The Better to Eat You With: The Red Journals (20 page)

“Good?”

“No.” I
gasped as he rubbed over a particular sensitive, sore spot.
Dear God, he’s
making me a puddle.

His grin
returned, taking off ten years and turning him into a gorgeous, surfer hunk.

Yeah,
definitely a puddle.

“This
spot right here,” he rubbed right in the middle of my arch, just under the
balls of my foot as my pulse jack-knifed, making me squirm, “stimulates the
adrenal gland.”

“No shit,”
I panted, my pulse-rate pounding.

His grin
stretched. “Pair it with this one….”

“Holy
Mother of
Christ
!” His fingers were working the heel of my foot, but by
God, I swear they were inside me, pushing, pressing, stimulating. I wriggled in
my seat, panting for breath, getting hot and wet and
he wouldn’t let go of
my damn foot.
“Stop. Stop!”

He
released my foot with a laugh, but as I breathed a shaky, embarrassed exhale,
he took up my other foot and started de-shoeing and de-socking it. I scowled, knowing
how wet my panties were. And if I could smell it, he could for damn sure smell
it too.
Damn wolf.

“Most
females enjoy being gentled,” he said, as my head dropped back onto the curving
back of the chair. From under my lashes, I saw him taking a deep breath, as if
tasting my arousal.

“I’m not
most females,” I growled—or moaned. His hands were quite deft, and watching him
breathe me in made me feel…naughty.
Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear. Puddle.

“I’d say
you are more like most females than you think.”

That
brought my head up. “Then consider me contrary and blame it on my vampiric
nature.”

His brow
arched, glancing at my wrists where my bracelets hung. “You have a peculiar way
of talking, darlin’.”

“I’m
British, mate.” I stated flatly, which made him smile to show teeth.

“I know.”
He took a deep breath, tasting me again before licking his lower lip. My gaze
followed the fast, pink swipe. “Did you know it’s part of the wolf’s nature to
acclimate? As the times change, the wolf’s instinct dictates that we learn as
much as we can.”

“Survival
instinct,” I murmured, considering my own drive over the years to learn, from
simple things such a reading and writing, to combining different forms of
martial arts. New technology fascinated me, and I was a fool for my iPad.
I
wonder if my sexy techy can update my software…

“Do you
camouflage?” Vincent asked, massaging my toes.

My eyes
all but rolled back in my head. “In a sense,” I breathed. “I can look older or
younger, shift my coloring.” I looked at him with narrow eyes. “Are you
gentling all my secrets out of me?”

He
laughed again, the sound deep, rich and unfiltered. The kind of laugh that
comes right from the belly and can’t be faked. Neither can sparkling blue eyes
full of mischief. “Does that mean you’ll show me your bite scars?”

My smile
froze on my face, my whole body going rigid as my hand eased up to my shoulder.
My smile dropped as the sick feeling rose at the prospect of showing him my
scars and having him react like Des had. Like past males had, with shock, pity
and disgust. I swallowed and opened my mouth, hesitating.

God…
can I handle another hit today?

Then
Vincent spoke. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” His tone was soft,
playful, his eyes earnest and unflinching. I wondered if they’d stay that way.

“Girls
like scars on their men.” I looked at my hands clenched in my lap.
I’m
looking at my hands a lot today.
“Men don’t like scars on their girls.”

“Men
aren’t Weres.” Vincent smiled knowingly.

Yeah, I
really didn’t think he had any problem getting females to warm his bed, scars
or no.

“We like
our women tough.”

I arched
a brow. “Like Des?” The female were didn’t strike me as the cuddly type.

“Des is a
valued member of my pack.” He made a face. “Not essentially my type, but…”

“Why not?

“Des is a
dominant.” He shrugged. “So am I.”

What the
hell did that mean? Was he purposely being cryptic?
Jeez, talking to this
guy is an emotional roller coaster!

“What am
I?”
Why did I care?

Vincent
only smiled, enigmatic and full of promise. “I have no idea.” I shivered,
despite myself.

The drive
over to Natasha’s house—or ‘lair’ as Felix kept calling it—was a quiet one. I
sat, staring out the window of the black Mercedes, watching the Chicago scenery
zip past in the brief illumination of our head lights, contemplating Felix’s
sedate choice in car. Felix drove, giving me furtive sideways looks as he sped
down the interstate to Norwood Park. I don’t know what he was looking for in my
expression, but I was waiting for him to ask me what was said. Dinner with
Vincent had ended up lasting a good couple hours, and the sun had well and
truly set by time it finished.

I knew I had
looked pale when I came out, and Des shoved past the instant she could do it
without touching me. Felix’s gaze had examined me from head to toe, but when he
opened his mouth to ask if I was okay, I spoke first. I smiled brightly and
asked if he was ready to go to Natasha’s. I think he sensed that if he asked if
I was all right, I might just burst into tears.

He
wouldn’t know what to do, I knew it, so he was putting off asking me what
Vincent and I spoke off until I was well out of blubbering-mess territory. In
the meantime, I’d been trying to think up an answer that would both satisfy him
and avoid actually answering. I didn’t want to tell him that the Alpha had some
very personal truths about me that no one else did.

As I
caught Felix’s mouth open out the corner of my eye, I stalled him by blurting,
“I didn’t expect Natasha to live so close to the city.”

Felix
gave me a suspicious look and cleared his throat. “It took her a couple years
to get a place closer.”

“How long
had she been here?” I asked, not looking at him.

“She
moved here from Munich about fifty years ago.”

“Why?” I
asked, the memory of how the blonde Vampire had gazed up at Felix as she died
flashing through my mind. I wondered if she had moved here to be closer to her
sire. Felix fidgeted, confirming my thoughts. I was too emotionally exhausted
to feel anything about that. “She loved you,” I murmured.

He
flinched. “I’ve known….” He cut off. “Knew…I knew her a long time.”

“Was she
one of your firsts?” I asked, not really knowing why.

“Red.” He
sighed. “Why are you asking me questions about Natasha?”

I turned
from the window and looked at him. Why was I asking? I wasn’t entirely sure. All
I knew was that this woman had been killed by a man I was hunting, and Felix
cared for her. Part of me felt obligated to know the woman, so that when I
finally brought justice for her death, I could do it in a way that would honor
her best. I wasn’t a hero, nor particularly honorable in general. But the way
she had died? Yeah… that got to me.

“Because
you cared for her,” was all I told him. I didn’t think I could explain my
additional feelings. I didn’t really understand them myself. “It was obvious
that she cared for you too.” I looked back out the window, up at the sky. It
was cloudy and overcast, dull as skies always are over a city. “No woman looks
at a man like that if she doesn’t care.”

The last
was said softly, but he heard. His whole body went rigid, and I could see out
the corner of my eye his jaw clench hard enough to break his molars. “Natasha
was headstrong,” Felix finally said, his tone soft. “She was reckless, stubborn
and never listened to a bloody word I said.”

“Sounds
like my kind of woman.” I replied, and his lips quirked, a hint of a dimple peeking
at me as he glanced over.

“You
would have liked her.” He sighed. “She would have liked you, too.”

I arched
a brow at him. “Not if I were in the way,” I said, wryly.

“It
wasn’t like that—”

I held up
a hand, cutting him off. “Please. If Natasha hadn’t been in so much pain, she’d
have killed me with the daggers her eyes would have been shooting.”

Felix
tried to keep in his grin as he glanced at me. “Maybe.”

We were
coming off the interstate onto a street lined with bungalows. They all looked
very sweet and suburban with their neatly trimmed yards and pastel painted
panels. I idly wondered if the interstate was loud up there, or quiet. The
houses didn’t look like temporary dwellings until something better came along. They
looked like long-term lived-in homes that were tended and loved well for it.

I miss
my house.

Mood
souring even further, I kept quiet the short drive to Natasha’s house, not
wanting to grumble out-loud about how I’d given up bounties abroad for the very
specific reason that I missed my nest. I wanted my bed, kitchen, gym and
entertainment system way too much to keep going away on month long hunts.

We took a
couple turns, and eventually Felix slowed before a quaint little one-story
house with a loft conversion. He pulled into the drive, ambling to a stop and
highlighting a garage farther back into the back yard with the headlights.

“Shouldn’t
we park down the street?” I asked, peering through the window as he turned off
the car. Cream colored walls and slate grey roof, neat little square lawn with
a path right through the middle from sidewalk to entrance, four windows—two at
the bottom, two in the roof—and the door in front;. It was…cute.

“The neighbors
know me,” Felix replied as he opened his door.

“You got
keys?” I asked, and Felix nodded. I wasn’t going to ask for details, just slid
from the Merc’s butter-soft leather seat and closed the car door with a bump of
my hip to make it soundless.

Felix
moved with a casual grace across the grass to the footpath. I followed. Keys
jingled. Locks snapped. Felix turned the handle, pushed the door open and just
stood there, frowning.

“What’s
wrong?” I asked softly.

“No alarm,”
he replied.

Well…shit
, I thought. No self-respecting Vampire
left their lair with only a lock for security.

“What can
you see?” he asked, and I blinked, eyes going night-glow as I peered around
him.

Felix
would see my eyes reflect any bit of light out there, giving my eyes a shifting
gold-silver likeness. For me, everything filtered in hues of heat, dappled with
shades of grey. It was disorientating for all of a moment before I was able to
focus. Then I blinked again, this time in shock.

“Felix,”
I breathed, moving around him as I peered inside the door, inhaling deep. “I
don’t see anything. The place has been….,” I inhaled again, nostril burning
with the scent of lemon and pine and chemicals and something else
.
“It’s
spotless.”

“They’ve
been here, then.” he said, and I looked up at him, blinking in surprise. Felix‘s
heat signature emanated a bright red at his chest and filtered out to a pale
yellow. Most Vampires were pale imitations, too cold and dead to give off much
residue for my vision to pick up, but Felix was bright, clear and invitingly
hot.

“Whoa,” I
breathed, and his grin flashed through my night-vision. My eyes fluttered and
my gaze returned to normal.

“Cold
hands, warm heart, pet.” He smirked, pressing a hand to the small of my back
and urging me inside. “Let’s make this quick.”

The
layout of the house was a simple one. From the front door to the back was a
straight hallway, lined with identically-framed miniature landscape paintings
of Munich. Upon entering, the very large lounge was on the left, art-deco
figurines placed strategically to catch the light of day, looking eerily suited
to the modern black and white porcelain lamps, white carpet and pale grey
velvet couches. The kitchen was on the right, decked out like a cottage with
warm wood surfaces. Large stoves, deep sinks and a natural, exposed rock
fireplace filled the space, with a massive island centering, a hanging rail of
pots and pans fixed over it. It extended through a decorative archway to a
dining room with an eight-seat dining table, mood lighting, and romantic
sconces in the pastel-patterned wallpaper. The floors were polished oak
throughout.

Further
down, nearer the back, there were a set of white-paneled double-doors hiding a
set of stairs; right went up, left went down. This was where I stood, Felix at
my shoulder. We’d found nothing especially odd about the house, nothing
standing out to my experienced senses, or Felix’s more familiar association
with Natasha. Mind you, the main floor was so bloody clean, I’d bet my favorite
pair of DC’s that you could eat off the floor. Not a speck of dust marred a
single shelf, figurine, or utensil.

Whoever
had been here, had done a masterful job at cleaning away all evidence of their
intrusion…from Vampires. Not far into the house, my superior Were nose had
detected an odd, musky, spicy scent thoroughly suppressed by all the cleaning
materials. I had tilted my head, sniffed, and asked Felix if he could smell
that. He couldn’t, but I bet any other Were with a decent nose could.

Vampires
had been there. The unique aroma was like an after-taste in the air, a
subliminal message. Once I had their scent, my instincts picked up the residual
echoes of their power signatures.
Strange
, I thought,
I never knew
power levels had their own aroma…

“I’ll go
down, you go up,” Felix said, pulling me back to the stairs. I nodded, and he
turned away, heading down the darkened stairwell. I turned right and headed up,
the moonlight shining through a small circular window at the top of the stairs
lighting my way. I paused just before the top and inhaled, head tilting as my
hearing sharpened. I could hear nothing but the night, and smell nothing but
what I had smelled already, except maybe a faint hint of the perfume Natasha
was wearing at the mansion party. How I smelt her perfume under all her blood
and intestine is beyond me!

Shuddering
at the memory, I eased up the last few steps and turned into the converted
loft-space. I stood there a moment, surprised to find an office when I had been
expecting a bedroom. The strength of Natasha’s scent on the stairs certainly
led me to expect a bedroom. She spent a lot of time up there, obviously, and as
I moved forward, the tidy clutter of a working office became more obvious.

The large
stainless steel and glass desk was L-shaped, and situated in the middle of the
room, facing the stairs, with a large leather chair on wheels perched at an
angle away from it, as if she’d pushed away from the desk, stood and walked
off.

Like
she wasn’t expecting to not ever come back…

Crossing
the rich white carpet and onto the thick shaggy black and white rug, I took in
the multitude of screens and technology, my eyes scanning over the back wall
full of shelves, books on law and economics and political histories lining
them. It was a collection any wannabe high-climber would die for and orgasm
over.

Natasha had
been teaching herself to be indispensable to Ambrose. She’d thought herself
safe, having worked her way into his circle. But you’re never safe in the
Lion’s Den. Surely she’d known that. Surely she’d known that eventually Ambrose
would find out. He was a clever son-of-a-bitch, too damn sharp. And he’d proven
it in his disposal of Natasha.

Turning
away from the books, pushing down the churning rush of disgust at how she’d
died, I looked over Natasha’s desk with a practiced eye of someone used to
finding things no one else could.

I went
for the obvious first. I ransacked her drawers and riffled her desk, emptying
out and opening up everything that could be, from her fancy silver pens, to her
pot of loose post-it notes, to her in-and-out trays, before hacking into her
computer. I didn’t expect to find anything there, and I didn’t. Tossing down
the last pen, I grabbed her personalized, thick vellum, engraved, luxury
business cards—stacked neatly in a black box of a company I’ve never heard of. I
emptied the whole stack into my hand and flicked them all like one of those
pencil-drawn cartoons that move as you flick.

One card
caught briefly and flicked up.

Tilting
my head, I brushed the thick cards with my nail once more, noting the same card
caught.

Heart
flaring with hope and anticipation, I dropped into the leather seat, distantly
startled that it was really quite comfy, and rolled to the desk, pushing paper
and pen aside to clear a space. I set the stack down, and then dragged to the
side, spreading the stack like a deck of cards.

“Oh…clever
girl,” I murmured, pulling the slightly heavier card out from the set, instantly
noticing on closer inspection, there was a faint plastic-like sheen to it when
I tilted it in the muted light. My fingers probed the back, noticing ridges,
and I flipped it over, my head tilted in curiosity at the inch-long oblong
indentation that ran away from the edge. I inspected the seam, noticing fine
lines, and as I fingered them, the card popped. I jerked in surprise as the
slender oblong nipped out smoothly from the card, showing a plain white
underbelly… and a USB connection.

My
stomach thrilled. “Oh,
very
clever girl.” I pushed back from the desk,
craning my neck to see the hard-drive underneath and then shuffling, bent over
to plug in the stick. Straightening, I wiggled the mouse and a bubble-effect
screensaver flashed briefly before the desktop appeared. Moments later her
programs asked me what I wanted to do with the new drive, and I scrolled down
and clicked appropriately, bringing up the USB content. My brows rose in
surprise when the box flashed and it asked for the password to the encrypted
file. Scowling, I glanced around.