fallen for a player, but she damned well knew now why women did.
She still felt hot and bothered as she set off for her hotel. She glanced back to see if he followed--not because she wanted one last look at temptation incarnate--but he wasn't to be seen. She quickly lost sight of the small alley as she made her way toward Canal street and left the Bourbon revelers behind. Soon the only sounds on the street were the hum of car engines, the wind, and her own footsteps. It was a long walk back to her hotel, and she was contemplating catching a cab when she noticed the obscure shop Gabriel had spoken of.
It was practically invisible, overshadowed by the giants around it, but the shuttered, double doors were thrown open to let a cool breeze inside. Obviously, they were open, even at this late hour. Jessica approached it, and the jangling music of wind chimes grew louder as she neared. A man was inside, sweeping the rugs covering the tiled floor. He looked up as she passed through the door.
"Are you closing up?" she asked, stopping inside the threshold.
"Not just yet," he said, setting his broom aside. "What can I do for you?"
Jessica held up her necklace, looking around and feeling like she'd been duped. The shop didn't look like a jewelry repair place. "Someone mentioned I could get this fixed here," she said with a doubtful tone to her voice.
He took it from her and gave her a startled look, quickly shuttered. "Yep. I'll get this fixed for you in a jiffy. Have a look around. I'll be right back."
Jessica nodded and watched him go through a door into the back, then wandered around the cluttered shop. There were racks of charms and potions on one side, including a row dedicated to nothing but essence of garlic of varying sizes and potencies. Weapons lined the walls out of reach near the ceiling: crossbows, long bows, swords, and arrows with silver and wooden heads. There were others she couldn't identify, but that looked almost like maces.
Jessica continued looking and found an umbrella holder filled with short wooden stakes and another with mallets. It looked for all the world like some bizarre, witch hunting shop ... or rather, one dedicated to vampire hunting. The movie Blade popped in her head. Really, being Louisiana, she would've thought they'd have more voodoo paraphernalia.
The man came out again, moving behind the front counter. He laid her necklace on the clean surface. "That's a fine warding medallion you have. Been a while since I've seen one so old."
"Warding medallion?" she asked, walking up to the counter to check the work. She couldn't even tell it had ever been broken.
"Yes. Well, it's an old, cryptic language. Most people wouldn't recognize it. See these markings here?" He flipped it over and showed her a scrawling script. She'd always thought it was some kind of ornate design--not words. "It's protection against the wolf."
Jessica was intrigued. She leaned on the counter, looking between him and her medallion. "What kind of protection?"
"It depends on the wearer really. Now, if you were a vampire, it would ward werewolves away ... supposedly."
Jessica laughed. He wasn't serious. "Okay, you got me. There's no such thing as vampires and werewolves."
He chuckled, watching as she put the necklace on. "I'm not joking around. I would've thought you'd heard of the war by now."
"What war? Does it have something to do with all this stuff in here?" she asked, waving an expansive arm, playing along.
He propped an elbow on the register. "Of course. I'm just a supplier, mind you. I don't take part, but I'm partial to the Lycan side of things."
"Why's that? I mean, I don't see why vampires and Lycans would fight."
He rubbed his jaw, considering it. "It must've been in the early part of this past century. The Lycans rebelled against the vamps using them as food and slaves ... but they mostly objected to being eaten, and still do. Must've been a sight to see them tearing into the vamps--if you were on the inside, that is. I've always been partial to the underdog, so I supply them when they come in."
Jessica was completely unnerved and fascinated by his story. She didn't doubt but what there were plenty of nuts running around claiming to be a werewolf or a vampire. She guessed anyone had a right to make a living selling to them. "So is this war still going on?" she asked, amused.
"It flares up every now and again, but they usually stick to their territory. Just stay clear of anything Southwest of the Ponchartrain Expressway. Especially the warehouse and Garden district."
Jessica nodded, humoring him. She was going there to check out the cemetery where her birth parents had been buried--at least that's what she'd managed to dig up. Jessica paid him and turned to leave, but he stopped her with one last warning.
"You'll remember what I said, right? I can tell you're not from around here and don't know about the territories just yet. I wouldn't want you to have a run in with those bloodsuckers. There's only so much protection that warding medallion will give you."
|
