Jez rubbed the sore spots on her arms. If she were mortal, she’d be sporting bruises for days. As it was, they’d be gone in a minute or two.
“I used to tell my Gram all kinds of crap about the terrible, depraved things I did. When I was fourteen, I told her I was dating a nineteen-year-old bisexual black guy. He was really just my friend, but since my mother was a total slut, Gram assumed I was too. I knew she wouldn’t believe the relationship was innocent, so I told her I was fucking him. And do you know why I did that?”
He wasn’t looking at her, but she saw the tightness at the corners of his eyes. “Ask me if I care.”
You care, she thought, but didn’t say. “Because I thought it would hurt a hell of a lot less if I claimed I was fucking him and my Gram believed it than if I claimed I wasn’t and she didn’t believe it.”
The tightness of his eyes became a full-fledged wince. Recognition, perhaps?
She moved closer to him, putting her hand tentatively on his back. She took it as a good sign that he didn’t immediately push her away.
“You killed that boy for a reason,” she said with utter conviction. “You’re not some mindless killing machine.” And you don’t have to pretend to be to protect yourself from me. But she didn’t think he could take that much truth, so she kept the thought to herself.
He turned toward her, his eyes still guarded. “How can you believe that, after everything I’ve said and done?”
She smiled, her hand sliding over the taut muscles of his upper back. “I don’t know. I just do.” She moved closer still, until her side pressed up against his arm. To her surprise, he slid that arm around her waist and drew her against him.
He didn’t say anything, just held her there as his muscles relaxed under her hand. With a soft sigh, she laid her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. The coppery smell of his blood blended with his leather-and-man scent, and she wished she could offer him a fresh shirt. Then, she wished she could just get him out of his current shirt, to hell with the fresh one.
The thought surprised her. But she’d been held so rarely in her life, and it felt so good. She wished she could get even closer to him, feel his skin against her cheek. He turned toward her, putting his other arm around her and hugging her close. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rubbed her cheek against his chest, hearing the thump of his heart as it picked up speed.
Snuggling against him, she supposed that he’d been held as rarely in his life as she had in hers. When his fingers began to play up and down her spine, she let out a little sigh of pleasure.
“That feels good,” she murmured, just in case he didn’t get the hint.
“Yes it does,” he whispered back, and there was a hint of a smile in his voice.
Tentatively, she placed one hand against his sternum. When he didn’t push her away, she stroked over the planes of his chest, wondering at the feel of him under her hand. His chin brushed over the top of her head. She turned her face into him and planted a soft kiss on his collar bone. His heart stuttered under her hand, its beat coming harder and faster. She raised her head a little until her lips found the bare skin of his throat.
His quick intake of breath and the tightening of his arms around her emboldened her. Her tongue flicked out to taste his throat, and her whole body thrilled to it. Her fangs descended as an ember glowed in her core.
Gabriel tipped her chin up, and before she realized what he was going to do, his lips were on hers. She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging tightly to him as she opened her mouth and welcomed him in.
He was as tentative as she, at first, the touch of his lips feather-light against hers. But then he deepened the kiss, a little growl of hunger rumbling in his chest.
It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. None of the boys in school would have dreamed of kissing her. Hell, they were afraid to get within five feet of her, as if the contagion could leap over vast distances. At sixteen, desperate to know what it felt like to kiss a boy, she’d persuaded one of her friends from the clinic to kiss her. He’d even given her a little tongue action, but there had been no pleasure in it for either of them. He’d just been providing a demonstration, and she’d just wanted to satisfy curiosity. There was no chemistry, no attraction, and she’d been left wondering what the fuss was about.
Her only other sexual encounter had been with her friend Harry. Again, it had been persuasion on her part that had moved him to try anything. Because they were both infected, they felt safe with each other. But although Harry was bisexual, he really liked guys better, and he couldn’t muster enough enthusiasm. Had she been any more enthusiastic herself, that might have hurt her feelings. As it was, she’d simply thanked him for trying and tried to reconcile herself to the idea that she would die a virgin.
Gabriel’s kiss was everything those others hadn’t been. His lips made her heart speed, made her breath come short, made her feel all warm inside. When he brushed his tongue over hers, she moaned softly and practically climbed onto his lap, wanting more. He buried his hand in her hair, holding her head at just the angle he wanted, and plunged his tongue deep into her mouth.
She couldn’t believe how good it felt, how good he tasted, how much more of him she wanted. She shifted her position until she really was sitting on his lap, her legs straddling his hips. Under her bottom, she felt his growing enthusiasm, and fire surged through her veins.
His hands slid downward until they were cupping her bottom. Her cotton knit pants were gratifyingly lightweight, letting her feel that touch all the way to her center. She sucked at his tongue and swallowed his groan of pleasure.
Gabriel’s hands tightened convulsively on her butt, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt as he pressed her against his erection. The pain of that grip should have killed the mood. Instead, the evidence of his desire made her want him even more, and she gasped at the shock of it.
And suddenly he let go. She tried a murmur of protest as he broke the kiss, but he ignored it. He wrapped his arms around her again, letting her stay poised over the tempting heat of him, but she felt the tide of his desire stutter to a stop. She closed her eyes and fought against tears of disappointment.
“Don’t cry,” he begged, and he sounded horrified. He pressed her head to his chest and cradled her against him. “Please don’t cry, Jezebel. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
And in the midst of her tears, she began to laugh. He slid her off his lap, putting enough distance between them so he could look at her.
Tears still streaked her cheeks, and she kept hiccuping, but the laughter bubbled through it all. Gabriel looked at her like she was crazy, and she couldn’t blame him. She tried to talk, but burst into giggles again.
Her reaction was taking on an edge of hysteria. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. When she thought she could talk without laughing or crying, she opened her eyes and met Gabriel’s confused gaze.
“You think I was crying because you hurt me?” she asked. The laughter bubbled up again, and she ruthlessly tamped it down. “I was crying because you stopped, idiot.”
He blinked and looked even more confused. “Jez, I know I hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but—”
She shrugged. “Yeah, it hurt a little. I really didn’t give a crap at the moment.”
He stared at her like he didn’t believe her.
She sighed. The heat of the moment had definitely passed, and letting herself get romantically involved with her maker was a really stupid idea anyway. But she couldn’t let him believe he’d hurt her.
“I had diabetes ever since I was too young to remember,” she said. “Then I had HIV and AIDS. I don’t know how many times I’ve been stuck with needles, but it’s a really high number. I had my ears pierced multiple times. I had my eyebrow pierced. I had my nose pierced. Twice, because the first time my Gram pulled the nose ring out. I got a homemade tattoo on my arm. And you think it’s going to make me cry if you hold me
a little too tight?”
He looked as uncertain as she could ever remember seeing him. She grinned at him.
“You know, for someone who was just a few minutes ago telling me what a hard-ass he was, you’ve turned into quite a wuss.”
He snarled at her, but there was no venom in it. Not when his eyes sparkled with amusement. He patted her thigh lightly, then stood up.
“I’d better be going.”
She swallowed a protest. She’d accomplished what she’d set out to do, and her chest no longer ached with his complicated welter of emotions. She’d brought him—and through him, herself—a little bit of peace. It was more than she’d had any reason to hope she could do. Now, she had to give him time to absorb it all.
“Will you come see me tomorrow night?” she asked.
The expression on his face wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close. “I think that’s a safe assumption.” He visibly forced the smile from his face. “I’ll want to hear about how Eli liked my present.”
His eyes met hers, daring her to show him some sign of condemnation. She wasn’t going to give it to him.
In fact, she now knew exactly how she was going to spend the hours between sunset and whatever time Gabriel graced her with his presence. She was going to get on the Internet, and she was going to look up everything she could find out about the two victims Gabriel had left for his father. And every instinct in her body told her she would find something very interesting indeed.
10
DRAKE STOOD BEFORE THE gates of Eli’s mansion and wondered what the hell was going on. He knew that the trap had backfired, that Gabriel had been ready for it. But since no one had been seriously hurt, he couldn’t imagine what had caused Eli to sound so distressed when he’d called.
His conviction that something was dreadfully wrong was confirmed when he took a good look at the house as he hesitated by the front gate. At first glance, it looked as it always had, stately and somewhat imposing. But then he’d seen the shards of glass that littered the lawn. Eyes widening, he stared at the house more closely and saw that all the windows in the meeting hall were broken, the jagged edges resembling menacing fangs.
Drake wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know what had happened. Of course, he couldn’t just ignore Eli’s summons. But right this moment, the idea of ringing that bell had little appeal.
As he paced indecisively, Drake caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. He peered into the shadows of the tree-lined path that led to the front door, but saw nothing. Then he reached out with his psychic senses and felt the vampire presence lurking there.
“Eli?” he asked, his voice tentative.
“Who else?” Eli responded, stepping out from behind a tree. The gate swung soundlessly open in an invitation to enter.
The night was overcast, and very little light from the streets reached inside Eli’s property. The darkness hid his eyes, hid his expression. Not that his face usually gave away much, but he seemed to have become considerably less inscrutable since Gabriel had come to town.
At least there was no chill in the air.
“What happened?” Drake asked, indicating the shattered windows with a sweep of his hand.
“Gabriel left me another present. Come inside.”
Eli didn’t wait for an answer, leading the way into the house and into a library on the first floor. It was another massive room, furnished in floor-to-ceiling bookcases, all crammed full of books. A well-used, incongruous-looking computer desk sat in a back corner like a naughty child, but the rest of the room looked like it was still trapped in the nineteenth century.
Eli sat in a well-loved wing chair by the fireplace, and Drake took a seat opposite him.
“Tell me what happened to the meeting hall, Eli,” Drake said.
“As I told you, my son presented me with another body. Here’s the note he left with it.”
Drake took the sheet of paper from Eli’s hand and read it.
I promised Hannah not to kill any Guardians. As you know, Father, I am a man of my word. But the mortals in your city are fair game, and it is they who shall suffer for your every misstep. If you want to kill me, you’re going to have to do it yourself. But first, you have to catch me. Enjoy the hunt.
“The victim was just a boy,” Eli said softly. “He couldn’t have been more than nineteen. And Gabriel didn’t need to feed again so soon. He ripped that boy’s throat out just to get at me.” The temperature in the room started to dip.
“And how does that explain the windows?”
Eli looked mildly embarrassed. “I’m afraid I lost my temper.”
Drake supposed it was lucky no one was around when that happened. “We can’t afford to have you go to pieces on us,” he said.
Something flashed in Eli’s eyes. Annoyance, perhaps, though when he spoke his voice was mild enough. “I am aware of that. I’ve gotten it out of my system.”
Drake highly doubted that. “It’s just going to get worse. You know that.”
Eli nodded briskly.
“And you know that the Guardians aren’t strong enough to fight him.”
Eli gave him one of those annoying, penetrating stares of his. “Your point being?”
Survival instinct urged Drake to keep his mouth shut. He ignored it. “My point being, the only one who can stop him is you.”
Not surprisingly, Eli shook his head. “I can’t hunt him.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
Drake grunted in exasperation. “How are you going to explain this to the Guardians? Gabriel’s out there killing people at his whim, and you won’t lift a finger against him. Everyone’s going to wonder—”
“They’ve wondered before!”
“But this is different, and you know it. You’ve told us Gabriel is too powerful for us to defeat. The natural question then becomes, why won’t you hunt him yourself?”
Eli visibly struggled with himself. Then, he heaved a heavy sigh. “You won’t understand this,” he warned.
A strange thrill of excitement vibrated through Drake’s nerves. He’d known Eli for more than a century, and the mystery of his self-imposed imprisonment had roused his curiosity from the very first. He’d long ago resigned himself to the idea that Eli would never explain.
Of course, if it took having Gabriel on the warpath in Philadelphia to get that explanation, Drake would have been happy to do without.
“Before I became a vampire, I was a man of God,” Eli said quietly. “The church was my life, was my everything. I made a sacred vow that I would never set foot outside the gates of my home again. When I became a vampire, I broke every vow I’d ever made. This one, I will not break.”
He stopped speaking, and for a moment Drake thought that was all the explanation he was going to get. Then, he recognized that distinctive, speculative look on Eli’s face. The look that said he was measuring someone up, making an important decision.
Drake tensed as a sense of foreboding descended on him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Eli didn’t answer immediately, just continued to stare and consider. When he finally spoke, he didn’t exactly clear things up.
“I can’t explain my vow without telling you something I feel it would be better for you not to know.”
Drake sat up straighter, the foreboding growing stronger. “You have my undivided attention.”
Another long silence. Then, “You’ve accused me of being a Killer,” Eli said.
It was an assumption Drake had always made, amazed that the Guardians had never suspected as much themselves. Eli was vastly more powerful than any other vampire Drake had ever met, vastly more powerful even than the oldest Killers he’d ever encountered. That he could be that powerful and not be a Killer was unthinkable. And, as Drake had learned a few months ago, Eli had once been the Master of Philadelphia, ruling as head of his own vampire family, Killers all.
“I didn’t accuse you of anything, Eli. I merely made an
observation. If you’re not a Killer, then why on earth did you make Camille? And how could you have been the Master of Philadelphia?”
“Because back then, I was a Killer.”
Silence hung heavily in the room as Drake absorbed that. Then he spoke again, carefully, making sure he’d heard correctly. “You were then, but you’re not now. Is that what you’re telling me?”
Eli nodded.
“Then the addiction is curable.” The idea sat in Drake’s stomach like a lead weight. Since he’d first met Eli, since he’d first known that not all vampires had to kill, Drake had believed his addiction to the kill was incurable, that it had been too late for him after those first few kills of his, made in ignorance. It was that knowledge that had allowed him to function, and to accept himself as a Killer, for more than a century.
Knowing he had no choice but to kill if he wanted to survive, Drake had assuaged his conscience by killing only the scum of the earth. Given his choice of victims, he’d probably saved as many lives as he’d taken. But it was one thing to kill because he had no choice, and quite another to kill because he didn’t know he had an alternative.
Anger rose up from deep inside him, but Eli slapped it aside before it had time to surface.
“No, Drake,” Eli said very quietly. “It’s not curable. Not for you. I was already more than a thousand years old when I tried it, and I almost died. My ‘cure’ would kill you.”
The anger still milled about, ready to take hold should Eli slip up. Drake licked his lips, hoping to get some moisture back into his mouth, and was startled to discover that his fangs had descended without him noticing. “But you found a way to cure the addiction. And you kept that knowledge from me.”
Eli met his eyes steadily. “Yes, I did. You are one of the few vampires I’ve ever known who is completely at peace with himself. That’s rare even in the Guardians, much less in Killers who have not completely discarded their consciences. I did not want to disturb your peace of mind.”
Drake clenched his fists and his jaws, the Killer within him stirring. “What the hell gives you the right to make that decision for me?” he growled, and right that moment, he thought he might actually hate Eli for that deception.