Bloody Kisses (2 page)

E
arlier excitement practically forgotten
, Madeline sat across from Cammie as the boys worked to set up the equipment in one of the upstairs bedrooms. They’d chosen this room because it seemed to have the most solid floor out of the many rooms they’d quickly toured. The initial search of all the rooms turned up quite a few they couldn’t risk entering. Not because they were scary, but because the ceiling, as she had guessed, was gone in places leaving the floors rotted to the point of instability. Based on the pile of blankets in one corner, Madeline worried they were accidentally evicting some poor homeless person into the storm because of their presence. But the room seemed solid, even if the graffiti on the walls and floors proved they weren’t the first to trespass on what was supposedly private property.

It smelled like old sex, urine, and mildew. Not an altogether pleasant combo, but not atypical of the places they’d researched. Nothing shady had happened, at least not yet, and there was no sign of the mysterious eyes she’d spotted when she looked in from the outside. Which meant it was probably just a figment of her imagination.

I really don’t want it to be my imagination.

A groan from the distance had Cammie jerking her head in that direction, but Madeline didn’t budge. She figured the noise had much to do with old broken house in the rain rather than anything paranormal. She’d had her hopes crushed too many times for one creak of moaning wood to get her excited.

But then they all heard it, based on the fact everyone reacted. Something thumped down the stairs. Madeline was on her feet in a second, but she was the last out the door—thanks to a not so gentlemanly shove by Drew—to see what made the sound. Probably it was just an animal, or the homeless person who left their blankets in their base room, but it did sound odd.

Like, if she were entirely honest with herself, the sound a body would make if it was shoved down the stairs.

Cammie, Drew, and Carter all stood at the ruined balustrade, peering down the stairs. Their flashlights caused beams of light to cascade over the area, illuminating a whole lot of nothing they hadn’t already seen. The house likely had been beautiful once, the picture of elegance and grace. Little details proved the builders worked to a grand schematic. Under the grime and abuse of the years, she could still see hints of gold, delicate carved moldings and even peeks of color.

But there was no body at the foot of the stairs, nor any sign of anything which could’ve caused the noise. The others still searched, whispering among themselves about what it could be and whether or not they managed to catch the noise on the recording equipment, but Madeline took a step back. For one, the railing didn’t look steady and she didn’t want to be leaning on it when gravity decided to take its inevitable hold on the old wood and send it down a floor.

For two, there was an almost scratching sound down the hallway opposite of the room they’d decided to use for their base. The floors on that side were the worst, but the hallway had seemed sturdy enough when they’d traipsed down it as a group a short while ago. She figured there was no harm in investigating the sound… unless it turned out to be a skunk.

She paused, tilting her head to listen. She could still hear Drew, Cammie, and Carter talking. They’d come to the consensus that they should set up a remote camera at the stairwell, too, just in case, but they weren’t paying any attention to her. Which was fine and rather normal, to be honest. She had a tendency to wander around when they were hunting, and they knew she had her cell phone to take pics if she found anything that might be interesting. A lot of times, according to Drew, they could find more on their own than they could as a group anyway.

Which, in his case, was generally an excuse to find a nice quiet place for a quickie, but still, it might have some scientific merit, too.

The scratching noise happened again, and Madeline could swear a door moved in the light from her flashlight, so she headed that way to investigate. At the last second, before entering the room, she decided to turn off her flashlight. She had to stand there a few seconds, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the minimal light coming in from the windows, but it was worth it not to scare a possible skunk.
Scare a skunk and you learn pretty damn quick you don’t want to do it twice in one lifetime.

Inside the room, she realized it was one of the previous bedrooms, back when this place was a functional home. Not that there was anything like a mattress left after who knows how much time had passed, but there were still some pretty impressive chunks of wood that likely once represented a canopy bed. Scraps of fabric clung precariously to the window. Formerly curtains, they seemed to blow in an unseen and unfelt breeze.

Which was weird. This room still had glass in the window frame. No breeze should be able to penetrate the barrier, but it wasn’t proof of the paranormal. She’d realized quite some time ago that they weren’t great at insulation in the olden days, so drafts themselves weren’t cause for alarm or even excitement.

Except she couldn’t feel the draft. And instead of being chilled—a common reality in a drafty old house, but not proof of the afterlife as some might think—the room felt warm.

Comfortably so. The whole house was kind of chilly, worse with the storm rolling through, but this room felt downright cozy. Still smelled like urine and god knew what else, but it looked like something out of a horror flick and felt as comfortable as her apartment.

Weird.

The hairs on her arms raised again, but still not in fear. She was excited. She couldn’t decide exactly why, but then she realized she couldn’t smell the urine mildew mix anymore.

No, she smelled cookies. Like, chocolate chip cookies baking in an oven. That delicious scent that hinted at future pleasures and warm fuzzies. Madeline shook her head. She was in an abandoned house, watching white scraps of former curtains billow in an unseen breeze near the ruins of a great bed, yet she could smell
cookies
?

She opened her mouth to call out to the others—to tell them to come check this out—but before she could speak, she blinked.

One moment, a barely lit, dark and dismal room, then with a blink, it all changed. She had a split second thought that the lightning outside caused the brightness, but the illumination stayed. The view out the window was green, so green, and the tatters of curtains were whole and lovely. The bed—she was right, it had been a bed—was standing on all four posters, covered with heavily embroidered quilts and pillows. The dingy walls were a brilliant white.

She could still smell the cookies, though, which almost distracted her from the glory of the room. The scent made her hungry in an odd way. In an almost sexual way. Although it was all so damn bizarre, she didn’t scream or call for the others. No, she reached for the carved and polished wood at the foot of the bed. She figured that she wouldn’t be able to feel it. That it wasn’t real and she was just hallucinating it or something. But her palm landed on the sleek and cool feel of glossy mahogany.

“You came back.” The voice was polished stones in a tumbler crashing against one another. All at once, it was clearly a lovely sound, but rough and untamed at the same time. Since she’d proved she could touch the things in this dream, she’d settled on it officially being that—a dream rather than reality. Clearly, she’d dozed off in the haunted house or maybe not ever gone in the first place.

Which made the man standing near the doorway not a ghost or otherworldly entity, but a dream man and as fictional as the glorious bed behind her. She could stare at dream men as long as she liked without it being socially awkward, so she looked her fill. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist—
go, my imagination!—
which was kind of her favorite flavor of man. White hair tumbled into his eyes, too long and very straight, but it only made the burning depths of his red eyes more compelling. He wore a Gothic, frilly man-shirt with lace at the wrists and collar and some kind of tight ass pants—which outlined his obviously well-endowed dick package in a nearly pornographic way that would make the goblin king totally jealous.

Madeline licked her lips, suddenly hoping it was one of
those
dreams. The kind where she woke up sweaty and tangled in her sheets, frustrated because she woke up but still deliriously happy with her brain for the good time. Because, yes, she wanted to have a very sexual dream with this man, in the cookie scented room, possibly involving being bent over that elegant bedframe while clutching those ridiculous blankets.

Smoothing her hands down her legs, she realized she was dressed as strangely as the dream man. Instead of jeans and a tank top, her body was encased in a red dress that dropped in heavy folds to cover her feet. Silver filigree wove through the velvety fabric, a delicate dance of bright veins against the bloody red of the gown.

But she wasn’t in this dream to get too concerned with her wardrobe. The only thing that was of particular interest about the dress was the fact that it would provide easy access to Mr. Tall, Dark and Red-eyed over there. With that in mind, she walked over to him confidently.

“Sure, I came back.” she answered. “And you’ve been waiting for me.”

He blinked, appearing confused, and she was briefly annoyed with her imagination. If she was going to play along with the corny script in this dream, the least he could do was remember his line.

“I have, yes, my Magdala.” He didn’t move, which wasn’t really fitting her horny hopes for this experience at all. A good dream man would sweep her off her feet. Tumble her onto the mattress. Tell her he can’t bear to live another second without the taste of her flesh. Something.

Not call her a weird ass name and stand there like a statue—albeit a sexy as fuck one.

“And you want me?” Madeline said.
Okay, it came out more as a question, but that was because he just wasn’t meeting my usual expectations of my brain’s ability to conjure a hormone stoked dream.

“Yes, actually, but don’t you have questions? Want to know who I am and why you’re here? Anything?” He looked genuinely stunned and faltering.

Madeline sighed. “Oh, this is going to be one of those talking dreams. Dammit.”

“What?” asked her handsome, but slow on the uptake, prince.

“Look, lemme see if I can help get things on the right track…” With that, she placed her hand on his chest and tilted up on her toes to take his lips. Even if he wasn’t saying the right thing, the man did have a deliciously perfect mouth and the smell of cookies was totally coming from him. And Madeline? She wanted a taste.

S
he blinked fast
, confused. She was back in the urine scented room with the flittering rag curtains, minus dream man.
Hell.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t a dream so much as a hallucination. Madeline hadn’t been getting enough sleep,
not in like ever
, and she’d read somewhere that the mind will throw up hallucinations if you don’t give it time to dream.

Still not really proof of paranormal existence, especially since she could still hear the group out by the stairs setting up their camera. She stomped her foot, irritated beyond belief. And still horny, which proved that more than one of her needs were not currently being met.

Sleep deprived, sex deprived, and apparently hallucinating. Also, stupid. She glared at her own foot, as if it had acted independently. Stomping her foot in a house that was crumbling probably wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done. But whatever.

Before she could waste more time giving herself hell for being an idiot, she heard a scream. It was high pitched, seemed to last a long, agonizing minute, and then cut off as if someone strangled the sound. Madeline bolted into action, practically sliding into the hallway to catch up to her friends as they, too, tried to find the source of the cacophony. In the room where they’d set up, it appeared some rain was managing to make it past the crumbling old roof as moisture leaked in tentative fingers down the walls. No one was in the room, but as three beams of light—her flashlight was still in her pocket—shined around the space… the moisture seemed to change colors.

Yeah, that was clearly blood pouring down the walls, and Drew lost his shit. “Are you recording this? Someone is getting film, right?”

Since everyone else was holding a flashlight, Madeline fumbled for her phone. She managed to drop it, and Drew just kept freaking out rather than helping her. Once she had it back in hand, she switched to the camera app and started recording.

Not like the blood was slowing down or stopping, though. She managed to record in plenty of time because it was a solid five minutes of bleeding and practically breathing walls. They pulsed a little, and Cammie tucked in close to her side. “Isn’t this freaking you out a little?” she asked Madeline.

“It is kind of why we’re here, right?” But a glance around at her friends revealed Madeline was the only one not scared. Even Carter—usually the enthusiastic one of the bunch—was shaking so hard that his red curls bobbed in the flashlight lit room.

“She’s right,” Drew agreed, albeit grudgingly. “It is why we’re here. Evidence of the bleeding walls phenomenon is on that phone now. And I think—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by another one of those eerie screams in the distance. Madeline leaned back into the hallway to see if she could spot the source, but saw nothing. Drew leaned closer, too, trying to look where she was, and she couldn’t resist the temptation.

Right next to his ear, Madeline whispered softly, “Boo!”

He jumped, knocking her phone out of her hand again, and then glared at her. “What the fuck, Maddie?”

She cracked up. “Sorry, trying to lighten the mood.”

* * *

T
amerlane

He couldn’t help but think she was fearless. Just as gorgeous as she’d been in her other incarnations, if that was what this was. It seemed unlikely that she’d been sent to him, since part of his punishment was isolation from all other demons, but he could think of no other reason for her presence at the in-between.

While her human friends practically scuttled around like overturned turtles, she remained calm and only mildly amused. Remaining invisible to them on this plane, he strayed near her, hoping for a whiff of her scent to verify whether she was indeed a human or Other, like him. Her head snapped in his direction, as if she could sense his presence, but he learned what he needed to know. She wasn’t human—not by far—but yet she was clearly associated with the three humans she’d arrived with. Perhaps she was enduring some sort of punishment of her own?

“Does anyone smell cookies?” she asked her companions.

The taller of the males gave her a rude look before saying, in a snide tone, “If you’re hungry, Maddie, I packed some snacks in my bag. But, no, I don’t smell cookies. I smell mold and rot. It is a moldering mansion… and you smell cookies?”

They were investigating the downstairs of the house, deep into the basement, and the spirits of the dead were swarming around them. Eagerly, they sniffed at the waves of fear clouding around the three humans. They fed on it, growing more powerful by the second. If the humans didn’t calm down, they’d have enough energy for more shenanigans pretty quickly.

But his lady showed no such fear. Not even when her group stumbled on a pile of bones which they couldn’t immediately identify. Their screams had the spirits in a tizzy, spinning around and greedily gulping at their fear.

But Magdala simply stood back until the other humans moved out of her way. When she was able to get to the cause of their fright, she nudged the pile with the toe of one black leather half boot before saying, “Aha.”

The tall man—Drew, if he’d overheard correctly—squealed like a stuck pig when Magdala reached into the haphazard pile of ivory sticks and pulled something out. Since their flashlight beams were swiveling around the room at a hyper pace nearly as frenzied as that of the intangible spirits, it took the humans and him a second to realize what she held aloft for them to see.

The skull was clearly that of a deer rather than a human, and her human companions calmed, but it was too late for them. They might not realize it, but their latest burst of terror had glutted the spirits wise enough to follow them to the basement. With so much power, they’d likely be causing havoc shortly, and he truly couldn’t bear the idea of Magdala being accidentally injured in the chaos that would ensue.

He told himself that was his only reason for lingering, waiting for her friends to head back up the stairs before scratching at the wall in the furthest corner of the basement. The sound wouldn’t be loud enough to alert the others—they might even think it was a rodent—but he trusted Magdala to have the same curiosity he’d always known her to have. She’d investigate.

Or he hoped she would.

As he’d hoped, she paused before following her friends up the rickety stairwell. Her flashlight beamed to shine right in his face, but he knew she couldn’t see him.

Not yet.

He scratched again.

She wandered further into the room, and he worked to build up the needed energy to conjure a slightly more appealing background for her seduction. The last illusion had worn him out a bit—he hadn’t exactly been practicing in his long years of solitude—but he found it was a familiar enough task that he could harness the power pretty quickly anyway. He would’ve held the last one longer, if she hadn’t startled him by nearly kissing him. He wasn’t sure why she did that, unless some part of her remembered him. Then again, Magdala’s defining characteristic had always been her relentless curiosity.

It also led to most of her problems, now that he thought about it. She’d made it to his side, but was facing away from him, scanning her flashlight around the room. He’d finally fully harnessed the illusion he intended, so he put it into play. He dressed her in the red gown again, as it flattered her ivory skin and proved a brilliant counterpoint to her startling blue eyes. If she remained true to who she’d been when he knew her, it was also her favorite color. How much of the demon he knew lived in the woman before him?

“Ho-lee sheetcakes,” she muttered. She hadn’t turned to face him yet, merely investigating the garden he’d conjured. “What the fuck is wrong with my brain?”

“Magdala,” he called.

She turned but really slowly. Facing him, she scowled. “Look, dream man, I dig the whole broad shoulders, glowing red eye thing, but you cannot pull that lurker shit on me. That is
not
cool.”

“Dream man?” he asked, not sure what she meant. This close, he was treated to the temptation of her scent. To him, she’d always smelled of the storm—that electrically dangerous smell that teased about the refreshing coolness of the wet while promising pandemonium. “This is no dream.” He avoided speaking her name again, as it seemed to upset her. Perhaps part of her punishment was to forget who she was? It had been done before, but he’d never met one of those cursed few.

“I’m not into the passive thing. I don’t get why my imagination keeps making you so mellow,” she complained. She bent to pluck a flower from the ground at her feet. A small posy, nearly indigo in color, yet it looked elegant in her pale fingertips.

Cupping her hand, he urged her back to her feet. Having her on her knees in front of him provided more temptation than he could bear. “Monkshood,” he explained, nodding toward the flower. “Called everything from wolf’s bane to the devil’s helmet. Are you aware it is the most poisonous flower known to man?”

Her lips curled in a smile. “I know what it is, smarty pants.”

He closed his hand around hers, crushing the bloom. “You insult me, but I can hear your pulse thumping at my nearness. I can smell your desire.”

Before he could pull her closer, she grinned and said, “Yeah, now that’s what I’m talking about. This is what you’re supposed to do.”

It froze him. Supposed to do? Was it some sort of test? Was Big Bad that devious?

Stupid question. Of course Big Bad was that devious. “Would you care to explain that one?”

“Ugh, seriously not in the mood for a talking dream. Come here.” With that, she tugged him closer by his lapels, and he greedily accepted what she offered this time. He reveled in the taste of her lips, the feel of her hips under his hands, and the tiny moan she released when he slipped his tongue inside her mouth.

She writhed in his arms, and he couldn’t resist lifting her by the ass to press her closer. He could feel her fingers in his hair, the scrape of her nails at his scalp, and each little pinpoint of carnality amped his own need higher. How long since he’d had the pleasure of a female in his arms? How long since his body pulsed in time with the ebb and flow of their entwining needs? How long since—

“You’re thinking too loud,” she groaned. “Let’s see if I can fix that.”

She grabbed his shirt at the collar, ripping it with the force of her hunger. Her mouth was at his neck, nibbling and sucking at the skin there. The electrical buzz of her power reached out and brushed his, likely an unconscious move on her part, but it made him drunk nonetheless. The urge to bite her neck, to take just a shard of that blue energy made his hips pump against her instinctively. She ground into him, the friction only chipping further away at his tenuous grip on control.

“My Magdala,” he whispered, licking the slope of her ear.

She went still in his arms, the fragments of his illusion chipping away to fall like twinkling bits of stardust at their feet.

Her breath sounded harsh in the tight confines of the rotted basement, and her eyes were panicked as she gazed around the room. He’d pinned her to a support beam, her legs wound around his hips, but he eased her down as her fingers seemed to spasm at his neck.

“What the fuck?” she asked, but he wasn’t even sure she was talking to him.

Just then, a scream echoed from the upstairs and her neck craned in that direction. While she was distracted, he faded into the wall, hoping she’d forget about him at least long enough for him to put the reins back on his desire for her.