Witch Wolf Page 17

  The fear flowing through my veins was exciting. Oh Gods. My breath came, short and clipped. I closed my eyes, forcing the air slowly, deeply into my lungs. “Let go,” I breathed.

  Lenorre eased her grip on my arms one inch at a time.

  The look she gave me was intense and there was rawness to her eyes when she said, “I just want you to stay with me. That is all, nothing more and nothing less.”

  “No freaky vampire shit?” I asked.

  She inclined her head forward, but not before I caught the corner of her mouth quirk.

  “Fine,” I said and went to the backpack on the armchair. “Do you have a spare toothbrush?” My hands were trembling ever so slightly.

  “Yes,” she said, “in the bathroom. Look in the drawer beneath the sink.”

  After I had accomplished my hygiene duties, I walked out of the bathroom wearing a pair of green plaid flannel boxers. The wolf shirt matched the white patches on the shorts. The wolf on the shirt was black, neck arched as it howled at the full moon. In a nearby tree a raven perched, listening.

  The only light in the room came from a lamp that was on the bedside table. The black bars of the lamp’s base curved upward, wickedly wrapping around a frosted gray globe from which the light emitted. It bathed the room in deep shadows.

  Lenorre was propped up against a mound of satiny black pillows. The curls of her hair pooled out around her body, so that she looked like a fallen angel resting on an ebony cloud. Her pale skin seemed to absorb the light, reflecting it like the moon against a black sky.

  The silence was so thick I could hear the blood rushing through my veins. Lenorre closed her eyes. Her long lashes were as shiny as crow’s wing, and stood out starkly against her skin.

  “Kassandra,” she said, “come to bed.”

  I looked at the empty spot on the other side of the bed. The bed was large enough that I could sleep in it without even touching her. My gaze shifted back to the vampire. She was a lesbian’s wet dream. So why was I standing there, frozen in place? I didn’t want to climb into bed with her for that exact reason. What lesbian in her right mind would crawl into bed and impassively lie there?

  “I am not going to bite,” she said, opening her eyes so that I had the full attention of their silvery depths. There was a look in them that I hadn’t seen before. She had drawn her guard up. Her face was a blank and expressionless, but beyond the mask she projected was a wariness I could sense.

  In the beginning of any relationship or friendship there comes a time where one person silently expects something from the other. If that expectation is not met, it hurts one or the other, and cripples something between them. I suddenly knew that if I turned away from her, it would cripple something between us. If I was not willing to leave my comfort zone at least a little bit, it would stifle whatever was growing. It dawned on me how vulnerable a position she was placing herself in. She had been right that it took a great amount of trust to offer her bed to me. Once the sun rose, Lenorre would be incapable of protecting herself. It was that last thought that made my decision.

  On the opposite side there was a small amount of room between the bed and the wall. I crawled up into it, sliding my legs beneath the satin sheets. The sheets were cool against the warmth of my skin. I turned on my side, propping myself up with an elbow on the pillows so that I was able to look at her. She lowered herself, rolling onto her side so that she mimicked my position. A foot of space was between us. If she expected me to close the distance, she was wrong. I slid my arm under the pillow, turning over onto my left side. For several moments I gazed intently at the wall, until finally closing my eyes. It wasn’t until my head hit the pillow that I realized I was very tired, but my mind was racing.

  There was movement and I lifted enough to turn and look. That little bit of space had dwindled. I rolled back over. Another shudder went through the mattress. I looked again and Lenorre was lying on her back staring at the canopied ceiling. Her eyes flicked to me, and then back to the ceiling.

  Movement again. This time, I ignored it, keeping my eyes closed and trying to focus on going to sleep. It was difficult to do with a vampire in the same bed, especially one who kept making the bed move. I was almost asleep when I felt her arm curl around my waist, her hand resting limply against my stomach, as if she was afraid to move any more than she had.

  She withdrew her arm when I turned over to look at her. There were only a few inches between our bodies. She was close enough that I could smell the subtle scent of sandalwood mingling with another smell, something like cool night air, crisp and clean. My fingertips brushed her wrist as I took her hand and placed it on my hip. I inched forward, placing the line of my body against hers, and snaked my arm toward her back, resting it at the base of her spine.

  “Better?” I whispered, looking up into her pale eyes.

  Lenorre rolled over on her back, drawing me into the circle of her arm. The movement placed my head on her shoulder.

  “Better,” she said.

  I touched the front of her body with fingertips, trailing my nails lightly from the edge of her rib cage to the beginning of her hip. The material of the gown was slick against my skin.

  “Your heart isn’t beating,” I said, listening intently to the silence, interrupted only by the sounds of my breath and heartbeat.

  “The sun is near,” she said as if it explained everything.

  “Does it beat?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Her voice was a breathy whisper. “For you it might, Kassandra.”

  I tensed.

  She peeked through the veil of her lashes at me. “Romance makes you uncomfortable?”

  “A little.”

  “You should become accustomed to it,” she said.

  “Why?” I asked, trailing my nails lower, down the arched slope of her hip, across the smoothness of her thigh. Why did I feel the undeniable urge to touch her? I wanted to feel her nude body sliding against mine, slick with sweat. I shuddered at the image.

  “I can be very romantic.” This time, it was she who shuddered as my palm caressed her thigh.

  She caught my hand in hers, trapping it. “Do not tease me so close to sunrise.”

  “I’m not meaning to.” I moved my hand, sliding it behind her back, feeling her weight against me.

  “I know you do not mean to,” she whispered. “Such tender gestures are merely torturous so close to dawn.” Her eyes met mine and she swept aside a strand of hair from my face. “Most especially when one cannot follow through.”

  Her palm swept up my back, drawing me to her. I followed the movement until we were face to face. Her breath was warm against my mouth, smelling of crushed mint.

  “There are things I would do to you if there was but more time.” I closed my eyes at the promise in her words, at her breath tickling my lips. That pale hand swept across my thigh, threatening to slide under the material of my shorts.

  I heard the fear in her voice, barely tangible.

  “You’re afraid,” I whispered, sounding slightly surprised even to myself. I didn’t expect that dying at dawn would be enjoyable, but fear wasn’t something I expected from a vampire who had done it quite a few times in the last century.

  The hair fell around my face as I looked down at her. The smile she offered was wistful. “I am not so much afraid as I am displeased that it is not an enjoyable experience, no matter the time that passes.”

  The mask she wore faltered a little, allowing me to see the pain buried deep within her stony gaze.

  “Does it hurt?” I asked.

  Her words were faint. “Somewhat.”

  I watched as her jaw clenched, and I did the only thing I could think of to distract her from that pain. I cupped the side of her moonlit face in my hand and placed a chaste kiss upon her mouth. Her lips parted and she leaned forward off the bed, securing her mouth against mine. The sharpened points of her fangs glided threateningly over the tip of my tongue. Then her tongue found mine and she locked her mouth to mine, deepeni
ng the kiss.

  The taste of her mouth was like sweet wine and mint. I felt her mouth open wider and the kiss deepened. Nails dug into the base of my back, causing my spine to bow. Lenorre tore her mouth from mine. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. I held her body against mine, cradling her head in my hands until I felt a shuddering gasp pour across my skin. A chill of air burst through my body, leaving me breathless and trembling. Just as I could sense emotions, feel people to a particular depth, so too could I feel when Lenorre…left. Do vampires have souls? Whatever, I felt it when she died.

  Gently, I lowered her to the bed. The look on her face was the peacefulness and stillness that only the dead have. The fear stopped my heart for a moment, constricting around it like a python, making it hard to breathe. I curled against the cold and empty shell of her body. She was not lost. I would not cry. The breath I forced myself to take was like needles in my lungs. I nuzzled my face in the bend of her neck. By nightfall my Lenorre would return to me. It was a temporary death, and she would be reborn.

  …My Lenorre?

  *

  I woke to the dim lighting of the bedside lamp. Propping myself on my elbows, I looked out at the room. I’d heard something. I listened and another small beeping sound interrupted the silence. I went to my backpack. The zipper sounded like something being shredded in the silence of the room. I had a second to freeze and then shake my head at myself. Lenorre was a vampire. It was three in the afternoon, which meant she was dead to the world. I could probably kill a few people in the room and she wouldn’t wake up. I retrieved my cell to find that I had two missed calls and two new voicemails.

  The first one was June, asking in a very unhappy tone if I planned on showing up for work at all. If not, she said she was going to call Rit. The second voicemail was from Rit, stating that she was going to go into to the office for a few hours. She told me to give her a call whenever I got her message. I returned the phone call, informing her that I’d been out late helping the police.

  “You sound wiped,” she said.

  “I am,” I said. “I was out until nearly four this morning.”

  “I can’t believe they called you in that late.” Her tone was sympathetic. “June and I will get things taken care of here. You don’t have to worry about coming in.”

  “Thanks, Rit,” I said. “It’s greatly appreciated. I’m sorry I didn’t notify either of your earlier, but like I said, it was late when I got in this morning.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, “go get some rest.”

  “I’m planning on it,” I said. “Again, thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “All right. If you want I’ll still come in tomorrow? I need the extra hours, anyhow. Unless you have something you’re working on?”

  “No, that’s fine.” I stifled a yawn. “Right now I’m too busy working on this case to take on any new clients.”

  Rit understood. I shoved the cell into the front pocket of my backpack.

  The sheets had grown cool when I crawled back into bed. I stared up the ceiling. What if there wasn’t just one or two killers, but more? If I was looking directly at the Blackthorne pack for suspects, I was ruling out other possibilities. As an investigator, I couldn’t do that or I’d limit myself and up the chances of overlooking important clues. I had to keep my eyes open and try to look at all sides of the coin. Of course, seeing so many sides and possibilities can be very confusing. Which is where evidence comes into play, but what evidence did I really have? I didn’t have any metaphysical or physical evidence that told me that Carver and the wolf I’d confronted in Heartland Park were one and the same. I only had a vague description that seemed to fit the bill.

  What if Carver was working with someone else in attempt to take control of the established pack? Rosalin had said that most of the wolves fight and dominate their way to the top. If that was so, why didn’t he just challenge her and then challenge the alpha? Was Carver’s temper and control so horrible that he became a killer? Had he murdered by accident, or was it a power play that I couldn’t understand?

  I closed my eyes, as if it would help me to look inside myself and find the answer. What did I feel? What did I sense?

  Pack.

  Whether it was my thought or some divine whispering, I do not know. But I felt without a doubt that the murderer was someone in the pack.

  I curled myself around Lenorre’s cold body and prayed for guidance. I fell asleep with images of wolves alternating between sex and fighting, and the sense of foreboding deepening even further.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The bed moved violently. A loud gasping breath startled me awake. I woke disoriented, forgetting where I was and whose bed I was in. I looked at Lenorre. She was still on her back, like she hadn’t moved. Her eyes flew open and met mine. The look in them made my pulse leap into my throat.

  “Lenorre?” I asked softly, afraid to speak any louder.

  Her movements were slow as she started leaning toward me. Her gray eyes dropped from my face and to the pulse in my neck.

  “Oh, shit.” I scrambled off the side of the bed, trying to keep my eyes on her. “This wasn’t worth mentioning?” It was more to myself than the vampire.

  I was trapped between the bed and the wall. Smooth move, I thought. Lenorre was slowly creeping onto her hands and knees, like a cat about to pounce. My lips drew back in a snarl, a warning.

  Lenorre hissed at me and the expression turned her beautiful face into something terrifying. I snatched one of the pillows from the bed and held it like a shield. Her body met mine and I shoved that soft shield into her, trying to use my own strength to hold her at bay. When I realized that she was too strong and it wasn’t working, I slipped out from behind the pillow and ran into the open area of the room. The last place you want to be in the middle of a fight of any kind is trapped.

  She started crawling across the bed, painstakingly slowly, as if she was in no hurry to get to me. The weight of Lenorre’s personality wasn’t there in her eyes. Instead some predatory beast looked out at me. I knew that look—it was the look of a hunter stalking its prey. Only this time, I was the prey.

  Unexpectedly, she came for me. I jumped over the armchair, landing on my feet, but Lenorre was too fast, a blur of motion in my vision. The only thing I could do was try and use her own momentum against her. The sound of my elbows hitting her chest echoed through both of our bodies. I grabbed her shoulders, thrust my arms above my head, and sent her over me.

  I turned in time to see her catch herself, but her shoulder caught the painting on the wall. It fell with a loud clash. The glass shattered into a multitude of sharp fragments.

  I heard the bedroom door open before Rosalin said, “Kassandra!”

  “A little help!” I yelled.

  A blur of dark silk and I braced for the impact.

  Nothing happened.

  Rosalin was there, holding her wrist in front of the vampire’s face. Lenorre followed with that predatory look still in her eyes. Rosalin used herself as a distraction, taunting the vampire with the promise of blood. Lenorre’s lips parted.

  “No!” I yelled, but it was too late.

  The sound of skin tearing made me cringe in pain. Lenorre tore the artery in Rosalin’s wrist in a spray of bright blood. Rosalin had jerked her wrist back, and that had earned her worse injuries. Her eyes closed as she forced herself not to protect herself, and when she didn’t fight, when she made her body go completely still, Lenorre used the grip she had on Rosalin’s wrist to pull her in against her body. She brought the smaller woman’s wrist up to her mouth and sealed her lips over the wound.

  Rosalin whimpered and Lenorre held her trapped against her tall body. She drank, but this was not a gentle embrace. She was hunger-ridden, and any wound that spurted blood would suffice.

  The vampire opened her mouth wide and drove her fangs in again, as if trying to make a bigger wound for more blood.

  Rosalin’s pain-filled eyes pleaded with me. I couldn’t
just stand there. I walked back to the bed and grabbed the pillow. It was the only object in the room that I could think of using without causing any permanent damage. I didn’t want to kill Lenorre—I just wanted her to fucking snap out of it. Vampires, like werewolves, have only a few weaknesses. If it had been any other vampire I would’ve gone for my gun. But Lenorre wasn’t just any vampire.

  Cautiously, I stepped up a few feet behind Lenorre. Rosalin’s eyelashes fluttered, not in pleasure, but more like she was about to pass out. She saw me and tried to shake her head, tried to put her other arm out, as if to stop me.

  The vampire who had been holding her so tightly dropped her. A look of pure bliss crossed Lenorre’s profile. Blood dripped in a steady flow down her chin. I reared the pillow back and threw my whole body into it, hitting the vampire with a force that made her stumble. The anger fueled me, pumping through my veins, and this time, I full out charged. The wall shook when we slammed into it. I grabbed a handful of those beautiful dark locks and turned her to face me. I shoved my forearm against her throat. The anger had awakened my beast.

  “Kassandra.” Lenorre tried to talk over the pressure in her throat.

  I growled.

  The wolf threatened to spill out of my skin as my body shook with rage. The vampire had hurt another wolf, a wolf we had grown to know, a wolf we had been with, and that was unacceptable.

  “Kassandra,” she said again, but this time she didn’t wait for my response. She spun, and my arm was pulled up behind my back at a painful angle. My cheek met the wall. I tried to push off, to rebound off it, but Lenorre was tall enough that she used the line of her body to pin me.

  “Kassandra!” Her words cracked like a whip. “Get a hold of yourself!”

  Again, I tried to push off the wall, tried to throw the vampire off me. The wolf didn’t like being trapped. Panic made my pulse race, made me fight against her hold. Lenorre’s fangs sank into the back of my neck.

  The pain arched my spine, caused my hands to spasm against the wall. She growled over the mouthful of skin at the back of my neck. It wasn’t the growl of the wolf, but it was a gesture that we understood.