Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

  Arran was loyal, though. Kenric had sensed that the moment he’d met him. Or he’d have never brought him on board. He couldn’t figure out what the hell had gone down between them. Neither would talk. But both men, Kenric knew, would give their lives for the Enclave.

  Dropping into a chair, Kenric threaded his fingers through his hair. This was not going to work. He’d have to keep those two from killing each other long enough to figure out how to resolve the situation. He needed all his warriors fighting for the same team.

  Not with each other.

  “At sundown, we’ll pick up where we left off,” Kenric said. “And every sundown after that until we find Markus. It’s frustrating as hell. But we’ve done all that we can do for now.” He understood that each minute that passed without a word or a sign from Markus ate away at their hope like acid.

  Markus was his responsibility.

  He would search for the rest of time until he found something—anything—that could tell him what had happened to his warrior.

  “Get out of here and get your asses some rest.” Kenric dismissed them with a wave. “And try not to kill each other in the meantime.” His gaze purposefully flicked between the Highlanders.

  Before the last word left Kenric’s mouth, Arran was already out of the room. Logan and Guerin dispersed, grumbling something about hating this fucking shit.

  “Anything I can get for you?” Michael stopped at the table with a broom and garbage bag in hand.

  “No.” Kenric shook his head. “Thanks.”

  “No sign of Markus?”

  “Not a damn thing.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  Kenric glanced at Michael. Lines of worry etched his face.

  “I don’t know. But you can be damn sure I won’t rest until I find out.”

  …

  Ten minutes later, Kenric fell naked onto his mattress and pulled a sheet over himself, exhausted from the events of the last two nights. A loud clap of thunder rumbled behind the closed shutters, while driving wind and rain pelted the windowpanes.

  Hunger unfurled its claws in his gut. His fangs dropped into place. He hissed and pushed the demand to feed into submission and his fangs back into his jaw.

  He should have fed while out, but he didn’t desire the anonymous taste of a stranger to ease the burn inside.

  Emily’s flavor haunted him.

  Unconsciously, he’d dismissed the opportunities for blood. Tonight he would have to feed, whether he wanted to or not.

  His body stirred, remembering their evening together, the flavor of her kiss on his tongue. Reaching under the sheet, he wrapped his hand around his cock. He moaned, stroking himself with the memory of her scent, the taste of her skin.

  Shit. He couldn’t remember being so turned on by a woman—ever. Riding the arch of his erection with his fingers, he stroked the sensitive underside of his cock’s head. A clap of thunder rattled the walls of his bedroom. He closed his eyes and lifted his hips, slowly pumping into the air. The raging storm outside matched the fierceness of his need for release.

  Hunger burned like a twisting, raging fire, wrenching him back from the edge.

  Kenric opened his eyes to a darkened cell, flat on his back with his wrists shackled to a wall behind his head. He shifted his legs, only to find he couldn’t move them more than an inch or two. Large cuffs held his ankles down at opposite sides of his cot.

  He roared.

  “Fuck!” His fangs caused the word to come out with a lisp.

  His arms trembled from the time spent suspended over his head, combined with the agony in his gut for blood. He’d wither and die before he’d ever drink her blood. The putrid, hot residue of her on his tongue lingered from the last time she’d forced it down his throat.

  He’d awakened in the midst of ferocious hunger, clawing at the stone behind his head. She’d slashed open her wrist and used her powers, forcing him to accept it as she jammed it into his mouth. Her psychic influence had combined with his body’s own demand for blood, and he’d swallowed.

  That had been at least five days ago.

  If he were older and stronger, he could try to phase the fuck out of this place. He had seen it done before. Marguerite had used that trick when she’d snatched him from the battlefield about three years ago. But she kept him starved, kept him weak, and he was as trapped now as he’d been when he was human.

  She’d left him alone again to slowly build the hunger in hopes this time would be different. Marguerite wanted him hungry enough not only to feed but also to mate.

  The bitch was insane.

  Marguerite had apparently grown bored of him as her personal human blood supply. The night of his turning, she’d declared that his impressive mental endurance would make him the perfect vampire. A master. Stronger, more powerful mentally and physically than other males.

  Hers.

  She wanted him to take her as his mate.

  After his transition, she’d explained that mating required the male to submit to the female. Blood, body, and soul. Once completed, the mated female would have access to her mate’s thoughts and emotions, and she would share his power.

  Kenric had had no idea what he would be capable of in his new form, but he did understand that if the queen bitch wanted him this badly, no way in fucking hell would he ever let it happen.

  “Sounds like someone missed me.” Marguerite’s voice echoed off the stone walls from the other side of the cell. The rattle of a key and the groan of the iron cell door announced another round.

  “I heard your roar, darling. Are you hungry?” She trailed one long fingernail up the length of his leg and then a lazy scratch along his abdomen and chest.

  She placed the lone finger into her mouth and sucked. Her eyes lingered on him through half-shuttered lids. For a moment, she appeared to savor his flavor. Then suddenly, she bit down.

  Blood oozed from her mouth. A deep crimson trail flowed over her lips, down her chin, and dripped onto his chest. The ravenous beast within him writhed in agony.

  Drop after drop of the hot red beads coalesced and pooled between the ridges of his abdomen. Shackled and stretched out on his back like a sacrificial offering, all he could do was grip the chains above his head in an effort to control his body’s response. His arms burned and ached under the tension. Sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes.

  He’d chew his own fucking arm off before he’d beg to be fed or take her vein.

  She eased the finger from her bloodied mouth. A spasm coiled in his stomach. Above his navel, Marguerite dipped into the puddle of red. She swirled two fingertips in the thickening pool. Mesmerized, his gaze followed as she lifted her hand and brought his stare to her face.

  Her compulsion seized him.

  In horror, he could only watch as her blood-coated fingers slid between his lips. His heart raced, jackhammering in his chest. The taste of her blood exploded across his tongue.

  No! He didn’t want this. Why didn’t she just kill him?

  She bit her wrist and forced it to his mouth. A wave of fresh blood spilled down his throat, choking him. He swallowed, even as his mind rebelled. His body quaked from the effects of her blood scorching his veins. His contortions rattled the chains above his head and at his feet.

  Marguerite yanked her wrist from his mouth and released him from her mind. He sucked in a breath and spat. The mixture of saliva and blood landed on the lace bodice of her gown. She hissed as her hand flew from her side and landed against his cheek. The sound of the skin-on-skin contact rang off the cell walls.

  “You are an ungrateful bastard, Kenric St. James. Do you know how many kill for a taste of me?”

  It wasn’t a slip of the tongue. They did kill for her. Her minions battled before her to be the next male to share her bed and drink from her vein.

  Slowly, he rolled his head up and faced her. He licked his lip, removing the flavor of his blood from where his fang had nicked him. Bile welled in his throat from the lust-
filled, satisfied smile on Marguerite’s face.

  He didn’t need to look. He knew his body betrayed him from the effects of her blood.

  “Marguerite, it will never happen. You can leave me in here for an eternity to starve and rot. It won’t change a damn thing. I will never become so deranged that your blood—and you fucking me—will ever make me want to be your mate.”

  Undeterred, she crawled onto his cot and straddled his thighs.

  Kenric wrenched on his chains, attempting to pull himself from her, but there was nowhere to run. Her hand reached for his erection. Disgust assailed him for what seemed like the millionth time. He squeezed his eyes tight and braced for the shudder of revulsion that always came from her touch.

  “Kenric, if only you’d relax and enjoy what I’m offering you, it would be so easy and so much pleasure for both of us. We’re perfect for each other. All you have to do is give yourself to me and let me walk you through the mating. All the hunger and pain would simply…” Her hand flitted in the air, “…go away.”

  Like a serpent, her voice licked incessantly inside his head.

  A vision of a beautiful, auburn-haired woman with hazel eyes came out of nowhere and flashed before his mind. He knew her…

  This woman warmed and calmed his body. The scent of wildflowers invaded his nostrils, jarring him back to the present. Marguerite was in his fucking head again.

  He flung open his eyelids.

  Rage erased the lust-filled gaze on Marguerite’s face. She’d glimpsed Emily in his thoughts.

  “Who is she?” she roared and levitated from his body, hovering above him.

  Her hair and gown whirled in an illusion of wind.

  “None of your damn business.” He growled, and the shackles binding him dropped from his wrists and ankles. He blasted from his cot into the air, snagging Marguerite’s shoulders. With one hand securely around her neck and another on her arm, he slammed her back against the bars of the cell. His hand slid from her throat to her face. His finger dug into her flesh as he held her gaze. A low growl continued to resonate from his chest.

  “You never learn, do you, Marguerite? Whether we’re in reality or your demented version of a dream, I still don’t want you. It doesn’t matter how many centuries pass. I didn’t submit to you then, and I won’t submit to you now.”

  “You must need a reminder of Annice’s fate.” Marguerite’s eyes burned with fury. “I will find out who she is. Of that, you can be assured.”

  “Get the fuck out of my mind!” Kenric bellowed, squeezing hard at the flesh under his hands.

  Kenric bolted naked from his bed. His chest heaved as he wiped the sweat from his face, then ran a hand through his damp hair.

  “You’ll never have Emily, Marguerite. Of that, you can well be assured.”

  Damn the sun. He wanted to haul his ass back over there and check on Emily—to see her face again.

  He picked up his cell and the small piece of paper she’d given him.

  “Hello?” The voice that answered sounded weak and sleepy.

  “Emily, it’s Kenric. Did I wake you?”

  “Oh. No, you didn’t wake me. I was just getting up from a nap before work. What are you doing awake? I thought vampires slept during the day.”

  “They do. I happened to wake up early today.” Silence hung for a few seconds between them while he searched for a good reason for his call. The fact that she now had a more than six-hundred-year-old vampire bitch gunning for her wouldn’t be the best conversation opener. Finally, he went with, “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m good. A little nervous about our joint endeavor tonight.”

  “You have nothing to worry about. No one will remember seeing you there, or me for that matter. I’ll call you later and let you know when I’ve arrived.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later, then.”

  “Emily… It’ll be nice to see you again.” He wanted to groan with how sappy he sounded. His heart swelled behind his sternum to an almost painful fullness. Dammit. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel anything, and he barely knew what to do with the resurgence. For so long, the only “feelings” Kenric had been concerned with he could label on one hand. And anger and bitterness had headed the top of the list. But he never expected this. This overwhelming desire to grab on to Emily and never let her go. Christ, for the first time in more years than he cared to remember, he craved something else—someone else—more than his need for vengeance. And it was unsettling.

  Silence permeated the line for a few telling seconds. “Emily, are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. It’ll be nice to see you again, too.” He could hear the smile in her voice. How could he have allowed this to happen? Emily was the personification of compassion, beauty, honor, and…light. Things that didn’t belong in his world. Things he had no right to want, because he would only bring her the darkness. Yet for some reason he couldn’t stop his tumble down the slippery slope into her life. He’d never believed in the whole “soul mate” theory before. But whether he was ready to admit it to himself or not, Emily made him feel—made him yearn again. And it was good. Too good.

  “Until then,” he said and ended the call.

  No way in hell would history repeat itself. He would die before Marguerite could touch Emily.

  Chapter Twelve

  Stretching over to her nightstand, Emily tapped the end button and dropped her cell back onto the wood.

  She kicked back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her conversation with Kenric ran through her mind, playing havoc with her stomach.

  “It would be nice to see you again,” he’d said. On her way to the shower, she giggled like a teenage girl. Then warning bells rang in her mind, and her toes hung off the edge of a crumbling cliff. Her smile disappeared.

  Don’t do it, Emily Ross!

  Emily had to put the brakes on. She could not fall for this man.

  Man?

  He wasn’t even human. Girl, you really know how to pick ‘em.

  She reached in and turned on the shower. Kenric was…more everything than any other man she’d ever dated, and it scared the hell out of her. If she had any common sense, she would run like hell. God only knew why she hadn’t already started sprinting . . .

  With her hair washed, Emily worked up a lather inside her washcloth. Memories of last night replayed in her mind. The way Kenric had made her feel… Her pulse raced. When he’d touched her palm… Her heart stuttered. Kissed her… Emily’s head swam, making her grasp the tile for support. He’d smelled so good, like pine and cinnamon spice. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to cool herself down. This wasn’t good. From the very moment they’d met, the guy had triggered every reactive cell in her body. Was it purely physical? Yes. At least a part of it was. But if her response to him was only sexual in nature, she could turn it off. That was the problem, she realized. Her reaction to Kenric was based on more than his good looks and their chemistry. It was the man underneath the alpha exterior that had gotten under her skin. His heart. The way he cared about others—his team and the human race. His mission, and…the way he needed her. Turning into the shower spray, she cranked up the cold water, allowing it to rain over her face and breasts.

  She shivered, chilled from the cold water—or maybe from the fear that a part of her might need him just a little, too.

  What would she do about Kenric St. James?

  An hour later, Emily hurried into the ER, running her fingers through her hair to unlock the still-damp curls. She couldn’t blame the traffic, and no way would she tell anyone about her fantasies of a certain dark and sexy vampire and how they’d kept her from leaving the house on time.

  “Emily!” Shawna’s voice called out from the front desk of the nurse’s station. “You’ve got a phone call.”

  “Sorry I’m so late,” Emily said, reaching the desk and breathing hard after her trot from the parking deck.

  Her friend waved the pho
ne’s receiver in her hand. “I’ve got Jeff on hold. This has to be the third time he’s called in the past fifteen minutes, girl.” Shawna rolled her eyes and shook her head. As she did so, a few of her blonde locks escaped her braid to sway around the petite features of her face. “You really need to get a restraining order.”

  “Been there, done that. Doesn’t faze him.”

  Shawna moved from her chair and passed the phone over to Emily.

  “I’m just worried about you, hon. From what you’ve told me, the man’s a nutcase. If you ever need a place to stay or just hide out for a while, you know where I live.”

  Since the first day Emily had arrived at Memorial, she and Shawna had hit it off. Shawna always had her back, covering for her whenever she was late or offering her help whenever things were tight. One day, Emily hoped to be able to return the favor.

  “That means a lot, Shawna. It really does. Thank you.” Emily settled into the vacated chair.

  “You know you’re like my little sister. And I mean it. Anytime, okay?” Her hand brushed Emily’s shoulder.

  Emily nodded. “I know you do.”

  Shawna turned and headed toward triage.

  With the phone at her ear, Emily sighed, then pressed the Hold button.

  “Leave me alone, Jeff. You can’t keep calling me here, or I’m going to lose my job. And if I don’t have any income, you’ll be left without a reason to harass me.” She kept her voice low but firm. Enough to get her point across without drawing attention.

  “Damn, you’re bitchy tonight. Sounds like you need a good fuck to calm you down. You sure you’re not missing me just a little bit?”

  She gripped the edge of the desk. Deep breath. She needed this job. The temporary satisfaction of cursing him out would only succeed in making things worse in the end.

  “Bitter much, Jeff?”

  “I’m bitter about my damn money.”

  “I don’t owe you anything,” she spat. “I put myself through school. You didn’t cough up one red cent.”