Moonlight and Diamonds & The Vampire's Fall (10 page)

But right now, he wanted to stay on the scent. He had an opportunity to prove himself to Rhys Hawkes, and he wouldn't let that go. Because he liked working for the man, and even if he did plan to leave Paris soon, he always did a job 100 percent. He had been the one to bring in the scepter; he felt responsible for its loss.

“Left,” he decided, picking up the scent.

Blyss's heels clicked quickly behind him.

“We're nearing the Pigalle,” she commented.

“Pig alley?”

“It's the red-light district. At night it attracts tourists and prostitutes. The streets are lined with sex shops and assorted dives.”

“Sounds like my brother Trouble's kind of place.” He clasped her hand and they crossed a double-wide street, pausing on the middle intersection to wait for the light. The air was scented with motor oil, some kind of summery flower that blossomed on the nearby trees, and human musk and salt. The faintest tendril of sulfur wavered in and out of his senses. “This way.”

“Oh my goddess.”

“What?” he asked. The scent lured him toward the black metal doors of a nightclub.

“This is Club l'Enfer. Are you sure you've been on the scent? This place is always occupied by demons. You could have picked up anything.”

“Let's go inside and find out.” He pushed the door open to expose a black maw and the distant sound of drumbeats. “Ladies first.”

Blyss remained on the sidewalk. This was not her scene. She avoided contact with paranormals, and this club was all about the paranormals. Had she never gone to the wedding last night, would she have protected Stryke and his family from this problem? Probably.

“Too scary for you?” he asked with a challenge to his voice.

“This club is generally filled with demons and vampires. I'm not sure werewolves go in there. At least, not often. Maybe I should wait outside?”

He pulled her to him and held her against his body. It was the first time today that he'd taken a moment to hold her. And it felt wonderful. As if only they two existed in the world. And all the bad stuff that had crashed around her shoulders did not exist. He was still wearing last night's shirt spattered with blood and his face was bruised. Yet when he kissed her, she sighed. It was a sweet, quick kiss, but it stole something from her.

And she wasn't sure she wanted that something back.

“I'll hold your hand. It's day. I'm sure it's not rowdy until later, eh?”

She nodded. He clasped her hand. “I won't let anything hurt you.”

She wasn't afraid of getting hurt. She'd already been hurt. What Blyss was afraid of was facing the truth that lurked within the darkness.

They strolled inside. Immediately a broad-shouldered bouncer stepped before them. Red eyes glowed as he looked over Stryke, sniffing and then nodding as if he approved. “But what is she?” The bouncer thumbed a thick digit at her.

“Werewolf,” Stryke said. “Promise.”

Casting a wary summation over her, the demon finally stepped aside and muttered, “Not much going on right now.”

They wandered into the din, which was no brighter than the insides of a coffin, Blyss decided. The walls, floor and ceilings were black. The dance floor flashed like red flames set on a low burner. A few people swayed to some recorded heavy-metal music. A few of the dozens of tables held lonely souls before them. Caught in a daze as they stared into their drinks.

It could be any bar that catered to humans. Her kind. But Blyss didn't do bars. Period. She hated the feeling of utter desolation that enveloped when wandering among the drunk and weary-eyed patrons.

A shiver traced her system. She clutched Stryke's hand.

“You still have the scent?” she asked as he scanned across the balcony and over the empty stage.

“No, I've lost it. But whoever stole from the safe at Hawkes Associates came here. I can feel it. I wonder if we can get through that door over there. Might lead backstage.”

He walked around the dance floor and she dutifully followed. Every so often her shoes stuck to the sticky floor, and she winced. This was abhorrent, and it smelled awful. Not so much like demons but like smoke and sex and all the nasty body odors of creatures she'd rather not consider.

If she never recouped her losses, would she someday find herself in such a low and desolate place?

Before Stryke got to the back door, the bouncer once again stood before them. “What are you looking for, buddy?”

“Uh, was tracking a friend. I have his scent.” He tapped his nose. “I'm worried about him. Didn't come home last night.”

“There's no one back there. I think it's time for you and your pet to leave.”

Blyss bristled at the term. The demon did not believe she was wolf and probably assumed she was Stryke's human pet. Ugh. Well, that was as it should be if her world was moving along the trajectory she had planned for it. Not the pet part. Normally she wouldn't be caught dead hanging around a werewolf.

But oh, she couldn't step away from Stryke. Not now. He'd gotten under her carefully applied veneer. And she liked the feeling of him so close to her. Everything about the feeling was wrong. Unless she could make it right. And the only way to do that was to come completely clean to him.

“Let's go.” She grabbed Stryke's hand. “I need to tell you everything.”

He turned a surprised look on her.

“The scepter can wait,” she whispered. “Will you help me?”

“Help you?” His surprise turned to worry, and then he nodded and quickly escorted her outside.

“Let's take the Métro,” she suggested because there was a station right across the street. While she avoided the Métro more than she avoided paranormals, she just wanted to be home, where she felt safe, and with Stryke.

Chapter 10

T
hey entered the apartment in a tangle of kisses and groping hands and stumbling feet. Blyss wanted to be a part of Stryke, to feel him all over her. She couldn't deny the combustible attraction she felt when near him. Werewolf or not, she needed to know every part of this man.

“Thought we were going to talk?” he mumbled between kisses to her neck, the rise of her breasts, her collarbone. He slipped off her dress sleeve, his fingers tracing shiver-tickles down her arm.

“I need to know you first,” she said on a gasp. “A man. A wolf. I want to feel your strength, Stryke.”

“I don't know how this will change things,” he said as they stumbled into the bedroom and landed on the bed. “But you won't hear me protesting. Blyss, you're so hot and wanting. My greedy glamour girl. I like that.”

“Then give me everything you can,” she whispered as she unzipped and shrugged down her dress. He pulled it off her and tossed it to the floor. The silk would wrinkle; she didn't care. “Get undressed. Quickly!”

He still wore the bloodstained shirt, which was quickly relegated to the floor, followed by his dress trousers, shoes and boxers. That was one rental suit that would not receive a return on the deposit.

She gripped his erection and pulled him onto the bed. She wanted him inside her. She wrapped her body against his and he glided between her legs, entering her, thrusting briskly at first and then slower until they barely moved yet the world swirled around them.

His tongue teased at her nipple. A finger slicked her clit. They maintained the slow rhythm, but it was too much to contain. Release overwhelmed them both and Stryke's body stiffened above hers, his muscles tensing and then relaxing as she shivered into a delicious orgasm. She thought he growled—it was some kind of wolfish sound. And then he collapsed to her side, yet rolled over to kiss her on the shoulder.

“The only time I really know you are werewolf is when we have sex.” he said. “You get all hot and bothered and your true nature is revealed.”

“It's the only time I can recognize your wolf, as well.”

Blyss stared up through the overhead windows. The sky was bright. She felt terrific. Depleted and exhausted, yet also somehow...different. Complete? That a man could complete her was not a belief she subscribed to. Yet she felt somehow
right
lying beside Stryke. Even knowing he could sense her true nature.

And he smelled homey and warm, like sex and salt and everything she wanted to immerse herself in. The glide of their moistened skin against skin allowed her to gauge his strength. And the skim of the stubble on his jaw as he kissed down from her shoulder sent new shivers through her body that felt like joy.

For as little as she knew this man, she felt as if she could trust him. That, of all the people walking this world, this one would accept her.

The time had come to reveal all. Pray, he could accept her awful truth.

“All right.” She blew out a breath and brushed aside a curl of hair from her lashes. “This is my story. You may hate me after I've told you, so I am thankful that we've had one last moment together. It means a lot to me, this being comfortable with you. I've never felt like this with any other man. It's so special.”

He rolled to his side and propped up on an elbow, catching the side of his face against a palm. “I'm sure there's nothing you can say that will scare me out of your bed. Even demons haven't scared me away from you.”

She stroked his neck where the talon cuts had healed yet faint dark lines remained. He nuzzled his face against her hand. It would be so easy to curl up against him and make slow love right now. But she couldn't conceal anything from him anymore.

“You wanted to know how I got involved with Edamite Thrash. I sought him out after learning he might have the fix I needed for my life. It was about six years ago, right after I'd left Valoir.”

“You purposely left your pack? Banished?”

“No, I wasn't banished. My brother stood up for me, asking for a lesser punishment. I was expelled with the condition that I could return if I wished. And then, only if I accepted my wolf. I was honored they chose not to banish me.”

Banishment was forever and left the werewolf permanently scarred as a sign to others that he or she had been extricated from the pack, usually for a crime against their own or for committing a deed so foul none in the pack could condone it.

Blyss hadn't harmed anyone. Yet her deed could be considered foul by some. Who was she kidding? All in the pack had voted to expel her. Including her mother.

She inhaled a breath of bravery.

“Stryke, my deep, dark secret is that I hate being werewolf. It's nasty, messy and horrible. Ever since the shift came upon me at puberty I've felt wrong. As if I was born into the wrong body. Shifting is not easy for me, and coming back from a shift into this human body is terrible. I feel ugly and— Oh, you're making a face.”

His wince smoothed away and he shook his head. “I'm... I don't know what to say.”

Who could know how to react? Blyss was aware she was one among millions who felt as she did. She'd never in her lifetime met or heard about other werewolves who denied their very heritage.

“This life I have now?” she said. “The diamonds and glamour and socializing? It is the life I've created that suits me best. No shifting. No fur or claws, or nasty running through the woods on all fours. No feeding on small animals or living among—well, wolves.”

She shuddered. Memories of living in the pack were ugly. She had only ever been close to her father and brother, Kir. She rarely saw Kir nowadays. And her father had abandoned his family for another woman when Blyss was younger. Pack Valoir had banished Colin Sauveterre for his propensity to engage in illicit love affairs with demons and vampires. Now she saw her father a few times a year, and not on her terms, but because he showed up at her door groveling. Sometimes she wished he could get his act together so she didn't feel as if she had to keep an eye on him.

Stryke sat up and brushed his hands over his face. “Blyss, what you're saying... It's like... I don't know. It's like denying your heritage. How can you not be what you were born to be? My mind goes to people who are gay and try to deny it, or even—hell, a person of color who denies their race. It's wrong. I couldn't imagine being anything but wolf.”

“Then you should understand that I am not denying what I am but am trying to be what I know I should be.”

“That doesn't make sense.” He stood and paced beside the bed, the glow from a streetlight worshipping his naked form. His skin gleamed. The tight muscles strapping his thighs and buttocks a lure to her sensual lusts. “You were born a werewolf, yes?”

“Of course. Our breed can only be born.”

“Was one of your parents something else? A faery?”

“No, both my parents are wolves. As is my brother, Kirnan.”

“You've a brother? What does your family think of you trying to be something you're not?”

“Stryke, I am trying to be the thing I feel I was born to be. And my family...”

Blyss sighed and sat up against the pillow. She couldn't look at him, couldn't face his accusing stare. Yet she felt his concern in her heart. He feared for her even while not completely comprehending her situation.

“My mother thinks I'm insane. My father tolerates me only because he was banished from the pack a decade ago after he'd had an affair with a demon. And there's the money. I've bailed him out more times than a child should have to. Mom and Kir remain in the pack. Dad lives on his own with his demon girlfriend. And I am where I need to be.”

“But you weren't banished from the pack?”

“I can return if I accept my werewolf.”

“Will that ever happen? How?” He sat on the bed, leaning in to seek her truths. “How can you not be werewolf?”

“Right before leaving the pack, I heard there was a means to suppress my werewolf. Pills.”

“Pills?” He shook his head and exhaled. Again he stood and paced. “You take pills to not be wolf? That sounds impossible.”

“I take a pill to prevent my werewolf from demanding release every full moon. I get them from Ed.”

“The demon?” Stryke blew out a breath. Hands to his hips, his back to her, he bowed his head, eyes closed. “So that's why you owe him money? Why you needed to get the diamond?”

“A year's supply of pills costs five hundred thousand euros. I take them daily. I do need to shift only one full moon every year. Sort of a means to let out everything I've suppressed. It's awful.”

She sensed his utter horror at her confession. His back muscles were tense, as was his neck. He couldn't look directly at her. She had lost him. But there was no turning back now. She had to put it all out there.

“I've but a few pills remaining. And the full moon is closing in. I owe Ed for this year's supply still because I needed to divert the money elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” he muttered. Sitting on the bed, his back to her, he caught his palms on his knees. “Continue.”

“My father has a gambling problem. He was in debt. A nasty bunch of vampires were after him, a tribe who is known to hunt wolves. I paid off his debt thinking I could easily get the money to replace it. I...have a tendency to collect expensive gifts from my lovers. It's how I've survived.”

Stryke's body bent forward, his head shaking as he exhaled.

“Not lately, though,” she continued. Her heart pounded. Her soul ached for exposing her terrible truths. And she couldn't stop, although she knew every word was only driving a wedge deeper between the two of them.

“When Ed heard that our gallery was exhibiting
Le Diabolique
, he called me in and offered the deal. I had no idea the diamond was anything more than a stone. A demon trapped within? The legend of it is that whoever has held it through history has suffered a terrible fate. It's been in the hands of royalty, thieves, murderers and more royalty. But it's never been in demon hands.”

“So you were going to hand over this nasty diamond to a demon, who had plans to do God knows what with it?”

“And in turn Ed would forgive my debt and cover me for the next year's pills. I need those pills, Stryke. Without them...”

“You're just a werewolf.” He turned to pin her with an accusing gaze. It felt like silver cutting into her veins and sizzling directly to her heart. “A werewolf like me. Now I understand why I couldn't scent you in the gallery. And why you were so upset when I pinned you for werewolf. You must have been disgusted to know you'd just had sex with a werewolf.”

He grabbed his pants and shuffled them up, swinging an arm through his bloodied shirt as rapidly.

“I can't listen to this,” he said. “All I've ever wanted my whole life is to fall in love with a beautiful werewolf and make a family. I'm looking for a wife, Blyss. I'm to start a pack so my father can retire. And what happens when I begin to think I may have found that woman? She is the one wolf in the world who doesn't want to be a wolf.”

He charged out of the bedroom, shoes in hand.

Blyss didn't call for him to stay. He had every right to be angry. To be disgusted by her. She knew the feeling. She'd been disgusted by wolves all her life.

Until she'd met Stryke Saint-Pierre.