Desire Unchained

Chapter 11

Wraith turned out to be pretty good company. He’d kicked Kynan’s ass in a couple of video games and had entertained himself by going through Kynan’s movie collection and making fun of it, but mainly, he just kept quiet while Kynan drank himself into a stupor.

Six beers and six shots of whiskey later, Kynan wasn’t nearly drunk enough. He glanced over at the demon, who was sitting in the leather recliner next to the couch, throwing potato chips at David Letterman.

“You’re getting grease all over my TV screen,” he said.

Wraith snorted and fell back in the chair, legs spread, black button-down BDU shirt gaping open. His clothes had been ruined during the battle with the African rebels, so he’d borrowed one of Shade’s paramedic uniforms to wear since he refused to wear scrubs—“damned pajamas,” as he called them. He sighed, ran a hand over his muscular chest.

Christ, Kynan had never seen anyone as well-toned and built as Wraith. It was as though the demon spent twenty-three hours of the day working out. And it wasn’t bulky muscle gained from countless reps with heavy weights—it was the functional stuff, the sinewy, ropey kind that saw regular use and not just from workouts.

Lori had rubbed against that chest, had used her face like a cat marking its territory. Her hands had smoothed up and down Wraith’s body in intimate familiarity.

Seemed like yesterday, but it had been a year ago that Kynan had seen Wraith with his fangs buried in Lori’s throat and his hands working her pants’ zipper. Wraith had always denied sleeping with her, but the sight of them together had stuck with Kynan to this day.

“Human? I can smell your aggression. What’s up?”

“Tell me again that you didn’t sleep with Lori.”

“Shit, are we back to that again? I don’t bang humans. Want me to make a tape recording so you can play it over and over?”

“Why don’t you sleep with humans? Most vampires love them.”

“I have a pulse. I’m not like most vampires.” Wraith leaned forward, braced his forearms on his knees. “I’ve got the thing with your wife figured out, though, if you can dig yourself out of the pity well for a second.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Ouch,” Wraith drawled. “Hurt me.”

“Fine. What do you have figured out?”

“It was Roag. He’s the one who messed with your wife’s head, probably for months.”

“How?”

“He can shapeshift. After he recovered from the fire at Brimstone, he probably used my form for his black market dealings to frame me so I’d take the heat. That’s why that night at the zoo, when you saw me with her, she thought she knew me.” Wraith shoved his hair away from his face. “Thing is, I don’t think he actually had sex with her.”

“You aren’t making any sense.” Kynan eyed the whiskey bottle. “Or maybe that’s because I’m half lit. I saw her rubbing all over you. It was pretty obvious she’d screwed you—or Roag, if that’s who she thought you were.”

“Okay, listen. From what Shade said, Roag got toasted like a burnt marshmallow. He would have been nearly destroyed, right down to his junk. I’m betting he can’t have sex no matter how badly he wants it.” Wraith grinned. “Which is really fucking funny.”

“You’re sick. And how is he still alive if he can’t have sex? You need it to survive, right?”

“If his testicles got barbecued off, he wouldn’t need sex anymore.”

“So why would Lori think she had sex with him?”

“Because he has the same gift I have. He could have made her believe it.”

“Not buying it.” Guardians had defenses against attacks on the mind, and besides, making memories like that would have left some sort of doubt, some sort of lingering feeling that something wasn’t right.

Suddenly, Kynan was flat on his back in his bedroom, hands tangled in the sheets, and Gem was riding him. Her soft skin glistened with perspiration, and her strong thighs held him prisoner in their grip. Pleasure shot through him, sharp and searing. Gem’s moans vibrated all the way to his balls, which tightened, ready to spill.

This was wrong, all wrong. He knew he wasn’t here with her, knew that somehow Wraith was doing this, but he couldn’t escape. Wasn’t sure he wanted to. Especially not when she did that thing with her lip, rolling it between her teeth as she threw back her head.

Light flashed in his eyes, and he was on the couch again, fully clothed, panting, a raging erection straining at his button-fly.

“Believe me now? And I wasn’t that deep into your head. If I’d gone deeper, you wouldn’t be aware that I was doing it. You’d buy it all as if it really happened.”

Jesus. Kynan scrubbed his face with a trembling hand. “That’s what Roag did to Lori?” And why the hell had Wraith used Gem in that fucked-up little fantasy, anyway?

“I’d bet my life on it.”

Kynan shifted to make more room in his jeans. “Then why …”

“Why did I bite her? Try to get into her pants?”

Nausea rolled through him at the memory. “Yeah,” he rasped.

“She was all over me, Ky. I’d been fighting and was half-crazed with bloodlust. I didn’t want to, but I wasn’t thinking straight, and I needed to feed. And unfortunately, since I’m an incubus, feeding and fucking go together when I’m with a female.”

Great. Whatever. He needed a break from all of this, and he had to take a leak. He stumbled to the bathroom, and when he came out, Wraith was standing near the door.

“This was a riot, but I’m outta here, human. I need to get back to hunting Roag, and I need to feed.”

I needed to feed. It was what Wraith had said about Lori. He’d bitten her, sunk his huge-ass fangs into her graceful, creamy throat. Her head had lolled back as though she were in utter ecstasy.

Dammit. Kynan sank to the couch and in a fit of childish, drunken rage, he swept his hand across the coffee table, sending the empty bottles and bags of chips flying. When the last beer bottle stopped rolling, clunked up against the TV stand, he flopped back onto the cushion and threw his feet onto the now empty table.

This was so screwed up. He knew better than to drink, because his thoughts always detoured to Lori. Sometimes he remembered the good times, the entire days they’d spend in bed, making love and talking about the future, vacations they wanted to take, the kids they wanted to have. Other times he’d think about seeing her in Wraith’s arms, his fangs buried deep in her throat.

What had it been like for her? Had she been afraid for her life, or had she enjoyed it? Had she been waiting for Kynan to save her, or would she have let Wraith take her right there in front of him?

He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs and hope Lori heard him, wherever she was. She’d left him with so many questions and so much anger, and he wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t recognize that he needed help to get out of the quicksand of despair that was sucking him down slowly.

“Wraith,” Kynan blurted, “bite me.” Okay, maybe he really was drunk.

Wraith paused as he reached for the door handle. “Come on, Ky. I expect a better comeback from you.”

“It’s not a comeback. I want you to feed from me.” I’ll take Things You Never Thought You’d Say for a hundred, Alex.

One tawny eyebrow shot up. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough to affect my judgment.” That was a totally drunk thing to say.

Wraith snorted. “I don’t care about your judgment. I’m wondering ’cause I get a righteous high from the alcohol in the blood.”

“Do you ever have any thoughts that don’t revolve around you?”

Wraith appeared to consider that for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Nope.”

Which wasn’t true, because the demon definitely cared about his brothers, no matter how vehemently he denied it.

“Just do it.”

Wraith stepped away from the door, his eyes narrowed as if he expected Kynan to spring a trap. “Why do you want this?”

“I’m curious.”

“Bullshit. You’ve hunted my kind for years, and now you want to let one suck you dry? And why me? Why not find some hot female vamp for a nice fuck and suck special?”

“I don’t trust anyone else.”

“You shouldn’t trust me,” Wraith growled.

“I don’t. But I know you won’t kill me. The hospital means too much to you, and I’m a damned good doctor you can’t afford to lose.”

“You’re a fool if you think anyone or anything means anything to me.”

“Whatever.” Kynan crossed his feet at the ankles. “You going to bite me or what?”

“Not until you tell me why.”

“I’m giving you a free shot at my blood and you’re playing hard to get? What kind of vampire are you?” When Wraith just stood there, Kynan rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. My blood’s eighty proof. You want it. You know you do.”

Wraith’s eyes sort of glazed over, because, yeah, he wanted it. But the damned demon wouldn’t be deterred. “Tell me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not my type.”

Ky sighed. “I hear you don’t usually feed from females.”

“Female humans. Demon females and male humans are on the menu.”

“Why male humans, but not females?”

“Because men don’t give me wood.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Only if I plan to feed from you. Which I don’t. Unless you tell me why.”

“Because I want to know what my wife felt when you bit her, dammit!” Kynan roared, surprising himself at the ferocity and suddenness of his anger.

Wraith turned away. “I didn’t want to,” he muttered. “I swear.”

Kynan slapped his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. Shit, he was tired. “I know.”

He heard a rustling, the creak of the chair cushion next to him. Wraith’s hand closed on his forearm and brought it to lie, palm up, on the armrest. Ky’s heart began to pound hard in his chest. He didn’t look. Couldn’t. Then came the pain as Wraith’s daggerlike fangs sank into his wrist. A second later, warmth washed over him. Tingles spread through his muscles and nervous system.

God, this felt good.

He slid Wraith a glance. “This isn’t like, vampire gay, is it?”

Wraith snorted and shot him the finger.

Vampires were freaking strange. But he was starting to see why some humans willingly allowed vamps to feed from them. The high was powerful, and probably addictive.

He could imagine how it would feel to have a female doing this. At his throat, pressed up against him, lying on top of him or under him. His body began to stir as Gem became the female crushed beneath him, her teeth latched on to his throat—except she wasn’t a vampire, so the whole idea was ridiculous.

A stream of sensation shot up his arm when Wraith took a particularly strong pull, and damn him for putting the Gem scene in his head earlier, because now he couldn’t get it out of his head. It had been so real it felt like a memory instead of a fantasy.

He could still hear her whispering sexy, naughty things in his ear. The sound of her voice took him deeper into relaxation, lulling him more than the alcohol ever could.

“What. The. Hell?” Gem’s voice drifted to him, crisp and clear.

He peeled open his eyes just enough to see her standing in the living room, arms crossed over her breasts, which were pushed up into two plump mounds by the midnight-blue corset she wore. If she turned around, he’d bet her skirt would barely cover her ass. Her chunky, high-heeled boots came up over her knees, leaving only her thighs touchably bare.

She’d braided her hair into two ponytails, put on a spiked leather dog collar and black lipstick, and she looked like she was ready to party. Why that thought sent a stab of jealousy through him, he had no idea.

Then again, he was sitting on his couch, drunk, with a vampire latched on to his wrist. Clearly, he was fucked in the head.

Holy shit, Gem thought. This was … unexpected. Kynan was sprawled on the couch, legs spread, left arm propped on the armrest. Next to him, kneeling on the floor, was Wraith, his mouth firmly attached to Ky’s wrist. When he looked up, his eyes glinted with mischief.

“And I repeat, what the hell? What is going on here?”

Kynan gazed at her with slumberous eyes that made her body flood with heat. “What’s it look like?”

She glared at Wraith. “Looks like someone was too lazy to order a pizza delivery guy for dinner.”

Wraith disengaged his hold and smacked his lips. “This is better. Home cooking.” He held her gaze as he licked the punctures in Kynan’s wrist to seal them. Slowly. Sensually. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

Wraith knew. Knew she wanted Kynan, was toying with her because he was aware of the fact that she wanted to be the one licking the human. And when his nostrils flared, she knew he could smell her arousal.

“Why are you here?” Ky’s voice was husky, lazy, as if he’d just woken up. He’d have a great morning voice.

“Wraith called me.”

Ky shot Wraith a you’re-going-to-get-it look, but Wraith just shrugged and leaped nimbly to his feet. “What? I called while you were in the bathroom. Didn’t think you should be alone. And I gotta go. I need more than the measly pint you gave up.” He headed for the door. “Later.”

Throwing his head back to look at the ceiling fan as it spun in slow circles, Kynan heaved a sigh. “Shit.”

“Shit, is right. What were you thinking? You didn’t do something dumb, like ask him to turn you into a vampire or something, right?”

“I might be guilty of poor judgment, but I’m not stupid or suicidal.”

“Well, don’t get stupid or suicidal, because I don’t think Wraith can turn anyone. He’s not technically undead.”

Kynan threw his arm over his eyes. “Ever think about that, Gem? You know, wonder what kind of person would trust a vampire enough to drain them to the point of death? I mean, what’s to stop a vamp from just leaving them for dead instead of giving them the exchange of the vamp’s own blood?”

“I’m sure that happens.” She looked into his kitchen, which was basically a cove in the corner of his living room. “I’ll get you something to drink. You need to hydrate. And a little tip? Next time you decide to donate blood, give to the Red Cross.”

He said nothing as she searched his fridge, came up with Gatorade, and poured a glass. When she returned to him, he was in the same position, eyes closed, though he’d dropped his arm. She planted one knee on the cushion next to him, lifted his head, and put the glass to his lips.

He emptied half the glass before opening his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Well, you couldn’t very well hydrate on beer,” she said, eyeing the bottles scattered on the end table and floor.

His smile was lopsided as he tugged on one of her braids. Her pulse jumped wildly. “You ever get drunk, Gem? Ever lose yourself in a bottle and hope to drown?”

Abruptly, she became aware of the heat of his outer thigh against her knee, the stroke of his fingers over the braid, the hot fan of his breath across her cheek. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

“You get sick?”

“Yes,” she lied, because she couldn’t tell him the truth. Not now, when he seemed to have forgotten what she was.

Which was a demon of the Fifth Tier, the last, worst level on the Ufelskala, a scoring system for evil. If the demons of her species were tornadoes, they’d be F5s.

That she was only half demon made little difference to her, or to Kynan. She did what she could to contain her Soulshredder half, which included having ensorcelled restraining tattoos inked around her ankles, wrists, and neck. She also avoided alcohol. Drinking reduced her ability to control the demon within.

She’d learned that the hard way, when she’d gotten drunk at a frat party during med school. Something minor had sent her into a rage. Fortunately, she’d recognized the sensation that felt like claws scraping the inside of her skin, and she’d raced for the nearest Harrowgate. Somehow she’d ended up at UG, where Reaver had sedated her until the buzz wore off.

The fallen angel had prevented what would have been a bloody rampage.

Kynan’s knuckles brushed her throat, and at her quick intake of breath, his hand stilled. She searched his face, saw a range of emotions playing out like a movie in fast-forward. Sadness. Fear. Arousal.

Confusion.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered.

It was the alcohol talking, but she didn’t care. For nearly a year he’d viewed her only as a colleague on a good day, as a demon on the rest. Right now he saw her as a woman, and it didn’t matter that he was looking at her through beer bottle glasses.

Slowly, so as not to startle him or snuff the sexual spark arcing between them, she set down the drink. She lifted her hand to his face, marveling at how his cheek felt hot against her cold palm. He stared at her, and when she swiped her thumb across his full lower lip, his mouth opened, just a little. God, she wanted to kiss him. Instead, she kept stroking. Lightly. Gently.

His hand rested on her hip, nudging her closer. Nerves made her tremble as she leaned in, her gaze fixed on his mouth. He tipped his face up to hers. The hand that had been playing with her braid cupped the back of her head and pulled her down.

Their lips met. Hesitantly at first. His were firm, unyielding, and then, as though a dam had broken, he ravaged her. She gasped into his mouth, a sound of surprise and relief. Thank you, God.

He dropped both hands to her skirt and roughly hiked it up. A sweet, pinching ache began to pulse between her legs as he dragged her onto his lap so she was straddling him. She clutched his shoulders for balance, the rock-hard muscles not giving at all under her fingers.

As her core came in contact with the rigid length straining at the fly of his jeans, she went utterly wet. With a groan, he arched into her, using his grip on her hips to hold her against him.

Still he kissed her, his tongue alternately sweeping her lips and thrusting deep to mate with her tongue. Need consumed her, and she found herself rocking in his lap, rubbing her sex against his, the thin layer of her silk panties creating a delicious, hot friction.

This was a dream. It had to be. She was kissing the man who starred in all her fantasies, was on the verge of orgasm, and they hadn’t even removed any clothing. She wanted to reach between their bodies and release his shaft from its denim prison, but she was terrified to do anything that might make him change his mind.

His lips burned a path along her jaw and down her neck. “Gem,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of her throat. “God, you’re so warm.”

She shuddered with delight at his words, at the way his tongue was a hot, languid caress down her jugular. Sensation raced in a circuit from where his tongue flicked over her throat to every point of contact.

A low moan dredged up from deep in his chest, the vibration buzzing through his entire body and into hers. Sharp, panting breaths marked the beginning of a new, frenzied rhythm of thrusts between her legs. A sheen of sweat broke out on her skin. Her thighs quivered and her breasts tightened and a powerful implosion took her apart from the outside in.

Crying out, she clung to Kynan with her hands as he ground against her. He hissed through clenched teeth, his big body jerking as his release took him. The orgasm had stolen coherent thought but not her vision, and as she watched him come, she thought she’d never seen anything so beautiful.

He bucked a final time, and as their breathing slowed and the hormones settled, her heart sang. God, he was perfect. A man made for sex.

“Ah, fuck,” he groaned. “Gem … shit. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” She smiled and drew a finger down his T-shirted chest. “The only thing you should be sorry about is that we’re still clothed.”

He averted his gaze, his expression tight, and she became aware of a new tension between them when all tension should have dissipated. Darkness fell over his face like nightfall, and he shoved her off his lap and stumbled to his feet. She opened herself up to what Tayla called her “demon vision” and gasped.

Kynan’s emotional scars ran deep, but they’d been knitting together over the last couple of months. Now, centered over his heart like glowing, bleeding fissures, they looked as fresh as the day he’d received them, the day he’d found Lori in the arms of someone else.

“Kynan? What’s wrong?”

He hooked his thumbs in his jeans’ pockets and looked at the ceiling. “You’d better go.”

“We should talk—”

“Please, Gem.” His shoulders rose and fell. “I’m drunk, exhausted, and a pint low on blood. I need to be alone.”

Awkwardly, she stood and tugged her skirt down, for the first time wishing it was a lot longer. “If you need anything …”

“I’ll call.”

She cast a glance over her shoulder as she left, knowing damned good and well that her phone was not going to ring.

He was taking a chance, hanging out in the hospital. Before he “died,” Roag had hung out here because of the endless supply of nurses to screw, but he’d always hated this place, had never understood why his brothers had built it. Who gave a flying fuck about patching up demons? Taking them apart was a lot more fun.

But his Ghouls had been unsuccessful in finding someone who would spy for him, and he didn’t have time to get one of his minions on staff. Revenge had taken far too long as it was, and now that Sheryen had been reanimated, he had only days to find Runa before Sher’s zombielike body gave out. He needed Runa’s blood, and he needed it now.

Wearing the form of a common Slogthu, he was practically invisible to the staff as he kept to the shadows, pretending to be visiting a patient. He wasn’t worried about his brothers’ discovering him—Eidolon didn’t work nights, Wraith spent his nights carousing, and Shade would be dealing with his warg bitch.

Still, a few staff members possessed the ability to see through alteration magic. Not that they’d recognize him, since he resembled a charcoal briquette more than his former self, but any demon masquerading as another would arouse suspicion.

So he watched. Watched for the perfect victim for the next phase in his plan. He wanted to strike his brothers where it hurt—the hospital and its staff. Once his brothers were rattled, they’d make mistakes.

A female Sora—Ciska, according to her name tag—sauntered past, toward the Harrowgate, her red skin smelling faintly of Wraith. Roag’s hackles rose. Too many of the females in this place smelled like his little brother, who was living the life Roag should be living, screwing females without a care in the world.

He’d start having a care. Right now. Because the Sora didn’t know it, but she was about to become his next victim.

He took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with Wraith’s scent and comforting himself with the fact that this would be the last time she smelled of his brother. Because in a few minutes, she was going to smell of nothing but her own terror.