Dark Lover (23 page)

"When will it happen?"

"I can't tell you that for sure. But soon."

She let go, settling against the pillows. Then she curled on her side away from him.

"Maybe I'll wake up," she murmured. "Maybe I'll still wake up."

Chapter Nineteen

Butch drank his first Scotch in one swallow. Big mistake. His throat was raw, and it felt like he'd French-kissed a blowtorch. As soon as he stopped coughing, he ordered another from Abby.

"We're going to find her," José said, putting his beer down.

The other detective was sticking to the light stuff, but then José had to go home to his family. Butch, on the other hand, was free to behave as badly as he wished.

José played with his mug, twisting it around in circles on the bar. "You shouldn't blame yourself, Detective."

Butch laughed and threw back Scotch number two. "Yeah, there's a huge list of people who were in my car with that suspect." He lifted his finger to get Abby's attention. "I'm dry again."

"Not for long." She jiggled right over with the single-malt, smiling at him while she tipped the bottle into his glass.

José shifted in his bar stool as if he didn't approve of Butch's Scotch velocity and the effort of keeping his lip zipped was making him squirm.

As Abby went over to another customer, Butch glanced at José.

"I'm going to get ugly wasted tonight. You shouldn't stick around."

José popped some peanuts into his mouth. "I'm not leaving you here."

"I'll cab it home."

"Naw. I'll hang until you're through. Then I'll drag you back to your apartment. Watch you throw up for an hour. Push you into bed. Before I leave I'll get the coffee machine set up. Aspirin will be right next to the sugar bowl."

"I don't have a sugar bowl."

"So it'll be next to the bag."

Butch smiled. "You'd have made a great wife, José."

"That's what mine tells me."

They were silent until Abby poured number four.

"The throwing stars I peeled off that suspect," Butch said. "Where do we stand with them?"

"Same as the ones we found at the car bomb and around Cherry's body. Typhoons. Three-point-one ounces of four-forty stainless steel. Four-inch diameter. Removable center weight. You can get 'em off the Internet for about twelve bucks a pop or buy them through martial-arts academies. And no, there were no prints."

"The other weapons?"

"Flashy set of knives. The boys in the lab got a real hard-on for them. Composite metal, diamond hard, beautifully made by hand. No identifying manufacturer. Gun was your standard nine-millimeter Beretta, model 92G-SD. Real well cared for, and naturally the serial number had been etched off. The freaky thing was the bullets. Never seen anything like 'em. Hollow, filled with some kind of liquid. The boys think it's just water. But why would someone do that?"

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Uh-huh."

"And no prints."

"Nope."

"On anything."

"Nope." José finished the bowl of peanuts and trolled his hand to get Abby's eye for more. "That suspect's slick. Neat as a pin. A real professional. Wanna bet he's moved up north from the Big Apple? He doesn't sound Caldwell homegrown."

"Tell me that while I was wasting time with those damn EMTs we checked with the NYPD."

Abby came over with more nuts and more Scotch.

"We're doing ballistics on the gun, just to see if there are any unusual characteristics," José said evenly. "Checking the money to see if it's hot. First thing in the morning we'll give the New York boys everything we got, but it's not going to be much."

Butch cursed as he watched the bowl get refilled.

"If anything happens to Beth…" He didn't finish the sentence.

"We'll find them." José paused. "And God help him if he hurts her."

Yeah, Butch would personally go after the guy.

"God help him," he vowed, making room in his glass for another shot.

Wrath was exhausted as he sat on the couch and waited for Beth to speak again. His body felt as though it were sinking in on itself, his bones weakening under their burden of flesh and muscle.

As he replayed the scene in the station house's alley, he realized he hadn't stripped the cop of his memory. Which meant the police were going to be looking for him with an accurate description.

Damn it
. He'd been so caught up in the fricking drama, he'd forgotten to protect himself.

He was getting sloppy. And sloppy was dangerous.

"How did you know about the orgasms?" Beth asked abruptly.

He stiffened. And so did his cock, just at hearing the word leave her lips.

Moving his body around to make some room in his pants, he wondered if he could avoid answering her. He didn't want to talk right now about the sex they'd had. Not with her lying in that bed. Mere feet away from him.

He thought of her skin. Soft. Smooth. Warm.

"How did you know?" she prompted.

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Was it different with you because you're not… you're a… Hell, I can't even say the word."

"Maybe." He brought his palms together, linking his fingers tight. "I don't know."

Because it had been different for him, too, even though technically she was still a human.

"He's not my lover. Butch. The cop. He's not."

Wrath felt his breath ease out of him. "I'm glad."

"So if you see him again, don't kill him."

"Okay."

There was a long pause, and then he heard her shifting around on the bed. The satin sheets made a soft sound as she moved.

He pictured her thighs rubbing against each other and then saw himself opening them with his hands. Nudging them farther apart with his head. Kissing a path down to where he so desperately wanted to be.

He swallowed, his skin turning into shrink-wrap.

"Wrath?"

"Yeah."

"You really didn't mean to sleep with me last night, did you?"

Hazy images of her had him closing his eyes. "No, I didn't."

"So why did you?"

How could he not have
? he thought, jaw clenching. He'd been powerless to leave her alone.

"Wrath?"

"Because I had to," he replied, stretching his arms, trying to find some ease. His heart thundered in his chest, his instincts coming alive, as if he were in battle. He could hear the breath leave her lips, her heart as it pumped, her blood as it flowed.

"Why?" she whispered.

He should go. He should leave her alone.

"Tell me why."

"You made me realize how cold I am."

More shifting on the bed.

"I liked warming you," she said huskily. "I liked the feel of you."

Dark hunger curled in his gut, cramping up his stomach.

Wrath stopped breathing. Waited to see if it would pass. The gnawing sensation grew stronger.

Shit, that sinful need wasn't just about sex. It was about blood.

Hers.

He stood up quickly and put more space between them. He definitely needed to get out of here. Hit the streets. Find a fight.

And he needed to feed.

"Look, I've got to take off. But I want you to crash here."

"Don't go."

"I have to."

"Why?"

His mouth opened, his fangs throbbing as they elongated.

And his teeth weren't the only thing demanding to be used. His erection was a painful, rigid length straining against his fly. He felt himself get stretched between the two needs. Sex. Blood.

Both hers.

"Are you running away?" she whispered. It was mostly a question. Only a little bit of a taunt.

"Be careful, Beth."

"Why?"

"I'm about to crack over here."

She got off the bed and came to him. Her hand landed squarely on his chest, right above his heart. And then her other one wrapped around his waist.

He hissed as she stepped into his body.

But at least the sexual need cut through his other hunger.

"Are you going to tell me no?" she asked.

"I don't want to take advantage of you," he said through gritted teeth. "You've been through enough tonight."

She gripped his shoulders. "I'm angry. Scared. Confused. I want you to make love to me until I don't feel, until I'm numb. If anything, I'd be using you." She looked down. "God that sounds awful."

The hell it did. He was more than willing to be used like that by her.

He tilted her chin up with his forefinger. Even though her rich scent told him exactly what her body needed from him, he wished he could see her face clearly.

"Don't leave," she whispered.

He didn't want to, but his bloodlust put her in danger. She needed to be strong for her change. And he was thirsty enough to drain her dry.

Her hand left his waist. And found his erection.

His body jerked wildly, breath slamming into his lungs. His gasp shattered the silence in the room.

"You want me," she said. "And I want you to take me."

She rubbed her palm over his length, the friction passing with aching clarity through the second skin of his leathers.

Just sex. He could do it. He could hold back the other need. He could.

But was he willing to bet her life on his control?

"Don't say no, Wrath."

And then she lifted up onto her tiptoes and put her lips to his.

Game over
, he thought, crushing her to him.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth as he grabbed her hips and ground himself into her hand. Her moan of satisfaction cranked him even higher, and as her nails bit into his back, he loved the little bursts of pain he felt because they meant she was as hungry as he was.

He had her on the bed and under him in a flash of movement, and he pushed up her skirt and tore off her panties with vicious impatience. He didn't treat her blouse or bra any better. There would be time to savor later. Now was all about raw sex.

While he worked her breasts with his mouth, her hands were rough as she pulled his shirt from his chest. He left her only long enough to undo his pants and spring his erection. Then he linked his forearm behind one of her knees, stretched her leg up, and plunged himself into her body.

He heard her gasp at his powerful entry, and her slick heat grabbed onto him, pulsating as she came. He froze in place, absorbing the sensation of her release, feeling her core stroke him.

An overwhelming, possessive instinct flashed through him.

With dread, he realized he wanted to mark her. Mark her as his. He wanted that special scent all over her so no other male would come near her. So that they would know whom she belonged to. So that they would fear the repercussions of wanting to possess her for themselves.

Except he knew he had no right to do that. She wasn't his.

He felt her body go still underneath him, and he looked down.

"Wrath?" she whispered. "Wrath, what's wrong?"

He made a move to pull out of her, but she caught his face in her hands.

"Are you all right?"

The concern for him in her voice was what did it.

With an awesome surge, his body leaped out of reach of his mind. Before he could think any further, before he could stop, he propped himself up on his arms and pounded into her, taking her hard, drilling her. The bed's headboard banged against the wall to the beat of his thrusts, and she grabbed onto his straining wrists, trying to hold herself in place.