Crave the Night (23 page)

Faeries were big into the organic and
natural stuff. But seriously? What
was
tofu? It didn’t resemble anything natural
he had seen, unless it was something he'd peeled off the bottom of
his boot after a hike through the woods.

The sudden snap of pain across his back
plunged Rev forward. He caught himself against the top of the
fridge. Reaching inside his coat, he palmed the SIG Sauer he
carried, loaded with silver bullets, and swung about. Arm out
straight, he aimed at the offender’s head.

A broom handle rallied for another fierce
strike. “Who the hell are you? And what the bloody stones are you
doing in my home?”

Angling the pistol so the barrel did not
block view of his attacker's face, Rev choked back a swallow.
“Sabrina?” Sight of her averted his attention from his tense
muscles to the sudden tightness in his heart.

Broom handle swinging for another strike,
she lifted it high. It was enough to grant her view of his face.
“Rev? What are you doing in my fridge?”

“
Certainly not eating the tofu.” He
dropped the gun to his side and put up a palm. “Put the weapon
down, please. We need to talk.”

“
Talk? You broke into my home.” She
swung the broom handle around, tipping his chin up. “How did you
find me?
Why
did you find
me?”

“
You look great, Bree.” He lifted his
hands near his shoulders to show compliance. “I’m not here to harm
you. Gun’s put on safety. I just want to talk.”

“
We have nothing to talk about. What
happened was half a year ago. I don’t think about you much— I
thought we were even?”

“
We were. We are. You saved my life, I
saved yours.”

“
Right, so that means you’ll be
leaving, and I’ll be shopping for a new door.”

“
I’ll pay for a
replacement.”

No longer patient, he gripped the broom
handle and wrenched it from Bree’s grip. He tossed it over the
counter to land on the floor with a clatter. She backed against the
counter. Those wide violet eyes looked as fearful as they had in
the warehouse months earlier. And just as enticing.

Often, when floating in an ichor haze,
he'd fallen into her arms. Soft, sexy, and smelling like a meadow,
she'd always catch him, and kiss him, and that word she'd
muttered,
intended
, repeated
over and over. He could never stop guessing what it had meant.
Intended for what? For her? Him?

“
You’ve been informing on the wolves,”
he said. “I’ve taken over Fernando Degas’s case. You’ll be working
with me now.”

“
I don’t work for anyone. And I told
Degas I hadn’t more info to give.” She lifted her chin. Wary. “Put
the gun on the counter where I can see it.”

“
No. A man never leaves his weapon out
in the open for anyone to claim. Listen, Bree, this is important. I
know the wolves must have got to you. If they’ve threatened you in
any way—"

“
That’s not it.” She swung out of the
kitchen and paced to the center of the flat. “Just leave, Rev. It’s
not good you’re here. With me.” She turned to him, a delicate brow
lifting. “Is it?”

He sensed the worry in her tone, and knew
what she was thinking. The last time they’d seen one another, she
had allowed him to drink her ichor. She'd been worried he'd become
addicted—for good reason.

“
I’m clean, Bree.” He cautiously
approached. “No longer a dust freak.”

“
But you were?” She stepped away, arms
wrapping protectively across her chest. “After we
parted?”

He didn’t want to get into this. Talking
about it dredged the dark emotions and desperation to the
surface.

“
You want to know something?” He dared
to broach the distance between them. She smelled as he had dreamed,
as sweet as a sun-drenched meadow. What he wouldn’t give to stand
in a meadow under full sunlight now. The UV sickness had made his
eyes ultra-sensitive to sun. “Not a day has passed since that night
that I haven’t thought about you.”

Her inhale cautioned him. Rev did not touch
her. He wanted to. To reignite the sensation of tenderness contact
with her had given him.

“
I’ve thought of you, too,” she said
in the softest tone.

“
You have?”

“
Just wondering if you were okay. You
know.” She rubbed an arm nervously. “You are okay? You look much
better. Not…”

“
Crazed?”

“
Healthier. Calm. Still…so handsome.
Oh, I think you should go. Please. I can’t do this. Not right now.
You’re the last person I expected to see again. Much as I wanted to
see you…”

She was distraught. He’d get nowhere by
forcing information from her. And since he did know her, and had a
sort of connection to her, Rev decided he would play this one
carefully, gain back her trust, to finally get the information he
needed.

“
Can we get together?” he tossed out
to test her resistance. “Tomorrow night. Just to chat. I won’t
bring up business. I want to get to know you better. To talk to the
woman who has been on my mind for half a year.”

“
Do you think that’s wise?”

Still thinking she might enchant him against
his will. Which she could do—but only if he dropped his guard and
tasted her ichor. “Very wise. Just friends, yes? How about Shadows
down the street?”

“
The restaurant on top of the
building?”

“
Yes, dinner under the moonlight.
Safest place to be when the werewolves are out prowling the
countryside, far from the busyness of the city.”

She shrugged. “I could do that. Tomorrow
night.” She extended a hand. “Just friends.”

Rev stared at her waiting hand. A
peace offering between two who must never again touch. A
first
hello, how do you do
,
between two who had already shared so much. And a deadly invitation
to a brush with enchantment he could no longer risk.

“
Tomorrow,” he said, and shoved his
hand in a pocket to avoid further contact.

Sabrina skipped up the stairs to the rooftop
of Shadows. Club music from the dance floor on the lower level
thumped in her veins, yet despite an innate urge to groove, she had
no desire to dance. Her thoughts were erratic. Cautious.

Rev hadn’t shaken her hand last evening.
That meant he was leery.

A vampire couldn’t become enchanted—and thus
addicted—to faery dust unless he actually drank the faery’s ichor.
Merely touching the faery, which sometimes resulted in rubbing
faery dust onto the skin, would do little harm.

Yet if a dust freak were to get dust on his
skin it would be like mainlining ichor directly through his pores.
A small high, but a high all the same.

Was Rev in denial about his addiction? Why
would he risk approaching her if he were? The dude had to be some
kind of devoted to his job to do so. Unless he was merely angling
for a means to get close to her—and her ichor—by using the job as a
front.

Bree discarded the notion. Though she barely
knew Rev, she trusted him. He could have killed her at the
warehouse, or taken her with him and enslaved her for the dust. He
had been honorable at a moment when he had struggled to stay
sane.

Besides, he was her Intended. She'd
confirmed with her aunt in Faery the sudden pulsing in her heart
and being unable to control her wings unfurling. Her sidhe soul had
recognized her destined mate.

The universe was definitely playing a joke
on her. Try as she might, she'd not been able to come up with a
time when she'd put out negative karma, and thus, deserved the
karmic backhand of a vampire as her Intended.

But it didn't pay to lament the issue. Now
she had to figure if it was worth pursuing. To win her mate, they
must bond sexually. But how to do that when her dust drove him mad?
And did she really want to bond with a vampire?

She couldn’t deny he was one sexy vampire.
The hurt glossing Rev's dark eyes had been more attractive than
warning. And what a sensual mouth. If she didn’t recall his lips
sucking at her vein, she could entirely go there with the fantasy
of kissing him. Besides, fangs didn’t bother her. They were an
added thrill when making out.

Rev had already claimed a table near the
rooftop corner. The view was spectacular, looking across the west
side of St. Paul and Lake Harriet. Stars pinpricked the sky and a
dazzling moon stamped the black sky.

As she approached, Bree extended a hand to
Rev, but slid it down her hip before he could consider the offer.
She wouldn’t force him to make contact. That would be cruel.

“
I took the liberty of ordering mead,”
he said. “I know it's all the rage with your kind.”

“
It is.” She sipped the sweet drink a
few in-the-know local restaurants stocked for their paranormal
clientele. “This stuff is awesome. You try it?”

“
Not bad.” He tilted his goblet to
hers. “You look gorgeous, Bree.”

She smoothed a hand over her short green
dress, the floaty silk kissing her bare skin sensuously. Everything
she owned was risqué due to her former profession as a stripper,
and her love for fun and sexy. But she'd vacillated tonight before
leaving her apartment: to show some skin, or run out and buy a
jacket that covered everything?

“
I’m glad you came. Wasn’t sure you
would.”

“
Let’s skip the small talk and get
straight to confession time,” Bree dared. “I’ve spent a lot of time
thinking about the vampire who, even in his weakest and most dire
time, was kind and honorable toward me. You’ve been on my
mind.”

Though she wouldn't bring up the part about
him being her Intended. Wasn't necessary when they both knew so
little about one another.

“
As you’ve been in my
thoughts.”

She set the goblet on the table and leaned
forward. “Why are we really here, Rev? Please be truthful. Are you
looking for a hit?”

He gripped her hand so quickly she knocked
the silverware in a clatter. “No.” Then, realizing he’d touched
her, he retracted and she noticed he slyly wiped his hand along his
pants leg. “Sorry. I’m not an addict, Bree. Trust me.”

“
But you said you were?”

He rolled his head on his neck, easing at
the tension she could sense without looking for it. His aura reeked
of unease. She wanted everything to be right for him because her
heart ached to see him like this.

So long as her wings stayed concealed
tonight, she felt safe. Them popping out in the warehouse had been
a visceral reaction to seeing her Intended for the first time.

“
Truth?” He leaned forward, resting
his elbows on the table. He touched her hands, and she turned them
upward to clasp within his. It always surprised her vampires were
warm and not cold. They weren’t dead, but popular literature tended
to distort the truth. “Yes, I can touch you,” he said to her
wondering gaze. “But not for too long.”

He lifted her hands and kissed the
backs of them. The second kiss he lingered at, and Bree wondered
how safe she really was. Rather, how safe
he
was. She did not fear the desire he aroused
in her. Goddess, but she craved intimacy from him.

“
I was a dust freak for three months,”
he said, setting her hands on the table. "The moment after I left
you following our escape I began the search for dust. I succumbed
immediately and fell hard and deep.”

“
I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “I never believed it could
happen so quickly or be so devastating. I secluded myself from the
world, alone with a constant supply of dust.”

“
Live?”

The addict could obtain the dust directly
from the vein, via ichor, or from dust dealers, who extracted faery
ichor—usually without the faery’s permission—and sold it like crack
cocaine in small vials to either be snorted or injected.

“
Both,” he said. “Though initially I
preferred live for the skin on skin contact. Enhances the high.
Eventually it didn’t matter. I just needed the fix.” He looked
aside, his gaze fleeing hers. “I didn’t come here to confess like
that. I don’t know why I just did.”

“
Maybe you feel a connection to me.
Thank you.” She reached across the table, but he did not move
toward her. “For the truth. I needed that. But you’re clean
now?”

“
For three months. But it is a daily
battle to stay sober. I never expected the informant would be you.
If I had known…”

“
Would you have turned down the
assignment?”

“
No. I wanted to see you again, Bree.
Those eyes of yours. So trusting. And yes, I do feel a connection
to you, though it baffles me why I should from one bite. I needed
to know you were all right.”

“
I’m fine. A little bite never hurt
me.”

Dinner was served and Bree picked at her
fruit plate. She was more fascinated with Rev and he answered her
questions freely while he ignored the salad he’d ordered for
show.

Revin Parker had been vampire for only
twenty years, which made him a youngster amongst his breed. He’d
been a science teacher at a Minneapolis school for two years when
he’d been bitten and forced to alter his mortal dreams and desires.
Now he was a member of tribe Nava, unbaptized and not fearful of
holy objects, yet he did have a healthy respect for faery dust. He
could fall into enchantment in an instant.