5 - Together To Join Read online

  She had to get him hidden, find his weapons, and then get him to her home where it was safe and private. But, first she had to escape. Taking him wasn’t a problem. She’d drained enough blood from him, he was unconscious, but he’d have a partner. He might even have an entire troop with him. Hunters never stalked prey singly. Except…maybe this Garrick fellow did. He acted ballsy enough.

  Angelique ran a fingertip along what looked to be very kissable lips…if he set aside his disgust and if they ever got that far. She smiled slightly. She hadn’t a choice in the matter, but merde! She was eternally lucky. This time, more than ever. This mate of hers was a massive man. Sculpted. Handsome. Strong. The most lauded of them. The most skilled. The enemy. It was as obscene as it was beautiful.

  “What the—? Angel, are you mad? Leave him and run!”

  She turned to the newcomer and hissed, showing teeth, and then she recognized Nigel.

  “That’s not—. Oh crap. It’s their greatest hunter!”

  “I know.”

  “Well don’t just sit there, tempting fate. Move! I’ll cover you.”

  “No.”

  “He already got Alex!”

  “I know that, too. I was there.” Angelique turned back to Garrick.

  “Then you know what he’s capable of.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then run! Fly! I’ll make sure he doesn’t follow you.”

  “I’m taking him with me.”

  Swamp noises descended: the non-melodic croaking of frogs; constant and annoying chirp of the crickets; gurgling of water. Then Nigel broke in again.

  “Okay. I’ll ask. Why would you take him with us?”

  “Not us. Me. And you’re to leave. Now. Before the other hunters find you.”

  “What do you plan to do to him? Torture?”

  “Mate with him.” It wasn’t her choice. She knew right away what he was to her. The moment they touched. It wasn’t voluntary. It wasn’t even sane.

  “Oh no. Not him. Their best hunter? Come on, Angelique. You could have anyone. I’ve been after you for decades.”

  “Why does everyone think this is optional? Get lost, Nigel. Report in for me. I’m disappearing for a bit.”

  “A bit?”

  “And a half. Now, go. Quick.”

  “Get his transmitter first. Or they’ll track you.”

  “Transmitter?”

  “I’m in the field because I failed at office protocol. Not because I’m dense. All hunters have a location tracker. Find his. Got to go now. See you around, Angel. Hopefully in one piece.”

  Acrid scent filled the air, imbuing the mist all around them with the odor of something unpleasant burning. Nigel immediately took off, crashing through the swamp with more noise than he needed to. Angelique knew why. He was leading the hunters from her.

  And her mate.

  She didn’t have time to find Garrick’s transmitter. She had to get him hidden first. She’d just have to be lucky again. Garrick was massive. And heavy. If she wasn’t gifted with vampiric strength, she’d have collapsed beneath his mass. She raced through the swamp, swirling vapors atop the water at her pace, peering through inky spots for a cave. A hollow. A depression filled with decaying leaves. Anywhere dark and hidden. There, she’d undress him. And then the ground caved in beneath her.

  o0o

  “What is this belt made of?”

  Cotton or wool filled his head, making the muttering semi-distinct. It was feminine. Soft. Melodic. Teasing fantasies better left buried and forgotten. And he was dreaming.

  Garrick swallowed.

  “This is the sharpest knife I’ve ever used, and still this belt vexes me. Come along, Angelique. You can do it.”

  Angelique.

  He was in the care of an angel. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming after all. Female fingers flitted across his belly as she gave up trying to slice at his belt and decided to simply release the catch. Maybe this was an afterlife, and it just might have compensation in here somewhere. Garrick opened an eye to complete blackness. He was surrounded by it. He concentrated and dulled his own heartbeat to a background thump of noise, pulling at his vampire senses to bring the sides of a cavern into view. Root-ends kept earth from sliding into the space. The entire area reeked of decay and mold. It was dense and hard to breathe in here. What air there was felt like its own entity as it licked at his skin with wet warmth. Almost like a tongue.

  Wait a minute…

  Where was his flak jacket? His shirt? His weapons? His boots? He spread the toes on one foot gingerly. He didn’t even have socks on. He’d rarely felt so vulnerable. The feeling got worse as she worked to push what had been thickly woven twill pants from him, rolling him slightly in the process.

  “There!”

  There?

  Garrick tensed involuntarily for what might come next. She had his combat knife, and it was not only capable of removing every stitch of clothing from him, but was perfect for filleting and gutting, too.

  “Now…where did you put it?”

  “What?”

  The word croaked from a dry throat. It was accompanied by a groan. Not from the pain of use, but by giving away his conscious state. He’d been trained better. He must be weaker than he thought.

  “Oh. Good. You’re awake. Then maybe you could help me, instead of just lying there.”

  “With…what?”

  “Finding your transmitter.”

  That’s exactly when he knew. This wasn’t an afterlife, it was an earthly hell. And he was in the hands of the vampire lady. Nearly naked and feeling weaker than a babe. About the only thing he had left was his transmitter.

  “In…my shirt pocket.”

  “I already checked. You have lots of noxious things in your pockets, but nothing that sends a signal.”

  “Noxious…?”

  “You know very well what I’m talking of. Holy water. Crucifixes. I’d ask what the dirt is for, but I don’t care. Just about everything in every compartment of every pocket held a potion to destroy or incapacitate your victim.”

  “What…victim?”

  “Me.”

  “Oh. Right.” What a joke his life was turning into. She wasn’t the victim here. That much was obvious.

  “So where is it?”

  “What?”

  “Your transmitter.”

  “I…don’t know what…you’re talking about.” And he really needed to find some strength. He couldn’t even get a full sentence out.

  “Every hunter has a transmitter. To bring others in…for the kill. That’s not going to happen, understand?”

  He huffed out a breath that carried amusement.

  “I’m going to slice these skin-tight briefs off you next.”

  What could be the knife blade touched his thigh, creating ripples of goose bumps in its wake. Garrick reacted without thought, gripping at her wrists to stop her. And then he got the shock feeling again, sending him into an arch of agony as it slammed through him, stopping his heart and making every cell react with pain. His fingers immediately loosened, releasing her, while he fought for breath.

  “Silly man.”

  Cool fingers slid up his abdomen, sending such relief he nearly wept. Every vestige of pain evaporated at her touch. Garrick relaxed back onto the earth again. She was on her knees, her fingers radiating something that soothed and protected, and healed. He didn’t dare watch. He was afraid to.

  “You can’t harm me, remember?”

  He grunted.

  “That looked like it hurt. Bad?”

  “Screw you, lady.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that hurts. I mean, I’ve heard it hurts the first time, but probably not as bad as all that.”

  Oh no. She did not just say that. She couldn’t possibly be a virgin. No. He refused to acknowledge it and ordered his body not to react to it. She was a living corpse. Probably centuries old. It would be like humping the dead to take her. Worse. She was cold. Unattractive. Decaying just like the place she’d taken him to. He
wasn’t attracted to her. He couldn’t be. And why the hell did she just have to tell him that?

  Why is this happening? Why now? And why to me? He didn’t say it aloud, but she answered anyway and Garrick caught his breath at the surprise.

  “You’re my mate, Garrick. It isn’t optional, you know. You need to stop fighting it.”

  “What if I…don’t want it?”

  He’d say a prayer later. He still had his voice and it didn’t sound like he was going to cry.

  “What makes you think I do?”

  He stiffened automatically. She chuckled. And the magic of her fingers combined with that little laugh to cause a reaction he silently cursed. He’d give anything to stop how his briefs stretched to accommodate what couldn’t possibly be desire. He did not lust for a dead thing. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. No. Not him. Ever. He was going insane. That’s what this had to be. And then she spoke, stopping his thoughts.

  “Who would want such an arrogant, egotistical, stubborn asshole?”

  “Ass…hole?”

  She giggled again and Garrick tightened everything in his torso to prevent the stirring that was happening right in front of her. It didn’t work. That’s what came of having only thin cotton/spandex thigh-length briefs covering him.

  “You didn’t disclaim the arrogant. The egotistical. Or the stubborn. That’s a start. We’ll just go with it.”

  Her fingers trailed along each arm, and his muscles responded with a twitch to everywhere she touched. Despite the control he exerted on them. Despite everything. This was worse than torture. Her fingers contained a fascination and eroticism he’d never before experienced.

  “Are you going to cease stalling and tell me where it is now?”

  “What?” He didn’t have to pretend the confusion. His entire body felt it.

  “Your transmitter.”

  She’d lowered her body atop him until her breasts nearly touched. Garrick kept from pushing his chest up to force a connection by sheer willpower. And then she nudged his head to the side and slid what was probably her tongue along his neck, raising a riot of shivers with every touch. He more than desired what she was doing. Every fiber of him craved it. Massively. With an urgency that resembled the need for air. He felt the sting as he realized she opened a cut, and every lick of her tongue caused a pulsing of his entire frame. It was better than the nirvana of sensation she’d sent earlier. And worse. There didn’t seem any way to fight it.

  “Hmm. You taste wonderful. Slightly…salty.”

  “My ankle!”

  She lifted her head. He sobbed at the loss before he could stay it. And then fought that urge down.

  “Your…ankle?”

  “The transmitter is in my left ankle.”

  “Liar. I already checked. There’s nothing on your ankle. Although I do appreciate the way you laced your boots cross-wise. Makes them easier to slice laces for quick removal. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

  He felt her moving away from him as she spoke, trailing her hand down his left leg. He didn’t dare open his mouth. The loss of her touch at his throat was too visceral. Too near pain. Not the pain of the shock he got every time he tried to harm her. Deeper. Heart-throbbing deep. And that scared the hell out of him.

  She’s dead, Garrick. A corpse.

  “I don’t see it.”

  The soft touch of her breath accompanied the words against his leg, sending a frenzy of sensation all the way to his scalp. This was insane. He couldn’t possibly feel air from her. She didn’t breathe.

  “Tattoo.”

  “That’s not going to be easy to find. They buried it under a tattoo?”

  “No. It is the tattoo. In the shape of a wing.”

  She huffed what was probably another chuckle. “For an angel, perhaps?”

  “Hawk.”

  “I like my explanation better. Ah. Here it is. I don’t know how I missed it earlier. It’s warm.”

  “My entire body is warm, lady. Because I’m not dead like you.”

  “Save all your hate for later. I’ve got to get this off you. I’ll have to scrape it. Good thing I have experience.”

  “In what?”

  “Trauma care.”

  “Get real, lady. The day a vampire works in trauma care is the day I turn tranny.”

  She snickered. “I don’t work trauma care. I only attend sessions of it. How else would I know to slice your clothing from you? Or how many cc’s of blood I could drain to render you unconscious? You didn’t make my job easy, either, but it was your fault in the first place.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “It was your arrow in me. N’est-ce pas?”

  An arc of pain scorched his ankle, but then she cooled it with something. Garrick didn’t look. He didn’t really want to know.

  “You really are delicious. You know that?”

  “The trauma stuff. Explain that.” And anything else that would mute the rippling sensation flowing up his leg, reaching his thigh…spreading toward his groin again, giving her every indication he wanted her to continue, despite the effort of reining it in. There wasn’t any reason for such unmitigated desire. For a dead thing. None.

  “You humans. So senseless.”

  “Senseless. Yeah. Right.” The words vibrated off his vocal chords, went through his lips, and still sounded like groans. She might be dead. And a corpse. And rotten through-and-through. But she was sending sensual ecstasy with just the lap of her tongue. Or the sweet suction of her lips. Or whatever she’d done to his ankle. He’d never come up against such unbridled lust and need. He was probably lucky he wasn’t sobbing.

  “You think nothing of putting yourself in a vehicle capable of achieving immense speed. Without safety harnesses. Like cattle.”

  “Buses? We’re talking buses now?”

  “And trains, and taxis…small aircraft. Mmm…”

  That purr could be his undoing. Garrick slammed a hand to his crotch and pushed, sending hurt where he wanted succor; restraint when he needed freedom; control onto what was becoming all-out hunger. She wasn’t just a vampire. She was pure, raw, primal desire encased in female form. And he was male. And readied.

  She’s a corpse, Garrick. Damn! Even that wasn’t working.

  “Ooh. You’re trembling. Does that excite you?”

  Hell had to be better than this. Garrick tightened every cell in his body against the onslaught that came of having her lap at his flesh with her tongue. And then he yanked muscles tighter, envisioning a desert, a sea of dust, a cauldron of moisture-sucking flour. Anything to divert the blood-flow from where it was settling. Anything.

  “If you weren’t a walking corpse? And I wasn’t a hunter, you mean?” He’d envisioned the arid well enough. It reflected in his voice.

  “Do I feel dead to you, Garrick?”

  Another moment and he was going to be slamming her onto her back and finding out the status of her virginity. He wondered if she was as clueless as it sounded.

  “Uh…”

  “We need to leave. And soon. I’m more than willing to banter words with you, and other…things. I don’t think you’re altogether unwilling, either. Are you?”

  Great. She wasn’t clueless.

  “Trauma side-effects. Nothing more. I thought you were experienced.”

  “Oh, I am. I’ve even seen this reaction occasionally. But never quite this…large. And hard. Not nearly…as hungry.”

  Shit.

  “Come. I’ll carry you.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Fireman’s carry. I’ve done it before. Often.”

  “At these trauma sites?”

  “Yes.”

  She gave that purr again. Damn her. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  “Not everyone dies at the scene, you know.”

  “The scene of what?”

  “An accident. Some of them die…later.”

  Later. He’d fixate on what that meant. When he had his sanity back.

  “I don’t have to kill to f
eed, Hunter. You humans do it for me. All I have to do is listen to a police scanner. And wait. And get it handed to me. Gratis.”

  He coiled into a ball, tucked his knees to his chin, ankles to his ass, arms looped about the whole. His howl of disgust and revulsion permeated the cavern before it got sucked away by the damp walls.

  “What would you care? They were DOA anyway. Even without me.”

  He had to hand it to her again. She really knew how to kill a hard-on. No wonder she was a virgin.

  CHAPTER THREE

  She probably should have consulted a real architect, rather than relying so much on her memory. And she should have factored in her age at the recollection. The remade castle didn’t resemble her family’s ancestral estate. It was too Gothic. Too spacious. And much too…vast.

  Angelique studied the soaring ceiling for a moment, the elegant arches fifty-five feet above her head, the long balcony, and the thin clerestory windows. Hers were fashioned of etched glass and only glowed with light if she turned the switch. It made an effect resembling weak sunlight, but only if she’d remembered to change the light bulbs. Right now everything was lit by a myriad of candles, shedding light about from a vast array of candelabra.

  She lowered her eyes down an Ionic column to the heart-shaped bed at the base of it, looking miniature in all that space, as well as very feminine…especially with the man ensconced atop it. Angelique approached silently, skimming the floor with heelless slippers, making such little noise the rustling satin of her overskirt was easily noted. If she hesitated, she’d probably hear the sound echo.

  His groan definitely echoed. She hastened to his side, swooping onto a stool beside the bed, watching and listening for the next sign from him. He was such a beautiful specimen! If men could be called that, of course. Beautiful. There were more words she could use, all of them in the same vein. Stunning. Handsome. Masculine. He was massive. Strong. Her eyes roamed where her fingers daren’t, fully appreciating a physique rivaling that of a Michelangelo masterpiece. Thick muscle covered just about every bit of him, while lightly tanned skin covered the whole. She hadn’t dared to check beneath the briefs he still wore, but she guessed from the bulge that he’d been gifted there, as well. She sighed, and then his hoarse whisper caught all her attention.